#the story develop in parallel lolol

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

In The Heat of the Moment Chapter 5 - Awakening of the Hunter

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4,

Words Count: 12077

Warning: Mention of Suicide; Physical Violence;

BYRON January 1868, London The wind blew in the forest around him, a subtle whisper that carried the promise of a gelid night. The gloomy penumbra of the early sunset permeated the air around him, and if not for the blanket of snow that covered all that surrounded him, he would have not been able to see anything as clearly as he did. Keeping his rifle in his hand, his grip sure and steady, despite the thick gloves around his hands, Byron Harrison let his gaze wander around with slow attention, deliberately scanning his surroundings with a precision that came from habit. Not even the crystal of snow covering his auburn lashes like lace were enough to impede his search. Thick puffs of vapor came out of his mouth, as the chilly air pricked on his cheeks mercilessly, giving them a painful red tint that had nothing to do with bashfulness or strenuous effort. Yet, nothing, not even the torpor in his arms and legs, could sway him from his task. He cared not about discomfort. He cared not about pain. All he cared about was the forest in front of him, and the prey that was hiding in it, the elusive trophy that would finally bring an end to his continuous searching. “Come out, you fucking bastard,” he whispered, turning around to get a wider visual, the crunch of the snow under his boot filling the stillness around him. “I know you are here,”

Ears were keen on capturing any sign, any hint, anything that might show him where that arsehole was hiding. His breathing was controlled, his heart steady in its beating as he slowly turned his eyes toward a silvery bush ahead of him. A low rough laughter raised from somewhere on his right. Byron raised his rifle and shot, the deafening sound breaking the surreal silence. He waited until the echo died down, as stillness had found lease once more among the trees. But he knew it was not peace. There would be no peace. Not until he had shot every single one of the bullets he was carrying with him. Not until those bullets had found their way through that bastard’s heart. Byron tensed his ears again, eyes searching with the same careful attention, waiting for a signal that he knew would come. The laughter continued, reverberating all around him. Mocking him. Deriding him. He blinked rapidly, to clear his eyes from the tears swelling up. “Show your bloody mug, you son of a fucking dog!” he growled, a sound that had nothing of human and all of the beast he was trying with all his strength to restrain. ”Show yourself!” And as always, like clockwork, the man showed himself.

His pristine blue eyes were twinkling in the dark, and what can only be described as a devilish smile was plastered on the man’s face a face crowned by dark hair, disheveled hair, hidden under a dark beaked hood. With the heavy cape of the Assassins weighing on his shoulders, the man stood between the trees, the snow crunching under his feet as he got closer to the Master Templar. Byron reloaded the rifle with quick, precise hands, took aim again, and shot. And shot. And shot. And shot. One bullet after the other flew in the darkness of the night, each of them landing straight through the heart of the mocking Assassin. The man laughed again, unfazed, and with each shot his laughter grew in intensity, to the point of sounding almost hysterical by the time Byron had finished his bullets. “You cannot kill what’s already dead, Leviathan” The words were as derisive as the tone was scornful, cutting through him like the sharpest of blades. Fury pervading every single fiber of his body, Byron took out his revolver and kept shooting and shooting in his rage, until the chamber clicked empty, and no more bullets were left. The low laughter rang all around him, echoing from every hidden corner of that godforsaken forest, reverberating through all that he was, deafening in its intensity. It got interrupted only by another deafening shot. One that Byron didn’t shoot. Straight through his heart, from the revolver that the Assassin was holding, the bullet had passed right through him. His face jerked back, just in time for his desperate eyes to see the bullet hitting its true target: ghosts, holding each other desperately, almost unrecognizable for how deformed they were in the silent scream that was leaving their mangled mouths. But Byron knew them. His soul recognized them before his eyes did.

The scream of agony that left Byron’s mouth was primal in its pain, obscene in its rawness, a wounded animal screaming his curse to the sky in its misery. A scream that followed him in the waking world, and his eyes flashed open, as he tried to grasp for air. Beads of sweat that had nothing to do with heat were running down his brow, as he tried to readjust his view through the dark of the room. But he couldn’t. Everything appeared nebulous in front of him and, he soon realized, it was because his eyes were filled with tears. “You cannot kill what’s already dead,” He heard that voice in his ears again, a hazy memory now, still taunting him. His brow furrowed as he covered his eyes with a callous hand, trying to drown the lump of anguish that had tightened his throat to the point of making breathing torture. His whole chest felt as if hot iron pokes were nabbing at him, piercing him like merciless arrows, in a grotesque imitation of the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian. Pain was tearing him apart. Taking a long breath, he rose from his bed, oblivious to the hiemal air around him or the freezing floor underneath his bare feet. He felt nothing. Nothing at all, aside from the stupor caused by those goddamned nightmares that chased after him like rabid dogs. He headed for the drawer where a small basin sat, already filled with water, and dipped his rough hands in it splashing his face, uncaring about the gelid droplets that ran down his neck and damped his wool shirt. It felt good. It was good. Real. Almost a self-inflicted slap back to reality. Taking another deep breath, Byron allowed himself a moment longer of leniency for his soul, his mind fighting its way out of the merciless tides of dreams and memories, to anchor himself to the world, to make port where his heart could finally acquiesce once more. It came to him in the form of a silvery laughter and curious eyes and freckled cheeks. An image of gentle peace, a small flickering light in darkness: the harbinger of a warm dawn after a long hyperborean night. Despite having found his port, when he raised his gaze to look into the mirror hanging over his basin, the man looking back at him had none of his usual composed certitude.

The man in the mirror looked more like a madman: sunken eyes, dark in the soft penumbra of the room, an ocean where a perennial storm never ceased to be, dangerous waters just beneath the sea green surface; all over his face the heaviness of the years had started to show, in those wrinkles that torment and pain had chiseled mercilessly into his features. His head full of auburn hair still kept wavy and long - a quirk he carried over from his years in the Navy- had started to go gray here and there; on his beard and moustache too, time had started to make its presence known. He felt older than he looked, as if he had lived more years than the ones he had actually been granted by fate. Another deep breath. He splashed more water on his face, hoping to erase the fatigue coming from sleep. “Sleep,” he scoffed. He hadn’t been able to have a restful night of sleep in years. His eyes trained automatically toward the only photo sitting on his desk - the only personal touch in his otherwise bare bedroom- and his heart sank in his chest. He took the memento as gently as his callous rough hands allowed -careful, as he always was with anything connected to it - and caressed the small, precious faces looking back at him. He wished, with all his heart, he could see those smiles again. Hear that laughter again, smell their perfume in his nostrils, feel the solid weight of their bodies against his for one last embrace. Feeling the pain throbbing in his chest with every single beat of his tired heart - how many nights he had prayed that it would stop beating altogether, to find some respite from that life - he put the frame back to its place, hiding it from view, trying to suppress the yearning that, he knew, was the greatest enemies in the war that forever raged in his heart whenever he was awake. “You cannot kill what’s already dead, Levathian,” The voice echoed again in his ears, as it always did. Taunting him. Ridiculing his pain. “I cannot,” Byron growled, gritting his teeth as his eyes turned dark. “But I can take away your future. I can destroy your legacy, all which you held dear, just as you have done with me.”

A sudden knock on the door tore him away from his thoughts. “Yes?” he spoke, his tone curt. “My Lord? Do I have your leave to enter? Victor Dorianr’s warm voice - now a gentle murmur rather than the booming toll of a bell, as it always was - immediately put him at ease. “Come, Victor,” he allowed, as he moved away from his desk to greet the man. The door opened, and the Master Templar entered, candid fresh snow on his black hair and heavy fur-lined coat. Fastened at the high collar was his Templar cross, the metal shining even in the darkness. Byron’s eyes narrowed, tensing: Victor was there on Official Order business. He looked as the Frenchman closed the door carefully behind himself before turning to face Byron, his dark eyes inquisitive. “Forgive me for interrupting your slumber, My Lord-” “No need for apologies, Victor. You are always welcome here…and I was already awake, anyway. What’s the reason for this urgency?” “Forgive me for the late hour, but I got a telegram. From Crawley. Our wait has been fruitful. We captured two Assassins that came to the house, just as you predicted,” Byron felt his blood chill in his veins. For the first time since waking up, Byron allowed himself to smile. But there was none of the warmth that came from pleasure. “Do we know if they are the ones responsible for the explosion of Brewster’s laboratories?” The Frenchman shook his head. “Non, Monsieur, no one has started to interrogate them. Master Barclay was the one duty when the Assassins had broken into the house, and he is now holding them captive and awaiting your orders.” Byron took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes with callous fingers. Markus Barclay, the thorn in his back ever since the young man joined their ranks. He knew why the Grand Master had seen reasons to assign him under his attendance, and he knew he was the only man for the job. Still, had he had the chance to decline that obligation, he would have done so in a heartbeat, and passed instead the “honour” to Ambrose. ”Wake the rest of the men and then wait for me without. Have my carriage ready. We need to leave at once if we want to reach Crawley before sunrise,” “Very well, Monsieur,” he said, holding up for a second. “Is there something else, Victor?” “Nothing urgent or pertaining to our current mission, and you know, God forbid if I dare not pry into your privacy, Monsieur, but if I may be so impertinent, you look…harrowed,” he murmured, his voice turning as soft as the light in his eyes. “Lack of sleep, Victor,” Byron answered curtly, clearing his voice, with all the intention to not explain himself. “Nothing that laudanum cannot help with, and nothing you need to worry about. Now,do as I ordered. We mustn’t waste a minute. We need to run against the dawn.”

