Tumgik
#ley unfiltered
bisexualkylecrane · 8 months
Text
Gonna replay DL2 👍🏻
8 notes · View notes
olet-lucernam · 2 months
Text
A Hollow Promise [20] chapter v, part i
main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture
-
summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.
Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.
And this changes things.
Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.
(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)
-
chapter summary : despite his chains, loki begins gathering his pieces on the board. astrid works on escaping her own confines, and mitigating the damage of disasters to come.
recommended listening : no place like home, todrick hall
-
[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]
-
The solitary cell was deep underground, far below expansive cerulean skies and the firelit gold of the palace halls, in deepest wing of the dungeons.
Loki supposed he ought to be flattered.
It had long since fallen into obsolescence, disuse, and disrepair, contrasted against the cells shelved several staircases above it- a well-lit, refitted sector of the dungeons that Loki himself had headed the redesigns for, only a few centuries ago.
Oh, the irony, he had acknowledged with a smirk as the Einherjar escorted him past the bright rows, smooth-cornered and minimalist and cold as carved ice within a hallway of black stone. Each chamber was faced with the slow-rippling sheen of a containment field, the weft of it as tight as a seine net, its meticulous smooth-locked gears bearing Loki’s signature style, obvious to any mage skilled enough to realise that there was a difference.
Time and age may have begun to dull the Allfather’s edge at last, but Odin was still too proud and too cautious to store Loki, untried, on display amongst the common rabble- and least of all in a prison that was reliant upon magic that Loki had custom-engineered. Not only could he easily escape, he might unleash the other inmates as a distraction, or just for the fun of the ensuing chaos.
Loki could admit that the thought was deeply tempting.
It would take time, for Odin to decide his strategy and settle upon the sentence pre-emptive to the trial- using supposed exceptional circumstance and royal authority to override that of Glintir, Asgard’s delegated halls of justice- and more to strip down and renovate one of the cells to contain him. A few months, at the barest minimum. Perhaps less, if his mother was involved in the process; perhaps more, if Odin was in a particularly paranoid or vindictive humour.
In the interim, his current lodgings were the one place best equipped to contain him.
Despite surface appearance, the stone walls and oaken doors and rusted iron fittings were steeped in old magic- old protections- drawing from the core of Asgard itself to keep itself strong despite the physical decay. The unevenly-hewn cells had been hollowed out near the very roots of the realm, cloistered against ley lines and veins of unstable ore, the stagnant air thick with wild mana; it set Loki’s nerves sparking, its taste similar to the thrum of the Bifrost, but unfiltered, flowing directionlessly like water swirled in a pail, knocking against the sides and swilling back into itself.
Beyond it-
Loki ran his thumb across the valley of his palm.
The maelstrom of mana was like the wash of daylight over the stars- rinsing out any lesser source of power like bleach. It was part of the reason, he assumed, as to why Odin had ordered to have him thrown in such scarcely used accommodations, using the cell’s unique conditions to overwhelm his carefully honed sense of ambient magic, and prevent him from perceiving or tampering with anything that laid beyond his cell.
Yet, the logic only applied to lesser sources of power.
Even the might of Asgard was nothing to an Infinity Stone, even one disguised and sealed in a lesser form.
Clear as a beacon, singing through him and lingering like the soft metallic ring of a struck tuning fork, Loki could feel the sheer potential energy of the Tesseract even as the gaol door was bolted behind him. In fact- turning his head towards the ceiling, a few degrees above and across from the cell door- Loki was almost certain that he could guess its precise location within the Vault.
He would not have thought much of it, were it not for the fact that he could feel it reaching into the cell, intangible currents swirling in to greet him. Since returning to Asgard, it had become a constant presence, a companion in the dark.
His eyebrows twitched contemplatively, as he wound the Tesseract’s energy around his fingers, and sent a shimmer of his mana brushing against its edges.
The Tesseract glimmered back against him amiably, playing into their wordless game of call-and-response as it drifted, omnipresent and aimless and eldritch in the manner of gravity wells and hydrogen clouds.
Odd. It was odd.
The Tesseract wanted to help me- wanted me to find you- and it responded to you, when you asked it to open the way to Earth –
Astrid was right, as ever.
Even at the time, and more recently with the benefits of a clearer head and the absence of the Black Order monitoring his every thought, Loki could appreciate how unnaturally easy it had been to open the portal. When he had reached out through the Sceptre, hooking into Selvig as an established conduit, experimentally tapping at the Tesseract, Loki had felt its attention swing towards him- effortlessly piercing past and through Selvig’s flesh and the lightyears of space to alight upon him, considering him with what felt akin to mild disinterest.
Then it rippled, as though in reaction to him- and spat a mouthful of energy from within its titanium cradle, setting the PEGASUS scientists scattering into coordinated action, searching for the root of the anomaly.
Loki hadn’t questioned it. Only the naïve and the omnipotent refused the advantage. And besides which, it was a fool’s errand to attempt to understand why the Tesseract had behaved, as Selvig had so elegantly phrased it. It was not quite sentience in the way that most sapient lifeforms would comprehend it but- from experience, Loki knew that the greater an artifact’s age, the more likely it was to possess opinions; and the greater its power, the more unknowable those opinions tended to be, and hence its behaviour more unpredictable.
Applying that same logic to an Infinity Stone- a remnant of the universe’s creation, a concentrated ingot of one of the essential, esoteric forces that underpinned the very fabric of existence, an extant piece of the demiurge itself- and Loki had quickly concluded that there was nothing to be gained from wondering why.
And yet.
I suppose you must not be overeager to be in Thanos’ grasp, he mused in its direction. Or perhaps you’re simply fond of Astrid. Either way, I can entirely sympathise.
The Tesseract sheened back at him.
Loki quirked a slight smile.
He had, however, noticed something odd.
A tendril of the Tesseract’s power steadily tapered downwards- several layers of strata below his cell, to where there should be nothing but inert bedrock.
With nothing else to occupy his time and increasingly restless mind, Loki had begun whittling at a method to borrow and coast on the Tesseract’s power, imbuing it with his own magic until he could glimpse through it. In theory, the restrictions of space should be nothing to the Space Stone itself- and after investigating what had attracted it to one of the least interesting sectors of Asgard’s foundations, it would be useful for his other schemes amongst the Nine in the coming months.
It could have been worse, Loki supposed. He had experienced worse. And the quiet gave him space to think.
Loki held fast to the thought, keeping a firm grip. Staring at the dark walls of his cell, he could almost taste the buzz of the silence in his teeth, a held breath like the artificial hush of a theatre as the drama played out onstage. It sat within him as though he had swallowed a bulb of glass, and was left waiting to see if it would break under the pressure of his throat.
Fine. It was fine. He had free reign of his magic within his cell, and the vague favour of the Tesseract, and the freedom to think, even if he could feel the jagged pieces of himself shifting against each other, disjointed, his mind still split and frayed at the edges despite Astrid driving out the lingering influenced and dosing him with her own mana to give him time to heal, it was fine, he wasn’t there anymore, he needed to be hale and whole in order to drive off what was coming, everything was fine and even if it wasn’t he would never let them see it-
Loki felt a warmth bloom against his spine, just behind his heart.
He startled, like the whip of a livewire sparking off, instinctively careening back and lashing out against other, other, not again-
The slow press of a presence seeped through the spell embroidered into him, warming him through like an orchestra tuning before a symphony- resolving from blank heat into pattern and form, detailed as lacework.
It was golden- the very essence of gold, bright as hot metal, alive in the manner of hydrogen clouds- rippling into satin lustre, dissolving into powder-fine glitter, coalescing into smooth candlelight, diffusing into dappled daylight.
It hit him like sunshine striking through a glacier, shattering kaleidoscopic against his insides.
Oh.
The connection was weak, wavering. Through it, Loki could only discern a watercolour haze of emotion and surface thoughts, like the flit of shadows behind a curtain of finely-spun gauze- the link too new, nothing more than a single hastily-anchored thread, stretched too thin by the immense physical distance and the decomposing magic contaminating her, to convey anything more coherent.
Still, Loki felt the relief melt through him, the intimate press of another mind against his both foreign and familiar, a welcome anathema, a guest rather than an invasion.
With a practiced twist of his wrist, Loki threw up a screen against Heimdall’s gaze.
“Hello, darling,” he murmured into the cell’s quiet. “Have you missed me terribly?”
The warmth stilled.
Loki could sense a current of realisation within it, gently whorling together and condensing.
A solar-flare burst of mana surged within the connection- slamming against its limitations, pouring in power, attempting to pry the connection open- and Loki winced against the shock.
“Steady, dove,” he grunted out quietly, letting the words taper into a fond laugh. “The link isn’t strong enough just yet, and there is no forcing it along- have a little patience, darling. It will strengthen, with time.”
It had stilled at his entreaty, reluctantly withdrawing, but Loki could discern the hesitation-frustration-question-impatience-want lingering in it.
He smiled faintly, massaging the aftershock-ache out of his chest.
“You must have known its purpose, when I wove it. I had to have a way to find you again,” he explained in a murmur. “As a side effect- while you sleep, your mind will come to me. And when I sleep, I will dream in you.”
The warmth rippled faintly, tentatively pressing a few degrees closer, pausing at the tremulous point before it overstressed the fragile link.
Loki had the simultaneous sensation of staring out at a mist-shrouded figure on the other end of a long, treacherously narrow rope bridge, suspended above the sheer drop of the abyss- and of someone gently resting their chin on his shoulder from behind, reading something over his shoulder, a slight weight leaning in against the backrest of his chair.
The nebulous gesture haemorrhaged affection, and casual determination.
Loki laughed into the dark, his dark head lifting.
It tasted of revenge, only sweeter.
Yes. Everything would be fine.
-
“I have a question.”
“Mn.”
The noise of acknowledgement that Alethia made was unenthused, but Barton either didn’t notice or didn’t take it as sufficient dissent.
Striding back into the dim, windowless VERITAS testing room with what apparently passed as lunch- an armful of vending machine junk food- Barton let his haul drop to the table in a cascade of technicolour plastic wrappers, plucking a bottle of Mountain Dew from a utility pocket and cracking it open with a firm twist.
If not for the sleeveless, matte-black SHIELD jumpsuit and cinched gun harness, the former assassin, marksman, and one half of STRIKE Team Delta, codename Hawkeye- brass-blond and stocky, square-featured and almost generically Midwestern- would have looked like nothing more than an overgrown burnout frat boy.
