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#before you were even born in fact. before you were even a coherent thought in this universe
deadbeat-motel · 1 month
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ᐯᗩGGIE ᗩᑎᗪ ᑕᕼᗩᖇᒪIE ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ
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These two are simpler than the angel dust design I did since I didn't have a lot to go off of. Posted on Valentine's Day because yes I can.
I don't think Charlie is significantly different from her Pilot design because I genuinely think it was the best design from the cast (before the redesign).
Thoughts below, though TW for the creepy charlie image at the end:
My issues with their Original designs:
Vaggie:
The giant "X" over her eye is really distracting and even world-breaking because
1. Why had no one put 2 and 2 together that the only character in Hell who has a visible 'X' mark on her face might be related to the angels who also sport that X mark on their faces.
2. Why is it shaped like an X? Her eye was taken out via a single slash.
3. If the hair's purpose was to cover it, why would it show through it? What's the point of the hair then?
The hair that was supposed to cover that wounded eye looked so ugly and confused as to what it should be doing. I mean every shot that showed that thing in a sideview shot of Vaggie felt like the animators had to make their own guesses as to how that was supposed to look like. It was distracting for me personally and I hated it so much.
It's been said over and over again, but her clothes look like she works at McDonalds. I get needing to change her outfit so that she looks like she works at the hotel, but it's just been poorly designed.
Why change her clothes' colors from white to red? the white helped her stand out from Hell and the Hotel's majority red background. (In the finale, she at least has a non-red attire)
She's also one of the very few women in HH and she falls under the skinny stick side of it despite being an angel exterminator.
Her hair is kind of hard to visualize looking at in any way other than what it is when it's static. However, when it changed into a ponytail or a bob, it's actually really nice to look at.
Unsure of what that bow's purpose is for the design.
Charlie:
Charlie is a simple but very confused design. The pilot design was a lot more coherent than the current show design
It's disappointing to see the bouncy Pilot hair go and be replaced by that boring bubble braid of all things.
Her undershirt peaks out of her tuxedo.... why???? to separate the top jacket and the pants? You wouldn't need to do that if her pants were a different color like the pilot design.
Thought about it and was confused, as a demon with an angelic father, why didn't she have wings as well? She didn't need the 6 wings like Lucifer but maybe a pair of one would appear?
Out of all the characters for the show's redesign, Her's was by far the MOST infuriating to me. Her pilot design wasn't perfect but it was good, they had to downgrade her for some reason.
I didn't have much to say about Charlie. it basically sums up to "the Pilot design was better".
On to the thought process for these two:
Valerie the fallen:
Yes, she got a rename. Sue me.
I had to remove the moth aspect of her design because it doesn't seem like it makes sense for a heaven-born to follow the sinner's rule of "gaining features based on the life you lived" since she basically never lived right?
In this redesign (and eventual rewrite), Valerie is not ashamed of her exterminator background. In fact, she was known as the most recent "fallen" in hell. her short stature doesn't make her less of a threat to the demons.
She's also visually thick with muscle because why not let one of the show's women have a body type that isn't stick-thin?
She's using the wings that were torn off of her as both an interesting article of clothing and as a way to remind others and her that she is (or more accurately 'was') an angel who could kill them if she wanted to.
Her clothes are pure black underneath the pale feathers to show that while she is an "angel", deep down, she is far from a good person.
She's also getting an actual skin color because from what I gathered myself from the show's heaven. Most of the souls there still retain a human appearance (Adam, Lute, St. Peter, and the other random human angels up there still look human..... but just don't mind the fact that most of them are white.)
Her hair is that ponytail she had in the finale because as much as I didn't like that episode, some designs looked actually decent.
Also, her hair actually covers the eye scar properly.
I wanted to keep her ribbon as a splash of brightness on her design but the OG ribbon looks a little out of place on a warrior so It became that (Plus it pays homage to her OG moth influence with its shape looking like the fluffy antennas of the moth)
Gave the spearhead a little bit of detail on it plus a chipped side so that it has a bit of charm as an old weapon she still decides to keep around.
A note about Valerie's design is that I haven't tackled the armor of angels yet so I was unsure of what pieces of the undesigned armor to give Valerie as of now.
Charlie:
I honestly actually enjoyed her Pilot hair, so I tried to put it back and also simplify it a bit so there are not a lot of strands for me to keep track of. Plus it was a genuinely cute design for her. (There's a reason that version was used in the Verbalase video.) <- I'M JOKING
Replaced her button nose with a goat's because a friend has commented how it looked like the noses of the women in a Goofy Movie and I will never be able to unsee that.
Her hair is also a lot brighter compared to her washed-out blonde color.
She has the same design thought process as Valerie, Covering the darkness of her true nature with white fluffy fur which is stylized like feathers at its ends. She has pitch-black skin underneath and looks like a proper nightmarish demon like the image below.
I ditched the tuxedo look, since almost all the cast has a similar outfit already, and gave her a jumpersuit instead. (Idk what it's really called but that's what I think it is). It's a light grey because she's a mix of bad and good (though a bright grey because she prefers to be on the good side)
Her horns are there and visible because yeah it's cute but also helps her read as the half-angel/half-demon character she is.
Tiny goat tail because can you imagine every time Valerie holds the rare angel smile of approval, her tail is visibly wagging in glee and excitement???? My heart would die. I love these lesbians with my life.
Has wings from her father.
Anyways, those are my thoughts and redesigns... I wanted to add more details to them but I didn't really know what to add that didn't feel unnecessary.
Also bonus! Concept art of Charlie's true form:
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undiscovered-horizon · 10 months
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Return to sender - Kaz Brekker x Reader
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[graphic descriptions of violence/injury]
SUMMARY: Someone from your past keeps sending you unambiguously romantic letters. While you think of them as nothing beyond an inconvenience, Kaz has a different opinion.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.9k
A/N: I'm going through the first editorial correction for my novel and as it turns out, I can't speak my own mother tongue lmao
Kaz has an eye for details. Whether it’s a pattern or an overlooked design, he always notices. That set of skills, either he learned them or was born with them, made it painfully obvious to him that your foul mood coincided with correspondence he never saw you actually read. The letter usually ends up in the nearest fireplace, its secrets never uncovered and you maunder around the club looking for a fight or a strong drink. A much bigger problem, however, was the fact that if you were in a sour mood, Kaz would become exceptionally chippy without an apparent cause. ‘Care for my investment’ he calls it, which makes a rather amusing euphemism.
In any event, he knows that the letter should arrive today. Exactly seven weeks had passed since the last time some mysterious correspondence pissed you off and the sender, as far as Kaz has noticed, is like clockwork. Strangely enough, he can’t recall a day when the letter should arrive that you’d come to the club already annoyed as though he has become privy to a rather obvious pattern that you remain oblivious to. If so, he has even more advantage - he can solve this inconvenience behind your back, in case you’d try to dismiss him. He wouldn’t listen anyway, of course. Not when it comes to you.
Knowing very well that you have a habit of arriving shortly after Inej, he’s quick to find the thief before you even get a chance of catching wind of his scheme. She’s fixing her clothes when she spots him hastily limping towards her with his face turned nearly into a snarl. A hand brushes through his hair. He’s agitated. But Inej knows better than to make the first move against the unmovable mountain. Kaz sought her out, after all, and if he means business, he won’t waste time.
And he does just as she thought. Speaking in a low tone, Kaz makes her part of his conspiracy: “Inej, I need you to do something but no one else can know. Someone will deliver a letter today. Follow them and find out as much as you can,” his voice is stern, not accepting refusal. The matter appears urgent, of utter importance.
Her keen gaze studies his face for a moment, looking for any way even the slightest tick of muscles could reveal a further piece of the mystery she isn’t yet privy to. “Is this about the new job we’re doing?” She elegantly manoeuvres around the subject.
Kaz knows what she’s trying to do. He clenches his jaw and gives her a blank, although somewhat impatient, look before slowly answering: “It’s rather loosely related.”
This is enough to put her curiosity on hold - for now, at least. The unmovable mountain remains, well, unmovable. Inej nods. “I’m on it.”
The moment she ends her sentence, the door to the club opens with a creek echoing through the otherwise empty venue, immediately earning the undivided attention of Kaz and Inej. The sound of heels against the wooden floor is unmistakable as is the fitting, rather short, coat. Inej smiles, stifling laughter as she notices Kaz immediately straightening his back when he sees you.
There’s a certain spring to your step, one that Kaz has learned to associate with complacency. Although this joyous aura is making his mind turn into quicksand swallowing anything coherent, he’s got enough grip on his thoughts to render his theory proved - you really do not have any idea that the letters come regularly. 
With a triumphant grin, you wave a scroll in his face. “I had a hunch and did some browsing at the city archives. You’re going to love it.”
Inej is gone and the only thing Kaz can do at the moment is wait along with trying his best not to think about this mail fiasco. But considering you’ll spend the entire day a mere inch or two away from him, he’s hardly going to do much thinking anyway. 
“Let’s see it then,” Kaz interposes before turning around and walking back to his office. 
Making his way to Brekker’s office, Jesper examined the expensive stationery from every side and angle. No matter the perspective, the cursive letters on the front still spell out your name. Truthfully, he does that every time you receive mail, mainly because of how little you talk about the possible sender. There’s always a huff, an eye-roll and the envelope ends up turned into ashes, without any further explanation. You become short-tempered for the rest of the day and go ballistic on anyone trying to inquire about the mysterious correspondence. As much entertainment as it usually brings Jesper, he’s smart enough to know when to stop poking the bear.
Jesper knocks on the door but opens them right after - announcing his arrival rather than asking for permission to enter. 
“...smuggling through the sewers.” He hears you finishing your sentence.
Both you and Kaz simultaneously tear away your gaze from the maps scattered on the table and bore your eyes into Jesper with anticipation. He lifts the letter, wriggling his wrist slightly, and immediately your expression falls. You clench your fist. A contemptuous grimace creeps onto your face.
“Letter for you,” he announces.
“By the Saints, not this again,” you whisper and roll your eyes.
“What do you mean again?” Jesper asks casually, half expecting you to break his hand and half hoping for an answer. Today, as it turns out, is his lucky day.
“A friend once convinced me to go to some socialite high tea with her. I met someone there, we wrote to each other a few times and then he started to be obnoxious, the whole ‘woe is me’ lark.” The memory must still be vivid to you as you let out an annoyed sigh. “He claimed he can’t live without me while never spelling my name correctly. But since I value myself a little too much to waste my time on pity parties, I simply stopped replying. The last letter I sent him, I don’t know, three years ago? And he just keeps coming back.” You clench your jaw, clearly stopping yourself from a string of profanities considered obscene even in this company.
Jesper puts on a playful grin. “You know, you never struck me as someone who’d have a secret admirer.”
Your irritated gaze makes him equally amused and nervous. “He’s not exactly secret, is he? More of a returning cockroach infestation. Worry not, boys, I’ll just burn this one like the rest and we can all forget about this little perplexity.”
“Come on, you’re not even a little bit curious about what’s inside?” Jesper coaxes as he hands you the letter.
“Believe me when I tell you that I don’t give a rat’s bald ass about this man and his pathetic wax poetic.” You snatch the envelope, all the while looking at your friend with squinted, piercing eyes. Considering who you are, a complete lack of curiosity whatsoever might as well be a symptom of a lethal disease.
In that short moment, when the stationery goes from Jesper’s hand into yours, Kaz watches the letter as closely as he can. Smooth paper, probably expensive. Careful lettering, written with patience and thoughtfulness. An aroma of mint and tobacco lingers on the parchment. The stamp has the current date on it and the postal code is only a few numbers away from the club’s - whoever sent it is in Ketterdam and quite close by.
Kaz makes those little observations just in time because you throw the letter into the fireplace behind him, without even glancing at the paper. The flames grow for a few seconds, devouring the dry stationery. Soon, there’s no evidence that any mail has been delivered to you on this day.
“Now, where were we?” You clap your hands. “Ah, sewers.” Jesper takes the change of subject as his cue to leave but you stop him right when he pushes down the door handle. “Oh, and Jesper? If you tell Inej, I’m ripping your arm off and beating you to death with it.”
He looks at you over his shoulder, a newfound sense of anxiety turning his vivid amusement into somewhat tame courtesy, leaving his smile unfaltering but tearing away the genuine joy behind it. “I will keep this enlightening piece of advice in mind, thank you.”
The door clicks as Jesper closes it behind himself. Returning to your previous engagement, you stumble upon Brekker’s stern gaze of disapproval. 
“Do not maim my investments.” Although it’s supposed to be a scolding or a threat, it comes out with a certain note of disinterest.
“Don’t try playing all nice, Kaz. You and I both know you’d watch for like ten minutes before stepping in.”
His gloved finger taps the map. “Sewers.” 
You mumble something along the lines of ‘yes, sir’ and pick up the single-handed divider again. Kaz examines your face out of the corner of his eye. Judging by your casual demeanour, the palm’s length between your heads is of no bother to you. Maybe you’re just too busy counting the segments with the divider. When you’re done, you reach for the other side of the desk, for a moment leaving broody Kaz to the, surprisingly cold, lukewarm air filling the room.
This day just can’t seem to end for Burr Lowther. First, he had to take his regular trip into the filth of the Barrel, he shudders at the memory, only to then spend another ten hours at the sewing workshop. Being a foreman pays exceptionally well and perhaps this is the only reason he’s still putting up with those lazy needlewomen. 
Putting his well-kept coat on the hanger by the front door, Burr lets out a sigh of relief - compared to the factory, his house is a quiet oasis. He remembers to take out a pouch and a box of expensive cigars from his coat. Without much thinking, he opens the small bag and puts another leaf of mint between his teeth. What started first as an addition to his personal hygiene, has quickly become a habit impossible to kill. Now used to the strong, chilly sensation on his tongue, he’s grown to like it. 
The house is drowning in darkness. Dim, yellow light from the streetlamps crawling in through the windows is barely enough to let him make his way around the furniture. Foreman Lowther is yet to start the fire in his living room but he needs to be quick - if he stalls too long his joints will begin to hurt. Even with laudanum, the ache is bound to keep him up for hours and that’s something he can’t afford. But first, he needs some light to be able to get the necessary things.
Chewing on the herb, Burr walks to the table across the room from the fireplace. He puts the new box of cigars down and begins looking for something to light the oil lamp. Once he blindly finds a box of matches, his muscle memory does most of the job - he’s lit up the lamp far too many times to think about the actions. In swift, mechanical motions, Burr takes off the chimney, lights the wick and puts the glass part back on. The fire brightens the rest of the table, reminding the foreman that he forgot to put away the made-to-order McKinnon & Co. stationery. He pushes the paper farther away from the lamp, just in case.