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The journey to Crawley took longer than Byron cared for, but with the weather playing against them, he knew they would have been delayed anyway. At least, he thought, it had proceeded smoothly, and with Victor’s low chatter to fill the time, he was inclined to find it even pleasant. The Frenchman always managed, with his quick wit and gentle voice - almost lulling when it wasn’t so loud, it could be heard a whole town away - to distract him from his ghosts, at least for a little while. However, the moment the carriage had stopped and he had been able set foot out of it, he welcomed the cold winter air of the night against his face and the soft snow falling in big flakes all around them. Nothing like the freezing chill of darkness nipping at one’s cheeks to keep one’s senses awake and alert. His favourite hunting weather. As much as it resembled the one he always saw in his nightmare, he felt none of the helplessness that derived from the inevitable, the unchangeable. Instead, he felt all the empowerment from being awake, and in control of everything that was around him. As he walked down the empty street, the fresh snow crunching under his boots, his eyes immediately found the house - a one-floor old cottage, its red bricks appearing black in the dark of the night, the roof torn down here and there, weighting on the structure in a way that it reminded Byron of an old man carrying a basket, his back curved by life and time. All the windows were black, empty sockets on what could only be described as a dismal facade, with no sign of lanterns or candles anywhere. No one had lived there in a little while. Byron turned to look around, his eyes scouring the surroundings of the small neighbourhood, a habit he never lost since his travels in the Arctic. He saw nothing, aside from a whole line of old houses not so different from the one in front of him, nothing that would cause him to be on alert. But something in his guts - an instinct, almost an extra sense that he couldn’t explain into words - told him that there was something just staring at them, waiting in the darkness, standing as still as waters in a tranquil pond. It was a fickle feeling, almost air shimmering in a faint glow, a whisper in his ear. None of the other Templars following him gave him a sign of having felt it as well. But he could sense it all the same. “Victor,” Byron murmured, his gravelly voice echoing in the empty street.

The Frenchman was at his side at once, ready to comply with his order. “Make sure to keep the place restricted. Do not let anyone get closer to the house - no passerby, no nosy neighbours, no one. If trouble should arise, if anyone were to show their face around here-” he added, eyes cold and void as the sky above. “-you know what to do,” Victor nodded with solemnity, swallowing hard. “Oui, Monsieur,” While hearing his subordinate relay his orders to the rest of the squadron, Byron turned his attention to the house once more, hatred seeping in his chest the longer he stared at its weathered walls, as puffs of condensed breath raised from his lips with each breath he took. The place where Ethan Frye and his broods lived. His attention was soon caught by the Master Templar responsible for sending him the message, emerging from the dark door like a magpie peaking from inside its nest. “They are inside, My Lord. We were awaiting for your arrival,” said Markus Barclay, straightening his back and tilting his chin up, as he came out to welcome the older man while giving him a cocky smile. Byron answered the smile with a long impenetrable look as he walked across the threshold of the small house without a single word of greeting. Complete darkness enveloped him immediately, despite the door still being open behind him. “Light,” he whispered, and before he had the time to add anything else, two candles had been lit by the young Master Templar. The feeble trembling light brightened the small corridor, allowing Byron to get a better look at his surroundings. As nondescript as it was from the outside, the house was just as unremarkable on the inside: old walls once covered in what could only be assumed to be quaint patterns were now presenting stains from mildew, peeling off here and there to show the bare bricks; cobwebs were hanging at the corners against the ceilings, and the wind, slipping through the decaying timber of the doors, carried with it a mournful moan, almost a messenger of what was about to come. A ghostly sentinel for a family that was no more. The boards of the floor protested with each step he took, creaking as he moved toward the quarters where the two Assassins were kept prisoners. He caught a glimpse of a frame where an old small ambrotype hung: a man, not much younger than Byron himself, was sitting on an armchair, a small smirk - barely perceptible -plastered on his lips, beard unkempt and eyes twinkling with what could only be interpreted as pride. Byron’s jaw tensed, teeth grinding as he contained the ever-growing fury coursing through his veins each time he saw that smirk, the very same that taunted each night in his nightmares. He welcomed the fury, and allowed it to warm him like a blazing fire: it was a never-ending flame that kept him going ahead.

Next to the man in the hanging picture were two children, no older than twelve years of age: the girl standing straight, shoulder squared, looking ahead of herself with the same proud eyes as the man sitting beside her, her dark hair hanging in long braids at the either side of her head; the boy facing away from the girl and the man, brows knitted in a despondent gaze, mouth turned downward in a rebellious grimace, the same dark unruly hair as his father, hidden just beneath an old worn-out paperboy hat. Both children’s faces were riddled with freckles, while none appeared on the man’s sullen face. He perused those small faces with meticulous attention, almost dissecting every single detail he deemed essential, etching them in his memory. Then, he forced himself to continue walking down the barely illuminated hall, until he reached where the two Assassins had been kept captive. When Byron entered the room, his gaze was immediately trained toward the two tied-up figures sitting on the floor. He studied them intently, their tied bodies forming a stark, dire contrast against the innocence of the children’s room where they were being held. Both Assassins were in their mid-thirties and, he noticed, were donning the dark robe of their Brotherhood, the hoods lowered on their shoulders to show hard faces and cold stares in their anonymous faces. They were docile. Far too docile, for his taste. “What happened to their blades?” he asked, gazing just above his shoulder toward Markus. “Confiscated and secured downstairs, My Lord, along with all their pieces of equipment. I personally saw to that.” Byron nodded, turning to face the two captives, eyes narrowed in an attentive, silent gaze as he studied the two captives: no scratches, cuts, hematomas, or ecchymoses could be found anywhere on their person; no sign of struggle. No sign of a fight. He stared at Markus for a long moment, his face painted in a mask of wariness before redirecting his attention toward the Assassins once more. “You know who I am?” Byron’s gravelly voice was low, a whisper cutting right through the chillness of the air around him. Nothing transpired from his face, the candle in his hands painting deep shadows all across his face. The woman in front glared at him, defiant of him, but Byron could see, even in the flickering light of the candles, fear was creeping into her eyes, dancing with the rabid hatred she had each time she looked at the iron cross hanging at his neck, her attention fixated on the symbol etched at the center of it. “You are the bloody Leviathan,” she seethed, vomiting his moniker as if it were a curse underneath her breath.

Byron's lips stretched in a chilling smirk. “Then you know why I am here.”

The woman spat on the ground, the spittle just inches away from Byron’s shoes. The other Assassin, captive as well, tied next to her, shook his head at his companion, eyes silently pleading with her to stop and stay quiet. Byron’s eyes twinkled for a moment, his face impassible, calm as ever. “We know. Like we both know that you won’t let us get out of here alive. You Templars know no honour, no compassion, no clemency, not even for the one you declare to protect! All you bastards know is greed and lust for power! And you, Leviathan…you are the worst of them all. No one has ever survived an encounter with you. So why would I cooperate with you, you bastard?” Byron stood silent, untouched by those words that found no retort. But deep within, he felt his guts turning and twisting with barely suppressed rage at the sight of the two Assassins, a rage that churned like the bubbling waters of the oceans during those bleak winter storms that always stole hope from the sailors unlucky enough to find themselves at sea. His rage has nothing to do with them, but all to do with the symbol they had hanging at their belts. “It is not my… proclivity to offer mercy to your kind. It is indeed true. But-” he murmured, a smile appearing on his lips, that didn’t reach his eyes. “-I bear no ill will to either of you. All I want is a piece of information. Just one small piece of information, and you will walk away from here with all your limbs attached together. I am offering you the possibility of leaving this place alive…if you tell me all you know about the whereabouts of Ethan Frye and his offspring.” The woman spat again, gritting her teeth in ire. “Do you think me dense or soft in the head? There is no promise you can spew that I would believe, no word you say that I would trust! We will not talk! In no way in Hell, we will ever betray the Creed! You won’t know anything about Ethan Frye or his children! Never! You can torture us, cut us, and dice us to pieces, we’ll never talk, you bastard son of a who-“ The booming sound of a revolver going off shattered the air of the room, its deafening blast echoing against the worn-out walls, gunpowder filling the nostrils with its acrid smell. Byron’s steely gaze never left the eyes of the Assassin still alive, his hand still holding the smoking gun pointed toward the dead woman, now a lifeless husk, a hole the size of an orange marking her forehead where the bullet had entered, with bits of flaccid pale brain matters, blood, and splintered bones had flown all around.