Several seats away, Alethia remained reclined in her chair, clean-soled boots propped atop the desk, crossed at the ankles. Her eyes were closed, mouth soft, ash-blonde hair pinned up at the back of her head, one arm draping from the armrest.
By direct contrast, if not for her own jumpsuit, Alethia would have resembled something fae, pretty and still in a way that was not quite natural or human.
As he swung back into his seat, spinning into place, Barton tossed one of the packets in her direction with characteristic flawless aim.
The bag of sour candies struck her boots, falling to the table with a crinkle of plastic. Alethia lifted her lashes just enough to eye the sugar-loaded projectile- then proceeded to ignore it, settling back again.
On the other side of the room, supervising the automated collation of results from their latest testing session, Dr Abigail Brand watched the exchange- observing and unobserved, the blue light of the screen reflected in the curve of her dark irises.
As the de facto head of Project VERITAS, and another of SHIELD’s externally sourced, fixed-term hires- headhunted from AIM several months ago, for her unique expertise in improving AI recognition and classification of human response data and biofeedback- Abigail saw more of Alethia than most.
Privately, she would argue that this was both in the literal and figurative sense.
As a consultant, Abigail was aware that her every interaction within SHIELD and its agents was glossed with a tepid distance, like a layer of clear, flexible resin. As an outsourced asset, Alethia was choked into near immobility, even when her collar slackened under Romanoff’s watch, constantly monitored and quarantined by a closed circle of operatives.
Abigail wasn’t ignorant as to which of them had it worse.
SHIELD had asked one of them nicely for their cooperation. However, Abigail strongly suspected that she wasn’t the only one savvy enough to say yes, given the same opportunity.
Abigail was good at recognising those like her. It was a necessary survival skill.
Within sealed rooms and months of ten-hour days, she had formed a rough sketch of who Alethia was, and they had charted out enough common ground to stand comfortable with each other.
In the wake of the Incident- jeez, are they really calling it that- she had recognised a shift.
Alethia had seemed- for want of a better word- happier. She was less guarded, less opaque, her smiles coming easier and her moods milder.
Judging by her response, Romanoff had interpreted Alethia’s mellowing as an opportunity- as signs of a burgeoning sense of comradery. There was a glimmer of optimism and increased warmth in her handling, and in the less falsely casual tone that Romanoff and Barton had taken with her- pressing their thumbs onto the scale of her conversion from risky asset to invaluable agent. Fury did not seem like the type to refuse an advantage, or fail to capitalise on potential value, and so had likely sanctioned her recruitment, if possible.
Abigail didn’t really think that anyone at SHIELD was stupid, but sometimes they did a very convincing impression of it.
If there was anything that she had learned, however, from spending few more years in academia and research than was strictly good for anyone’s mental health, it was that the sharpest and most highly regarded people in any given field were typically the ones most fixed in their outlook.
Looking at Alethia, all she could see was someone who had finally gotten what she wanted, and was now content to wait out the remainder of her sentence, and even be cordial for its duration.
Which begged the question: what had she wanted? And when, and how, did she get it?
“Alright, so, we’ve encountered gods now,” Barton was saying, splitting open a bag and popping a few Cheetos into his mouth with a crunch, “as in- real, literal, fell-out-of-the-sky Norse gods.”
“We have.” Alethia agreed idly.
“And we’ve got proof of aliens in HD. A lot of corpses too.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Alright, so- how many of the stories are true? How many myths, fairytales, religions, whatever- how many of them are real, or based on something real? Is the History Channel gonna start looking like National Geographic? How many clowns do we have to add to the circus? We’ve got aliens, demigods, whatever the hell the Nazis were doing back then- should we start looking out for vampires? Werewolves? Mermaids? I mean, why not, right? How many are we talking, here? I mean, how much weirder is the world going to get?”
There was a long moment of expectant silence, punctuated by the quiet crunch of corn puffs.
Then Alethia opened her eyes and straightened slightly, her hair mussed as she turned towards Barton.
“Oh, were you asking me?”
“Yeah, I’m asking you!”
“Oh. How should I know?”
“Y- wait, you don’t know?”
Alethia shrugged one shoulder, settling back with a flick of her wrist.
“Bring me your gods, and I’ll tell you if they’re real.”
Abigail grimaced, taking a hasty draught of her cooling coffee to hide it.
Fuck, give me an existential crisis, why don’t you.
She could almost hear Alethia laughing, warm as a heartbeat, unmalicious.
Alethia had remarked, once, that Abigail had never asked her anything outside of the testing sessions. According to her, most people gave into the temptation eventually; Fury was a notable exception, for which Alethia appeared to have a grudging respect, but Romanoff had been delicately circumventive in her attempt, while Barton had been unabashedly obvious in his.
Operating on too little sleep and too many hours of coding, Abigail had answered with a touch more blunt honesty that she probably should have.
I’m not stupid, she had muttered, you’re like some fucked-up genie, or that fairground thing from that weird-ass Tom Hanks movie. I’m not going poking that psychological hornet’s nest. If I gotta ask, I deserve the monkey-paw treatment.
Pft-!
Alethia had barely stifled her startled giggle behind her fingers, clear hazel eyes creased at the corners and glittering delightedly.
Abigail had frozen, mortified- what the fuck, Brand, why would you say that- until Alethia had spoken again in a faintly strangled tone.
It was Big.
… What?
The, ah- title of the weird-ass Tom Hanks film. It was Big.
Abigail had thawed, nodding slowly. The awkwardness ebbed just enough to let her mouth and scientific curiosity run away with her impulse-control again.
Why do they always ask you something?
Alethia had hummed quietly, cocking her head, open as the skies.
As a general rule?
Sure, yeah.
She had lifted her shoulder in a wry half-shrug. Curiosity. Hubris. People either want to witness the party trick, or prove it false. There are few who like to think that their deepest secrets are available to a perfect stranger, prima facia. But also- some of them just want the bragging rights. Of being the one to beat the living lie-detector. Alethia exhaled quietly. Spies. They’re the equal of surgeons, when it comes to ego.
Abigail had frowned, nose crinkling sceptically.
But- hold up. Their deepest secrets wouldn’t be available if they just kept their mouths shut, she argued. You need something to go off, right? You’re not psychic. All they gotta do is shut up and believe you halfway about your whole- truth- thing. Err on the side of caution.
Alethia had smiled, the motion as precise and conscious as the unfurling of a wing, half-hidden beneath the lingering skim of her fingers.
As you said, Dr Brand. You’re not stupid.
Abigail shivered at the memory, teeth clinking against the ceramic rim of her cup.
The words had been spoken casually enough, but there was a knowing in Alethia’s face that had rattled Abigail’s nerves.
It was nothing.
She’s not psychic.
Barton frowned in consternation, the Cheetos bag rattling in his lap.
“So you have no idea which stories are true? Even after hearing them?”
“Stories are stories. Their intent is different. They contain truth,” Alethia said, “even if they are not true.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No it is not.”
“Because they really kinda sound like the same thing.”
“And yet it’s not.”
“Okay, so what’s the difference?”
Alethia exhaled, deep and quiet- then levered herself upright with a press of her palms into the arms of her chair.
“Thor and Loki were born approximately a year apart. Around 1150CE.”
“Were they?” Barton swallowed thickly, fingers already stained to the third knuckle with orange powder. “Hang on, how do you know that?”
“He told me. Except Norse mythology originates from the old Norse religion- which is thought to have been at the peak of active worship between 500BCE, and 1000CE. Do you see the dilemma?”
Several seconds late, Abigail registered the implication of who he was.
Barton gave no sign that he had noticed. But Abigail knew better than to underestimate those who had Fury’s favour.
“Oh. Yeah, okay. How is it possible that there are myths about Thor and Loki that are that old,” Barton said slowly, “when they hadn’t been born yet?”
His tone was one of statement and deduction, rather than question.
“I don’t know,” Alethia admitted with startling ease, almost laughingly, turning her head to meet Barton’s gaze with a pleased glint in her eyes. “Therein lies the mystery. Barring an anomaly in space-time, it’s impossible for Norse mythology to be a factual record of events. Yet it still has some correlation to the truth, as the planet is now aware. The myth is true; the mythology is not.”
“Huh.”
Tearing open a candy bar and breaking off a chunk, Barton mulled over Alethia’s statement.
“Okay, so- basically, a bunch of myths could turn out to be referencing something real, but,” he popped the bite into his mouth, speaking around it, “the folklore might not actually be that useful, in practice.”
“In essence, yes.”
“Huh.” Barton sucked nougat from between his teeth with an obnoxious smack. “Do you think we’ll be seeing more of this weirdness? Like, out in the open?”
“Mm, most likely,” Alethia said lightly, lifting her eyes back to the ceiling with a blink, “now that SHIELD can no longer swallow it back into the darkness.”
Barton paused, stilling like an animal sensing danger.
“You make it sound pretty sinister.”
“SHIELD has a list of enhanced people called the Index, constantly track their movements regardless of what they have or haven’t done, and threaten them into keeping their abilities hidden from the general public,” she said dryly. “You quite literally disappeared me.”
“Come on,” Barton rolled his head back in his chair exasperatedly, “that’s unfair and you know it. Even you have to admit that SHIELD’s mission is to protect people-”
“Which ones, and from what?”
Her tone was lacklustre, almost vacant, as though this conversation was one that she had with him many times before, and had little hope of it progressing any differently this time.
Abigail wondered what it said that she had to say it again- but also that she begun to anyway.
“Most of them- these myths in hiding- are in hiding from things like SHIELD. You are not the heroes in their stories. You don’t know about them because they don’t want you to. They masquerade as baseline humans and lie to your face and never think twice about it, because they are protecting themselves. They could be right here, in this room, and you would never know. And who could blame them?”
Abigail’s stomach dipped in terror.
The door opened.
“I got lunch,” Romanoff announced.
“I got lunch,” Clint protested, rattling a bag of pretzels in her direction, quickly switching gears into the distraction.
“You’ve got a future heart attack and type-two diabetes.” Dressed more casually than her partner, her dark-rinse jeans and scoop-neck sweater still relatively professional, Romanoff lifted a brown paper bag into the air. “I bought something with nutritional value.”