Burr’s knees make a cracking noise when he crouches in front of the fireplace. Carefully, he lights a match and puts it between logs and old newspapers. The fire smoulders for a moment, balancing between starting and being put out, before a bigger flame begins gnawing at the dry wood and paper. 
Foreman Lowther is about to stand up when something hits the side of his head, making his face clash with the seat of a nearby armchair. Scurrying and turning around, he sees an outline of a man, looking more like a feverish mare of the night than a real human. He’s thin and tall, dressed rather elegantly. The model crow on his cane glistens in the newly started fire.
“Who are you?” Burr’s voice cracks, giving away his panic.
“A scorned businessman, Burr Lowther,” Kaz explains slowly.
The foreman climbs backwards into the armchair. It’s difficult to look imposing while sitting beside a fireplace but his fear is far too severe to let the man stand on his own two feet.
“I’ve no business with you!” he yells. A few droplets of spit fly out of his mouth. “Get out!” Burr’s shaky hand points vaguely in the direction of the front door but Kaz, as it seems, is not going anywhere just yet.
In slow steps, Kaz gets closer to Burr, the difference in height painting him even more menacing. Lowther’s hand falls limp on a small table meant for trays with food.
“Perhaps you don’t. But I have plenty with you.”
Before foreman Lowther can ask another question, Brekker drives a sharp blade through the man’s palm, pinning it to the wooden counter. A howl of pain cuts through the night, scaring away the birds sitting outside the windows. Thick, crimson blood spills from the wound, falling to the floor in long drops. The fireplace’s flame glistens in the growing puddle, the reflection dances in morbid anticipation.
Kaz walks over to the table with the oil lamp. The first thing that catches his eye is the ivory paper. Somehow, he stifles the visceral reaction it elicits from him. Grabbing the wad of stationery, he folds it a few times and puts it in the inner pocket of his coat. Then his gaze trails towards the wooden box of cigars. The name of the company, Starling, is burned in cursive lettering on the front. In a swift movement, Kaz slides the package open, knowing exactly what he’s going to find inside - a cigar cutter. For people who can afford Starling tobacco products, it definitely doesn’t befit to chew off the end.
Firelight cascades off the metal cutter when Kaz turns back towards Burr. The man’s eyes widen in panic, recognizing the sharp device put against him.
“No, sir,” Burr begs with a frantic shake of his head. “Oh, Saints, please, no! Don’t! I’m begging you, sir! Please, please! No, please!”
Brekker’s face doesn’t change its indifferent expression. The pleading is not putting him off, never faltering his already-made decision. Perhaps, if it isn’t too morbid to consider, he’s enjoying having someone at his mercy. The cigar cutter clicks quietly as Kaz closes it a few times to check the state of the mechanism.
Kaz makes his way back to the foreman. Casually, he puts his cane against the table but away from the nailed palm, careful not to get it dirty. Then, he snatches Burr’s other hand, the swiftness diminishing all doubts that he’s inexperienced in bringing suffering.
“You have laid your hands on something that isn’t yours, Lowther,” Brekker explains as he forces one of the man’s fingers through the cutter’s opening. “Now you must pay for it.”
A muscle in his face ticks as he presses the cigar cutter. Burr howls in agony, tears streaming down his face. The finger falls to the floor with a wet slap as blood begins to pour. The white tip of the bone sticks out from the pulsating flesh, glistening in the warm, dim light of the burning fireplace.
In a feverish delirium, Lowther mumbles something under his nose, the string of incomprehensible words sometimes interrupted by sobs. Kaz can understand only two things from the ramblings of a madman: ‘wench’ and ‘reply’. Scarce information but he hardly needs more.
“Wench?” he repeats in a low voice.
With a snap of his wrist, Kaz twists the knife still residing in the man’s hand. A bone cracks. But there’s no scream this time - not an ounce of strength left in the victim. Lonely tears stream down his grey face, mixing with cold sweat as he blankly stares ahead. A gloved hand yanks his head back by the hair, forcing delirious Burr to look into Brekker’s eyes. They look darker than they should, clouded with something far too horrible to be considered human.
“Not only did you lay your filthy hands on something of mine,” Kaz’s voice is low enough to resemble a growl as though something carnal inside him has finally woken from its slumber, “but you also dare insult her.”
Burr makes a strange guttural noise, something between a gag reflex and a murmur, as another one of his fingers is cut off. Considering his vacant expression, it’s hard to say whether his consciousness even registered the loss.
Kaz tosses away the cigar cutter. It clutters and clicks falling in the largely unknown corner of the room. Reaching inside his coat, he pulls out the folded stationery. Pressing tightly on Burr’s cheeks, he forces the man’s mouth open.
“I don’t think you will be needing this anymore.”
Even if foreman Lowther was in his right mind at the moment, there wouldn’t be much he could do to prevent Kaz from shoving the dry paper down his throat. A match, a spark, a smoulder - the ivory stationery is burning inside Burr’s mouth.
Leaving Burr Lowther to his own devices, Kaz Brekker leaves the house, joining the otherwise grey and indifferent citizens of Ketterdam. The sunrise is just a few hours away. He’s making his way back to the club, uninterrupted and unbothered, to enjoy another day of your hardly divided attention.
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saphira-approves · 5 months
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Okay so I finished Murtagh last night and I think I’m just going to put a lot of my slightly more coherent general thoughts here under a readmore. Spoilers ahead! Beware!
Right off the bat I want to bring us back to The Fork, The Witch, and The Worm. Not to Essie (although reliving that encounter from Murtagh’s perspective was EXQUISITE), but to Eragon, because the thing I love most about that story is that Eragon is glad to see his brother, even from afar, and is glad to see he’s alright, and hopes that Murtagh will one day join him at Mt. Arngor. We’ve talked recently on the blog about ill feelings and condemnation towards Murtagh during the war, especially on Eragon’s part, but the ending of The Fork makes it clear that—while I would love to see Eragon acknowledge and work through them—Eragon no longer holds those feelings, and in fact really wants the chance to reconnect with his brother and his friend, because he loved him like a brother before he even knew they were related, and after everything that’s happened, he loves him still—even if Murtagh is going to have some trouble believing or internalizing it.
And so I present the theme of this initial reading response: Murtagh is so, so loved, to an extent that he does not fully realize. He knows that Thorn loves him, obviously, but I believe it’s significant that—even though he has some Complicated™️ thoughts about Selena and harbors resentment towards her for, in his mind, choosing Eragon over himself—the memories of her that we actually get to see/“hear” (page 90 my beloved) are fully memories of Selena’s love for him. “…beautiful boy” anyone? “My strong boy?” That is her BABY and she LOVES HIM. Also, again, DESPITE HIS RESENTMENT, Selena’s love is the REASON HE KEEPS HIS SCAR! Scar lore alert! Scar lore alert! SELENA WAS THERE AND SHE’S THE ONE WHO HEALED HIM! (though I am still partial to thinking Brom was involved. I’ll write about that later it doesn’t matter right now)
(Also, on a bit of a lighter note, HIS HORSE TOY?????? Horse girl Murtagh CONFIRMED!!!! Little me would have been so jealous. …on a completely different note, I have woodworking connections and access to real horse hair. Hm. The Ideas.)
And then Tornac, son of Tereth, may your name live on forever. THE FIRST MEMORY WE GET OF TORNAC IS A HUG. THE FIRST TIME HE HUGS MURTAGH. MURTAGH HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH DO YOU KNOW??? I KNOW YOU KNOW A LITTLE BIT BUT DO YOU KNOW????? And the way he LEAPS to Murtagh’s defense when he falls in their escape, he REFUSES to let Murtagh languish in Urû’baen, that’s his BOY, his BEAUTIFUL STRONG BOY, that’s HIS SON, NO TAKE BACKSIES, MORZAN! He sees Murtagh’s darkness, yes, but more importantly he sees Murtagh’s goodness, and he knows Galbatorix will do everything in his power to destroy it, and that is something that Tornac simply cannot abide. You remember how I posted about Brom saying it’s easy to die for what you believe in, and then like ten pages later he dies for Eragon? Yeah. Yeah that one. That post. Do you see the point I’m making?
Tornac died for Murtagh. Selena did too, I’m pretty sure—it’s never been explicitly stated, in this book or the rest of the Cycle, but we know Selena was anxious to leave Carvahall as soon as Eragon was born, and that she died shortly after returning to Murtagh. I think Murtagh knows, on some level, but I also think that actually acknowledging it is going to break him just a little bit. Selena left Eragon and returned to him, presumably to spirit Murtagh to Carvahall as well, but she left too early. She wasn’t recovered. The real tragedy of this is that, if she’d left any later, she might truly have been too late—Morzan had been killed, and Murtagh would have been collected to Urû’baen before she reached him. Depending on how much she was coordinating with Brom, she might have known this, and made the choice to return to Murtagh anyway, because it was the easiest choice in the world. Eragon and Murtagh both believe that Selena left them. As Murtagh believes Selena chose Eragon over him, I’m pretty sure Eragon believes the inverse. In truth, Selena was trying to choose both of them, to save both of them. It’s a tragedy that she failed, but the most important thing about such a tragedy is that the love is there. It didn’t save them, not at first, not until much later, but the love is there and it matters because those are her babies, those are her sons, and she would gladly die for them. She did die for them. It was easy; she believed in them.
So yeah, I think eventually Eragon and Murtagh are gonna have a talk, and some revelations are going to be made, and a good long cry is going to be had all around. Catharsis! They need it!
But that’s not all! Murtagh is loved not only by the dead and the distant, but by the living and the near, too. Up to this point, the werecats we’ve met have been aloof, proud, intentionally distant. I always got the sense that Solembum likes Eragon and Saphira, but I don’t know that he would call them friends, even if Eragon and Saphira would, and he’s the most in-depth werecat we’ve met. But now we also have Carabel.
Carabel, who, from her position within Gil'ead, watches the people around them, and discerns their character: this is a skill I would say she has honed to near-perfection. When we meet her, she is desperate, though she hides it well. She sees Murtagh, and she measures his character, and what she sees is enough to make her take a chance on him, and she's right. Murtagh saves Silna, compromising his own principles to do so—swearing an oath he knows he'll have to break—and is so clearly relieved to see Silna safe with Carabel, despite the deceptions. We know, also, that Selena had been liked enough by Solembum for him to speak with her, and I wouldn't be surprised to discover that Selena was at least respected by werecats, if not outright known as a friend; it's possible that this, too, helped push Carabel to take a chance on Murtagh, though she makes no comment about it. Whatever the case, ultimately it is Murtagh's character that she gambles on, and Murtagh being simply who he is fulfills her hopes—not only in saving Silna, but his kindness towards her even when she was difficult, carrying her only when it was necessary and setting her on her own paws when he deemed it safe. Just in being himself, he earns love from two strangers, and the respect of an entire race.
(This echoes throughout the book, in all of Murtagh's interactions with children—he cares so much about kids. Not just as an abstract moral stance: he truly, genuinely cares for children on a deeply personal level. Essie in Ceunon; the two boys in Gil'ead he gives coins to, twice, and reprimanding their father for using them to pick marks; Silna; the children in Nal Gorgoth. In telling his story to Nasuada, he broke when he reached the children he slaughtered under Bachel's control.)
And Alín! Alín, who was raised to revere dragons, who cannot help but idolize Thorn. She is terrified of Murtagh, as a stranger and a strange man, but his connection to a dragon allows her to view him in another light. I can write so many essays about Alín, I'm probably going to, but here I'll just say this: despite her circumstances, despite how she was taught, despite how thoroughly she has been programmed by the cult of the Dreamers, the simple truth of Murtagh's compassion gave her the room to question, to think for herself, to ask herself if what she has been taught and raised to believe is truly right. Murtagh doesn't make the decision for her, he physically can't—it is Alín herself who finds the strength to break herself free, inspired by Murtagh, but not wholly because of him.
And in the dungeons of Nal Gorgoth, Murtagh meets Uvek, an Urgal shaman, and can I just say: I would kill and die for Uvek. He's got similarities to Murtagh that aren't discussed in plaintext, but are easy to draw: they both tried to be alone in the wild, thinking it would be better for them—different reasons, but they came to the same conclusion—but both have come to discover that they are better off in a pack. With friends. With brothers. With family. (As an aside, I really hope Uvek becomes one of the first Urgal riders.) I love the metaphor they share, about trust being a knife with a blade for a handle; and I love that once they decide to trust each other, they both jump in, feet first, 100% on board. That's always been Murtagh's method anyway (Eragon-era Murtagh my beloved, looking after this stupid dumb kid with his whole ass), and it is incredibly refreshing to see someone else with the exact same mindset throw their whole lot in with Murtagh. The gentle forehead bump! Uvek loves this crazy squishy Murtagh-man.
And finally, finally, Nasuada. The Guinevere to his Lancelot, and there's not even an Arthur for them to dance around, except for the Arthur of Public Opinion that would prefer to view Murtagh as dread Mordred. I couldn't keep from laughing, just a little bit, every time Murtagh was encouraged to/shown visions of taking the throne, because lol! Nah, you dumbasses, that's the love of his life for whom he broke his own shackles and turned on his tormentor and slave-master. The day he turns against her of his own volition is the day he is No Longer Murtagh. He keeps the newly-minted gold crown so that he can keep a piece of her with him—a coin!! A tiny little portrait!! An accurate tiny little portrait, to be sure, but one he'll soon be able to find in any decently full purse!! He may not want to admit it to himself, he may try to distance himself for her own good and the good of her rule, but he cannot truly deny his heart. As for Nasuada himself, she doesn't even hesitate to take him in—and she would have no reason to, having heard about Gil'ead, except that she knows him, she has seen his true being in a way only Thorn can relate to, and even in uncertainty she cannot believe evil of him. She's the one who reaches out to comfort him when he crumbles in telling his story, she supports him without a word when he struggles to stand, and she wants so badly for him to stay, Public Opinion be damned. She won't destroy what she's built, but she will move heaven and earth to be able to keep him near, for as long as he wishes to remain.
This whole book, really, was just a chorus screaming to Murtagh, "YOU ARE LOVED!! YOU ARE WORTHY OF LOVE AND YOU ARE LOVED!! IT IS THE LOVE THAT ENDS WARS, THAT DEFEATS FEAR, THAT PERSISTS IN THE FACE OF DEATH AND RUIN!! YOU ARE LOVED!!" And maybe he can't hear it yet, not with his ears, but his heart, eventually, might start to catch him up. And I absolutely cannot wait to see it.
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snootlestheangel · 7 months
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Cheers to the Unknown Pt.2
Monster/cryptid au ft. Just A Dude!Ghost; canon-divergent, alternate universe. More details here (parts are not a coherent story necessarily just scenarios as they come to me !subject to change!;all tagged under "cheers to the unknown") TW: some body horror, language
Meeting The Team
John Price being an inhuman probably would have upset Ghost more had he not been so numb to the world. Ghost had been officially born; Simon Riley was dead, along with his family. Crude, ugly scars twisted his face into a mock grin, something he learned is called a Glasgow smile. If Ghost himself could not bear to see them in the mirror, why would anyone else? How could anyone else? So he took to covering his face. Thus Ghost was born.