Byron moved the mouth of the revolver toward the other Assassin, his face impassible in front of the spectacle of gore lying in front of him, unfazed by the blood that had sprayed against the hem of his leather coat. He barely wrinkled his nose when he felt the pungent foul odour coming from the still-bound man who, had soiled himself. Blood, gore, shit and gunpowder. A side of his life he had come to accept as normal, regrettably so. “Now…let’s try this again, shall we?” Byron asked again, his voice dropping again to a chilling murmur. “Where are Ethan Frye and his offspring?” The bounded man whimpered, his whole body encompassed by a tremor as the realization of what just happened pushed through his veins like ice. He lowered his head, keeping his eyes completely shut, keeping his breathing steady, but failing altogether. “Th-they are hiding in London,” he blabbered, the words pouring out like a river. “Ethan reached out to us yesterday and sent words about a plan to assassinate John Elliotson as the initiation for his son and daughter-” At the name of the Assassin, Byron narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring at those words, bile burning the back of his throat. His fist clenched out of reflex, his grip growing tighter with each passing second. “How does he plan to do this?” he growled. The Assassin whimpered, eyes fixed on the mouth of the gun still pointed in between his eyebrows. “God forgive me... Oh God, forgive me,” he muttered, between one sob and the other. “We-we have an insider at Lambeth, acting as an informant. A nurse.” “Who?” Byron pressed, with steely determination in his voice. The Assassin hanged his head in shame, biting his lip until he tasted the metallic tangy taste of his own blood. “Emily Millburn,” he sobbed, wringling in the tight rope tied around him. “I beg you, do not hurt her! She is a widow, and only has her little boy as her family! Please, I beg of you! She has nothing to do with Ethan!” Byron took a deep breath, nodding as he allowed the information to settle in his mind. “We are done here,” he murmured, turning toward Markus, who was still standing there, silent witness to the whole scene, as he tried, with all his might, to make himself as small as a rat and just as unnoticeable.

Without a single word uttered, Byron handed him his revolver, his order clear in its silence. Markus’ dark eyes widened, his lips quivering as he tried to focus his attention on Byron. “Lord Harrison, I.. I don’t understand. He-He has told us what we wanted to know-” Byron stared at him longer, eyes unblinking, piercing through his resolve like a needle in the canvas.

“This is a lesson I want to partake with you, Master Barclay. A lesson about honour and loyalty,” he whispered, each word laced with indignant contempt. “I appreciate qualities like loyalty, I find it to be the very base upon which all is created. And this man, despite his questionable judgment in terms of alliances, despite being nothing more than a vermin of insignificant consequence…this man has loyalty aplenty. For. His. Creed. So much so that he had no qualms in lying, straight to my face, about a dead man’s whereabouts-” At those words, Byron saw the Assassin’s eyes go wide with inconceivable terror. “-knowing fully what the consequences would be. Knowing fully well that while loyalty has a price, defiance has an even greater cost,” Byron pushed the revolver into Markus’ hand once more. “Now, kill him, Master Barclay. I won’t ask it another time.” Markus swallowed hard as his whole face transformed, skin turning the colour of curdled milk, his body reacting almost against his will, weighting like lead. He made the mistake of looking for one moment into the eyes of the Assassin sitting on the floor. The silent plea of mercy was there, written in watery dark eyes. Markus took a deep breath, hands pervaded by an uncontrollable tremor. The gun went off again, the bullet finding its way through the skull of the remaining Assassin.

Byron looked once more to the desolated rest of the two Assassins, his face not letting transpire a single emotion. If anyone were to look upon him, one would have thought him bored by the whole ordeal. But this would have been the furthest from the truth. He turned toward Markus, whose face was covered in sweat, mouth puckered in a grimace, about to either retch or pass out. Byron narrowed his eyes as he walked just by him, his footsteps heavy, deliberate, implacable. He stood by the Master Templar without so much as to deign him of a glance and when he spoke, Markus flinched as if slapped in the face. “I do not take insubordination leniently, nor do I condone it. Question my orders one more time and I will make sure that no one will ever find you ever again. You have taken an oath. The Grand Master has seen fit to give you a second chance and by his ordinance, I will comply with his wishes and make sure that you follow through with it; I will see you abide by it by any means necessary, or I swear on what I hold most dear in this life, I will make you regret the very day you have set foot inside the Manor. Understood?” Markus turned to look toward the man who was towering over him, his voice a squawk that died in his chest before it could even find the strength to pass through his lips. A shaky nod was all that he could muster.

Unimpressed with the response, Byron walked past him, never turning to face either the Master Templar or the slaughter of the room. As he found his way out of the small house, the silence that surrounded him was deafening. Not a single one of the Templars that had accompanied him to the small house in Crawley dared to speak or even look him straight in the eyes. As he walked in the corridor, he noticed again the ambrotype that had welcomed him inside. It took it with a swift hand and hid it in the internal pocket of his jacket. Another memento. Another step further down that path that called him each day and each night of his life. He quickly went down the corridor, and crossed the threshold, breathing in the cold air of the night with gratitude, letting it feel his lungs with its purity. Raising his face to the sky - now starting to brighten with the colours of dawn at the horizon - he closed his eyes, allowing the soft snow to fall all over him, gently caressing his skin. It was incredibly welcomed, after all that had just happened.

He let his mind clear itself, trying, as it always happened whenever violence permeated his thoughts and hung to him like a tick to a dog’s coat, to find a moment of light amidst all that darkness. To find his port again. Keeping his eyes closed, he heard Victor walk towards him, recognizing him distinctly by the sound of the man’s step, light and fluid against the snow-covered pathway. “Did you find what were you seeking, Monsieur?”

Byron shook his head, lowering his head and opening his eyes to look at the Frenchman. “Not entirely, I am afraid. Those Assassins are willing to lie even in the face of death and go to the grave to protect the whereabouts of a dead man. But the liars always weaves their best stories with truth, and we got something that the Grand Master will find useful,” “Then, a successful mission indeed, if I may be so bold,” Victor cheered, without daring to ask any details that couldn’t be shared with him. Byron appreciated his discretion, the deferential respect he had for the rules and hierarchy within the Order, his unwavering loyalty to what the Tenets of the Order prescribed, and also his penchant for brutal honesty. While most would find the lack of edulcoration in his words disagreeable, Byron was particularly grateful for it. He wished he had more men with such moral strength working for him. “A partial success, yes,” he conceded. “Nevertheless, I will return to London immediately to inform the Grand Master of the current situation and after that, God Willing, I will be able to rest,” And then, if nothing more were to happen, I will finally see her again, he thought. “Very well, Monsieur. Your commands for us here?”

Byron’s shoulders tensed once more, as he stood pensive for a moment. “Finish to search the house and find any manner of evidence that might be connected to the Assassins’ plans. Frye surely had information that would be useful to us. Keep Markus with you, Victor, and keep a close eye on him: I trust no one else but you with this particular task. And once you are done, before you head back to London-“ Byron turned to look at the small house, hatred seeping into all his being like a poison spreading in his veins with every heartbeat. "- Burn this whole shack to the ground and then spread salt upon the soil. I want to see this place erased from the face of the Earth.”

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“This is not what I signed up for, Brudenell, bloody hell,” Ambrose Harrison thought, as he rubbed his eyes trying to chase away his drowsiness, absolutely disgruntled. Again, he cursed under his breath the man who had sponsored him when he had first been offered a spot in the Templars, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and tapping the filter against the tin box before lighting it up. The first taste of tobacco felt good against his tongue, but not enough to brighten his mood. The day had yet to start properly - the sun was barely rising upon the horizon - and he was yet to have a cup of strong coffee to chase the excess of the night before away. But that hadn’t stopped the news from arriving sooner than he liked. And he had liked that news even less once he got to White Chapel to witness them in person. He still couldn’t believe it. Kaylock had been taken down by a couple of miserable ratbags with more brawns than brains, half his gang was dead against the track of the train station, and the other half scattered the Devil only knew where. He knew he would be in for a long day.