“If you went to the sandwich bar on the second floor, I seriously doubt that. Unless, you know, nutritional value is interchangeable with salmonella-”
“Shut up and eat your fibre, Clint.”
Sweeping across the room, Romanoff placed an oblong package on Abigail’s desk, wrapped in white deli paper: crab meat in mayonnaise, shredded lettuce, sliced tomato, pickles, and a dash of hot sauce on French baguette, in a somewhat inauthentic, New York approximation of a Louisiana po’boy.
Romanoff had a memory for such things.
Offering Abigail a brief smile, Romanoff turned to Alethia with a skim of chin-length cherry curls. “Ali. Caprese on focaccia, right?”
Ali? Abigail wondered with a twist of her mouth, as Romanoff tossed Alethia her sandwich with a low underarm throw. That’s new.
“I had them hold the pesto, add aioli, rocket, and red onion,” Romanoff added as Alethia caught the package with one upturned palm.
“What did you get me?” Barton asked expectantly.
“Salmonella.”
“Nat.”
“Did you save me some Oreos?”
“Please. I’m not a monster, Natasha.”
“Roast beef on wholewheat.”
“Hm. I’ll allow it.”
“Seriously, it’s a miracle you don’t have a nutritional deficiency-”
“Look, I keep telling you, peanut butter is a source of protein-”
Shrouded by the smooth-flowing banter between the agents, Abigail made the mistake of stealing a glance at Alethia.
She was looking directly at her.
Abigail’s blood seemed to drain directly to her vital organs.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.
Her gaze was unworldly, frighteningly intense, like staring into the core of the sun. Abigail had the sensation of being an insect trapped in amber, paralysed at the mercy of a being that could carve her soul open and leave it to bleed, if she stood in her way.
After a moment, a faint, knowing smile softened at Alethia’s mouth- as though greeting Abigail for the first time.
Without comment, Alethia strained forward to drop her wrapped sandwich on the desk, and kicked off sharply- swivelling her chair, catching her boot against the table behind her to halt herself.
With the slant of her torso, her new position effectively left her with her back to Romanoff and Barton.
The message was clear.
Abigail forced herself to relax, unwrapping her imitation po’boy with trembling fingers and refusing to look back at Alethia, who was now humming a soft, romantic refrain.
She just had to reach the end of her contract. That was all. Once Project VERITAS entered its final phase, she could begin looking for another position. SHIELD would provide her with a mostly accurate reference from a credibly falsified employer, avoiding a damning void in her work history, so she could head back out and-
And then what?
It wasn’t an unfamiliar question.
After completing her studies, she had quietly left her school, declining to enter the graduate program. It wasn’t for her, she had decided, and to his credit, the head professor had been understanding, sending her off with his good will and a glowing reference.
But the world had been wilder, then, and smaller. Their conflict had been fought in shadows, both sides of the schism tacitly agreeing that obscurity was the best source of protection, for now.
But now the light had flooded across the globe, and there were fewer shadows to hide within, and-
What now?
What now, Brand?
Sooner or later, it seemed she would have to make the trip back to Westchester.
-
Later, when she had the time to think about it, Abigail asked Barton what Alethia had been humming.
Ironically, despite being mostly deaf without his hearing aids, Hawkeye had an excellent ear for music; even from Abigail’s tone-deaf attempt at replication, he had quickly identified the piece.
It was opera, apparently, one of those recognisable classical pieces that had filtered into common knowledge without anyone knowing actual title.
The song was an aria, from La traviata.
Sempre libera.
It was clever, and biting, and exactly what she could expect of Alethia, and it should have been enough of an answer just to hear the title.
Except Abigail had gotten curious, and listened to the aria, and looked up the lyrics, because scientific curiosity should not be sated by the first answer it encountered.
Alethia had not been humming the defiantly carefree, fluttering refrain- free and aimless I frolic, from joy to joy- sung by the opera’s protagonist, Violetta. Instead, she had been humming the lines of Violetta’s lover, Alfredo, as he sang offstage.
Love is the heartbeat of the entire universe, they read, the melody drawn out in gently sloping notes, mysterious, altering, the torment and delight of my heart…
-
The shackles, Loki decided, were a little excessive.
Chains as thick as a femur looped between his wrists and ankles, connected by a third to the collar resting against his clavicle, which locked into a fourth wrapped around his waist, from which two more were linked and leashed in the grip of a set of helmed Einherjar- Loki had wanted to roll his eyes at that alone, but he hadn’t been able to resist the low huff of laughter when he was met with no less than ten figures in golden armour outside his cell, dispatched to escort him to Valaskijálf Hall.
At least it would appear that Odin was finally taking him seriously.
The thought was bracing, allowing him to pull forth all the practiced, aloof insouciance of an Asgardian prince.
Odin was paying attention- it was only right that Loki give him a show.
He could already feel the discomfort twisting into the guards, like thumbscrews, in the face of his calm irreverence. They were the ideal test audience- Loki had manipulated enough of the Einherjar over the years that their thoughts were all but cellophane to him.
Admittedly, it was far easier to play the unrepentant monster when she was with him- emerging into consciousness like the break of dawn, burning and righteous and steadying, like a weapon warming his palm.
Over the weeks, their link had stabilised, enough that it could finally convey more than echoes of emotion.
He could feel the moment that she snapped awake in his mind, the breath of a spectre.
Where-?
Loki let his gaze drift briefly, letting her see his surroundings.
His eyes glazed a subtle circuit over dark, mirror-gloss floors, inset with knotwork motifs of amber marble, opulently engraved gold pillars bearing the weight of the high ceiling and its delicately detailed fresco. Fires burned in braziers thrice his height, contrasting the clear natural daylight streaming from the breezeways at his back. Through him, Astrid could no doubt hear the gentle clink and rattle of the chains against his leathers, and the smooth scrape of the Einherjar’s laminar armour as they kept in pace with him, in a parody of an honour guard. Loki could smell mist from the waterways, and sunshine, and the crisp opening knell of autumn- contrasting the heat of early summer that Astrid was currently experiencing in New York, from the trap of SHIELD’s air-conditioned base of operations.
It all tasted traitorously of home.
Trial, he explained to her simply.
Ah. Palace?
Yes.
She paused. Hm.
After a moment of consideration, Astrid sent him a breeze of blasé contempt, and a flash of a memory- of what he recognised as a casino lobby, somewhere on Midgard-
Loki almost choked.
Astra!
The Hall of Valaskijálf, the magnificent heart of the Palace of Asgard and the seat of its power, was being compared to the Bellagio on the Las Vegas strip.
Loki had to forcefully remind himself that dissolving into delighted, scandalised laughter would, at this juncture, be a bad idea.
Against his mind, Astrid preened, irreverently.
Sheath, she murmured with a tint of melancholy, curling around him, setting a little of her mana through their connection to press warm against his heart.
Shoulders relaxing minutely, Loki sent her every ounce of fierce, violent affection that was welling in his chest.
Dagger, he whispered back tenderly, his magic twining into hers like laced fingers.
Even despite the solidified connection, it was still like comparing the glint of a distant star to the heat of the sun, or hearing strains of music just beyond coherency. Loki would have wondered if he had not unconsciously chosen it as a masochistic punishment, if not for the fear that it was affecting her the same way.
“Loki.”
His heart stopped briefly.
“Hello, Mother.”
Loki whipped his head to meet the sight of her, blasé and unmoved.
Astrid tensed in his veins, wary and curious.
Queen Consort Frigga of Asgard was not dressed for court, devoid of the finer trappings of her station. Rather than an elaborately braided, sleekly curled coiffeur, brocaded chrysalis silks, and waterfall sheets of jewels, her gown was one of her simpler garments- a relatively subtle teal satin, with a seafoam-silver shawl draped over her arms. Her only item of jewellery was a set of turquoise pendant earrings, handcrafted in a simple Vanir design, waves of copper-blonde hair left unbound to her waist.
She looked- tired, anxious. Loki could see it in the lines around her eyes, in the tight downturn of her mouth. Her fingers were laced together, one thumb pressing at the opposite palm unconsciously.
Crushing an acute lurch of guilt, and the momentary embittered wish that he could have hated her for all that she had- or, more accurately, hadn’t- done, Loki steepled his eyebrows sardonically at her, his voice soft as velvet.
“Have I made you proud?”
“Please,” Frigga implored quietly, her eyes wide and unblinking, intent and quietly afraid, “don’t make this worse.”
“Define worse.” Loki riposted dryly.
“Enough.”
The king’s voice echoed throughout the throne room.
Loki consciously resisted the reflex to straighten his spine. He felt Astrid coil in response, her attention diverted from Frigga.
Loki turned towards the throne.
Set upon the raised dais, at the summit of three flights of curved steps, was the high seat of Hlidskijalf.
The seat itself was nothing so magnificent- a square of gold, hemmed by broad, rectangular blocks at either side to serve as arms, and a low back- but its silhouette was made imposing by the heavily ornamented wings of solid gold that curved from either side. Bevelled at the edges like a great axe blade, their gentle upward arch framed its occupant, like the centre of a set of inverted scales.
The Allfather sat comfortably upon it, as ever.
His armour was darker than when last Loki had stood in his presence, compared to his burnished silver-steel war plate, or the ceremonial armour that he had worn for Thor’s almost-coronation.
By contrast, the pitch leathers and aged gold plate looked almost tarnished.
Knowing his father, it was undoubtedly a message.
Loki met Odin’s gaze, finding one piercing blue eye gazing down at him dispassionately.
He refused to blink.
“I will speak to the prisoner alone.”
Odin spoke with a calm, almost reasonable authority.
Instinctively, a pit formed in Loki’s stomach, even his jaw worked with defiance.
A thousand years of conditioning- of loyalty, deference, and respect instilled towards his father, his commander, his sovereign- was not so easily broken.
Meanwhile, he could feel Astrid assessing and dissecting the Allfather like a lancet, merciless and unawed.
Whatever it was that she saw, Loki could already feel her dislike forming.
Frigga glanced towards her husband, settling one last unreadable look upon Loki- and turned on her heel, departing with a swirl of heavy skirts and quick steps, accepting her dismissal with dignity.
Loki watched her leave, before swinging his attention back to Odin.
So, Astrid stated, her presence cloaked across Loki’s shoulders like draped arms and mantled wings.