Now, Simon Riley had worked with John Price before his supposed death, but it wasn't for long and he still didn't really know the man. He knew Price to be a good man, however, and was rather pleased to hear he'd be working under the captain.
The mission itself was a simple infiltrate and extract operation, one that Ghost could probably do perfectly well on his own. But alas, given the novelty of his new identity, many higher ranking personnel refused to allow him solo for the time being. At least Ghost was stuck with someone relatively decent from his limited experience, and a fellow human.
Or at least Ghost thought he was with another human. He was due for a very nasty reality check when he happened to glance over at the Captain while tightening his tac vest. Ghost stopped all motion as he watched with sickening horror as Price's appearance contorted into a lowly guard for the site they were infiltrating. Price groaned a bit as he popped a few joints in adjustment to his different body.
"You alright?" Price asked in a noticeably different voice as he noticed the wide eyes of the lieutenant.
"Fine, sir." He snapped out, perhaps a bit too quickly. He wasn't all that shocked to be honest, a man of Price's reputation can't possibly be human, and it validated Ghost's feelings of uncanny valley when interacting with Price. It had seemed his intuition that something was different proved right. He wasn't shocked, no, more angry that no one bothered to tell him.
"I thought you knew." Price spoke quietly, almost sheepishly, at Ghost's sharp response.
"Quite frankly, sir, I don't give a shit. We've got a job to do, and I take it you've got a plan." Ghost meets Price's eyes, his expression earnest despite being blank. Price smirked back, slowly nodding.
"That I do."
~~~~~~
Ghost never enjoyed being assigned to various teams of rather inexperienced soldiers, especially ones run by cocky, know-it-all sergeants. He had arrived after the team to assist them with the stealth aspect of their assignment, since their last one had apparently gone haywire. Granted, it wasn't a real assignment, but rather a simulation and Ghost was there to teach them where they went wrong last time. Ghost scanned the clearing where the men were gathered, the cold spray from the sea chilling him even through all his layers.
"Glad you could make it, Lieutenant!" The sergeants, Ghost couldn't be bothered to remember his name, waved in greeting. Ghost resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead remained quiet as he took his place.
"Do you have a plan for getting inside the walls?" Ghost asked, and the sergeant nodded, briefly patting the air tank in front of him.
"There's a locking system under the water against this side gate. I can easily be in and out. The gate will open and I'll meet the men on the inside." Sergeant Daniels, as Ghost suddenly remembered, said rather matter-of-factly. Ghost frowned at him. The plan didn't make sense, but he didn't want to say anything until after the fact, so as to avoid getting into an argument before anything has a chance to go wrong. Sergeants like this one loved to argue. Ghost didn't.
"Have you checked the tank?" Ghost asked, and the sergeant's eyes widened a bit before he bent over to check. Ghost did roll his eyes this time, and instead let his gaze wander to the small team. Most of them looked as green as they probably were, but one didn't. Instead of looking apprehensive like his counterparts, he seemed at peace, his stance relaxed and a small, almost knowing smirk on his lips. He met Ghost's eye and vaguely nodded his head towards Daniels, only to match Ghost's eye roll.
He hated to admit it, but Ghost already liked this kid. He was a corporal, given the markings on his uniform, but he still seemed to know more than the Sergeant.
"Um, there's a problem with the air tank. I'll lose more air than I get to breathe if I take this down." Daniels's nervous voice drew back Ghost's attention, but before he practically snapped his neck to look, he noticed the subtle face palm from the corporal.
"Got a spare?" Ghost snapped, and Daniels shook his head.
"That's mistake number one. Never under prepare. Better safe than a dead man." Ghost barked out, barely containing his anger. He really didn't want to be spending his weekend like this.
"I can breathe underwater." A different voice spoke up, and Ghost felt a bit of relief seeing it came from the corporal.
"How well can you see under there?" Ghost asked and the kid fought back a grin, settling for a small smile.
"Pretty damn well, I'd say." He responds, and Ghost nods. He turns back to glare at Daniels.
"You'd better be fucking grateful he volunteered. You won't be so lucky next time." He said, as dark and threatening as he could be without scarring the idiot for life. Daniels nodded strongly before taking a step back to allow Ghost full authority.
"Got a name, Corporal?" Ghost asked, and the man opened his mouth and closed it again before he gave a formal response.
"Kyle Garrick, sir." Ghost quirked a brow in question.
"Did you have something else to say?"
"I was only going to be smart-ass with your question, sir." Garrick responded, standing a bit straighter as if expecting the already agitated lieutenant to snap.
"Well then let's hear it." Ghost replied, surprising even himself.
"Was only going to say, no, I actually don't have a name." Garrick quipped back, and Ghost nodded, almost solemnly.
"A fellow unloved child, I see. Good to know." Ghost said, and Garrick let out a small laugh in shock.
"Permission to dive, sir?" He asked and Ghost scanned him briefly. The corporal really wasn't dressed for the weather, but given the fact he can apparently breathe underwater, Ghost supposed it didn't really matter.
"Can you disable the lock and alarm system?" He asked, and Garrick confidently nodded.
"Go for it." And with the lieutenant's permission, Garrick gracefully slipped into the water with barely a sound. Ghost shook his head after briefly glancing at Daniels, deciding not to push anything for his own sanity.
It wasn't long at all, rather only a minute or two, before the corporal resurfaced, giving them the go ahead. The rest of the simulation was a disaster on all fronts that didn't include Corporal Garrick. Ghost had yelled himself raw afterwards, and he even allowed Garrick to slip away before the berating began. Afterwards, as Ghost headed to his temporary quarters for the night, he passed the corporal.
"You did good out there, Garrick." Ghost said, half expecting the corporal to not have heard him approach. Instead, he gave Ghost a smile and a nod, seemingly already aware of his presence. It was times like this Ghost was jealous of his inhuman counterparts for their uncanny abilities to detect subtle changes around them.
"Thank you, sir. And, most people call me Gaz." He responded, his smile brightening. Ghost frowned at him, uncertain as to why he felt so drawn by him. He must've stared too long, as Gaz's face suddenly twisted into embarrassment. Iridescent scales slowly faded into view along his cheek bones and along the crest of his nose.
"Sorry, I keep forgetting some species are more... susceptible." Gaz muttered, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Ghost didn't understand why Gaz had said species instead of humans specifically, as that was more likely to be the case, but he didn't question it. He also didn't question what he meant by susceptible, but he refused to ask for his own peace.
"Well, good night, then. Hope to work with you again, Gaz." Ghost mumbled, and Gaz smiled once again.
"Thank you, sir. I hope to work with you, as well."
~~~~~~
Meeting Sergeant MacTavish was an... interesting experience for him, to say the least. Ghost had heard stories of the sergeant with the ability to produce lightning from his fingertips and a knack for blowing shit up. Yeah, because that's the perfect man for a stealth op.
Perhaps it was because Ghost had underestimated him, or perhaps it was the typical pre-mission jitters he still hasn't gotten used to, but something put him on edge when he saw the sergeant. Every hair on his body stood on end as the man approached him, a confident, if not cocky, grin stuck on his face. Thunder rolled in the distance, and something quite literally flashed in the Scotsman's eyes.
"Let's make this one a win, yeah Lt? Save you a seat, sir." Soap said, punctuating his sentence with a light punch to Ghost's shoulder that sent a harmless, yet startlingly shock through his body. Ghost watched him saunter away and onto the carrier as his heart beats loudly in his chest.
He'll never catch a break, will he?
Taglist: want added? Say so in the replies ;) @tacticaltaxonomist @cthulhusstepmom @cathnoneofyourbusiness @thorougly-melted-brains
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the-rain-on-kamino · 2 months
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T for Tentative
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Rating: T, This is still an 18+ blog
Pairing: Darman Skirata x fem!Reader
Wordcount: 2,6k
Warning: none, fluff and romance, pining, first love and first kiss
A/N: Another re-post of my old stories until I finished the "new" ones. OP 2023/09/14 This was also a submission for the @clonexreaderbingo - Square: "I wasn’t sleeping"
Summary: Omega Squad finds you on one of their missions - and Darman develops feelings. And one night when your hand's so close to his he can’t help himself any longer...
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Trust is a strange thing. Who would have thought that someday you’d trust your life completely to strangers while only Maker knows how many droids are around? Yet here you are.
Dirty and exhausted but at least sated, you lean against a trunk, your eyes refusing to stay open for even a second longer. The air is filled with silent crackling and a delicious smell of grilled nuna meat while the fire warms your aching limbs and dries your sodden clothes. You know they will keep an eye on you and make sure that nobody’s going to harm you. The whole scene has something of a campfire romanticism about it… or could have if you weren’t on the run.
Only one week ago you lived your best life at a farm on Saleucami in your self-imposed solitude, but then the Seppies arrived, conquered the whole area and kept you prisoner for reasons they might think coherent. Every day new droids arrived, farms were occupied, barricades were erected in no time and peace was history. Then, two days ago, and while you were still railing about your fate, the door that once locked you in shattered in a vast explosion, and you found yourself staring into a glowing blue T-visor, its owner staring back at you with his head tilted and, as you found out later that day, just as surprised.
Your life didn’t end then, obviously. Instead four Republic Commandos, each of them his own heavily armed fortress, in shiny silver-white katarn armor, took you with them once their mission was accomplished. And that’s what you do now. You are on your way to a RV, for an OR with LAAT/i coming to pick them up and bring them back to the NU first and 000 later. That you do know by now what those cryptic acronyms mean is due to the fact that somehow and as strange and unlikely as it seems you became friends.
Niner, Fi, Atin and… Darman. Four clones, looking exactly alike and yet not at all, decided to act against all their reservations about civilians in general and nat borns in particular to rescue you from this planet. In those hours on the run while the sound of blasterfire and clashes became quieter the further you got from the battlefield, you got to know each other. You told them your name and learned that they hardly met women except the few instructors on Kamino and that they, despite being clones with the only purpose in life to be sacrificed in war, are kind and funny and… softies. And of course incredibly handsome. Especially Darman. You still have a hard time not to blush whenever you look at them and they look back at you with something curious and intense in their brown eyes, but he… Dar, makes your heart beat faster. Ughh… it’s embarrassing. If only you knew it’s also the other way round.
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“Do you think she’s asleep?” Niner asks quietly as he eventually finishes his meal.
Having something other than the ration bars between his teeth is awesome and makes him soft. Usually he would not waste any time and give his brothers two or three hours of rest before letting them trot off to the RV, but as it is now you're here with them by a cozy fire and the idea of spending the night at the edge of the forest suddenly has something appealing. They are all tired after days without sleep and need some rest too.
Darman turns his head and let his gaze roam over your body. He lost count of how many times he's looked at you in the last two days, studying your features and becoming entranced by you in the privacy of his helmet. The way you move, the way you sound, the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh... Your breath is even and shallow and your hand rests slackly on the grass between you and him. If only he could touch you. Unfortunately he isn’t wearing his helmet now which is why Niner gets to see how transfixed he is by you.
“I think so, yes.”
Prying his gaze away from you, Darman swallows. The smirk that’s evident on Niner’s face makes it hard for him to speak further, but still he’s able to add: “The last two days must have been debilitating for her. Even we are stretched to our limits.”
"Before we set off tomorrow morning, we’ll give her a shot with painkillers and stimulants. It’s going to help her make it to the ship.”
“Don’t you think Dar is the only stimulant she needs?” Fi asks, his smirk even wider than the one on Niner’s face.
His cheeks immediately start to burn with heat, and he’s just happy that if anyone would ask he could claim it’s because of the fire.
“Di’kut!” Darman curses and Niner gives them both a knowing glance.
Actually, Dar wants to be vexed with Fi - but he can’t. After all, his brother just hinted that you might be interested in him. Didn’t he? He could ask him, but then again that would be too obvious. And so he remains silent and only listens to the conversation between the others, his gaze fixed on the fire.
But fierfek, he’s so aware of your presence next to him. No, he doesn’t even have to watch to know how your chest rises and falls with every breath you take, or how your curves are apparent under the fabric of your tunic. He knows how the others are eying you too from time to time, and somehow that’s making his blood boil.
There was this one night on Kamino when Kal’buir told them about the things that happen behind closed doors… in private quarters. Okay, truthfully he didn’t really tell, just kind of hinted. It was still enough to have their fantasy running wild. But until now, until this moment when you lie so soft next to him, he had never allowed himself to think about the idea that it could be him behind those closed doors. The newfound desire confuses him. Suddenly, just sitting next to you isn't enough. He needs to feel you even if it’s only a tentative touch of fingertips.
And so, after a few hesitant moments, driven by the fluttering feeling inside his stomach, he finally dares and ever so slowly, moves his hand over the ground towards you, careful that the others don’t see. But Niner is watching holomaps on his datapad anyway and Fi is busy with dismantling and cleaning his DC-17. Atin is on guard, sitting in a forked branch somewhere above them. So nothing to worry about.
Just… a little further. His eyes still focused on the fiery glow, Darman’s fingertips finally, finally, brush against yours. He stops breathing, stops moving, and just lingers in that moment of sensation when he feels your silky skin. So different from his own calloused hands. Maybe he shouldn’t have touched you. But it’s too late and he knows that he’s too weak to pry his fingers away from you. Instead, he lets them glide gently over yours.
A strange feeling surges warm through him just under his skin, it settles down inside him just right and he feels a spark of heat at the base of his spine as he turns his face and gazes down at both of your hands, barely touching, yours so small compared to his.
“Don’t wake her,” Niner suddenly says and raises a brow.
He has never seen his brother like this before. A sort of unfocused expression on his face, nervous and amazed. As if he’s surrendering to his instincts. Not the trained ones. The deeper, inherent human instincts which the Kaminoans didn’t take away from them. He watches how his hand twitches but Darman decides against breaking the touch.
“Don’t mind him, Niner,” Atin now interposes from his tree. “From what I see, Dar is on a mission T.”
Niner and Fi look upwards to where he’s sitting, both sharing that same look of incomprehension. “Mission T?”
“T for tentative.”
At that Fi starts laughing and tells Atin how proud he is of his brother that he finally shares his sense of humor and that he obviously did learn from him. Niner doesn’t say anything. And Darman… he goes red and tries to control his breathing while he interlaces his fingers with yours. They fit perfectly into each other. Ohh, he’s getting turned on.
“Dar?” Niner tilts his head and watches him closely. “What are you up to?”