He let out a low growly sound of displeasure as his gaze embraced the corpses of all the members of the gang that had been slaughtered during the gang fight, while his men were busy shouting away curious passersby and bribing away any “peeler” that might have come snooping around to report to Whitehall Place. Not that it would matter, considering the amount of officers that were already on the Grand Master’s own payroll. Still, he thought, a few more quid spent on those blokes -with more mouth to feed than hair on their balls- were a good way to ensure absolute silence and discretion. That or a gun against their head. He was open to either solution indistinctly. A flash of brilliant red at the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Blighters. Splendid. 'Old Man’ Roth had sent some of his dupes to help with the works. “Oi! Lads!” He shouted to the group of newcomers. “Chop-chop, we don’t have the whole mornin’! Start lookin’ around and see if you find anythin’ - ANYTHIN’- that might lead us to understand how the bloody fuck we ended up like this!”

“My my, such reprehensible language, Master Harrison,” Ambrose heard a low husked voice reprimanding him. “I do wonder what your brother would think of such…crude display of uncouthness,” It took Ambrose every smidgen of patience to not roll his eyes to the sky at the sound of that voice. Instead, he straightened his back and turned around to face Phillip Starrick, all wrapped in a heavy wool coat lined with slick black fur, his golden cross hanging from the bandeau around his neck. Despite being incredibly early in the morning, the young man appeared to be as fresh as a rose, and -Ambrose couldn’t stop himself from thinking it - just as pretty. “I’m here to bring results, Lord Starrick, not playin’ the elegant Lord,” he grumbled, turning to blow the smoke of the cigarette away from the young aristocrat. “What are you even doin' here? Don’t you “My Lords” usually wake up after the cock has sung its tune?” “Why, Master Harrison, you offend me with your words. I am a most diligent worker, and when the news reached the Manor, the Gran Master saw me fit to oversee the operations alongside you. Consider these Blighters I brought with me as a gesture of goodwill toward a fruitful partnership in discovering what happened here,” he murmured, giving the older man a long look before turning toward the gruesome spectacle in front of them. “Do we have any lead about who caused all of this?” Ambrose shook his head, returning the younger man's look. “Not yet, M’lord. My men are workin' on interrogatin' whoever witnessed the whole fight. We tried to circumscribe the Station, but we arrived too late and whoever caused this mayhem had already left,” Phillip listened intently, his periwinkle eyes gazing with attention around him.

“My Lord! My Lord!” Ambrose heard his name being called from the other side of the railway. One of his own -Bradley, judging from the booming voice - was running toward him, his usually good-natured face now a mask of barely contained stress. “What is it, lad?” “My Lord, you need to come at once,” he gasped, between one breath and the other. “We-We have found it. Kaylock’s body. It’s…It’s-” Ambrose stood silent for a moment, taking a deep breath, and clenching his jaw in frustration. “Show him to me,” he murmured. Then he turned toward Phillip. “I advise you stay here, M’lord. It might be a gruesome affair, the lot of it,” The young Aristocrats waved his hand as if to dismiss his concern. “Fret not, Master Harrison, I am not a delicate daisy that cannot hold the sight of a corpse,” he murmured, shaking his golden curls with a pretentious look etched on his oval face. “It wouldn’t be my first,” Once again Ambrose fought the impulse to roll his eyes to the sky, and answer him with a mordant remark; instead, he refocused his attention on the young lad and followed him to the location where Kaylock’s body had been found, his thoughts redirecting toward the gang leader. So the man had indeed been killed after all.

For a brief moment, Ambrose had hoped not: their differences notwithstanding, Rexford Kaylock had been a good friend of his, always ready for a brawl down at the pits, always up for a wager and he was yet to meet a man that could hold his beer like he did. But despite the man’s cunning, Ambrose knew that his penchant for playing with his food before eating it would have been his ruin, sooner or later. Once in front of the corpse of the man who had once been his friend, Ambrose said nothing, his face almost impassible if not for the furrowing of his thick brows. Now he understood the distress on Bradley’s face. Kaylock hadn’t been just killed: he had been slaughtered. Nose was broken with such strength the bone was showing from the skin; slashes all over his upper body, and open wounds showing the shiny sinew and the bundle of muscles, in some places so deep that you could see the indentation of the weapon even on the bone. He couldn’t determine if it had been a butcher knife or a smaller blade to cause all that. All he could see was that the stroke had been deliberate, unforgiving, inexorable. Ambrose turned toward Bradley and took him aside, bringing him closer enough to preserve the secrecy of his words. “Take away his body and see that he’s buried properly,” his voice was just high enough to be heard by the man. Ambrose took two pouches filled with money and gave it to him. “Give this to his widow and this one to the undertaker, and make sure to have some of my men guardin' his grave after the burial, at least until we figure out who in the fuckin' hell has done this." “Understood, My Lord,” Bradley nodded, lips thin in a grimace of distress as he left to do as he had been ordered. Ambrose growled, taking out another cigarette and lighting it up, hoping to calm his annoyance down.

He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be there at all, playing nanny to the young Blighters who had still to make their bones in the field, and, on top of that, counting the dead after whatever the hell had occurred in the night. A disaster, in his opinion, more than avoidable, had that stupid man listened and stood put, as he had been ordered, instead of getting more and more tangled up with whatever bollocks he had found himself into. Bloody affair, the lots of it. The sound of cold wind blowing did nothing to soothe his spirit or cover the shouting of the people busy working on the site - all myrmidons from his own regime - to bring away the corpses and, in a miraculous turn of faith, find someone still alive with the answers they sought. Ambrose stood a moment longer to oversee the young Blighter when he heard the rustling of a heavy cloak just beside him. When he turned, he found Phillip gazing intently toward the group of men who were carrying Kaylock’s corpse away. “Quite the gruesome spectacle, judging from how the leader of this borough has been rendered.” The aristocrat murmured, his periwinkle eyes observing without fear. “Kaylock wasn’t killed by a dabbler. The pisspot that did this knows how to wield a knife,” “Any theories?” “Not as many as I wished. My money is on a showdown, maybe a settlement of scores between Kaylock’s men and some goddamn Clinkers. They’ve been a pain in the arse lately, so I wouldn’t rule out an escalation. Anyway, until we figure this out, I gave the order to have Keylock’s body to be guarded after his burial.” “I didn't know that corpse snatchers were still residing in the East End of our fair city?” “They don't," Ambrose retorted, putting out his cigarette with his shoe. " No, what I fear is that people might take revenge against him. I don’t put it above them to desecrate a corpse. At this point, I can’t exclude anything. What about your voices, Master of Secrets? Any hint?” Phillip smirked at that name, shaking his golden ringlets. Ambrose couldn’t help but notice how they resembled the colour of ripe wheat in summer. “Forgive me, m’lords,” they both heard a voice behind them.

Ambrose turned and saw young Zachary Handerson approaching them, a small bowler hat in his hands in deferential respect, his fresh face crossed in distress. Ambrose shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The young boy couldn’t be a day over twelve. He knew he had joined the Blighters out of necessity and need for money, and after a talk with Old Man Roth, he had been assigned to Kaylock’s men. But Ambrose could see that the lad had a gentle heart, and was not accustomed to all that violence. He had no place among them, and yet, here he was, doing the job of a man when in truth, he was no more than a child. “What do you need, lad?” Ambrose enquired, his voice much softer than usual. “Forgive me, M’lord,” Zachary fumbled in his words. “I- I was the one that gave the alarm when the whole chaos happened. I was here when the fight started,” Ambrose’s brows raised in surprise, as he turned fully to face the young man, his attention entirely devoted to the young urchin. “Did you see what happened?” “Aye, sir,” the child murmured, raising his eyes but immediately turning them down when they met Phillip’s haughty gaze. Through some gentle nudging from Ambrose, the youngling was able to recount all that he had seen, all that had happened.