So, Loki agreed, leaning back into her support.
He drew closer to the steps with three slow, measured steps, and snapped his heels together in a sarcastic salute, the crisp clank of his shackles echoing out into the empty hall.
Provocateur, Astrid teased, like lips against his cheek.
This time, Loki left himself exhale a laugh, swaying forwards slightly.
“I really don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he said with a rehearsed air of callous, flippant levity, palms splayed as much as they could within the chains.
“Do you truly not understand the gravity of your crimes?”
Rich, Astrid commented dryly from across their link.
Loki sent back something that evoked a huff of agreement. Of all those involved, Odin had the barest understanding of his actions- even in his ignorance, Thor had at least witnessed the destruction for himself and had almost hit upon the correct question to ask.
“Wherever you go,” Odin proclaimed, almost blandly, “there is war, ruin- and death.”
Astrid stilled dangerously.
Dove, Loki calmed her, his expression sobering.
“I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god.” Loki allowed a soft, taunting smile break through, unable to resist the accusation that welled. “Just like you.”
“We are not gods,” Odin said sagely, all but ignoring his closing barb. “We are born, we live, we die. Just as humans do.”
Hypocrite, Loki shared with Astrid, receiving her dry agreement in reply, before shrugging.
“Give or take five thousand years,” he corrected with a flat-lipped, sardonic smile.
“All this,” the Allfather mused, a hint of scorn finally bleeding through, “because Loki desires a throne.”
“It is my birthright!” Loki snapped, unable to withstand the insult, as though Odin had not told him that he was born to be a king, as though he could not have known what he was implying through the lens of that lie, as though the Norns-damned throne was all it was ever about-
“Your birthright-!” Odin bellowed in reply, leaning forward in his seat, as though to swiftly crush the insolence shown to him. “Was to die!”
Silence reigned for a moment.
In the ringing quiet- and the detached shock that, even now, there was still something left in him to hurt at a truth he had already known- Loki felt it.
Pure, clean, unadulterated rage, the emotion borrowed and possessive and selfish, swathed him.
It tasted like destruction on his tongue, like intent on the edge of his nerves, borne in the currents of something heart-deep that threatened to obliterate anything before it. Her mana burned bright in his nerves, crackling behind his retinas, threatening to radiate out of him and contaminating his own magic.
And if Odin caught the traces of a foreign mana in him, active and alive-
Loki reached for Astrid with thoughts like cool water and nepenthe, gathering her wild mana into his core, hastily absorbing and reforming it before Odin could notice.
There was only so much that his own magical core, and the mana-supressing runes in his shackles, could do to mask her presence. Ironically, it was fortunate that the connection was yet to develop to its full strength, muting her.
Given the strength of her rage, however, an intensity so heady that he could overdose on it-
Bastard. Her thoughts were incandescent, tumbling through his own and breaking through to a fresh level of coherency. Bastard. How dare he-
Beloved, please, calm- for me-
“- as a child. Cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in,” the corner of Odin’s mouth lifted, almost a jeer, “you would not be here now to hate me.”
Abruptly, Astrid’s mood crystallised, bright and clear, giving Loki space to breathe again.
No, Loki heard her decide, no, better- wait and sic Daddy on him-
He took a sharp stride forward, back into more pressing problems.
“If I am for the axe, then for mercy’s sake, just swing it,” Loki challenged Odin in reply, sotto voce and almost obliging. If he seemed preoccupied, if Odin was given cause to suspect anything, if he found out about Astrid-
He felt the sharp knife of instinctive fear, sick in his stomach.
In this respect, Odin remained exponentially more dangerous than Thanos.
Astrid offered a flicker of conviction in comfort, her temper still cooling.
“It’s not that I don’t love our little talks, it’s just-” Loki paused pointedly, as though considering his phrasing. “I don’t love them.”
Odin didn’t respond to his insolence, as though it mattered so little to him that it was unworthy of a reaction.
“Frigga is the only reason that you are still alive, and you will never see her again.” His announcement was perfunctory, prelude to dismissal.
Ah.
Well. The Allfather knew how to mete out cruelty with the political precision of an autocrat.
“You will spend the rest of your days in the dungeon,” Odin concluded softly.
As though choreographed, the guards gave a short tug on Loki’s chains, drawing him back a step from the throne.
He should have been prepared for it.
He had been prepared for it, intellectually, had predicted the most likely ruling and Odin’s pretence at a measure of mercy, had expected to be kept in cold storage indefinitely lest Odin ever encounter a better use for him, or a quandary that Thor’s brawn could not resolve- even while he knew that the sentence would never be carried out. Between the Tesseract’s power and Astrid’s sheer will and wit, all Loki would have to do was ask.
But this was the ruling, the mock trial that was all that Loki was worth. Odin had not even deigned to ask why. He had assumed, and accepted the lie in confirmation of it.
Alderliefest, she gentled him, her mind as unclouded and radiant within his.
She strained for him like an outstretched hand, fingers flared and trembling.
Ah, Loki realised ruefully, so I really am being cruel to both of us.
Gripping onto her lifeline, winding the necessity around his fist to ground himself, Loki spoke numbly.
“And what of Thor? You’ll make that witless oaf king, while I rot in chains?”
“Thor must strive to undo the damage you have done,” Odin spoke sharply. “He will bring order to the Nine Realms, and then-”
The Einherjar behind him clamped leather-gloved hands down on his shoulders, prepared to haul him away.
“Yes. He will be king.”
Internally, Loki dissolved into triumphant laughter.
He felt Astrid’s flutter of curious confusion- and her sting of pleasure at being surprised.
Later, he vowed, darkly heated, already in anticipation of witnessing her reaction.
What Odin had meant as a parting volley- as salt ground into an open wound- was a precious piece of intelligence that Loki would have otherwise been hard pressed to obtain.
The Nine was in chaos, then. The damage you have done could only refer to the destruction of the Bifrost, only recently repaired and restored to functionality, with the assistance of the Tesseract.
Without the Rainbow Bridge, Asgard had limited means of interstellar travel. Their spaceworthy fleet had atrophied over the centuries of relative peace, the great warships considered obsolete upon the construction of the Bifrost, the streamlined technology left to fall behind the other galactic powers. Almost no one knew of the secret passageways that Loki had discovered, let alone mapped them, and there were few his equal in the kenning arts who could locate, stabilise, and manipulate the few that could accommodate passage of a large volume of troops.
Without the Bridge, Asgard had been cut off from the other eight realms.
And without Asgard’s presence as a deterrent, every world within the Yggdrasil complex would have been overrun with opportunists for months, if not close to years.
It was a cold necessity- a nasty shock to the established system, both for those who had relied upon Asgardian arms for the safety of their realm, and for Asgard itself at being so simply and effectively hamstrung for almost two years.
Thor would do what he did best, of course, and battle his way through the marauders, trussing them up and tossing them into the dungeons to rot beside Loki- but the damage would already be done.
The seeds would be planted, and people would start to think.
And when people started to think, they would start to talk.
And that, Loki could work to his advantage, like hot metal upon an anvil.
Thank you, Allfather, Loki wanted to say, laughing against the pain as he was led away, for your most gracious cruelty.
With that, the first gears were in motion.
-
[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]
9 notes · View notes
Text
Dark Con & Succession War Characters as Players & GMs
Ging: Derailing god. Knows a pirating / rom site for everything. Adores Pathfinder and 3.5e but runs games as if Tomb of Horrors was just easy mode. Pariston: "It's what my character would do :)" Lamentations enthusiast. Leorio [current arc]: Channels the power of thesis block to destroy hordes of bandits. Cheadle: Strategic player who looks on in despair at their chaotic and extremely violent comrades. T-T Mizaistom: T-posing human fighter that somehow keeps pulling off the most significant moments in the campaign. Beyond: That one tiktok friend who cosplays as their character for each session and runs campaigns like theatrical wrestling performances. That vocal training has gotta be used for something! Muherr: Army vet, seen a lotta stuff, but runs the most heartfelt and hopeful campaigns you'll ever play. 7th Sea Gm. Steiner: Sweetest guy you know, writes the most terrifying mysteries ever. Pure unfiltered neurosis expressed through Call of Cthulhu and World of Darkness. Kurapika [current arc]: 3rd life-changing trauma this week "Sure! I can make it for Friday!" Melody: In it for the deep pan crispy lore. Makes the maps out of love. Can't play an evil character the save their life. Has mountains of Solo-RPG journals of wonderous adventures. Hanzo: Falls into the habit of down-to-Earth friendly characters that sling death threats and "comedic violence" at everyone to the point of awkwardness. Shall avenge every minor NPC the gm forgot to name. Basho: Doesn't own a single rpg book that doesn't also double as an art book. Bill: "That game from Stranger Things?" Theta: Evokes awe from fellow players for her RP skills. Greater knowledge of in-game politics than the actual DM. One Ring and Game of Thrones RPG enjoyer. Tserriednich: Tonight's Session - The GMs Barely-Disguised Fetish ... Kult & Drakar och Demoner for life. Benjamin: WILL apply real military strategies to your game regardless of setting and character. YES! He will bring diagrams! YES! You should be concerned! Twilight: 2000 nut. Zhang Lei: Chill. Enjoying the vibes. Simply awaiting the fruition of his diabolical schemes to spring into action... Once every other player is done with their wacky flumph hijinks. Camilla: Dungeon Bitches & Mork Borg. Throwing hands. Fuck everything else. Fireball isn't enough. Stay away from the loot. Halkenburg: Heart of gold, but tries waaaaay too hard to help the fantasy world he's meant to just be smacking trolls around in. Kacho & Fugetsu: Supports queer indie ttrpgs and are currently trying to figure out where to store all the gigabytes of pdfs. Hinrigh: "Yes, this is a rip off of all my favorite anime characters and I love them :D" Zakuro: Too shy to speak up, didn't realize they missed 5 turns. Lynch: Screw politeness, fists are all you need to ask questions. Morena: The "Nice Girl" Oito: "I just hope the game contains no foul language. Do we need a console?" Woble: The group mascot
17 notes · View notes
wow-its-me · 1 year
Text
TMNT characters as song lyrics they remind me of
Pt 4 : Leo
“We are rockets pointed up at the stars, we are billions of beautiful hearts, and you sold us down the river to far”
“Too late, my time has come, Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go, Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth”
“Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest, don’t you cry no more”
“In this world, it’s just us, and you know it’s not the same as it was”
“There will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword, he will tear your city down, oh-lei oh-lai oh lord”
“When the storms out you run in the rain, put your sword down, dive right into the pain, stay unfiltered and loud, you’ll be proud of that skin full of scars, that’s all I know so far”
“I’m stepping through the door, and I’m floating in a most particular way, and the stars look very different today”
“I’m still standing, better than I ever did, looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid”
“Under the surface, I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service, a flaw or a crack, the straw in the stack, that breaks the camels back”
“ I planned each charted corse each careful step along the byway, and more, much more than this, I did it my way”
“When there was doubt, I ate it up, and spit it out, I faced it all, I stood tall, and I did it my way”
6 notes · View notes
amerikanhervi · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
I'm the same as you, I have nothing 💕 I am empty too in the right way 💕 We don't care that no one will miss us 💕 We don't need their blame or forgiveness 💕
Alice Glass - Forgiveness
“Yes, oh, yes! For my Queen only the greatest, most deadly things! She is so vicious, so ferocious!” SkekTex chanted to herself like a mantra as she picked at the roots and leaves of plants–something she would never dream of doing–searching only for the most vibrant purples and cyan of the blossoming nightshades.  