Darman huffs. That’s a tricky question. It started as a fascination the moment he saw you imprisoned in that room. It turned into curiosity…then affection. The wish to be near you was getting stronger with every hour, the need to feel you almost unbearable by now. What is he up to? If only he knew. It’s not that he would be able to give in whatever he longs for anyway. Only tomorrow he’s going to never see you again. But… Why does it hurt so much? The desire, the truth, the inevitable way things will go from here.
“You know what Kal told us. People can get really close and attached to each other when under fire,” Niner says.
“How can I forget?” Darman responds with a huff. “But this… I don’t feel as if it’s just because of being in the line of fire. It’s…”
“Ohhh! Now he’s telling us that he loves her,” Fi mocks him. But then he falls silent, very very silent as he watches Dar. When he resumes speaking, his voice is as low and sincere as Dar has rarely heard it before.
“Fierfek. You really do.”
Dar swallows. Even if he wanted to answer, he couldn't, his tongue is firmly locked into place in his suddenly very dry mouth.
It is then that your fingers curl gently around his, unconsciously, as you sleep. And three pairs of dark brown eyes and a blue visor focus on the tender touch. How does love feel? Neither of them truly knows. They never had the time to think about it. They are supposed to never find out.
“Yes. I think I do.”
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Darman kneels in front of you with an injector in his gloved hand just as the sun rises the next morning. He’s wearing his armor and his helmet hides his face from you. The blue glow of his T-visor reflects on your skin. Your bare skin. It doesn’t matter that it is just your arm he’s looking at… he’s feeling nervous again and something else he better shouldn’t be thinking about… not again. Carefully, he brushes his thumb over the crook of your arm, wondering how that delicate skin of yours would feel on his. Focus!
“This is going to hurt a little,” he warns you softly. “But the pain will subside and the stimulants will help you feel better after a moment.”
As he gives you the shot, he can’t see how you stare at his helmet, your bottom lip caught between your teeth and your cheeks prickling with warmth. He can’t see how you close your eyes for a split second as you work up the courage to speak. But he does hear when you whisper: “You’re the only stimulant I need. Fi was right.”
With bated breath you wait for his reaction. Seconds pass in which he remains silent and at that moment all you can think of is how much you want him. Then, in slow motion, he turns his head upwards and you wish you could see his eyes instead of the visor. But then again you’d probably faint.
“You… heard that?” For a second Darman wonders if it’s possible to die from embarrassment. “I… we… thought you were asleep.”
His fingers gently curl around your arm once more, his thumb slowly drawing circles on the puncture and all of a sudden you become aware of your erratic pulse and rising body temperature. You wonder if the pictures from the thermal scanners on his HUD already blinded him, because you feel like you’re set ablaze.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” you whisper.
You bend down so that your temple almost touches the spot where the curve of his helmet hides his own. The empty injector drops to the ground, his trembling fingers no longer able to hold the tiny widget. Darman only hopes that none of his brothers is checking his vitals right now.
“But what I’ve heard made me think that I am asleep… and dreaming.”
A dream. Yeah. That’s what this is. His life isn’t meant for endearment let alone love. And still he’s willing to share that little tenderness he’s able to give. Even if it’s just the tentative touch of fingertips… again. You nuzzle your face against his cheek, your lips brushing over the cold and unyielding katarn and he’s all but overwhelmed by the desire to feel you on his skin. He hesitates for a few seconds more, so unsure of what to do, almost afraid. The armor is getting too tight and clingy. He’s barely able to breathe. And then, he slowly raises his hands and undoes the sealing of his helmet.
Time stops, until Darman finally lifts his helmet just enough to expose the lower half of his face. Your gaze drops instantly, focused on tan skin, dusted with dark hair. Lips, soft and inexperienced. Suddenly he’s so close that you can even smell his scent. Warm and masculine. Your hands move on their own accord to clutch Darman's upper arms and you wonder if he’s expecting you to...
Something unspoken lingers in the air between the two of you. He can feel his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage and Dar isn't sure how much longer he'd be able to hold out before he’s going to combust. Ever so gently he leans towards you, his lips almost touching yours….
And then, finally, he kisses you.
Ohhhh… What a kiss! Barely more than a tentative touch of lips against lips, shy and awkward, and oh so sweet. Sweeter than any uj’alayi he ever had. You exhale softly… and Darman swallows your breath, eager to take you in… completely. Instinctively, he opens his mouth just enough to touch your lips tenderly with the tip of his tongue, pleading for more. As you sigh in response, he slips his tongue between your teeth and deepens the kiss.
It almost breaks his heart when Niner comes a step closer to find his brother, lost in you and a delicate moment like that.
“Dar, we need to strike out.” His voice is so quiet, it’s barely audible through the vocoder.
Yet it is loud enough for Dar to hear, and not a second later, his helmet snaps into place and covers all of his face again, the seal closing with a low hiss. While you look at him still mystified, Darman turns around with an affirmative nod. Nobody is able to see how he’s catching his bottom lip between his teeth in reminiscence of the most sensual experience in his life, hoping to find your taste on it just for a while longer. Niner switches the audio to the internal comm inside their helmet, for no one else to hear outside.
“I am sorry, vod.”
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Midnight Cocoa
CW: mentioned death
Villain rummaged through the kitchen closet, cursing under his breath, when he still couldn't find the package of cereal, he had been so sure about still owning. He stilled, when he heard little footsteps approaching. A groan escaped him, before he could stop himself. "You should long be sleeping, brat", he growled, before glancing over his shoulder to where the toddler stood in the doorway.
The small boy was holding onto his plushy, rubbing his sleepy eyes with his other hand. "Nightmare...", he whispered, throwing Villain his very best puppy eyes.
Villain sighed heavily, closing the cabinet. Dear Lord, why me?! This is so not my job, he thought. "So, what do you want me to do about it, huh?"
The kid shrank back at the rough sound of his voice, seemingly thinking this whole thing over. The tiny hands clutched the plush cat, before he apparently worked up enough courage to proceed with his mission. "...milk."
"What was that?", the villain inquired with a raised eyebrow. This was getting on his nerves. He didn't have time for this. He needed to get back down to his lab to continue his work on the new machine he would use to blast Hero into oblivion tomorrow. The fact that it was already way past midnight didn't help to better his mood. He didn't want to pull another all-nighter right before his fight. The sooner he found a new home for the kid, the better. Less distractions that way. "Come on", he murmured, "full sentences!"
The child sniffled, valiantly blinking back some tears threatening to spill. "May I get a glass of warm milk, please?"
Villain blinked in surprise. That was the longest coherent sentence that boy had managed since he brought him here. He nodded approvingly. "That sounds doable", he said, checking the fridge for said beverage.
The kid padded over with bare feet, shivering in his pajamas.
Villain sighed, as he placed the milk on the kitchen counter. "You're gonna catch a cold like that, dumbass", he grumbled, before grabbing the kid and sitting him down on the dinner table in the middle of the giant kitchen. Were all three-year-olds that small?, he wondered. He felt the kid watch his every move as he operated the microwave, his eyes growing big with excitement, when Villain went the extra mile to put some cocoa powder in it. He just felt like it. It wasn't because he felt any sympathy with the snotnose. "Here you go", Villain stated, handing the warm mug to the child.
As the kid reached out for the hot cup, Villain noticed how small his hand still were. He probably can't even hold it on his own, he thought. So he held onto it, supporting it's weight, even while the boy was taking his first cautious sips.
The boy sighed with delight.
"Is it good?" Villain didn't know why he even cared to ask. It didn't matter after all. As soon as the kid was finished, he'd send him back to bed.
The kid nodded vigorously and took another sip, before his eyes darkened again. The shining wetness clouding his view was proof, that there were things even hot chocolate couldn't fix.
"Why are you looking so glum then?" Why do you even care?, Villain asked himself.
The boy's lips started trembling treacherously. "When is Daddy coming back to pick me up?", he asked.
Villain inhaled sharply. Henchman died in Hero's heist a few days ago. He wouldn't be coming back. As far as he knew, Henchman's wife had died shortly after their child had been born. The kid was an orphan now. It had been pure luck Villain had headed back to Henchman's apartment to get some documents his subordinate had been holding onto. Who knows if anyone would've even found the boy otherwise.
"Your dad ain't coming back, kid", Villain stated bluntly, more reflex than anything. He had never been any good with words.
"Why?", the kid whined, tears now finally spilling over. "I want my daddy back! Daddy..."
Villain put the mug down, before the boy could spill anything on his clothes. His carefully composed demeanor crumbled in second. He felt weirdly panicked, when he grabbed those tiny hands with his own. "Not that soon, I mean... um... He went on a mission. Uh...a very important mission. Far away", he lied. Lying was something he was good at. Very good even. He hoped it would do the trick. Please just stop crying!
The kid sobbed. "So he's...just at work?"
"Uh, yes", villain blurted. "A faraway business trip, you could say."
The boy calmed down a bit, frowning, as if he was considering the explanation. "So can I... stay with you until he gets back?"
Villain was taken aback. He didn't plan on keeping the kid around much longer. He knew his dad wouldn't come back after all. To be honest, he had already looked up some orphanages that might take him in.
The boy looked at him with pleading eyes, reluctantly grabbing his sleeve, as if he wanted to keep him from going away.
Villain sighed. "I guess you can stick around for now, if you behave yourself", he avoided the question. He lifted the kid back up onto his arm, the mug in his other hand. Balancing both weights carefully, he carried the kid upstairs into the guest room he had prepared in a hurry. Villain tucked the boy into the heavy blanket that laid discarded on the sofa. "I'll leave the cocoa on the couch table, yes?"
The kid nodded, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and red from having cried again. "Can you sing me a lullaby?", he asked with an hopeful undertone.
Villain snorted involuntarily. "You're a greedy little fucker you know that?"
The kid giggled. "So...can you?"
Villain shook his head in disbelief. The audacity!
"Not in a million years, brat", he growled, but there was no edge to it. "Now sleep", he ordered, ruffling through the kid's already tousled hair, without knowing why.
There was a weird warmth building in his chest, that somehow scared him more than having to fight Hero tomorrow.
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timechaser · 2 years
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i let this thought go tonight and it will never see the light of the moon ever again so here goes every thought in my mind abt the poppy war trilogy. mind you, a lot of this is just nonsensical dabble and incoherent babbling bc i cant ever form coherent thoughts but whatever.
id pay big money and wage a thousand wars to go back in time and yank every material object out of my hand and out of my reach to ensure that i never even wondered abt the trilogy's existence. it's not that i regret reading them because they sucked--no, far from it. it's not that i led myself blind and didnt take the extra precautions to make sure that i was in the right mindset to read them. i knew what i was going into, what ch21 was withholding, i knew how graphic and how heavy they would be to read. i retreated to my room and poured a stupid amount of hours staring at a screen, at a bunch of words, and feeling such bizarre emotions.
that being said, i love runin. i love how bold she was and how persistent she was despite having her bones kicked inwards from quite literally every person she has let into her life. i love how she was a proper morally grey character, a heroine led astray and betrayed by her very own thoughts. i love her bc even though she was the anthropomorphic personification of a god, she was still human. at the end of the day, what killed her wasnt a higher being, it was the self. that part of her arc cemented her place in my top list of female book leads. i love rin because she was human through and through, all the sides of it, she was everything. reading her was a tough pill to swallow, but a necessary one because she is proof of how dangerous the mind can be to itself, to how dangerous humanity is to itself. and sometimes id wish i could reach into their world and pull her back to ground bc of her recklessness. i love and hate rin at the same time, never one more than the other.
i love kitay even more. never once have i faulted him, he knew what was best, a moral compass for readers really. especially after primarily reading from rin's violent and often irrational perspective, it was relieving to have a voice of reason. theres not much i can say abt him other than the fact that he is my favourite out of the trio, id see it through no matter what. yes i wish he'd said no to bonding himself to rin, to put himself on a compromise, but at the same time i'm glad that he did. kept rin grounded, gave her a sense of purpose other than vengeance, instilled her a sense of duty and obligation--to survive, not only for herself but for him as well. will always defend him no matter what, this boy is clean and he is faultless.
nezha nezha nezha. i tried for three books (and tdf) to like him, truly, but even after all those pages i still dont know how to feel about him. he was insufferable in the first book, honourable for most of the second, and downright pathetic in the third. but if i say that i hate nezha then id have to say that i hate rin as well. they were both children of war, born under humiliating circumstances and forced to take the wager of compromise, they share the same faults. its not fair of me to defend one and leave the other open, they forced the ugliness out of each other. they were tragic. i saw his betrayal from kilometres away, but anticipation did not make forgiveness easier. but i know what it feels like to be brought up as a pawn for ur own family's benefit, to be subjected to so much responsibility when you barely know the world and its wonders, feels like a push to the edge. i cant blame him for that.
in short, im devastated. ive had my tears ricochet on loop since i started the first book. i am but a hollow shell of the person i was before this book. it has altered my life (/hj) and i cant go a minute of my day without thinking abt it. it's incredibly tragic, it's flawed in its own ways but it is also three incredible pieces of literature. rfk did well, im glad i read it while at the same time hate myself for reading the entirety of the trilogy in the span of 36hrs. i dont think its once u can read almost immediately, u need to pace yourself. 5 golden stars from me nonetheless.
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bonebabbles · 10 months
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First Battle Aftermath
For the first battle itself go here
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lol. Lmao, even.
Not, "Oh my god what have I done," but "I'm so weak. I can't even kill," while wearing Rainswept Flower like a new pair of fur boots
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first Adoption Win in 3 books. What's the tally on that one-- 1 to 10?
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Clear Sky doesn't understand the point of burials lmao. Dude did leave that dead mom he killed out in the open for the flies to find, until Wind Runner and Gorse Fur came across the corpse and put it in the ground.
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And he can't remember killing Rainswept Flower either, in spite of the fact he was coherent enough to justify his actions to Gray Wing, because the Clear Sky chapters aren't meant to be a glimpse into the mind of a detestable character. They exist to garner your sympathy.
Was that enough regret for you? Hope you got your fill because it's RIGHT back to Gray Wing's Excuse Hour
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WE?!
WE LET IT GET TOO FAR
We Let It Get Too Far
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"My brother :(((( He's a good man :(((((((( He's a good guy even though he just starved Jackdaw's Cry before trying to murder everyone and told Thunder he shouldn't exist and slaughtered Rainswept Flower in a fit of rage :((((((((((((((((((( He gave up some food after I asked him to when we were like 17 so that means he could never be a bad person"
It's right there on the goddamn page, Clear Sky wasn't BORN EVIL so he's GOOD ACTUALLY because NO CAT CHANGES THAT MUCH.
It's EXPLICIT, am I going crazy here?! The narrative says EXACTLY that because he was good when he was young, he can't possibly have changed into a monster. "No one changes that much"
FEAR OR GREED. GOOD OR EVIL. The writing is SO BAD that they attempted to tell a story with an ounce of more nuance than usual and just ended up re-inventing a Light vs Darkness dichotomy with different nouns!