Both men listened intently, keeping whatever comments they had for themselves. “It was a bloodbath,“ Zachary ended his tale, cheeks pale from having to remember everything his young eyes had seen. “And those who didn’t die, become turncoats! They all rallied behind the young Rook, sir!” "The Young Rook, you say?” asked Ambrose, his bushy eyebrows frowning. “Aye, sir! That’’s what they called themselves - the chap and the missy- Rooks! Bloody furies, the two of them were! They swooped in with their men and even sized Keylock’s old train!” the young lad said, his face animated at the memories. Ambrose exchanged a look with Phillip, their expressions a mirror. “I assume it would be too much to ask the direction the train has taken?” said Phillip, his words tinged with frustration. When no answer came from the boy, Ambrose gently dismissed him with a few golden coins for his help and looked as he quickly retreated into the bustling crowd, the shock of the recent events still etched on his face. “It appears we have a new player in this war of gangs,” murmured Phillip. “Nothin' to be concerned about. I'll regroup as many Masters as I can and have them surveillin' each of London’s main stations. A train can't vanish out of thin air like that. They’re bound to resurface again.” “- assuming that those miscreants are still well within the city borders. We must find out who is controlling these “Rooks” and what their intentions are. We need to ascertain if this was a single instance or if it is part of something much greater,” Ambrose stared at the young aristocrat at the younger man. “You think this could be connected to the Assassins,” Phillip kept his silence, turning to look toward the trains that were still parked in the station. “I have my theories, yes,” he murmured, as his eyes scanned the surrounding before turning and walking toward the entrance of the train station, Ambrose walking at his side. “Lift the circumscription and see that your men bring order around here as fast as they can. We have already attracted far too much attention than what the Grand Master would have liked.”

“What about you, Master Starrick?” “I will need to have a word with Roth regarding his men,” murmured Phillip, as he walked toward the carriage parked just outside the station, awaiting for him. “We need to find a replacement for Kaylock, and if it is true that these peons have turned coats and joined these “Rooks”, we will need more discipline as well,” With a subtle movement, Ambrose grabbed the young aristocratic’s wrist, slowing him down in his walk. “Phillip, wait," he whispered. “We need to talk,” Phillip turned to look at him with indignation burning in his light eyes. Yet, Ambrose noticed the blushing appearing on the younger man’s cheeks, as it always did whenever he called him by his first name. "It's “Lord Starrick” for you, Master Harrison," he hissed, as he looked around to make sure that no one saw them. "And no, we don't need to talk. Not now. Not ever!" The older man smirked underneath the bushy mustache, lowering his eyelids with a look that said everything and yet nothing. “We do, Phillip. You and I have unfinished business,” Phillip yanked his arm away from the other man’s grasp. Their eyes met for a moment too long: forest green against periwinkle blue. For a moment, Ambrose felt as if he was looking at the immensity of the sky on a clear sunny day. “No we do not, Master Harrison! We have nothing unfinished! Now, if you will excuse me-“ “I can’t let you get back to Roth, Phillip. The man is off his chump.” Phillip’s nostrils flared in disdain at those words.

“I would mind your words, Master Harrison. You are not the Grand Master, to dispense tasks and commands as it pleases you, nor your are my superior in rank. Maxwell Roth has been a trusted associate of the Order, long before your tenure, and I will not have you disrespecting him or question the Grand Master’s decision." Phillip shot back, his voice filled with aggravation. Ambrose sighed, frustration building up in his chest. The Young Lord could be as stubborn as he was cunning, whenever it came to the man responsible for training all the Templars’ underlings. And he never knew how he felt about that stubbornness, what motivated it. And he wasn't sure he wanted to know, lest he was not to like the answer. "Very well, “Master Starrick",” he blurted, his voice tinged with mockery. “Go back to all your affairs! But don't let your pride blind you! Do not trust Roth! His loyalty may be as wavering as that of the men that today have sworn fielty to the Rook, and mark my word, we will all pay the price if that loyalty will fail." Phillip's expression shifted to one of contemplation, and for a moment, Ambrose saw a flicker of doubt in those usually steadfast eyes. But it was quickly replaced by determination, a brand new flame burning bright. "I'll handle my responsibilities, Master Harrison," Phillip replied, a steely resolve in his voice. "As you should handle yours. Good day to you," As Phillip walked away, Ambrose watched him go without following him any further. He took out another cigarette, and lit it up, hoping that tobacco -the sweet poison he couldn’t go without - would also help tainting the swirling feelings that Ambrose always kept sealed and well hidden behind the guise of authority and duty.

——————————————————————————————————

Byron felt nervous. He had been to Starrick Manor innumerable times throughout the years - certain times with such regularity, the Grand Master oftentimes jested that he should consider taking up residency directly inside the Manor; and yet, that time, it felt different. Uneasiness stirred within his chest as he clutched the small package he was holding with attentive carefulness in his hand— a collection of rare tomes of her favourite tales—and he took a moment to gather his thoughts. Three years. It had been three years since he had last seen her. Three years of letters, three years of incertitude in not knowing how she was in fact faring, if she was safe and sound, protected, loved as she had been loved within those walls. Three long years since his protégé had to flee the country because the danger in London had stricken too close for comfort. He gritted his teeth at the memory, his hand closing in a tight fist. Never the Assassins had been so bold. Never so foolish as to try something that most would have thought to be a suicide. A reckless move for which he had made sure they would pay. In full. But not enough. Not enough.

Byron relaxed his jaw and shoulders, as he tried to relinquish the raging energy that always pervaded him each time he thought about that night. He took a deep breath and allowed himself to focus once more on what was ahead of him, as he resumed his walk toward the doors of the library. He allowed himself to take a quick glance in the mirror and adjusted a small lock of hair that had fallen out of place, before turning toward the library once more. The closer he got to that room -one of his favorite places in the whole Manor- the more he could hear the soft melodious voice of a violin coming from behind the wooden panels. A distant melody, a gentle one, beckoning him like a siren, inviting him to leave all that worried him behind. “Angels We Heard on High”. Byron allowed himself the indulgence for a tiny smile: a little out of season, considering that Christmas had passed already, but he knew that, if it was for her, she would be playing Christmas songs and carols all year round. He knew that, if it was up to her, she would have all the lands constantly covered in a soft blanket of gentle powdery snow, protecting everything from the bitter frost, as flora and fauna alike would wait until the warm kiss of Spring came to wake them all up again. He opened the door, ever so slightly, and felt his heart leaping in his chest at the sight of the young woman who was playing the violin, eyes closed as always to let herself be entirely transported away in the land of arpeggios and symphonic poems, the melody coming straight out of her soul, as if she was indeed singing the praise of this life to the Angels above. His dear Dorothea.

After the immense tragedy that had burned his heart and rendered it just ashes, she had been one of the reasons why he hadn’t lost his path, why he hadn’t lost his way amidst desperation and discomfort. His Morning Star, the herald of Dawn after the long cold winter night that was his grief. A purpose, after all that had been lost. Sitting on the sofa, just opposite the young woman, was her cousin Phillip, his whole attention focused on her as a good-natured smile made his sharp face much more amiable than what he usually presented to the world. A gentle grin, ever so sweet in nature, appeared on Byron’s lips, before he even realized it; but he had no intention of stopping that smile from growing larger. Because in truth, what he saw in front of him were the echoes of a moment long gone: a memory of two young children who would sit on that sofa together as they read for hours through Byron’s old journals of his time in the Arctic, bombarding him with questions after questions, their curiosity insatiable. It was a familiar sight, the comfort of a long lost home and family finally found again, of peace sought after a long journey across the whole sea that was his life. Odysseus finally returning to Ithaca, prepared to find peace for his tired heart.

Careful now in opening the door as quietly as possible, he put a finger in front of his lips when he saw Phillip turning to look at him. The young man smirked and nodded, keeping his silence. Byron took his hat off with respect and placed the small package as he awaited for the young woman to finish her song, her fingers dancing along the strings with the easiness that came from practice. Such a soothing sight, it was. As the last notes flew in the air, he finally spoke. “This sound was incredibly missed, Princess,” he murmured, his gravelly voice just loud enough so that she would hear him without startling her. “Byron!” Dorothea turned to look at him, eyes wide in surprise as her whole face seemed to be lit up by his mere presence. Without hesitation, Dorothea left her violin and bow on the nearby table and ran to the Master Templar. With careful attention- as gentle as his own strength allowed - Byron took the young woman's hands in his and brought them to his lips, softly placing a long kiss on her knuckles. “Oh, how I missed you! My eyes see with joy! My heart sees with joy!” she murmured, eyes twinkling with barely contained tears of unbounded happiness at the sight of her mentor, after so many years far away from one another. “As do mine, darling child. As do mine.” he whispered back, feeling a small lump forming in his throat at the sound of her voice, his heart swelling in his chest. “Thank you for bringing her home safe and sound,” he whispered to Phillip, his voice filled with a gratitude he couldn’t contain, his eyes not leaving Dorothea’s silvery ones for a single moment. The young man raised his brows in surprise at the gentle tone and responded with a small bow of his head. “I just did what every devoted man would do for his beloved family,” He chuckled, before turning to look at his cousin. ”Well, Dora dearest, I thank you for gracing me of your time and company this evening, but it is high time I return to my duties and shall take my leave." “Oh, cousin, please! Do not leave just yet!” she pleaded. “No no, I do insist, dearest. Besides, I believe you and Master Harrison will have a lot to discuss, after three years away. But-“ and he turned to refer to the older man, his periwinkle eyes piercing the Master Templar’s sea-green eyes. “If you were to spare a few moments for me afterward, I have something to discuss with you regarding our latest endeavors,” Byron’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. Despite the placid calm of his voice, the urgency in the young man’s gaze couldn’t be denied nor ignored. “As you wish, Lord Starrick.” He conceded. “Splendid! I shall await you then. I have a few details to discuss with Aunt Annette before - we truly should take into consideration renovating the library in Dover,” he turned to face Dorothea once more and kissed her hand amiably, before smiling one last time. “Sleep well, darling Cousin. I will call you soon,”