This was the work for servants, for prattle-fools and cattle-herders. Low-borne filth-work meant for those far below Skek. Yet she felt compelled, she felt a burning need that caved in her chest every time she imagined not doing it for the High Tide. Deep in the pit of her Arakkoa stomach, each flower that passed through her hands for judgment left a tingling itch in the back of her stomach.
Her talons traced across a cluster of them with one openly glowing with the powers of the arcane that had been imbued into its petals. The accents of a soft violet from its deeper purple leaves and whisks of power careened from its yellow center.
Skek’s eyes widened as she looked upon this. She let out an audible squawk, kneeling down and placing her hands underneath it. She could sense this one had been feeding from a ley-line. With no hesitation from her side she removed the skull of a Primal Proto-Drake that she had slain. In the top of its center a hole was carved and filled with a sweetly smelling nectar. 
She pulled from the ground a cluster of this arcane-fed flower and dipped it into the sweet nectar within the skull. Her talons clattered loudly around the skull as she raised it to inspect it. A satisfied, deep “MMmmm?” leaving her throat as she lowered it back to her hip.
With the Grand Sage she carried this shattered skull full of poison and sugar. In the nectar leaked the toxic fluids of the Nightshade, beginning to stain the skull a soft cosmic pink from the chemicals infesting the once sweet sugar water. A toxic, sweet-smelling concoction that would kill any living thing that drank of it.
As she walked back to the perch of which the Tideskorn Queen had been holed up after six days of battle with the Sundered Flame, she approached holding her twisted symbolism of devotion. Bowing her head--the pain of submission overridden in her mind by the softening glare of the Queen. It sent a shock through her spine that made her feathers stand on end and her hands shake.
Skek expected rejection, expected dismissal and spite. All of these things that her adored one was known for. Yet--the hands of the queen gently took the skull in both palms and inspected them. From the Tauren's lips a small breath escaped, before she accepted the skull, lifting the Arakkoa's beak by the bottom and staring into her eyes.
The High Tide had accepted the offering with but a gentle kiss to the beak of the Arakkoa. Skek felt that her heart would stop as her mind screamed in raw, unfiltered emotion. A rush of blood coursed through Skek's head. Her eyes blurred, her heart raced. Her hands quivered and her knees shook. Her skin felt it would spark off like lightning into the empty air.
For there was nothing, to Skek, more enrapturing than offering the chalice of devotion even after death.
Tumblr media
Cast over a moon of blood formed a thunderstorm that struck with the intensity of the bond that the Tide and the Sage had forged in the starlight, and so born was the Gemini of Azeroth in the night sky, a constellation to be feared for millennia to come.
0 notes
evajellion · 1 year
Note
I already read it. And it was creepy. I honestly didn't want to place my thoughts there TBH. Still, thought of a serious request. From the Triads AU: Tiger beating the crap out of the General. When he dies, soon Naoko. If Lei said she was like Oersted, then you can prove it with her unfiltered Wrath.
Ironically enough, outside of Livingstill's little uhhhh fantasies, I didn't intend for it to be creepy, (at least compared to the one w/ him and Tobei which I fully intended to be creepy-)
It was meant to be funny how Naoko is actually stronger than him, but also sad how easily turned around she was about her feelings with mere praise and flirtations. Up to interpretation on whether it's another one of Livingstill's usual tactics or he's lying to himself about how he feels in regards to her.
(his pride would definitely prevent admitting his feelings about a "stupid bimbo" after all..)
I was already heavily considering doing a one-off of the Triads AU, post-Yamazaki death, and how the rest of them would just… deal with that. (by that I mean in the most toxic way because none of them can function)
But I will definitely get to work on a Triads AU versus Yamazaki! I need something before the 11/11 one! ;)
1 note · View note
ruinswithin · 2 years
Text
theforsakenmyths·:
Lei looked over at Sage.  He knew more than Adam, who had read the police reports.  Lei had told him to, so it wasn’t like she was hiding her past from him.  Sage had simply heard the unfiltered version.  
Tumblr media
“Yes, and if he comes back into my life, I might just take you up on it…but I might also want to watch, so he knows I took back the power.”  A deeply rooted part of her needed Scott to know that she was no longer the weak girl she had been during her early years of college.  
When the conversation turned to her sketch, Lei laughed.  “You are handsome.  Both of you are, and I see you, Sage.”  She knew what he meant, but she meant something deeper.  “One day, you can describe what you see…”  It was then that she moved, sitting down next to him, tipping the sketchbook towards him.
“I always pictured you with stronger lines in your face than Adam.  Darker hair, too.  Your eyes show your age differently.  A well worn book, compared to one that has simply sat on a shelf to age.”  She smiled, “I think you’re voice…your completely you voice, would be rougher than Adam’s.  Not as polished as his.  Still about the same height, but I’m short…you are both a foot taller than I am.”  Lei added the last with a laugh.
“How’d I do?”
@breathingliife·
Tumblr media
    Sage’s eyebrows rose hearing Lei’s answer about the idiot that had hurt her, it surprised him but also filled him with pride and mischief. Who would have thought that she had that dark side within her? It was promising...    ❛ Oh don’t worry, you’ll be in first line. Even will let you join the torture game if you wish. ❜ Once she approached, his attention went completely to the drawing. He held one side of the sketchbook      or else he would have snatched the whole thing from her hands, but at least he remembered his manners     . The vampire listened thoroughly, nodding at each and every of Lei’s words that seemed to capture closely the figure that he recognized in the mirror. ❛ I like it... You do find differences between the both of us perfectly. My voice is rougher, yes, though the perfect word you were looking for was sexier. ❜     Sage was a hopeless tease, a vain creature that did not know how Lei cope with him. Lifting his gaze from the paper he smirked up at her.        ❛ Yes, you are pocket size. Behave or I’ll pick you up for punishment. ❜
0 notes
janicamalfoy · 5 years
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
E N G L I S H V A N G U A R D S / / ‘ 1 8 - ‘ 1 9
It was fun working with these brilliant young people. When I pictured my first year in the service, I didn’t for once imagine that I will be given a chance to be an adviser for an English Club and I thought I was done with school organizations when I left the University. When I was still in high school I used to be a consistent member and officer of our English Club so you could only imagine how delighted I am to have known that I will be handling a version of it. I was thrilled. The day my officers got elected I was eager to get to know them. As the days, weeks, and months gone by I have grew very fond of them. I love them and I am grateful that I met them and that they are my officers. They are my dream team.
To my English Vanguards, I want to thank you for making my first year in the teaching field extra colorful. You guys will forever hold a special place in my heart. I will never forget the moments we shared for they are golden. Thank you, the next ones can never replace you.
I may be leaving but I’ll be taking with me the memories that I had with all of you. Thank you, no next for no one could replace my English Vanguards.
1 note · View note
Note
How does the portal to hell work?
I mostly see the portal to Hell working kinda like an Einstein-Rosen bridge, or basically a wormhole. The whole idea of folding space to make distances shorter, yeah? Kinda?
So, pretty much I see Hell (in the Life Eternal verse) as it’s own completely different planet entirely but on a different plane or dimension from Earth. After the First Celestial War when their world was broken apart, Heaven and Hell were anchored to another reality that could possibly sustain the collapsing world... which so happened to be Earth.
Ley lines are the anchors that tether the two worlds and realities together, but they don’t really allow travel between the two places except for being with enough power to safely traverse the lines... with one being, you guessed it!, Lucifer. So, now that he was on Earth and seeing that he needed to get his agents there without basically melting them in the searing rush of raw, unfiltered aether that’s the ley lines, he made the portal.
The portal is permanently anchored to one side- in this case Earth. Depending on how the magic is used, which calculations were made, etc etc will determine where the portal opens up on the other side. Some places won’t make a good connection, like underwater for example, and the portal will fail. It takes much consultation and research to determine that the end location will be viable, and the ones that are are meticulously recorded and guarded.
Now, summoning is different altogether, as the portal is a lot of work to keep up and use, and over time summoning rituals were streamlined to be made easier, faster, and safer for both parties involved. But that’s for another thing altogether on its own. :)
28 notes · View notes
kakitysax · 3 years
Note
*reaches out* Tell me more about Rai and Mal please!
REALLY?
Nah I’m just kidding y’all know I’m gonna tell you anyway.
I’m probably going to get into their entire character arcs or something so here’s a cut
RAI
I initially thought that Rai’s magic was Anger. He is an Elemental Wizard of Earth and Fire, with a decided volcano aesthetic, and he does have a temper problem. But the problem was his magic didn’t have the *dark* overtone that Orpheus and Mal did. It’s just raw and natural - destructive, but not malevolent. In addition, I had another character whose V I B E was just much more characteristic of an anger problem.
Also, Rai’s problem isn’t ANGER. He DOES have a temper, but he’s...more than that. He’s intense, and impulsive, and unfiltered, and FUCK it’s ADHD again.
Rai is ADHD.