And just when you thought we'd hit rock bottom, StarClan arrives with the reinforcements needed to DIG DEEPER
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Enjoy Clear Sky being called a fool once, just a silly little slip-up, an Oopsie Daisy. "I only wanted--" goes UNADDRESSED as Turtle titters about "killing only ever leads to more killing" because they have to find SOME way of getting mad at Tall Shadow too.
Turtle Tail says some romantic schlock to Gray Wing about the kits and thanks Thunder for scraping her pancaked body off the pavement where she died, and then Gray Wing decides that actually he's mad that her magic ghost came down from the heavens because it's Too Painful to see her again or something. Because he's a GREAT character.
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"We came to spread the Good News Gospel, Gray Wing. You need to know that god is real to live here peacefully."
DOTC is about to say that the cats need StarClan to avoid these sorts of massacres, because actually Clear Sky is fearful, NOT greedy, and believing in God means he won't be so scared that he feels the need to abuse women and children
(But also that everyone's kinda responsible for the First Battle because Clear Sky is a good boy and WE let it get too far)
Anyway, Fridge Wife 2 starts interrogating Clear Sky. They do this incredibly insulting chapter transition where Gray Wing goes, "idk if he wants to listen to herrrr..." and Clear's chapter opens up with "LOVE OVERWHELMS HIM" because, AGAIN, Clear Sky's chapters exist to garner your sympathy.
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"I was scared my heart would break if I had to see someone else die, which is why I wanted to kill orphans, threw disabled people out into the wilderness, clobbered a kitten, told my son he shouldn't exist, performed public humiliations, and beat 3 women to death"
Wanna take a break and go check out the tally of things he did in the past 3 books, and compare it to his self-defense? Be Storm! Go check that out, keep everything he did in mind.
Ask yourself this; were his actions truly consistent with someone who was just scared he would see someone die of starvation, OR, were they consistent with a domestic abuser who enjoys the power he has over people?
Storm buys it.
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"FEAR IS WHAT DROVE YOU," she said with relief.
If you're AFRAID then ABUSE IS UNDERSTANDABLE. IT'S OKAY! It's all fine in the end if your motivator wasn't greed, AKA "BORN EVIL"
"Now you see there's no need to be afraid because God is real, death isn't the end, and the assurance of religion with an eternal afterlife will make you a better person"
They're saying pain is less painful if you believe in God and this is why Godless Heathens are bad in the Warrior Cats series. When Gray Wing decided to proselytize to Wind Runner and tell her it was good that her weakest child died, because it meant he was in a "better place", THIS is what that was building to narratively.
PIETY will fix Clear Sky's abusiveness. YAAAAAAY!
ALSO THIS IS TALL SHADOW'S FAULT TOO SOMEHOW?!
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DIE AGAIN, SHADED MOSS, BEFORE I BEAT YOU INTO COSMIC DUST. I HOPE THERE'S MORE TRUCKS IN HEAVEN
"how did you know he was going to kill-" CONTEXT. CLUES.
SHE MADE AN EDUCATED GUESS BASED ON ALL THE CATS POKING HOLES IN EACH OTHER AND SHOUTING "it's murderin' time!!!"
She was a female Warrior Cats character in the general vicinity so they had to make sure to shame her because god forbid they imply that Clear Sky is the only one to blame for this bloodbath
In fact they do it again, Clear Sky snaps and starts barking at River Ripple for being a foreigner in his presence, right in front of God, and they don't skip a beat,
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It CANNOT remain about Clear Sky, EVER. Storm whips over to GRAY WING and accuses HIM of bringing death to the mountains too, closing out the whole rant with, "ALL of you need to make amends"
This is like when a bully spits on you, calls you insults, and slaps and hits you where the teacher won't see, all while you keep trying to negotiate, but then YOU punch back and you both get equally punished because retaliation is just as bad as being attacked.
The book ends on the cats deciding it's time to bury the dead. Thus concludes The First Battle, and Clear Sky's Redemption Arc begins in Blazing Star. Because this means they nonsensically get rid of their main antagonist, they have to conjure up an Evil Foreigner to take his place.
"Unite or Die" isn't a message about actual peace and unity, that thing that the Non-Clear Sky cats have been hopelessly committed to, it's actually a message about how they're about to have a very convenient common enemy.
Y'know, someone who isn't "scared," just "greedy," one of those evil Godless Heathens, so we don't have to 'feel bad' about murdering him. One Eye time!
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toweringclam · 1 month
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Who is Godefroy? FINAL
So a while back, I started a series where I tried to puzzle out who Godefroy the Grafted actually was. I got a bit lost in the weeds and burned out before I could come up with a coherent theory, but it turns out the answer was stupidly simple and sitting right in front of me the whole time. And the story of Godefroy is a key to understanding all of Marika's offspring.
Godwyn, Godefroy, and Godrick are brothers
If there's one thing that's incredibly important for understanding Elden Ring lore, it's patterns. The same motifs will repeat again and again, and if something doesn't seem to fit the established pattern, it's probably worth a second thought.
One thing that seems to be accepted without question is that Marika's children with Godfrey were Godwyn, Morgott, and Mohg. But the problem should jump out at you immediately: every other group of divine siblings have names that start with the same letter. The pattern becomes even more apparent now that we have Messmer, presumably Miquella and Malenia's brother. This adds some new rules. Assuming this is replicated across all her offspring, the pattern is:
Three siblings
All start with the same letter
Twins and a spare
That brings me to:
Rykard and Radahn are twins
While they're never called twins, looking at their portraits side by side, it becomes pretty obvious.
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Their different sizes could easily be explained by something like twin to twin transfusion syndrome, a concept very familiar to fans of the Locked Tomb series. We have the overgrown twin and the withered twin, plus their sister Ranni. We now have a pattern.
Melina is Mohg and Morgott's sister
This just leaves Melina, the potential Gloam-Eyed Queen. The strangest of Marika's children. May seem odd since she looks so young compared to them, but remember, she's a spirit. Her body was burned long ago, so there's no reason for her to age. That puts her in the second batch of demigod children, likely around when the Erdtree was burned for the first time.
The Grafted Twins' were born first
In fact, the age thing is a major clue to the timing of the Grafted Twins' birth. They are old and wizened in a way that none of Marika's other children are. If they are Marika's offspring, that must mean they were born before she gained control of the Elden Ring. The first child she bore under the new order was Godwyn the Golden, perfect in every way. More than anything else, this represented a shift in power.
The Golden Lineage is Godfrey's own
In all the Golden Lineage items, there isn't a single mention of Marika. Go back and look. Godfrey is mentioned, but not Marika. Rather than saying that this means she wasn't involved, i think it represents the shifting power from Elden Lord to God (or whatever Marika's position was before). There's barely any mention of Placidusax's god, so the title must not have been that important back then.
The M's are Marika's own
Following Marika's ascension, she started to wonder if she even needed Godfrey anymore. So she started to experiment. She sent her other self Radagon to Caria and used the power of the Crucible to create children on her own. The result was the warped Omen Twins and Melina, the Gloam-Eyed Queen.
Godfrey, Chad that he is, loved these divine bastards as his own, as seen when he gently cradles Morgott. This compassion was even extended to the children of Radagon, as Radahn shows great admiration for him. But Marika wanted her Empyrean offspring, so he had to go. She called back her other half and had another batch of kids, two (three?) of which came out as Empyreans.
I'm getting tired and rambling, so in conclusion:
Godefroy is Marika's first-born. Godwyn was just the first-born of the Golden Order.
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multi-fandom-simp · 1 year
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Chapter 1
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Best friend's Brother!AU, Mafia!AU
Pairings: Helaena x reader(Main), Aemond x reader(platonic)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.
Summary: After a mission goes slightly off plan, you return to the Targaryen estate battered and bruised. Helaena offers her help, and that's when things begin to take a turn.
TW: This series will be❗️+18❗️at times. Mentions of blood, description of injury, stitches, mentions of violence, suggestive thoughts, suggestive actions, mentions of religious corruption
Word Count: 1,355
(A/N: Hello, here is Chapter 1! I apologize for how long it took, college was rough this week. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy! This has some tension to get the ball rolling, but there is more yet to come! I appreciate any criticism or feedback, so feel free to comment your thoughts! I would love to hear them! I also do not have a tag list started for this series yet, but if you would like to be on it, let me know!)
You were friends with Aemond before you could even form a coherent thought. Well, you were his protector first, but that changed as soon as Aemond was born. The two of you shared the same emotional range and soft spot for his siblings. Helaena in particular. Aemond has always felt the need to shelter his sweet, naive, older sister from the woes of the world. You, on the other hand, felt drawn to Helaena in a way you couldn’t explain. At first, the feelings were easy to hide. You would disguise the want of being near her as the need for feminine comfort. As teens, Aemond never questioned when you wanted Helaena to braid your hair for training rather than him or when you’d choose to snuggle up next to her on movie nights. In his eyes, you were using his older sister to fill the lack of womanly presence in your own life. Little did he know that you were just feeding your urges. Urges that got worse as you grew. The innocent feeling of Helaena tugging your hair into place soon began to sprout thoughts of your own hands doing the same to hers, but in a different manner. Cuddling with the blonde during movie nights became challenging as well. Every wave of warmth that radiated from her touches sent a tingle down your spine. You felt a need to constantly touch her, to feel her soft skin beneath your hands. It didn’t help that her body had begun to mature when yours did either. Making it almost damn near impossible to keep the perverted thoughts at bay inside your mind. Which is exactly why you had distanced yourself into the position you held now. You were simply Aemond’s best friend, and that was it. 
“ Are you even listening to me?” Aemond’s voice cut through your thoughts like glass. Bringing you back to the present where you could feel the torn skin over your ribs burning with every breath. Alongside the uncomfortable crinkle of dry blood on your sleeves that you had become accustomed to over the years. 
“ Yes…you were droning on about how you made the Martell man scream.” You sighed, twirling the dagger that was previously frozen still in your grip. 
“ No, I talked about that in the car. I was asking how his sister managed to land a cut on you.” Aemond snorted.
“ I got momentarily distracted.” You shrugged, wincing as the material of your dress shirt rubbed against the gash. 
“ You were sent in there to distract her, and yet she managed to turn the tables and cloud your mind.” Aemond opened the door to the Targaryen estate as he spoke. The both of you paused to take off your shoes before his mother had a fit over dirt on the marble flooring. Despite the fact that every surface in this house had endured bloodshed at one point or another. 
“ Your mind would be clouded too if a fine dornish woman was trailing her hands along the expanse of your body.” You grumbled, “ It doesn’t matter anymore, you got the information you needed from her brother.”
“ Helaena!” Your gaze trailed over to the small dining hall that Daeron’s voice floated out from. You expected to see the shaggy blonde playing one of his stupid tricks, instead you were met with Helaena’s eyes trailing the side of your figure. A grin stretched itself upon your features as her eyes snapped up to meet yours. 
“Plus, the dornish girl wasn’t really my type anyways.”You murmured, slowly pulling your eyes away from Helaena. 
“ She doesn’t need to be your type to kill you with poison.” Aemond pointed out, nodding to your wound, “seriously, I’d clean that out before something spreads through your system.”
“ Okay, dad.” You mocked. 
“ Shut up.” Aemond scoffed, pushing you away lightly. 
You chuckled to yourself as you trudged up the broad staircase to the first room on the right. It was the only room away from everyone else’s and near the stairs. This made it the perfect room for you. Were someone to attempt to break in and find their way upstairs, they would need to get past you to reach the sleeping Targaryens. It was a simple room really, only housing a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a tv, and knick knacks that you had acquired from the family. 
“ alright, lets get this done and over with.” You sighed, staring down at the wound. Gingerly, you unfastened the knife harness that was secured around your torso and slid it off. Next came the button up. Unbuttoning it was the easy part, but peeling it away from the raised flesh was tricky. You hissed as the shirt finally came off and fell to the ground. Cleaning it, like Aemond suggested, turned out to be quite easy. A simple splash of Aegon’s leftover vodka and a wet cloth did the trick. Stitching it, however, seem to be the worst part of your night. 
“ Son of a bitc-” You grunted as the needle slipped from your fingers for the millionth time. Here you were, standing in front of the mirror with nothing but dress pants and a bra, with the TV on for white noise, trying to push a pin through your skin. 
“ I could help with that.” Your head snapped up to the soft voice at your door. Helaena stood in your doorway wearing nothing more than oversized sleeping shirt while looking down at your maimed torso. 
“ What?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in her both her words and the bareness of her legs.  
“ I said, I can help with that.” She floated closer towards you as she spoke, ”You’ll never be able to stitch it properly from that angle.”
“ Oh, right. Let me just get a chai-” You mumbled, tearing your eyes from the temptation of her skin.
“ No, it’s alright! I can do it best with you standing. I’ll just kneel.” Helaena chirped. 
“You’ll wh-” Any coherent thought or word you had died as Helaena sunk to her knees in front of you. Kneeling before you as she would during her mother’s prayer teachings, like you were her god instead of the seven. Every nerve in your body warmed with fire at the gleam of innocence her eyes held while looking up at you. 
“ Needle please.” Helaena instructed, holding her hand out. You mindlessly passed it her way, still focused on the sight below you. Even as the blonde began to stitch, your gaze remained on her figure. 
“ You remind me of him.” Helaena spoke softly, focused on her task at hand. 
“Hmm?” You hummed in distant confusion. 
“ Kaz.” She nodded her head towards the tv where Shadow and Bone played, “ you remind me of him.”
“Mhm, how so?” You inquired.
“You’re both so serious..and duty driven. Neither of you let yourself fully open up to another person.” Helaena spoke the truth with ease like she always does.
“ I’m quite open with Aemond.” You argue as she finishes knotting the thread. 
“ I mean you don’t let anyone you desire in. Kaz pushes Inej away and you push-” Helaena’s hands stuttered slightly as her words catch.
“ and I push away who? Who is it that I desire so deeply that I push away?” You egg on, scanning her reaction closely. Her head tilts up to meet your stare one more. 
“ I- ” Neither of you said another word as she failed to answer the question. Instead you raise your hand to meet the soft curves of Helaena’s face. Your thumb presses into the pillow of her bottom lip, pulling back just enough to watch it recoil. You can feel the tremble of her fingertips tickling your abdomen. 
“ hmm, c’mon, who is it?” Desire grates the edge of your voice and pools in the depths of your eyes. It draws Helaena in like a sailor to a siren and she doesn’t even realize it. All she can think about is how badly she’s missed the way you used to hold her, or how you looked at her. She wishes to be desired again. Desired by you. 
“Me.”
(A/N: Of course I had to leave it on a cliffhanger. I can't put all the fun in chapter one, now can I? Fear not, chapter two will have a little bit of spice to get the party started!)