Then, nodding to Byron, he took his leave, closing the door behind him. Byron’s eyes immediately found Dorothea’s again, and he felt warmth once more spreading from his chest to the rest of his whole body. “I have missed you, Byron,” She giggled, daring to engulf him in the tightest embrace her arms allowed. “These halls were empty without your laughter to fill them, Princess,” he murmured, returning the embrace in full. He dared to lay a small kiss on the braid on the crown of her silvery blond hair, resting his lips against her hair a moment longer. With eyes closed, he allowed himself to be completely enveloped by her presence, to stop time and thoughts from running around in his mind, to live in that small moment of warm joyous innocence. To feel her breathing, healthy, alive, safe, and sound. Cradling her face in his hands, he examined her thoroughly, his stormy sea green eyes piercing straight into his protégé’s as he looked at every small wrinkle, every freckle, every single detail of her face with almost punctilious attention. A frown appeared on his heavy brows when he found the small scar under her eye, white and healed after so long. He blocked the memories from returning to him before she could read them all over his face. “You look thin, Dora. Have you not been fed while in Sturefors?” he murmured instead, his voice sounding more like a growl than a whisper, as his gaze fixed on her cheeks, not as round as he remembered them to be. Dorothea shook her head, with a sad smile. “I have been, Byron. My family at Sturefors has taken the greatest care of me during my sojourn there. But the Famine hit us. It hit us all. The last two winters were the most cruel I had ever had the misfortune to experience, but we were lucky. The food was less than what we had when I first arrived, but we still had food.” She paused for one moment, lips trembling at the memories that came flooding her of all the people she had seen dead on the side of the street, starvation, and the unforgiving winter cold the cruel executioners of their fate. “So many others didn’t.”

Byron pursed his lips in a grimace of utter displeasure at the news, the grip around her tightening almost out of instinct. He had always been against her departure from London, three years prior, believing that with him around, no hurt could ever come to her. But he had been powerless in front of the Grand Master’s will, his hands bound as he himself had to put her on a ship and send her to hide deep in the forest of the North. And now, he wasn’t happy to see her return less than she had been before. “Why didn’t you write to me about this?” he whispered, his voice stern in his question. “To what end? Not even you and your strength of will could ever stop the turn of the Seasons, or Nature and her whims, my dearest mentor,” she jested, hoping to see the deep frown on his brow disappear altogether. “I could have arranged for your return, Dora. You know that all I needed was one word from you - one command - and I would have come and brought you back home myself. The Baltic Sea, with all its maelstroms and currents, would have not stopped me. You know that.” “I know,” she acquiesced with a nod, a bashful grin appearing on her face. “I know, Byron. No woman on this Earth could ask for a better Mentor and Guardian; No woman could ask for a most formidable Bulwark. But I could never ask that of you. You had duties here that were far more important than having to personally come and collect me. How could I ever deprive the Grand Master of his Right Hand?” Byron took a deep sigh, before returning her grin with a lenient smile of his own. He gently patted her cheek with his hand - large enough to cover her whole face - in a reassuring gesture. Had it been to comfort her or himself, he didn’t know. “You are wise, young one. And stubborn, if I do say so myself,” he added, eliciting a silvery laughter in Dorothea. “ But yes. You here now, and I will personally see that we shall bring you back to good health,” “You sound exactly like Father now,” she giggled, her laughter returned by a small, tired smile. He saw her looking up at him and saw a sad light appear on her face, as her eyes looked at his face with attentive care, mirroring the way he had been gazing at her a moment earlier. He knew what she was seeing because he saw the same thing each time he gazed into a mirror: the deep black shadows that had appeared underneath his eyes; the wrinkles on his forehead that didn’t disappear when his face wasn’t frowning; the scar on his cheek and nose, a memento of the fight that should have brought him peace, but did not. “Time hasn’t been kind to you as well, Byron. What happened to you?” she asked, bringing her small hands to his face in a comforting gesture. “The last three years have weighed on me like the Sky on Atlas’ shoulders,” he thought, stopping his words from reaching his lips. He sighed, slumping his shoulders ever so lightly and shaking his head. “We both have faced our deal of misery during your absence, Dora,” he just murmured, covering her hands with his and pressing them against his cheeks, as he tried to grasp all the comfort from that gentle touch, a balm for his restless soul. He didn’t dare to add anything, not wanting to let his burden become hers.

Not yet. Not just yet. He wanted, for a moment longer, to preserve that sweetness of temper and innocence of spirit that had already been taken away from her, three years prior. He wanted, for a moment longer, to feel as if the world was a hopeful place, untouched by sufferance, immaculate in its candor: a pristine dawn, with the promise of a glorious day ahead. When he saw her eyes turning sad and her lips pouting, he gave her a small smile and patted her cheek. “Do not be troubled for me, dearest child. Such is life.” he whispered, daring to give her a small kiss on her forehead. “But now, no more talk of sorrow or sadness. these rooms have been left bereft of your voice for far too long. So, if you would be so kind as to entertain a request from your old Mentor, and fill these ears with joyous chatter and a peaceful melody, you would make me immensely happy.” Dorothea pursed her lips, eyebrows frowning in apprehension. “But I do not wish to keep you from your business with Phillip, By-“ but the old man brought a finger to her lips, gently silencing her. “Whatever he has to say, it can wait. This cannot, my Princess.” He murmured with a warm smile. "Not after three years." Dorothea’s frown transformed and her round face lit up with sweet, uncontrollable mirth. Without even waiting for him to sit down, she quickly picked back up her violin and bow, ready to comply to Byron’s wishes. Gracing him with another smile, eyes and nose crinkling in her joy, and taking a small bow, Dorothea started her melody, one that was dear to both their hearts. A lullaby of the North.

A lullaby about cold winds and chilling waters, of rocky mountains and green forests that met the slate-blue churning sea…of memories and answers so deeply hidden, one would need to get lost before being able to find them. Byron took place on the small couch, letting himself sink in the cushion, feeling as if all that was weighing him down was suddenly being lifted up from his shoulders by those notes that had started to fly like birds in Spring. He couldn’t remember when it had been the last time he had sat and just listened to music, without shunning it from his heart. It almost felt as if a lifetime had passed, a whole horizon away. But after so long, he felt as if he could finally be able to fully breathe once more, to breach through the waves and stop fighting that tide that was always there, in each of his thoughts, ready to swallow him whole and drag him in open dark waters. His low baritone voice found its way out of his throat, humming at first, then louder, accompanying her violin with a song, a soft smile appearing on both their lips. "Yes," he thought, looking at her with soft eyes filled with a sentiment that he thought was long buried under the snow of his grief. "The Harbinger of Dawn indeed."