Meta mental health symbolism aside, Rai is just a really cool character. One of my favorites. First of all he is SOLID muscle and y’all know how I feel about that. But he also lives in a volcano and I love that energy. He lives in Mount Pele, on an island of the same name in the Ai-Lauu archipelago, this world’s Hawaii fusion. Due to the fact that he is immortal and a territorial bitch, Ai-Lauu has never undergone colonization. The natives consider him their patron god (but also not really, I’m using western terminology but he’s more like their garbage kupua mascot.) They know he’s a hoe but they love him anyway.
Rai’s main character arc is homesickness. He strikes out on this journey with Orpheus out of pure boredom and dicks around with him and Mal for a while, but as time goes on he gets steadily more lethargic. Then he gets really hurt and has to go back to Pele to recover. Once there he decides never to leave again. The others come get him and see this whole other side of him - the side that is passionate and happy and has learned only to erupt on one side of the island because destroying the forest on the other side makes him sad, and runs on the beach because he can and eats tropical fruit and gets the juice all over his face and is comfortable with all the animals that live in his woods and occasionally pops on over to the neighboring islands to wear leis and party with the mortals. So yeah uh I love him.
MAL
Mallory Cessair is a Doom player. The end.
Nah just kidding half of you probably don’t know what that means. It’s just...her backstory is kinda working through the stuff that I witnessed as a kid that I was too young to know about and really impacted me a lot. So um. Triggers ahead. It’s kind of intense.
Mallory is the only Mortal in the group. She is half Wizard, which makes her a Witch. Her father, Cessair, has magic that basically represents being a dick - Poison and Pestilence and Death and Bitterness and he loves to spread that shit around.
Mallory was born to Cessair and an unwilling mortal girl. Said Mortal Girl was really not equipped to deal with both the trauma of Mal’s conception and the complications of parenting. Mallory looks like Cessair and has his magic, and as such her mother sees her subconsciously less as a child than as a curse, a symbol of everything Cessair has put into the world, and Mal has internalized that image of herself as a result.
Eventually Mal’s mother got her happy ending with a marriage to a mortal man. Whether or not it’s actually a healthy relationship is something I’m still working out. All I know is that Mal got an older stepbrother as a result of the union, who abused her.
At some point Mal runs away. I don’t know yet how long the timeframe is between her leaving her family and meeting Orpheus and Rai, or if anything important happens between there. She has a pretty abrasive personality but manages to bond with them anyway.
But like, remember how Rai got injured? It was protecting Mal.
Which only serves to further her image of herself as a curse. After Rai recovers she goes to visit him and they end up having a pretty big fight. Basically he says what she thinks (she’s a curse) she cusses him out because even though she thinks that about herself she doesn’t take shit lying down, and the group basically falls apart.
Everyone kind of blasts off to do their own thing. Mal’s own thing is tracking down her dad and FUCKING KILLING HIM.
I wrote that scene, it needs work but there’s some pretty raw-ass dialogue.
Anyway after that she kind of has a breakdown. Mal has poison magic, but the aesthetic is that she IS poisonous. She oozes poison. She sweats poison, spits poison, cries poison. And the more stressed she gets the more she secretes.
So basically she kills her dad and then curls up on the floor of his office to die. It’s like that scene in Howl’s moving castle, only without a Sophie to come get her. By the time Orpheus FINALLY shows up (his love and commitment to his friends overpowering his apathy and putting another notch in his “overcoming depression” belt) the entire floor is ankle-deep in toxic sludge.
Up until now it’s been assumed that Mal is immune to her own poison. But she’s not. Not really. Not completely. She’s kind of experiencing multiple organ failure in slow motion.
So anyway Orpheus tries to fix it but he can’t so he goes and gets Rai because Rai is the only one who can get through to her at this point and then the hurt/comfort kicks in and she flushes out all that nasty stuff with a good cathartic cry and gets a bath and a bomb-ass new haircut
But she’s still mad at Rai who is finally starting to learn that his actions have consequences
And Rai noticed that Orpheus got happier when he got a dog
So Rai pops on over to his island via teleportation magic and brings back a parrot for Mal because they’re smart and reminded him of her while he was sulking in his volcano (and it’s also green because Mal’s color is green)
And Mal teaches it to call Rai a dickwad :)
Sorry that’s WAY more than anyone fucking asked for or wanted but I like it. It’s plot stuff which never lasts long so the whole thing is probably going to undergo some MAJOR changes but this is what it is right now.
So uh
Yeah.
Please react I want validation.
6 notes · View notes
sunl0ves · 3 years
Text
One step forward, two steps back. 
Contradictions, Ammy believes, are a constant in the royal court of Okeanos, reigned by House Leech. She sees it in their smiles, the upwards tug of painted lips directed at the Crown Princess clashing with the so-obviously forced ones with the rest of the royal family. The thin line between fear and admiration for the royals, walking on a tightrope set up above a tank of bloodthirsty beasts. The throne leading a kingdom with fear and no mercy, contradicting how genuinely happy the townsfolk are when Ammy goes to town to visit Solomon in his little bookstore.
“It’s a very delicate game they’re playing,” the other mage told her once, an indiscernible smile on his face. Just the usual. “There has to be a certain balance in the evil of their actions and the good of their results.”
It is the truth, a bitter one for the family, Ammy thinks. They are walking on their own tightrope, right above an endless pit, for the eternity that they will reign as monarchs.
But then, perhaps, they are already used to such a dance.
Forward, forward, forward. 
Tides’ Hall. The Children of the Bay’s ballroom. It beckons to Ammy with its complex mix of magic, simmering in the heat behind locked doors. She does not understand why, why such a room would hold so much power, dangerous magic intertwined with the air like poisonous gas, till Jade ushers her to the audience room, a hidden alcove a few floors above the dance floor. And the High Mage watches, ignores the mismatched gaze of amber and rock boring into the back of her head intensely.
Then she feels it.
The magic of the music is what she senses first first, unfiltered even through the heavy red curtains keeping her and Jade hidden. Choppy and elegant all at once, the erratic heartbeat of a piano. Sound waves, musical notes in midnight black gliding through the air; as graceful as Queen Selina, the Siren Queen, and her fingers as they dance upon the black and white keys of her beloved piano.
Contradictions, Ammy thinks again, sees the magical spark of gold and a wave of blue, Like a hurricane’s cries and a piano’s song.
One step forward, two steps back.
At first glance through the eyes of a simple mortal, one might think that Lei and Floyd are just dancing. The elegant waltz of the crown princess and the wild, tameless movements of the prince, contradicting in a special way that entrances anyone who watches.
Lei moves gracefully across the marble floor, arms moving through the air with the grace and elegance as expected of a ballerina. Limbs reach slight movements, her step light and springy as she dances upon the gold beneath her flats. In some twisted way, Floyd mirrors her movements, though much more free and less uniformed. He grins, wide with too much teeth as his arm extends over his head, almost catching the blue of the air.
The stark contrast between the future queen and the frontliner in battle is apparent in their dance... But it is too lethal, too dangerous to be a simple waltz, even one that the wild prince is willing to partake in. Something hazardous fizzles in the air, a risk of drowning in golden ichor and the ocean, and that is when Ammy realises—
This was a duel.
Forward, forward, forward.
There is not a single Leech that Ammy knows who is merciful in the face of battle. The King and Queen rule by fear, the Crown Prince following in their footsteps, and the second Prince - though he had long renounced his right to the ruthless throne - is a menace in the battlefield, does not let a single person against him leave the grounds alive or whole. Even the beloved Crown Princess, darling Lei, knows no mercy when it comes to setting those who pose a threat to her up for their deaths. Executions where none of the royals even bat an eye. That is the Leeches’ life.
Floyd is most familiar with that style. Even against his sister, he is relentless, striking and striking and striking. Sparks catch in Lei’s hair mid-air, burning the tips of ebony locks, and the pools of gold try to keep her in place on ground. The grin on his face is wide, bordering insane as Ammy would say as the prince watches his sister at the other side of the dance floor.
Adrenaline. that’s what keeps Floyd going, firing at Lei without a second thought. If Ammy didn’t know any better, she would think he was actually trying to kill her. Mismatched eyes glint as waves of blue magic wash over his own, ridding the princess of any golden obstacles, but there is no malice in them. Ammy looks closely and sees happiness instead, with a little bit of pride. Leave it to Floyd to be proud of Lei while she kicks his ass during a duel.
But then he fires again, catching Lei by the side of her torso with a slash. The notes of the piano change, more violent as the queen warns her son of the consequences of actually hurting her precious daughter. Floyd only smiles, winking playfully at Lei as he dodges the violently popping pearls that she tosses his way.
The Prince may love his sister, but even he was not willing to lose against the Crown Princess.
One step forward, two steps back.
That is how Lei lives; cautious and protected, in a way only the youngest child of House Leech can be. But she is also lethal, a dance of tsunamis and storms that rain upon her brother without mercy. Her fighting style is tantalising to watch, almost teasing when you’re against her on the field, and it is the complete opposite of her brothers’.
She leaps, barely dodging another lethal spell by Floyd, and lands on pointe on a pool of golden ichor. The music becomes more frantic, hurried as Floyd moves to its rhythm, but Lei is calm as she flicks her wrist, sends another wave of blue that makes the gold dissolve like shining seafoam. Floyd laughs, high and wild, “Hurry, hurry!”, and he’s sprinting at her, his favourite sword summoned to his grasp. Ammy’s eyes widen when she sees him, in the same stance when he kills, going after his sister of all people– but Lei only grins and follows their unspoken instructions.
She meets him in the middle of the ballroom, digits tense around the pristine blade conjured by her magic. Floyd grins, sparks flying between the metal of their swords as they clash. The music cuts off, the screeching sound of the piano bench being pushed back followed by the queen’s shrill scream: 
”I SAID NO BLADES!”
“Uh-oh,” Lei grimaces, willing her weapon to disappear as she hides behind Floyd. He just beams, easy-going as their fuming mother approaches.
“Should we help?” Ammy turns to Jade. He just shrugs, smiling with crescent eyes, “They’ll be fine. It’s Floyd and Lei after all.”
True. Ammy can’t help the fond smile that tugs on her lips as she watches the siblings run out of the room (or to be more precise, Floyd runs out of the ballroom with Lei thrown over his shoulder). The chaotic prince and princess of House Leech, the only ones Ammy knows to duel like a waltz, dancing in sparks and tides of gold and blue, ending in the clash of blades and the queen screaming, ”GET BACK HERE!”