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concerning-everything · 4 months
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Thoughts on the new guild relics- pt1 bc there's a max of 30 images and like 32 relics
Golden Cheese Kingdom (Spoilers Obvi :])
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Golden Cheese really had to bury EVERYONE. Like not just the cookies but some of the cheese birds, the pets, anything that could've meant something to someone she had to put in a sarcophagus.
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How old IS high priest Cheesenbird? In that same vein, how old do Cheesebirds usually live? How long was the Golden Cheese Kingdom even around before they were wiped off the map?
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Fun fact, in the CRK art book, I'm pretty sure it says that the cracked egg was just a gilded dragon egg and that Golden Cheese herself was born through normal means!
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Apparently you could still enter the Golden City, even after it was destroyed? And those same phrases are used in Worlds 17-18 to describe how everyone was killed by Dark Enchantress, so is this like a suicide form??? Does Golden Cheese have dominion over the afterlife??? What???
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Golden Cheese is going to die again someday and it'll be of her own volition.
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So, was the Golden Cheese Kingdom still super technologically advanced, even back then? Going off of that, how long did it take Golden Cheese to develop the necessary technology to sustain the golden city, because pretty much everyone else was dead (besides the cheesebirds)? We know that you can't change the golden city too drastically at once with the light of abundance, but was it solely created by GC's soul jam, or was there also normal technology involved?
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I don't have much to say about this but I think the triangles kind of look like the Zelda thing. Idk what it's called, my friend plays it.
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Just putting these here because I don't have anything coherent to say but I wanted a collection of every GC relic on this post.
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mingkily · 2 years
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x the bees and the flowers ~ c.jh x
CURRENTLY AIRING
starring: jongho x gn! reader
features selected: small popcorn (2.3k), romcom, lumberjack jongho
audience warnings: swearing
skip the wait: @yunkiwii | @absentcaryatid | @littleninja97 | @bananapepper420 | @treasure-hwa | @cometoceantrenches | @bikerjongho 
behind the scenes: my friend said she’d slumber and i, because i am absolutely unserious, went on to say “lumber... lumberjack... lumberjohn...” and this was how lumberjack jongho was born
synopsis: other people have an office romance, but of course the biggest fan of air conditioning and wifi has to find love in the woods
you will never ever agree to go on a trip with your friends again. especially not if said friends have just entered their hippie phase and want to be close to nature and know no better way to do that than to go to a cabin in the middle of the woods, with no electricity and no air conditioning and absolutely no protection against the ruthless insects that call the forest their home and seem to love blood more than a vampire ever could. this was a horrible idea and you regret ever letting yourself be convinced to join, because you know you’re not the one-with-nature type, you’ve known this since you were a child and your father was convinced the perfect bonding activity would be to go fishing. needless to say, you found it boring, kept on complaining and the two of you ended up not catching a single fish.
when you arrive at the cabin your friends rented you have to admit, though, that maybe you were a little dramatic, because your housing does have electricity and you don’t have to shit in the forest either, contrary to what you were fearing until now. and then something happens that makes you take back every single less-than-nice thought you’ve been thinking about this trip while in the car on the way to bumfuck nowhere, and that something is a man in a half-unbuttoned flannel and a pair of denim shorts. and that man, it appears, is the one to rent out this place to whoever desires to abandon civilisation for a while.
and his name is jongho, as he lets you know while unlocking the door to let you in.
jongho shows you around and seems especially proud of the fireplace, telling your group that if you run out of firewood you should give him a call, he’ll take care of it, flexing his biceps jokingly but the way you can’t take your eyes off him afterwards sadly isn’t a joke at all. and now you almost hope that your electricity will die and some mystic happening will cut you off from all civilisation, so it’s just your friends (you choose to ignore them in your little fantasy), you and jongho.
you know not to provoke fate, though, so you quickly push those thoughts away; but not without engaging in a little fantasy of him wrapping you in a blanket and carrying you toward the warm fireplace, letting you know that in order to stay warm you’ll have to cuddle. that much you allow yourself before you return to reality.
however reality isn’t too bad either, because during the next few days jongho comes around regularly, either with some more chopped wood or with a fish he caught himself or one time he visits just to make sure everything is still okay, and the heart eyes you get whenever you are in his general vicinity are obvious to everyone but the man himself. or maybe he just chooses to ignore them. you wouldn’t be able to blame him, really, because you’ve barely exchanged more than two words - partly owed to the fact that any and all coherent thoughts leave you when he’s around and all your brain manages to come up with is tarzan and jane-type scenarios featuring him and you. that is not exactly what you want to tell him about, so you remain silent for the most part and let your friends do the talking.
you don’t even really listen when they talk, too busy admiring jongho’s voice and then getting embarrassed over how easily this man affects you, and this comes to be your demise because with your friends’ hippie phase also comes a newfound interest in “free love” and since your interest in the host is incredibly obvious they decide to set you up, telling the object of your desire that out of all of you you’re the one with the most fishing experience when he asks if any of you like to go fishing. it’s not a lie, technically, because their only contact with fish has been in pre-cooked form, but that is a detail no one finds relevant enough to mention.
and when jongho asks if you’d like to join him on a fishing tour somewhen you really can’t find it in yourself to say that no, you’d rather not.
so once more you curse your friends for your situation, except this time the presence of the perpetually flannel-clad jock - he’s a lumberjack, you’ve gathered by now - is more a reason to wail than a source of joy. because, let’s face it, you are going to embarrass yourself horribly, and you’d rather embarrass yourself in front of your friends than in front of a total snack like this. you just hope you’re not going to fall into any waters.
at least in that regard fate is on your side, because the fishing trip goes without you getting soaked, and generally goes better than you’d expected - turn out that fishing for the most part is just sitting and not being loud, and you’ve become quite good at not saying a word around jongho these past days.
maybe the success of this fishing tour made you a little too confident, though, your demise lurking just around the corner. the next embarrassment is never far; in this case it comes when you offer to help him collect all the fishing utensils but then step too close to the water and almost fall right in. you would have fallen right in if he hadn’t had good reflexes and pulled you back, towards him, and of course you land on his chest, staring at him wide-eyed and completely shocked until he gently pushes you off, your body weight seemingly no issue to someone with biceps like these.
you apologise profusely and can’t even look him in the eyes, convinced he thinks you’re just some weirdo from the city, and you’re ready to go take a swim in the lake voluntarily when you hear him laugh - anything to escape this embarrassment, anything to escape his mockery.
except he isn’t mocking you, he’s laughing off the awkward situation before he asks: “are you okay?”
“yeah, i’m, i mean, you’re the one that almost got crushed by me, so i should be asking you, uh-”
here he interrupts you.
“if that would’ve been enough to almost crush me maybe i should consider another profession.”
and again he flexes his biceps, winking when he sees you staring. okay, so maybe you have a thing for muscles. and maybe you’re not as sneaky about it as you thought.
you don’t really say another word as he walks you back to the cabin - which, you convince yourself, is only because otherwise you’d get so horribly lost -, but once there he lightly touches your elbow as if to stop you without actually stopping you. it’s enough to make you freeze in your spot.
“if you’re not too scared of ending up actually taking a bath, maybe you could join me next time i go fishing as well?”
the words don’t register immediately, and when they do you’re not sure you didn’t hallucinate them, and first when jongho says “i get if today was too scary though” with a smile that’s either teasing or masking disappointment do you realise that he did, in fact, ask you for real.
“no yeah that’s fine! i’m not scared, it’s fine!”
maybe you sound overeager. you don’t care. it’s not like today can get any more embarrassing, anyway.
his reply of “i’ll see you then!” goes nearly unnoticed, because you’re too busy staring at his smile and imagining what your wedding would be like. but he does come to see you again, two days later (now you’re glad your friends found three weeks to be the minimum time for the vacation you cursed a week ago but that you never want to end now that you have a crush), skillfully hits the last piece of wood of this chopping batch with the axe you’ve grown used to seeing him with - and makes you swoon with that - and asks you if you want to go on another fishing tour.
of course you do.
so you go to the lake again, except this time it seems like jongho wants to talk to you, albeit quietly, and you try to not sound too boring, try to not sound too much like a spoiled city kid.
you fail miserably, but he just laughs, doesn’t seem to mind, and you actually find out some things about him as well. you’d probably have found out even more if you hadn’t been so busy staring at his arms and legs and chest whenever you got the chance.
soon you get better at coordinating the staring and the conversations, because he invites you out to join him after that, too, until two days before you’re set to leave he doesn’t take you to your usual spot at the lake but instead to a small clearing, and turns out the basket he’s been carrying wasn’t food for fish but rather food for humans.
you’re surprised and don’t fully get what’s going on, but jongho is quick to explain.
“okay so uh… you like me and you’re leaving in two days so i figured i might as well take you on a date.”
he sounds confident, as if he was stating facts rather than assumptions, and that’s what leaves you dumbfounded enough to not even question it but just stutter out: “oh, uh, okay. sure.”
you’re glad it’s nothing too fancy, though, because that would have embarrassed you more than it would have made you happy, but he seems to have understood that much about you from the conversations you had while fishing. it’s just some sandwiches, some fruit, and a whole lot of water. the summer heat is cruel even in the cooling shade of the forest.
jongho tells you that he’s noticed the way you’d look at him, and since he didn’t want to be too hopeful he admits to asking your friends about his suspicions - his wishful thinking, he claims -, and those traitors ratted you out like it was nothing. you’re not sure whether to be angry or grateful right now.
he then goes on to say that he’s been trying to use the fishing tours as dates, but that’s not very romantic and also he never actually said it straight out, and he didn’t want you to go back without even trying so that’s how you got here.
“so we’re on a date?”, you ask, just to be fully sure, and he nods, though he adds: “unless you’d rather not, i mean.”
“no!”, surprised by how loud your voice is, “no, it’s… i’m glad it’s a date.”
again he smiles at you, a smile that still makes you kind of wobbly in the knees, and then you’re on a date. you wouldn’t ever have expected this kind of date, but you don’t complain, find yourself thoroughly impressed when he splits an apple in two with his bare hands and offers you one half to eat, and even more so when he picks you up with one arm while carrying the picnic bag with the other.
he puts you back down before you reach the cabin, because being caught like that would have been embarrassing and also a reason for endless teasing, though your friends find such a reason anyway when you peck his cheek on the doorstep and tell him you hope you’ll see him again the next day.
that maybe would have been forgotten after a week or so, but jongho wraps you in a bear hug that he uses as an opportunity to ask you if he can kiss you without anyone hearing, and when you confirm that he can he doesn’t hesitate at all.
you’re on cloud nine for exactly three seconds before you hear one person hollering and another three people ‘shh!’ing that person, and with a heavy sigh you pull away from him.
“i’ll see you tomorrow”, you tell him, voice laced with regret because this was so nice and you very much didn’t want to stop yet, but it appears you have no choice.
“yeah”, he says, presses a kiss to your forehead and leaves you to your fate, though he makes up for it the next day by asking if you’d like to date him for real, and when it turns out that this is just his summer job that he uses to live his lumberjack dreams and that he doesn’t actually live too far away from you you agree, grinning like an idiot from that point onwards and it’s fairly obvious what happened.
and it’s even more obvious when he, dressed in a flannel as always, takes you out on a city date, a date which ends with him bench pressing you because you were convinced he couldn’t and he was unable to accept this slight to his honour.
“so i have a hunk of a boyfriend now and you have another set of weights, i guess.”
whenever you say anything of the sorts he’s quick to shut you up with a kiss, and maybe that’s why you still say it even after you’ve hit the 100 days mark.
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icology · 10 months
Note
In the sacrifice room, there are 53 standing coffins, the 54th being knocked over at the start of the game. In congruency with this fact, there are 53 shadows that you fight in this same room at the end of the game. It's a safe assumption that these are all the shadows The Queen has at her disposal and they all come from the sacrificed children.
A horrific but often overlooked fact can be paired with this observation: In the game's manual, it is stated that horned children are born once per generation. That's an indefinite space between 20-30 years, but we'll average it and say 25. Ico is the 54th child, so 54 generations have passed since the planning for The Queen's dark ritual began. 25 * 54 = 1,350 years But hold on, The Queen definitely seems to know a lot about this process, with an assuredness that hints at personal experience. It's very possible that this has been done before. Which would make it approximately 2,700 years that the tradition of sacrificing horned children has carried on. For reference, our earliest coherent historic texts date back to about 2600 BCE. Approximately 4,623 years ago. From a certain perspective, we have about 4,623 years of historical documentation. 2,700 years is over half of that. And I only know that much because I have Wikipedia, imagine living in this time period! There's a good chance, even if The Queen only attempted this ritual once, that the process of doing it has consumed most of humanity's recorded history... and 99.9% of all people do not have access to the earliest historic records. The line "Do not be angry with us, this is for the good of the village." is given a strange weight when considering this. Not only has that man probably carried out this exact same task ~25 years ago, not only has he heard about this process since he was a boy, he has also accepted that, from a limited human perspective, this has been happening since the dawn of time.
Interesting topic!
Adding to this horrific fact, we all know that in the universe of the games, Ico is considered a spiritual successor of Shadow. As far as the little lore we have allows us, we can kinda agree that Wander was the very first horned kid, but those were not the first humans to be sacrificed in that universe, like Mono for having a "cursed fate", and the chosen ones in the world of The Last Guardian, who were taken away. Much like in Ico, it seems that people are familiar with it enough that pretty much no one interferes (save for, you know, WANDER.) A thousand years is a long time for people to sit with this knowledge and to reflect on it, but they seem to not question the natural order of things and just let them happen, like you said. In a section of the special symposium that the team did for The Last Guardian, Ueda actually answers a question related to this:
Q: "When the boy was abducted by the eagle, the village leader didn’t seem that sad, he looked like he had given up to some extent. If he truthfully didn’t want the kids to be kidnapped, then it seems a bit strange that he had them sleep all gathered together."
A: "For the whole village, it might not have been thought of as something to be avoided – they thought of it as destiny. It was like being “The Chosen One”. (read the full interview here)"
So yes... when they said "this is for the good of the village," maybe they really believed it to be true, and perhaps they also feared the consequences of not doing it. There is also a scene in Castle in the Mist (Miyuki Miyabe's wonderful novelization of Ico) where the theme of the queen's guards is discussed. In the story, one of the guards who accompanies Ico to the castle seems to pity him and acts compassionate, unlike the other one, who just seems to go along and follow the orders he's been given. It is an unspoken truth, and no one questions it.
One thing I wonder about this subject: are the enemies in Ico really part of the sacrificed kids? Or are they some sort of "imitation" that the Queen creates with her magic, weird and gnarly as they look? Guess we'll never know!