——————————————————————————————————

Time had passed far too swiftly. After almost two hours of complete bliss, entrapped as he had been between her tales of her adventure in the North and reading together the books he had brought her, Byron had bid Dorothea goodnight. He had promised her that they would travel together to Dover soon, for a small outing at sea together, just like how they used to when she had been but a young child, all cooped up in the halls of that Manor that faced the sea. After so many promises he had to uphold for duty, he was finally content to keep a promise that didn’t involve hunting down those bloody Assassins or finding a way to set his business in order. The moment he closed the door of the library behind himself, however, he felt the darkness of the hall fall on him the same way rain poured during that gloomy autumn afternoon, when the sun would not show itself at all and would set over the horizon far too soon. He wished for a moment to not have granted Young Lord Starrick his time, if anything, to preserve that moment of peace a little longer. But his word was binding, for better or worse. When he raised his eyes, he immediately found the young man waiting at the end of the hallway, standing against the stained glass window that faced the inner garden, where the orangery stood, a lit cigarette in hand. At the sound of rustling robes, Phillip raised his face, and looked intendedly toward Byron, as he approached him: despite having seen forty-five springs already Byron Harrison still stood tall and powerful as he had done in youth, even more so after the years spent at sea had chiseled him into a man of exceptional hardness of spirit, one that rivaled the strength of his character and the potency of his body. Eyes like the storms, and fiery auburn hair, wavy like the ocean on a windy day, it always felt as if Poseidon had deigned to walk the Earth, bringing with him the full strength of the Oceans. Phillip couldn’t help but look at him with eyes filled with reverential respect. He had no trouble imagining why people whispered his name with either deference or terror laced in their voices: Byron Harrison was someone that one would always want on their side, for good or for worse, and if by misfortune, his favour was to be lost, to pray to God for a quick painless deliverance, instead. “Thank you for acquiescing to my request for a small interview, Lord Harrison, I know how much it would cost to cut your time with Dorothea short,” Phillip murmured, keeping his voice low as he offered him a cigarette.

Byron shook his head, refusing the offer. “What do you seek of me, Lord Starrick?” he muttered. “I assume your brother has informed you about what happened today?” Byron shook his head, eyes narrowing as his shoulders tensed. “Kaylock is dead. The Blighters that reported to him had all but disappeared and according to witnesses, they have joined side with someone called “The Rook”. Not only this, but from what my sources have related to me, there had been chaos in the factories and we have lost our stronghold, Spitalfield. It appears we-“ he cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “-we no longer have control over White Chapel." Byron listened intently, unblinking, as Phillip reported to him all that had happened. A whole borough lost. “Has the Grand Master been informed about this?” It was Phillip’s time to shake his head. “While the severity of our loss is considerable, we are still evaluating if this “Rook” and his gang are just miscreants trying to cause mayhem in White Chapel alone as a borough, or if this is indeed the Assassins trying to officially strike and breach into the city.” Byron turned pensive, and brought his large hand to his chin, stroking his auburn beard. First Croydon, with Ferris and Brewster killed, and the Piece of Eden lost. Now Kaylock and White Chapel. While not the most important of the boroughs under their control, Byron could see trouble brewing. “We need to recover all the men we have lost,” he murmured, after a long moment of silence. “We cannot let our numbers dwindle. Speak with Roth. Have him send out scouters to pick up more men and intensify the training of the lads that will join the Blighters from now on. We will need to raise their wages as well,” Phillip’s lips curled in a grimace of abhorrence. “Why paying them more? They are just scum, Master Harrison. Parasites that would sell their own mothers and wives and daughters, if they can get a profit from it. Why giving them more resources that we can instead reinvest in something more fruitful?” Byron looked at the man with eyes void of any light, chilling in their gaze.

“Your disdain for them clouds your judgment if you think of them as nothing more than fleas on the coat of a dog, an annoyance. Disposable. Unimportant. Never forget that these men are paid to do our bidding, but there is no loyalty to us if not the one our purse can buy. And they have numbers on their side, and this, combined with their desperation is their greatest strength, whether they realize it or not, and it can prove to be the cause of a whole pandemonium, if not controlled.“ He took a deep breath, before talking again. “Never underestimate what desperation could make a man do. As for this “Rook”…I assume you have already sent out your “ghosts” around the city to gather more information?” Phillip nodded, a light of solemnity painted on his sharp features. “Good. I will speak with the Grand Master at the earliest and discuss a proper strategy.” "I will ensure to keep you informed of any new information that may come to my attention." "Very well," he murmured, and with a small bow, he took his leave, making way toward the stairs that would lead to the ground floor. But he stopped before he could descend, clenching his fist. “Lord Starrick.” “Yes, Master Harrison?” “Not a word to Dorothea,” he murmured, his tone one that didn’t allow the possibility of compromise. After the young man nodded in agreement, Byron finally took his leave, his heart heavy. Not yet, he thought, looking above his shoulder, toward the library. Not just yet.

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER - Homeward Bound ]

[NEXT CHAPTER - "A Touch of West" ]

*pokes head out of the borrow*

OMG I AM FINALLY DONE. I AM FINALLY DONE.

It was so LONG overdue, but allow me to finally present the latest chapter!!

Ngl, I am so happy to be done with this, and I am so happy with how it turned out!! And I am so happy to finally start to introduce my Templar Squad! I don't know how to explain, but it makes me feel like the story is truly starting rolling! :)

Dear gods, this is truly one of the longest chapters I have ever written! It started as a small chapter, I was envisioning maybe 6k words. I DIDN'T EXPECT TO END UP WITH DOUBLE THAT NUMBER.

good gods, i feel like my brain is mush lolol

But anyway, I truly hope you will like reading it as much as I loved writing it!

--Nemo

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed syndicate #Assassins #templars #jacob frye #dorothea starrick #Byron Harrison #Phillip Starrick #Ambrose Harrison #In The Heat Of The Moment #my ocs #Nemo Writes #Mostly Ocs for this chapter but it's needed #the story develop in parallel lolol

[hanafubukki]

wait wait this isn’t the first i heard of this but parallels between silver and and mc? i’m not sure what you and the other anons are talking about, pls explain 😭 i really can’t get a grasp of silvers character (though reading all those theories you guys had helped me quite a bit!!)

Yes Anonie! 🙌💞 There are parallels between Silver and MC.

Me and the other anonies were talking about the parallels (and theories of book 7) between Silver and Sebek. ( 1, 2, and 3).

I also had to bring up the parallels that you see in Silver and MC too (because it lives in my head rent free). I hope that explains it better. ☺️🌺

(under the cut for details about Silver and MC parallels, and about Silver himself. There could be minor spoilers for future events and cards)

Silver, in the character introduction trailer, mentions that he has ‘seen you once upon a time.” Now, this can mean many things, but I believe we will see more of how this line plays into the story in book 7.

Silver is a knight and he has trained to be one with Lilia all his life. in his PE uniform story, one of the lines he mentions to MC is that he thinks MC has a talent for sword. Now this can mean many things, and many theories can explain it, but it means that something about MC (or maybe he has seen mc before?) tells him that they would be good with a sword.

Silver’s second birthday card (union birthday) receives a polaroid to take pictures which is parallel with MC who has the ghost Camera. this is a point that I love love love to scream about. because, the ghost camera is an item that will basically take your feelings for the people in the picture and in a way...bring that picture alive? so it measure your fondness for them. With a polaroid, you get the same thing but without that magic aspect, you take a picture with those you want to and spend time with them and get to know them while waiting for the picture to develop. in a way that also measures your feelings as you spend time with them.

At the end of chapter 6, MC talks to mickey through the mirror. Grim can't see mickey at all and vice versa. Prefect leaves for a second and when they come back mickey mentions seeing someone with Silver’s characteristics in his (mickeys) dream world. which can tie into the whole, “I’ve seen you once upon a dream’ quote mentioned at the beginning and It might also be Silver’s UM at play. the parallels here is that both are looking through a mirror to another person/world. both are somehow connected to mickey.

Silver (a human) grew up in an environment that he does not come from (the faes) and MC (a magicless human) is now living in a world that they are not used to (twisted wonderland, a world full of magic). While Silver had time and grew up with Lilia, MC has been thrusted in this world and is slowly (and stressfully) adapting.  

Probably nothing, but I love how MC and Silver are both straight forward about every situation they are in too 🤣

Silver is such an interesting character, and I wish we knew more about him and the other Diasomnia characters. (I’m glad the theories me and the anonies were talking about helped 👏🌻)

Silver is a straight forward character. His manners and speech and the way he treats others gets him labeled as the ‘disney princess (sleeping beauty) or Prince (Philip)’ of the group. Or in general Prince Charming or someone who belongs in RSA. For example, In Fairy Gala If, Silver straight up wanted to talk to the Fairy Queen so they could get the magic stone back and not have to do go the trickery route. of course, everyone rejected that idea 🤣 because that's not how these NRC students do things lolol and in the same event, where they all get caught, Silver was willing to stay behind and get captured, so his fellow classmates can escape from the angry fairies. in the second halloween event, Silver was willing to give the ‘ticket’ that they had to get from the ghosts to rescue everyone back to the ghost. because it belonged to the ghost lady and he didn't feel right having it. he literally politely offered it back to her, literally went basically “here, you can have this, since its yours.” needless to say Jamil and the Ghost lady was not expecting this and was shocked that he did it.