On the another note, Ammy wonders if Jade knows that Lei considers Floyd her favourite brother.
2 notes · View notes
bisexualkylecrane · 17 days
Text
I’m afraid to say that life is full of things that will hurt you, and you have to be hurt by some of them if you want to feel fulfilled. Fortunately, life is also full of people who do or will like and love you and who will want to help you.
2 notes · View notes
bluelilylilyblue · 4 years
Text
Jules reads cdth chapters 1-10
here is my mostly unfiltered, bordering on the slightly incomprehensible, notes/thoughts/questions/theories from my read of the first 10 chapters of call down the hawk. putting everything below that cut just in case you haven’t filtered out spoilers or you’re on mobile. anyway here is the nonsense I was spewing into my phone notes last night...
Matthew walking the ley lines/towards Cabeswater?
“The Lynch boy?” “I want the key” Old associate of niall? cause of Declan talking over that stuff in trc
that valley where the Irish cottage is sounds like Cabeswater, like the way it seems to hum and feel alive - wonder how many places like it there are in the world and if we’ll see more
so a dreamer is basically the antichrist lol
I’m gonna assume this “zed” killing org is one of the things Declan was trying to protect Ronan from in trc - they were in Ireland and Niall was from Ireland right like I’m not making that up in my head like a crazy person grasping at straws? idk y’all I didn’t do a reread- ANYWAY connection?
Matthew not driving? me too bud!
Matthew not driving because he’s failed three times? welp he is a Lynch, this is deeply unsurprising to me like Ronan is his brother (creator? dreamer dad?)
fighting about how fast/slow your sibling drives is peak relatable thank you maggie I feel seen
nightwash - black ooze (sideline I can’t decide if this is metal as hell or just gross)...related to the demon who was killing cabeswater in trk?
Ronan’s creepy dream voice reminds me of Blue and the way she feels about the stars
sidenote: I miss Blue and Gansey like a lung and every mention of them equal parts hurts me and resurrects me (lol resurrect) 
the lack of silence and magic in the world is killing Ronan? causing the nightwash? oof me too bud
the voice (Bryde) warning about the “zed” killing group
Bryde another dreamer? - like Kavinsky visiting? why is he talking to Ronan? how does he know about him?
hot art forger thief lady is my new wife
UNDERGROUND BLACK MARKET?? 
Ronan seeing Adam for the first time from far away and STILL being like  H A N D S 
Ronan praying to god for Adam has my gay former catholic ass shook..like the power that has the IMPLICATIONS
Adam having imposter syndrome is so incredibly in character but like...it hurts me
Ronan daydreaming about his and Adam’s reunion is peak hopeless romantic
do Adam’s friends suck? I can’t tell yet guess i’ll wait and see
sidenote: I feel like Adam’s friends suck because I was in a similar position to Adam in high school, I grew up in an extremely wealthy area but my family didn’t have a lot of money and everyone I went to school with, even my friends, were super shitty about that and poverty in general, so poverty jokes and having to hide parts of you to fit in fucking grinds my gears cause I heard that shit DAILY
Ronan is smart, he be SMORT
Adam lying for a fresh start hurts me MORE - but like I get it...and hate it
back to thinking he is unknowable I see
“he longed for him even while holding him” fellas is that gay?
god I fuckin hope it works
moderators being a government agency cause like of course it’s a secret government agency
visionaries...wtf they just like die??? wtf
“reality is a decision” that seems like a theme that’s gonna pop up a bunch - can Ronan control how his dream things appear in the world after he’s brought them back?
so the fairy market is where Niall would sell his dreams and Declan was selling Niall’s dreams right? gotta be. is he still? is the market connected to the key?
honestly what is Fletcher thinking walking into that disaster zone? that Adam and Ronan have a very active and kinky sex life? like what other explanation can you conjure
“She had a face that looked like it was smiling even if she wasn’t smiling.” literally why is that hot and why am I already in love with her
like fishnets??? ma’am please
okay so I love them BOTH?? twins?? with even more look a-likes?? color my scared and horny
so...we thinkin dreams/dreamers/none of the above
“The bright friendliness of her voice as she snapped a cell photos of his ID was one of the more threatening things he’d ever heard.” so Jordan and Ronan are gonna get along just fineeeeee
“You are made of dreams and this world is not for you.” literally stop. I will cry.
16 notes · View notes
rodansey · 5 years
Note
15 or 50 for Rodansey please if you don't mind? (((I read your other ones and omg they are incredible)))
…passionately and out of love
[To this ask, I say “BOTH. BOTH IS GOOD.” Also, this is my fave ot+ ship in TRC. Thank you for your kind words and this prompt!
Gansey felt a thrill go through him as he sped toward Singer’s Falls. Just crossing back into Virginia had been a rush, as if the ley line were rising up to greet him, and the presence of Cabeswater swelled up to welcome him home. Yes, even after all this time on the road, it still felt like home. He glanced over and met Adam’s gaze. Something about the instinctive fluidity of it all let him know that Parrish felt the very same. Their feelings about home and coming back to it came from wildly different backgrounds, but where they were going, the meaning of it was identical.
This was where their dreamer was.
Gansey’s visit wasn’t a complete surprise. He’d called Lynch when he, Blue and Henry had reached the east coast. The need to see Ronan pulled at him like a thread delicately wrapped around his heart. With a few acknowledging grunts, Ronan had agreed to the visit and Gansey hadn’t stopped smiling the rest of the day. That same smile must have come back to his face because Adam touched his hand on the gear shift then, and Gansey felt the warmth of their connection flicker through him too, threads of a different color tangling with Ronan’s within him. Adam was the surprise, and it felt so right for the three of them to be together soon. Home home home
Adam’s bag in the backseat was packed to the brim with books. He could only get away for the weekend, and he would probably spend some of it studying, but the fact that he was willing to come at all meant that he’d been feeling the same kind of pull. Gansey had a thought that Ronan must be aching.
“Text him,” he told Adam excitedly, pulling his phone out of the cup holder and passing it over. “Fifteen minutes.”
Adam took it and Gansey was pleased to see his unfiltered smile, warm like Henrietta sunshine, come through as he tapped the screen. Do you know? Gansey’s thoughts trilled to Ronan, even though he couldn’t hear them. It’s not me, it’s him. I’m bringing him home to you too. Picking up Parrish had been out of his way, but he knew without question he would have driven a hundred, two hundred, many hundred miles to get him. Not just to see Ronan, to go home, but for anything at all. Gansey had always been willing to do damn near anything for Adam, and time hadn’t changed that in the slightest.
They didn’t get an answer to the text, but that was okay. The main road gave way to the tree-lined path leading to the Barns and the sense of rightness was about to burst from his ribs. Adam covered his hand and squeezed tight. Gansey wanted to kissed him then, but he could wait just a little bit longer.
Ronan waited on the porch for them, and Gansey threw the Pig into park, patting the dash in thanks for not breaking down on the way. He was quick to pull himself out of the car and wave, his keys jangling in his hand as he did. “Honey, I’m home!” came out with so much laughter tangled up in the syllables that Ronan rolled his eyes. Gansey knew the exact moment when Ronan realized he wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t Blue or Henry beside him. His eyes had gone wide, laser focused on Adam opening the door and stepping onto the grass.
“Parrish,” he breathed, the word inaudible, but Gansey knew the shape of it too well to misunderstand.
Above them, Chainsaw screeched her greeting, and like habit, Adam held out his arm to her. She landed heavily, and he teased her about Ronan feeding her too many table scraps.
“Kerah!” she proclaimed, as if she needed to call Ronan’s attention to these boys coming home.
Gansey treasured the way Ronan’s features melted into complicated surprise, bliss and something more. He stepped down to them, barefoot and so comfortable in this place he’d made his. Gansey thrilled at the hints of black ink on his forearms, new since they last saw each other. He couldn’t wait to see what other dreams and memories were starting to fill Ronan’s pale skin. All at once, he welled up with want, to hold Ronan and Adam to him, to revel in the truth of being right where he belonged. No matter where in the world he might go, this would always be where he’d return to. The truth of it sang in his bones, and he reached out to snag Ronan’s shirt, tugging him into a hug. The way his arms wrapped tightly around Ronan’s waist yelled without words how much he’d been missed. Ronan fumbled to get a good hold on Gansey with one hand, the other grasping for Adam, who moved into the embrace awkwardly, Chainsaw flapping to keep her balance. Gansey’s shoulder bumped Adam’s, and Ronan bent to tuck his face in the space between their heads. No one was going to say anything about the fine tremble or the way he held them tightly enough to leave bruises.
“Asshole,” Ronan grumbled against Gansey’s ear, the tickle of his breath invoking a shiver, the insult calling up a smile.
“How ungrateful,” he teased back, feeling the way Ronan clenched his grip, portraying he was anything but.
“I’m home,” Adam whispered, his drawl covering them both like honey.
Ronan made a noise and crushed his lips to Gansey’s, the kiss hungry and thankful and everything Gansey remembered it was. He immediately gave himself over to it. A moment later, Ronan left him breathless, turning his head to press a softer kiss to Adam’s mouth. Gansey watched Adam’s eyes flutter closed, admired the way Ronan’s dark lashes lay on flushed cheeks. Every mile had been worth it, every minute getting back to this place where dreams and reality shared space, where a dreamer waited for them. There would be many more kisses to come over the time they would share this weekend. Gansey knew they would come dangerously close to never leaving again.
Home home home
29 notes · View notes
marvelrenn · 6 years
Text
Happiness.
Tumblr media
Authors note: oh my god!!! it’s here! this is my very first fic! i’m very proud of it for my first time! please don’t be afraid to give feedback, it will be much appreciated!! enjoy!!! (the gif isn’t mine!)
You stare out the large window of one of the many star destroyers, gloved hands resting on your lower spine. Your body is covered in a black, skin tight armored bodysuit. A metal mask covering your nose and the bottom half of your face. The only thing appearing are your green eyes and the scar running across the right eye, a scar given to you by Snoke himself. That, when he was still breathing. You were littered in scars, but not only from him. Your mind wondered given recent events.
You worked a long side Kylo for some time. Snoke forced you both to train with each other. And soon placing yourself and Kylo in command of the First Order. Years spent training, sweating and bleeding. Years of competition of trying to out due each other, trying to prove yourselves to your Supreme Leader.