(Tagging @sparkylurkdragon on this one cause I feel like this little piece of horrific trivia might come in handy for their amazing fanfiction on immortal Wander and his journey since SOTC)
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jupitersrising · 2 months
Text
Lily Evans Headcanons
Long, long post! I love her so much I have so many thoughts about her.
She's Scottish on her Mum's side and in First Year planned to move to the Scotland's countryside with Remus if they didn't get married by the time they were thirty. (They were going to get a goat).
Major, major daddy issues. Her dad is a horrible, misogynistic piece of shit and she has a bunch of issues from it as she gets older. With how she views healthy relationships/how she should be treated by men in her life.
(Side note: that's part of the reason Petunia fell for Vernon. Going back to what you know always feels the safest in the moment. At least then you know what to expect and when you're hurt you have no one to blame but yourself.)
Sirius helps her come to terms with the fact that her dad was a dick after Slughorn invites her to the Slug Club. She gets back late and they have a heart to heart in the Common Room as the fire burns low. She realizes she soaks up an older man's attention (even when it's somewhat creepy and possessive) because that's what she's used to. Sirius admits some stuff about their home life and in that moment she mentally starts to include him in her and Remus' Scottish countryside escapee.
Best classes are History of Magic and Charms. She's really interested in the actual history of magical events next to what muggles think happened and how things stack up. She also finds it super interesting since a lot of the recent history is primary about people in power at the moment.
Petunia is her half-sister from her Dad's first marriage. Part of Petunia wonders if she isn't special because she's not Lily's mum's daughter. Even if Petunia and Lily were born close enough in age that they grew up as siblings rather than half-siblings.
Her first car is a red mustang that she drives exclusively with the top off and refuses to pull her hair back so it all flies in her face when she drives.
A pink heart-shaped sunglasses girlie.
She has so many freckles its ridiculous. Most aren't on her face though, they're on her shoulders, back, and arms and are almost completely nonexistent on her face.
She played football (soccer) when she was younger and got in a fight with another girl that ended up knocking her front teeth out. She was like...six so it was fine, new ones came in. But the horrifying image of finding their daughter with blood dripping down her chin onto her uniform grinning like a madman is forever seared into her parents' brains.
She makes Petunia and her parents help her look for the teeth to give to the tooth fairy and won't leave until its well past dark.
Loves Thai food, but no spice tolerance whatsoever. If she has even the tiniest bit her face flushes red.
Lily trained to be a solider on the front lines in the war (before she got pregnant, if we wanna be canon compliant). She built wards around herself through her knowledge of charms, despite not being the best at DADA. She's innovative with her magic and it makes her deadly on the battlefield. She refuses to give up no matter what, no matter who tries to stop her. She will get her friends back, she has to.
Her closest friend in school was a tie between Remus and Mary. But her closest friend overall was actually Sybil Trelawney. They didn't talk much during the school year, but every summer Sybil would visit Lily's hometown and they'd reek havoc together. (AKA, scam muggles with tarot/palm readings, light off fireworks, stay up all night, etc..). But once the summer was over they barely talked to each other, most of Lily's friends didn't even think she knew who Sybil was.
She hated, Hated, the Slytherin Common Room. During first/second year when she and Snape were friends, he'd try to bring her there and she just couldn't. She doesn't like the cold, dampness of place. She needs to be near the sun.
She could hold her liquor like a champ but never bragged about it. She and Remus are in competition to see who can drink the most and stay coherent. Marlene and Sirius are convinced they can hold out the longest (they can't) but Lily and Remus won't correct them. They like to being their secret thing.
Undiagnosed OCD. Her friends will call her visible habits/symptoms a "Lily Thing."
People in her hometown speculate about her all the time. She's like a cryptic. For the most part she doesn't notice people's gazes lingering on her.
Started a book club with Remus, Regulus, Peter, Pandora, Evan, and Emmeline Vance. Later it turns into the "what kind of dumb shit can we get up to before anybody notices because we're the good ones."
Hates chocolate, she tolerates orange chocolate but that's it. Remus is appalled by this news.
She was actually really close with Petunia before Hogwarts. She would consider her big sister her best friend and closest confidant. Even during Lily's first and second years they were fairly close. It wasn't until her real power started developing/Lily got more involved in the Wizarding world did Petunia begin to resent her.
A lot of it has to due with their Father praising one of them while putting the other down. They could never both succeed in his eyes and at the moment, Lily was succeeding more than what was possible.
Lily just didn't understand why her sister didn't want her anymore.
During sixth year she spends the last two months of summer vacation with the Potters and that's the nail on the coffin for their relationship. It's the turning point from when things went from bad to unfixable.
On that note, Lily was at the Potters because Sirius had finally gotten settled and even though she won't admit it, he's one of her closest friends.
She loves creepy crawlies. It made everyone think she was weird as a kid. But she always liked spiders, beetles, snakes, and other little animals people thought were gross. She would always cup them in her hands and put them back outside rather than crush them.
She says her favorite food is strawberries but its actually off-brand cereal she shared with Petunia one summer morning as they watched cartoons before anyone was up. It was childish and they were both in their Christmas pajamas and for a moment Lily thought everything between them would be alright.
That was the last good memory she has of her sister.
I might continue this later because I love so many thoughts about her.
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liminalpebble · 1 year
Text
The Refugee: Chapter 8
Masterlist link
Lea awoke very disoriented, drenched in the frosty morning light from the huge window, in the nest of lavender sheets. She was so tired and achy the night before that she had fallen asleep in the piping hot bath, waking only when she sunk down enough that the fragrant water splashed into her face. She didn't even recall groggily throwing on the flannel nightdress and collapsing into bed. She heard a knock at the door, and thought for a moment that Bea must be coming to fetch her for the morning shift, before the realization of her situation came crashing back to her.
She quickly swaddled herself in the warm robe and gingerly opened the door.
“Good morning, Lea. Sorry to wake you, but I wanted to come and check your injuries.”
“No trouble at all. Thank you so much, Magnus.” She tried to sound coherent and awake, but after catching a glance of her bedhead and bleary eyes in the mirror, she knew that she wouldn't be fooling anyone. She asked, “Are you okay? You look very tired.”
“Ah. I often don't sleep so well, but I'm quite used to it.”
“I'm sure if anyone knows what to take for that, it's you. Does nothing help?”
“Ha. True.” Magnus chuckled. “Well, I've found a drink or two usually helps, but that's not my professional recommendation. And what about you? Did you sleep well?”
“I was out like a light, I guess for obvious reasons. But there's something about this suite as well. It's especially calming.”
“It was his childhood room. Did you know that?” Magnus said, gently rolling Lea's sleeves up and bandaging her wrists with a salve.
“How is that possible?”
“Well, a recreation of it, relocated with magic from Asgard. He loved this room when we were children.”
“So you've been close friends for some time then? It's hard to imagine you as children together, or even friends as adults. In fact, it's hard to imagine him ever being a child. You're just...you're so different from him.” Then she fumbled to amend, “I...I mean that in a good way.”
“Thank you,” he said with a bemused smirk. “That's a relief.” He tried to shrug it off as humorous, but she looked directly into his eyes, kind but serious, and saw the sorrow there. Her eyes were shiny, dark, and perceptive, like a crow. He found it distracting, the way she bore into him.
“What was he like, as a child, I mean? It's so hard imagine him young and innocent. Did your kindness or empathy manage to rub off on him in any way?”
“You find me empathetic?” he asked, moving carefully and gesturing for her to lift her feet so he could bandage her ankles.
“Of course. It takes a compassionate person to become a doctor, I think. And you have a deep gentleness about you. I seems like you were born to do this.”
He beamed at that. “I hope so. I have always wanted to do this. As for Loki...well...I think once he had some kindness, but ambition and loneliness got the better of him. He always loved to read...relentlessly curious...sometimes obnoxiously so. And of course he was just as mischievous. Back then, however, it was more playful and less...catastrophic,” he said glancing up to the walls of books, his mind meandering through memories he hadn't dusted off in some time.
She looked thoughtful and paused a few moments before speaking. “I know how painful loneliness can be. I feel very sorry for him if he suffers from it. It can do horrible things to a person to feel isolated.”
“Yes, but it obviously didn't make you horrible. You feel sorry for the man who did this to you?” Magnus said with quiet sadness as he moved her hair to salve and carefully wrap her wounded neck.
“Of course. I pity him...but I guess shouldn't pity him too much. He seems to have a very good friend in you. With a friend like you, I don't see how anyone could feel lonely.” She blushed and looked around a little, feeling as if she had said a bit too much.
Magnus gave her a sad little smile. “You're too kind, Lea. The man is my best friend, but he's also a bastard, and I promise you he doesn't deserve your pity or kindness. His loneliness is something he's brought upon himself. He's had plenty of opportunity for connection, and denied it.”
Lea nodded sadly, “I can't judge. I've probably done the same, now and then. Invited or not, it's still a terrible thing to feel alone. And I do pity him.”
Magnus shook his head. “Lea, you are a mystery. I mean that in a good way. ” He snapped out of his more philosophical thoughts to remember his job. “Right...can you please show me the wound on your stomach?” Her face turned red, unsure of how to do so modestly. Magnus smiled, quick to make her at ease. “Here, you can pull the sheets up and just lift your gown a bit. I'll be quick”. She did as he instructed, covered except for the patch of injured skin. “That's fine. Are you comfortable?”
“Yes. I'm fine.” she nodded quickly. She again felt the strange sensation of effervescent magic traveling from the touch of his fingertips into her knitting skin.
Anticipating her questions, Magnus said, “It's healing really well. This should be the last treatment. It's fine to move about again today. Try to eat as well as you can too. You need to get your strength back.”
She sighed with relief. “Thank you, Magnus. I think I owe you my life.”
“No, don't be silly. Just doing my job.”
Lea found his warm touch comforting and was a little sad that it stopped, but pushed the thought away before it went to a stranger place. She quickly readjusted her night dress to its previous modesty. Magnus, for his part, also missed the feeling and sight of his cream-white fingertips on the smooth olive skin under the soft dip of her rib cage. He furtively admired the pretty way her dark hair fell loose and messy around her sleepy face. He had the intrusive thought that this is how sweet she would look if he woke up next to her, then quickly pushed it away, secretly scolding himself for thinking so unprofessionally. He brought himself back, remembering to speak.
“When you're up and dressed, please join us for breakfast in the dining room.”
“Which one?”
“Ah...good point. I'll wait outside and walk with you.”
Lenora felt a bit overwhelmed staring at the array of fine clothing in the wardrobe. Although many of the gowns were gorgeous and elegant, she couldn't bring herself to wear them. Towards the back she found a simple dress of soft dove gray cashmere, and slipped it on. It felt exquisite and warm. She faced the mirror, brushing and gathering her hair hurriedly into a bun, when she saw the shock of white gauze around her neck clashing with the dress, she fumbled in the wardrobe again, finding a burgundy scarf to drape around it.
He wants to see it. I won't let him, she decided.
“Ah. You look very nice!”, Magnus said, taking her arm, and she thanked him with a self-conscious smile.
“I...ah...I'll have to get used to it. I only ever wore my work clothes or my dance costume most days. I feel like I'm playing dress up in some rich lady's closet.”
“Well, it's all yours, Lea. You're the gentlewoman now. Enjoy it,” he said as he lead her through the corridors.
“Ah...come in. Be seated please, and help yourselves,” Loki said, opening his arms in a grand welcoming gesture at the head of a large table of scrumptious looking breakfast food. The aromatic steam rolling up from the dishes in a glow of morning sunshine, made Lea's mouth water and she realized just how very hungry she was. She went to pull out her chair and seat herself, but Magnus beat her to it. She thanked him awkwardly, not realizing this was a piece of High Asgardian etiquette. She was on Loki's left, Magnus on his right. As she sat she noticed that Loki looked surprisingly normal. He was wearing an outfit of  soft black leather and green fabric rather than his armor and his hair was a soft tumble of free waves, rather than heavily oiled down. He even had dark circles under his eyes and yawned periodically as if he hadn't slept particularly well. The diabolical prodigal son of Asgard sat sleepily buttering his toast, holding an apple in his teeth, and running his fingers through his bedhead. The surreal scene shocked her and she caught herself staring. Loki was prattling on verbosely with large expressive gestures to both of them about nothing in particular when he noticed this.
“What is it Lenora?” he snipped.
“I just didn't realize gods yawned and had bedhead in the morning like the rest of us,” she said, gulping her juice.
“Indeed. You'll find we have many of the same traits that normal men have,” he said, half amused and half grumpy with sleeplessness.
Loki asked for Magnus' report about the medical ward, then asked, “And what of  this patient? Is she behaving herself and following instructions?”
“Absolutely. Lea, dear, how are you feeling?”
She almost choked on her bread both at being called “dear” and at the lethal glare it caused from Loki.
“Fine. Much better, thank you.”
“Very well,” said Loki, looking between them and wiping his lips on a napkin. “Magnus, if you're quite finished, please leave the two of us to discuss Lenora's duties from now on.”
“Of course,” he said pleasantly rising and kissing Lea's hand in a well-mannered farewell gesture . “Have a nice day, Lea....Sire.”
“Now, Lenora. Most days from now on you will go to the linguistics wing to assist the other specialists with translation and cryptography. Once you are no longer needed there for the day, your time will be your own to explore the keep or your own pursuits. Most of the resources and amenities of the castle will be open to you. The ones that aren't...well, you won't have any trouble knowing them when you see them. Of course the servants can help you should you have questions.”
“Don't you worry about me peaking around where I shouldn't?”
He smiled wickedly. “Oh I would love to see you try. Anywhere you shouldn't be is enchanted, so unless you are a glutton for punishment (which as you know from yesterday, would suit me just fine) I recommend not tempting fate. The same goes for if you try to escape.”
She nodded. The dark cloud of realization settled in; however luxurious and comfortable, she should never forgot that she is indeed in a cell, and her mad jailer may remove her comforts and dignity at any time for his own amusement, as he did just the day before. She was his property. She didn't want to think of that anymore. She suddenly wanted to be alone.
“May I be excused?”
“Not just yet.”
“Why?” she said warily.
“The court here hosts many banquets and balls, and I certainly hope I can convince you to do your luscious dances to entertain our guests.”
“I would need my swords,” she said with an intentional edge to her voice.
“I have them, safe and sound. Perhaps we can enchant them so you might use them for the display and nothing more defiant but we'll see how you behave otherwise. I want to be sure not to find myself with a blade at my throat in the middle of my own party. Besides you could do the rest of the performance, can you not?”
“Very well.”
“Do you still have your costume with you?”
“Yes.”
“Provide it to our tailors and they will make several for you derived from the original. I expect your entertainment will be in high demand and we want you looking presentable.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I don't want that costume in anyone else's hands. It's one of the last things I have from...from home.”