But now that Snoke was dead, it was only fair to give Kylo the title. He was the one to cut him in half. You didn’t witness the death take place but you felt it, it was like a wave hit your chest. Something so powerful dying wasn’t going to feel like a tingle in the Force, it made you smile.
The sound of heavy boots grabbed your attention away from your thoughts.
Kylo’s body stood next to yours. You can feel the emotion oozing from his body. It was mostly anger, fury, but deep in there was sadness. A sadness he wished you could heal. He had no idea you knew of the feelings he harbored for you. But he did know you were twice if not three times as powerful he was. You could easily roam his thoughts and he’d have no idea, like you were doing now. They shifted from thinking of where the Order would end up under his command. From there he thought of the positions that needed to be filled. Phasma was gone, he needed to replace her. But thinking of her only made him think of you. You feel his heart beat quicken, he’s now thinking about when you two first met. You were there training with Snoke before him. He saw the sadness in your eyes, the loneliness they held. That was the day he fell for your sad eyes. He wanted nothing more than to brighten them. He managed to do so a few times. The time he made them shine the brightest was when he gifted you with Asajj Ventress’s sabers. Snoke sent him on a mission to recover them. Your original saber was lost in battle.
Your cheeks warmed under your mask, you looked down and over to kylo’s boots. Letting out a sigh, you brought your head back up to the glass.
“Commander Y/N.” the voice in a whisper, it belonged to an officer.
“Yes.” Your voice changed by the mask to sound more robotic. It was similar to Kylo’s in a way. Kylo was feared by all but was nothing compared to you. You were a hell of a force to be reckoned with.
“We’ve- we’ve received word relating to the deal with the nearing system. They want to hold a meeting between you and their main officials.” The females voice was soft. Turning to face her, her eyes went wide at the black smudged around yours. It was clean but looked as if you slept in your makeup. You had.
“Tell them I plan to arrive by nightfall, the meeting will be held then.” With saying that, she bowed her head and hurried off.
“I’ll join you.” Kylo’s voice was bare, unfiltered. It was still strange to hear his true voice. It made your dark heart lighten slightly. You wanted to say yes but you knew the risks if he did.
“Ren, it’s too much of a risk for you. If you didn’t have a target on your back you definitely do now!” your face was frim, not wanting to give too much emotion. He felt his heart flutter at your concern for his well being.
“You’re unsafe going alone as well, I appreciate your concern for me but I will be joining your side on this mission.” You sighed knowing you wouldn’t win, at least not anymore. He was in a higher ranking now. To be fair your temper and stubborn attitude was worse than his own. He knew you only saw red sometimes.
You bowed your head and he copied your movement. You moved to your personal chambers. You needed to clean up your ‘makeup’. You wore it from time to time. You enjoyed keeping your appearance strong and makeup did just that for you. Never needing much considering your mask but for missions like this, you went full. You wandered the hallways until you came up to your door.
Taping the key pad, the door opened. The space was small but you didn’t mind. You never spent much time in here. Making your way to the small bathroom, you stepped in. Turning on the water to the shower, you stripped in no time. This was your only sense of peace. The feeling of warm water beading down your skin relaxed your tight muscles and calmed your mind.
After a bit you finished up and stepped out. Wrapping a towel around yourself and your brunette locks you step out of the lab and enter your small living space again. Soon enough, you’re finished dressing and fixing your tangled mess of hair. Sitting down at your small vanity, you begin decorating your face with products you’ve picked up from planets you’ve visited in the past. Smearing a black cream in a clean line over you lid, you flick it out creating a wing. Copying the same flick for the other eye. Your brows are naturally full and dark. You’ve already set a fine powder over your skin and stained your lips a deep red.
You knew your self worth and acknowledged your beauty. Adding touches of fine products only made it all the better. And it made you feel good, beautiful even. Standing from the seat, you reached out to Kylo and ley your voice echo in his mind that you were ready. He heard it from the other side of the ship. He was already heading to the hanger.
Meeting up by the ship, his eyes fell on you and his breath hitched. He felt excited, even though you’d placed your mask back on, he knew you’d take it off for the meeting. He loved every feature you had to offer and it was rare getting to see your face.
Boarding the ship and taking off was a breeze. You stood in the cockpit, watching the blues fly across the glass as Kylo stood just outside, watching you.
You arrived shortly after the planets nightfall, being guided by some of the royal officials you took in what the planet had to offer. You didn’t even know the name of the rock you stood on. But it didn’t matter, this was just another war deal. They were nothing big considering how many you had with other systems.
Coming to the grand front doors, you stopped. You stood next to Kylo and had two sets of trooper in front and behind you. One of the planets natives pushed the doors open and continued to the war room. Once there, you took a seat at the large wooden table, it was stained a dark brown and the walls were filled with technology so far behind the Order’s.
“What are your terms, Supreme Leader?” one official spoke up breaking the silence.
“You won’t be making a deal with me, but my Commander.” Kylo’s voice was heavy. You sat up in your chair and took in a breath.
“Well, what is it you want from the Order? Protection? Service? Supplies?” You stare down the official. You were making him visibly nervous and it made Kylo snicker. His voice echoed in your head.
Don’t scare him away, love.
You flared your nostrils looking over to him and rolling your eyes.
“Well Commander, we need food and military protection for our people. And our King was hoping to get that from you.’’ He tripped over his words. You sat back and thought about it, you already knew your answer but you needed something in return. And that was going to be the planets resources.
“We’d need something in return, a form of payment if you will.” Your voice laced with evil.
“W-we don’t have much to offer here, Commander. Our economy isn’t doing so well.” He gulped.
Taking your mask off and placing it on the table. You leaned forward exposing cleavage, using your arms to push your breasts together.
“You know, a little birdy told me that your planet has resources the First Order is looking for. And I’m sure your King wouldn’t want to not oblige considering what we have to offer.” You smiled sweetly. The person you were talking to was obviously hot and bothered by your looks. His mind was conflicted but he knew he couldn’t say ‘no’. If he did, the King would have his head.
“I’ll g-get him to sign the documents now, Commander.” He smiled nervously.
“Please, call me Y/N.” You smiled at him as he stood up from his seat and walked out.
You turned to Kylo, he didn’t look the happiness with you but you got the job done. He looked at you and your eyes locked.
Hey, I got the job done. Don’t look at me like you’re jealous. You voiced shot through his head and he shifted in his seat. You two just stared at each other, having a conversation in your heads until the official came back with signed documents.
“The documents are signed by the King himself.” He handed you the holopad.
“Perfect, if they are any problems please call my head officer.” You spoke staring at the pad.
“Would I be able to call you directly, Y/N?” He winked at you, it was a desperate attempt at flirting. Trying your hardest not to gag, Kylo spoke for you.
“Like she said, you can call her lead officer.” Kylo spoke through gritted teeth. Your heart skipped a beat as you placed your mask back on. Even if he had no idea you knew about how he felt, it still made you feel good. He didn’t know about your feelings for him. But maybe he would soon.
With that, you two walked out with troopers in toe. Eventually reaching the ship you had arrived in, you turned to Kylo. You wanted to say something but don’t know what you could possibly say?
‘Hey Kylo, I know you have feelings for me and I return them. Let’s fuck.’ You shook your head looking forward again, eyes on him. Kylo pretended to not notice you looking at him. Walking up the ramp and onto the ship in silence. You took a seat against the wall and oddly Kylo sat next to you. You could feel how uneasy he was. He was jealous and hurting. Both of you looking forward you moved your hand over on top of his. It was a very bold move, but he didn’t move his hand away. Instead he turned it over and inter locked your gloved fingers with his. There was a comfortable silence around the both of you.
Feeling the ship go into hyper ship, you decided it would be best to say something.
“Kylo- I” he cut you off by reaching a hand up and removing your mask. He placed it down on the seat and moved his hand back to your face, holding your cheek. He smiled warmly to you, a smile you’ve only seem a few times before. It made your cheeks warm.
He leaned forward and stopped right in front of your lips. His hot breath fanned your face.
“How long?” You looked at him, narrowing your eyes.
“How long have you known about how I feel? How long have you been reading my thoughts without me noticing?”
At that you smile, you whisper, “A while.” You close the gap and connect your lips.
52 notes · View notes
ruinswithinarc · 3 years
Text
theforsakenmyths·:
Lei looked over at Sage.  He knew more than Adam, who had read the police reports.  Lei had told him to, so it wasn’t like she was hiding her past from him.  Sage had simply heard the unfiltered version.  
Tumblr media
“Yes, and if he comes back into my life, I might just take you up on it…but I might also want to watch, so he knows I took back the power.”  A deeply rooted part of her needed Scott to know that she was no longer the weak girl she had been during her early years of college.  
When the conversation turned to her sketch, Lei laughed.  “You are handsome.  Both of you are, and I see you, Sage.”  She knew what he meant, but she meant something deeper.  “One day, you can describe what you see…”  It was then that she moved, sitting down next to him, tipping the sketchbook towards him.
“I always pictured you with stronger lines in your face than Adam.  Darker hair, too.  Your eyes show your age differently.  A well worn book, compared to one that has simply sat on a shelf to age.”  She smiled, “I think you’re voice…your completely you voice, would be rougher than Adam’s.  Not as polished as his.  Still about the same height, but I’m short…you are both a foot taller than I am.”  Lei added the last with a laugh.
“How’d I do?”
@breathingliife·
Tumblr media
    Sage’s eyebrows rose hearing Lei’s answer about the idiot that had hurt her, it surprised him but also filled him with pride and mischief. Who would have thought that she had that dark side within her? It was promising...    ❛ Oh don’t worry, you’ll be in first line. Even will let you join the torture game if you wish. ❜ Once she approached, his attention went completely to the drawing. He held one side of the sketchbook      or else he would have snatched the whole thing from her hands, but at least he remembered his manners     . The vampire listened thoroughly, nodding at each and every of Lei’s words that seemed to capture closely the figure that he recognized in the mirror. ❛ I like it... You do find differences between the both of us perfectly. My voice is rougher, yes, though the perfect word you were looking for was sexier. ❜     Sage was a hopeless tease, a vain creature that did not know how Lei cope with him. Lifting his gaze from the paper he smirked up at her.        ❛ Yes, you are pocket size. Behave or I’ll pick you up for punishment. ❜
0 notes