“Yes...how tragic,” he said flatly, “Well, you can either relinquish it temporarily to the careful hands of the royal tailors, who I might add, will probably even repair and restore it for you as well, or you can watch me gut it like a fish and then burn it before your very eyes.”
She sighed and shook her head with stifled anger. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
He put those cold fingers under her chin to make her meet his gaze. “Good girl, little barmaid. See? We're getting along already, and I see no reason why we shouldn't continue to do so and forget that somewhat rocky start,” he said, sliding his hand from her chin to her throat, pulling down the scarf to run his fingertips along the gauze. He felt her swallow a flutter of pain, which gave him butterflies in his stomach. He leaned back again and she pointedly straightened the scarf once more the moment his hand left her skin.
“Oh in fact, there shall be a grand ball soon and you, my dear, are the guest of honor.”
“Will I be performing?”
“Not this time. Not at your own party. We'll find you a nice dress. Hopefully, one a good deal nicer than that bland thing you have on now. You just need to be there as the belle of the ball.”
“Don't you mean the exhibit?” she said bitterly.
He shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps also that. Many of the nobility have never seen a real live Morhari before so...”
“Am I excused?”. She cut him off with a bitter tone, not relishing being described like an endangered animal.
“No. When you are I will tell you,” he said with a ripple of irritation. “There is one last obligation.”
“Which is...?”
He looked nervous. She didn't expect that. “You will occasionally be summoned to my personal chambers for the evening,” he said quietly.
She felt hot disbelieving terror rise up in her. She wasn't expecting he would want to use her this way. His nervousness evaporated into a little thrill at having ruffled her feathers.
“Ah...so you don't fear death but you do fear that? I have to confess, that seems terribly irrational from someone generally sensible.”
“Fear can be either, ” she said, scooting her chair a bit away from him, primed to stand up and move away. She was calculating how she might reason with him, and decided to start with politeness. “Your Highness, I suspect because of my previous employer you might think that I did the sort of work that the other ladies do, but I didn't in fact, in any context, working or not.  I have no skills to provide for that service. I'm sure one of the other girls...”
“I'm aware, maiden.”
“Then why?” she pleaded, “Please reconsider this. I...”
He hadn't seen her plead like this since defending the old man. It was delectable, the innocent tangible fear.
“I have considered it, Lenora. I consider everything. I've made my decision.”
When I met you, sitting in your little throne of books behind the counter, I wanted you. When I saw you dance, I had to have you...had to be the first and only man to possess you. All of you. What a lucky little twist of fate that you ran up with your swords right into my arms. He thought to himself.
“As I said, Lenora, we gods aren't so different from normal men in some ways. This is one of them,” he said as he leaned towards her and began to unravel her hair from its twist, teasing the tresses out and stroking gently. It felt like heaven to touch her again, to stroke her hair and draw his hand down the side of her warm round face. She looked so sweet; sad and afraid but trying to be brave. She seemed so vulnerable with soft dark circles beneath her distant eyes, making her skin appear slightly bruised. He wanted to see that face transformed and animated by throes of ecstasy, flushed with blood and gasping his name beneath him. She stiffened at his touch pulling back in her chair and closing her eyes.
“There is nothing common about your needs,” she said, with a bit of venom in her voice.
He wove his hand into her hair, and gave a gentle but decisive tug to bring her closer again. Her eyes snapped open again in surprise. “I suppose you're right. I'm more of a connoisseur when it comes to my pleasures, and you are a rare specialty,” he mused, curling a strand around his fingers.
She trembled with fear, hate, and the intense effort of remaining as stoic as possible, until finally she stilled. She felt some pillar of her resolve crumble under the press of him. Lea took a deep breath, and asked with quietly devastated resignation,“Will...will it hurt?”
Something about how she said it made a hairline fracture in his stone heart. He expected to feel satisfied with her fear, but this made him want to comfort her, hold her, and tell her he just wants them both to not be alone anymore. To his own surprise, the truth spilled out of him. “I'm afraid it will...for a moment, but not nearly as badly as this,” he said holding her hands, nodding towards her damaged wrists. “But after that it will be transcendent, Lenora,” he found himself blurting excitedly. “We won't feel alone anymore, either of us. I...I will take such good care of you. You'll see.”
His eyes were guileless and pleading. He meant it. The lie-smith wasn't lying. She couldn't believe what she was hearing and seeing. The strangeness of the situation and every swift unbelievable thing that had happened because of this mercurial force of a man gave her a kind of vertigo. She was so weary and dazed, and of course he noticed, taking a soothing tone and holding her hands.
“I know all of this has been overwhelming and that I tend to be especially overwhelming, but I promise you in all seriousness that your life here will be a good one if you follow my lead. I want you to be happy. I would burn entire cities to the ground or bring kingdoms to their knees for you. I could make you a queen.”
She shook her head and thought for a moment before saying carefully, “but would you resist doing those things, for me? You would claim such things for a barmaid you've known a mere two days?”
“Lea,” he sighed, her nickname sneaking out. “You asked me before what I wanted. I want you.”
Now, to his great surprise she moved her hand to his face, her fear dissolving into a strangely brave compassion. Bringing his eyes to meet hers, she said, “you think you want me, Loki, but you barely know me. I think what you really want is something less concrete...something I am not.”
He twitched back with a blink as if he'd been slapped. He was angry, but deep down he had to admit she might be right.
“So now you've decided to speak in riddles?”
“I guess it's rubbing off on me already.” He gave a weak smile at that, but found himself glancing around, unable to meet her gaze.
“You...uh..you must be tired. You're excused. Please get some rest and we'll talk later, alright?”.
In a shocked haze at his abrupt friendliness, she thanked him and slowly took her leave. As he heard the door click shut after her, he sat with his forehead in his hand, gears turning furiously in his skull, and fingers toying delicately with her forgotten hairpin.
@goblingirlsarah @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtigger (thank you so much for your continued support!)
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marvelmaniac715 · 1 year
Text
What Sarah Pierce never wanted her husband or daughters to know is that she had encountered Charles Lee Ray before that fateful summer day.
In a seedy bar a couple blocks away from her neighbourhood, they were both drunk. But it was one night, she hadn’t even remembered his appearance until he was introduced to her at that barbecue. Then it all came flooding back.
She wasn’t a disloyal woman, but her husband was never home, and she was so stressed at work, that one night gave her a sense of freedom and release she’d never felt before. Apparently her soon to be kidnapper felt the same way.
The whole time she was tied up in that room with the yellow flowers that had now seared themselves into her cranium, all Charles had wanted to do was play happy families. He took Barbie to daycare, cooked family dinners, brought back tattered board games that he made them play. A poor attempt at domesticity, but the horror of her situation soured his attempts. 
Even if she had her daughter cuddled in beside her, digging into a hot home cooked meal, she would never be able to shake the fact that the man at the other end of the table, laughing through his own morbid jokes, was the man that had murdered her husband.
A month after she had been freed (thankfully Barbie had begun to forget everything, she was only three after all) Nica was born. Sarah knew that this baby girl wasn’t her husband’s. The timing didn’t match up. She could only pray that this child didn’t take after her father, in appearance or behaviour.
By the time Nica was an adult, she was the spitting image of her father. There was no lie she could tell that would fully suppress the horrible truth. But Nica never learnt the truth. She knew that her father had died before she was born, that much was true. To Sarah’s relief, her youngest daughter took after her in behaviour and morals, no plans for murder at all.
————————————————————
She shouldn’t have opened that delivery box. She shouldn’t have removed that red headed demon spawn from the packaging. She shouldn’t have let Nica hold him for a moment whilst she went to see if they had batteries. All of these thoughts ran through her head as her former kidnapper (in the body of a retro children’s toy) stared her down calmly from the end of the hall, knife clutched firmly in hand. They just looked at each other before he finally spoke. 
“So. We had a kid together.”
Sarah gulped a nervous breath of air.
“No, she was conceived before you came along.”
The doll laughed.
“C’mon Sarah, we both know that’s bullshit. She’s my daughter, I mean, kid’s the spitting image of her old man!”
He had her there.
“Well maybe she is, but you have no right to call her your daughter after what you’ve done. You killed my husband, you crippled my- our daughter, and you kept Barbie and I captive for months! If you really wanted to be a father you wouldn’t have done all that, and you would have come back to see Nica.”
The doll somehow raised an incredulous eyebrow (seriously, weren’t those things painted onto moulded plastic?) and scoffed.
“And how do you suppose I come here on my own as a doll in the 80s? Even if I did, your brat Barbara probably would have snatched me up and kept me in her room for all eternity, trapped under an avalanche of Barbie dolls and Cabbage Patch Kids. And, that stab was meant to kill her, we’re lucky it wasn’t permanent damage, I didn’t know she was my kid, did I?”
Did he not remember that night they spent together that started everything? How it was almost exactly eight months before they next saw each other and Sarah was pregnant?
“Well weren’t you at least suspicious?”
“Even if I was, I was running from the cops, you don’t really think coherently when you’re doing that!”
That made sense, but why, after all these years…
“Why are you here now?”
Charles advanced towards her, making her feel even more unsettled.
“Initially it was just to see if you’d finally shuffled off the mortal coil like you should have years ago. But now I know I had a kid I never knew about I’m a little pissed off. Yeah, I’m so pissed off that I think I just might do somethin’ about it.”
It was all over in seconds, he raised his knife and stabbed her repeatedly. The last thing Sarah Pierce heard was the monster’s nightmarish cackling before it all faded to black.
————————————————————
Nica never imagined being alone in her own home, dead family members on each floor. She had lost everyone, and she had no clue where Alice was, or if she was even alive. She had nothing left to live for now, so why wouldn’t that evil doll just kill her already?
But he wasn’t hurting her at all, in fact, he looked almost concerned when she began having a heart attack. He grabbed her medication and injected it into her himself, into the right spot, not taking the chance to slit her throat or stab her in the heart or temple. 
When she had recovered, Chucky was sitting on the hood of the car, making direct eye contact. He didn’t look like somebody preparing themselves for a sudden jump. He looked like he was settling down for a long talk.
“I’m not really sure how to start this conversation. But you deserve to know, since your future’s screwed up anyway, sorry about that.”
“Know what? That I’m next?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s something… Well, I didn’t know until like a day ago.”
“What is it you sick bastard? You already took my whole family. What else do I need to know?”
The possessed doll snorted. It was somehow more off putting than the staring.
“I didn’t exactly take all of ‘em.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
He smirked a little, then pulled out a picture that he’d printed from the old home videos they had watched hours before, back when Barbie was still…
Looking closely at the man in the picture, Nica noticed several similarities to herself, this man was almost her doppelgänger.
“Well, I’m right here, aren’t I?”
This was impossible, he couldn’t possibly mean that he was..
“There’s no way that you’re-‘
‘What? Your father? Face it kid, this is your Star Wars moment. I’m Darth Vader and you’re Luke Whatshisname.” 
“Skywalker.”
“Doesn’t matter, point is, I’m your dad. Your mom and I had a one night stand about the time you were conceived. Not to be crass, but she wasn’t getting any from her idiot husband at the time.”
Luckily the police came at the exact moment she was about to speak again. Otherwise, she probably would have burst into defeated tears, and Nica Pierce wasn’t a crier.
————————————————————
Drugged out of her mind and on the verge of hypnosis, Nica looked blearily down at her supposed father. He was outraged.
“I leave for like a month and my kid ends up in the nuthouse? Who’s this asshole and what the hell was he doing to you? Oh wait a minute, I think I know.”
A small hand on top of hers. Oh, she hadn’t realised he was that close.
“Look, I know we aren’t exactly close, but I’m gonna get you out of this. We’re gonna share a body for a while. It’s only temporary but it’ll get us both out of here.”
She was in no place to disagree. From the patchy amount of consciousness she had, Nica could see that the good doctor was beaten to a bloody pulp by those dumb red shoes. Served him right. 
Wait a minute, that wasn’t her.
————————————————————
If you had told Nica two years ago that she would be trapped in Jennifer Tilly’s house by his dad’s psycho sort of wife (technically her stepmother?) she would have laughed in your face. But here she was, cutting meat for a stew she was making for dinner.
Tiffany had left a list of instructions on how to prepare the dish on the kitchen counter. It was so strange that a woman as unstable as Tiffany Valentine had such neat, orderly cursive handwriting. As always, her father was in the back of her head, correcting her with every swing of the kitchen knife.
“No, you need to cut straighter. No, cleaner. You’ll make a mess of the meat like that. Are you trying to cut cubes or rectangles? Now that’s just a triangle! Look, give me the body I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Nica gritted her teeth.
“Leave me alone, I’m not a little kid, I’m a grown adult and I know what I’m doing.”
“Not from what I’m seeing.”
“What makes you so knowledgeable about this anway- oh, right.”
After a quiet burst of that horrific cackle, he spoke.
“You know Nica, I did have a life before you were born. I know it’s shocking that parents are also human beings, but-‘
‘Shut up. You are not my parent.”
“That’s not what the DNA test would say, sweetheart.” 
As she continued to dice the meat (carefully, because she was tired of being corrected by a sentient doll) Nica sighed heavily. What felt like a lifetime of burden was conveyed in that one sigh.
“Family isn’t always just blood. You can choose whatever family you want.”
She thought that she had him there, but like always, her ‘father’ had a comeback prepared.
“That’s real cute sweetie, but like it or not you’ll always be my kid. Doesn’t matter if we’re blood related or not, you’re just like me.”
“Am not!”
“Not true, you’re Daddy’s little girl, no matter how much you try to hide it.”
Nica hated the glee in his voice as he spoke those words.
————————————————————
Glenda looked down with concern at the demented woman in front of them. An escaped mental patient who was now cackling like a crazy person. Sure, framed for a crime, that was totally what happened.
When they’d had enough of the woman’s struggling they removed the gag. They were rewarded with a grin that seemed quite similar to their own in the more rare moments they fully smiled.
“Glenda.’
It was weird to be greeted with a name they hadn’t given.
‘It’s great to finally see ya. Before we go any further, I’d like you to meet your big sister.”
————————————————————
Even with Chucky out of her head, Nica couldn’t shake the violent images in her head. The urge to kill Tiffany, in front of her kids. Make them watch as their family was destroyed like hers was. See her precious clothing smeared with her own blood as she fell down dead at her feet.
As she raised the gun, joy sang through every inch of her, filling her from head to toe with excitement. The thrill of the hunt, she thought. She briefly wondered if this was how her father felt as he killed. She could understand the temptation now. 
From the months she had shared a headspace with him, she knew how his mind worked. She knew how similar they were now. Mirror images of each other, down to the last detail. She just did a better job of hiding it behind the last fragile layers of her humanity and morality. But even Nica knew it wasn’t long till she finally snapped.
Finger itching to pull the trigger, Nica felt the corner of her mouth curl into a familiar smirk, her father’s, she realised. Oh well, it was fitting. She was her father’s daughter after all.
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