He cares for family. when he learned that the whole situation in the second halloween event was just trick, he did not hold back when he scolded Lilia about it. he was genuinely worried about those he considers family. He even mentions (and look, more flags) how he loves his family and how much he depends on them and don’t want to lose them.

Silver, like sebek, is protective of malleus and Lilia. as seen in several instances when Silver was ready to protect them in book 2 and even his robes card (against idia because of course idia was acting weird to him lol)

Silver has light magic (as do Kalim and Rook) which could be because these three characters do not belong in NRC because they are not the ‘villain type’. 

He’s frustrated with his curse and wants to get rid of it at all costs, but despite that, he works his hardest.

During Dance and wishes, he wished for his father to live a long and healthy life which really shows how much he loves family.

He loves to also drop random facts too. In the second Halloween event, he dropped story after story about his childhood. One of which mentioned that lilia traveled across…worlds?!? (Are we sure mc should be asking Crowley for help? I think they should ask lilia lol 😂)

I just adore Silver. I want to know more about him and cant wait to find out more about him in the future. I hope me rambling about Silver kind of helped you get to know him anonie ☺️🌻

#answered #anon ask #tw silver #twst theories #twisted wonderland #english twisted wonderland #disney tw #twst mc #twst yuu #book 7 #diasomnia #twst theory

[bbnibini]

i personally interpret diavolo's tendency to “avoid lying” as nothing more than an underlying demonic way of being evasive and redirecting the attention away from himself, even if he isn't aware of it. i don't believe he means to act this way, but given his upbringing i can't help but think that this is the life he's always known, and no one has shown him otherwise. even the person who actively committed treason against him, belphegor, failed to see why he was initially uneasy with diavolo, and eventually grew to become tolerant of him. he has so much power that isn't only tied to his position and title and i think this is something that people fail to address often, although i cannot fault them for it. as you said, the initial impression that diavolo makes on new players is a positive one compared to others like solomon.

i enjoy the subtlety between the obm casts' traits as well—dissecting them and thinking of how i can incorporate them into the content i make is the same as playing around with my friends' genshin artifacts to see how i can come up with the best outcome, lolol ^^ even if i dislike an obey me character for how they compose themself or their beliefs, i still do my best to bring justice to them, you know?

solomon viewing the demons as “toys” in the official chart is something that is kind of correct? the devs seemed to be setting up a stereotypical view of him without diving too deep into how he actually views them. i'm not sure if you're aware of the b-log translations, but solomon stated that he'd be happier if the people around him were smiling compared to him being happier on his lonesome, and i think that might include demons as well. in another b-log translation, he mentions that he'd be willing to make pacts with every demon if the devildom were to disappear, and i couldn't help but think to how he puts humanity first and foremost.

from my point of view, one reason why he's made so many pacts was to ensure the safety of the human realm. making so many pacts means that he is in control of a huge threat, because he cannot trust demons to uphold their “vow” of peace. he seems to have mellowed out with the influence of mc's interactions with demons, but it's nice to see how strongly he holds onto his beliefs regardless.

another thing...! your twitter just so happened to appear on my tl with your new solomon post, i couldn't help but leave a follow <3 excited to see more blurbs over there from your previous works, hehe

Ooh! That's an interesting way to look at it. Either way, there's definitely some strange inconsistencies with his character. I really like him. He shares a lot of parallels with Solomon and Lucifer, but I also feel like his character development is very fragmented. The route system could have benefited his development greatly rather than the speed dating, reverse harem joshimuke setup we're getting now.

(Spoiler for main story and B's log content + some brief biblical references below)

I actually meant to say the Solomon in the main story now is heavily implied to not feel that way anymore. He's definitely a lot less guarded now, and like you said, he doesn't feel a need to make this barrier between him and the demons anymore because MC held his hand and pulled him away from that barrier and made him actually go past it and see the demons as friends. I follow the B's log updates too and Solomon had been consistently shown to showcase a lot of selfless traits. Never jealous, chooses his own battles, and someone who had really lived up to his name and became the peace his name was meant to symbolise. It's still pretty consistent with Solomon's considerate nature even in the earlier main story. It's just the circle of the people he cared about had widened. He had literally allowed himself to feel alive again, and the thought of that is just so painful and so beautiful and now I'm internally crying because THIS MAN IS SO LONELY I WANT TO HUG HIM. Him prioritising humanity is actually something I mentioned in the reblog on cypherleaf's post. He mentioned it around S2--and even admitted that to MC.

The Solomon we have now is actually a lot closer to his biblical counterpart--famous for being branded a wise fool who became shortsighted and threw away his blessed wisdom for love (or lust depending on the books or apocryphal texts you're reading).

Actually! Hear me out but what if, that desperate moment, where he was almost on the verge of death and summoned Barbatos (S4 or S3 I think?)was a seed that might have possibly sown that distrust he possibly had with demons?

:0 If you give me your username, I can follow you back! I'm not really used to twitter so let me know if you want that!!

#obey me #ask #blurbs #3vocatio #spoilers

[sunandalsomoon]

if u havent pls go read loseyoutoloveme on ao3 ,, they mostly write jaehyun x reader and i know some ppl don’t like to read y/n fics but when i tell yall it is SO GOOD. all of their works are so beautifully written w well developed plots, well rounded characters, and they know how to make a bih CRY. i literally BAWL MY EYES OUT at every story. also there is no smut in any of their stories !!!

here are my top 3 stories!!

(btw when i say o/c i mean y/n lolol)

1. stitch your heart upon the blossom of mine

word count: 435k (38 chapters)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393999/chapters/61579372

summary: takes place in a dystopian country where o/c is taken in by a high ranking government official and his family. every citizen of this region is given a seed that will only bloom if it is watered by that person’s soulmate (yes a soulmate au 👀).

ik it’s rlly long but IT IS SO WORTH THE READ !!!!! it’s dystopian and involves more violence than their other stories so if you enjoyed books like the hunger games and divergent (me in 7th grade) i think u’ll rlly like this one !! it doesn’t get too heavy into politics or make the layout of the world too confusing or complex so it is pretty easy to follow along. one thing i love about this author is how relatable she is able to make the main character and how easy it is to empathize with every single character, so even though o/c is a dystopian orphan princess you are still able to feel the pain she goes thru throughout the book. also the angst w her and jaehyun 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

2. the umbrella against downpours of remembrance

word count: 98k (8 chapters)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30210003/chapters/74439444

summary: o/c is the widowed secretary of a hospital where her husband doyoung, a doctor, used to work. a new doctor and doyoung’s former best friend jaehyun begins to work in the same hospital.

THIS ONE IS SO SAD. i’m usually not one to read marriage fics bc sometimes they feel too cheesy for me but this story really captures marriage as 2 people living parallel lives like you can tell how strong the love and respect was b/t o/c and doyoung. this story talks about soulmates less in the physical sense like with Stitch but in a more realistic sense (?¿) like do you only have one soulmate in life and can you love someone else if you intended to only love one person forever ? PURE ANGST.

3. a melancholy weekend in december, or when the end of us wasn’t the end

word count: 462k words (ongoing as of 7/2021)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28947483/chapters/71029833

summary: o/c is a ballerina and jaehyun is a pianist. they meet when jh becomes the new pianist for o/c’s ballet studio, but they also attend the same high school where o/c is ‘popular’ and jh is a ‘nerd’. o/c comes from a similar background as jh and they build a strong friendship. the story follows their lives and relationships throughout young adulthood.

THE DRAMA THAT HAPPENS IN THIS FIC. 👀 U WILL NOT GET BORED. ok yall im actually rereading this one bc it’s my favorite rn and i cry every single chapter because the relationship b/t jh and o/c is so beautifully constructed and you can feel how much they rely and support each other. UGH ITS SO GOOD. the ‘popular girl nerd guy’ trope seems cliche but trust me their personalities are much more than that and they are only in high school for the first few chapters. i love love love how real this story feels and it truly feels like i’m reading about somebody’s life and how they cope with life’s unexpected twists and turns. highly recommend listening to lover by taylor swift while or after reading if you love to cry

btw these are not in any order/ranking !

AHHH MY SUMMARIES RLLY DO NOT DO THESE STORIES JUSTICE !! they are truly so well written and addicting because you get so immersed into the world and attached to the characters the author creates. i am absolutely obsessed and i could not recommend enough even if you are not a person who typically reads fanfic or au type stuff. trust me.

#jung jaehyun #jaehyun #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun angst #jaehyun x oc #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x you #jaehyun imagines #nct imagines #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct x y/n #nct 127 #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #angst with a happy ending

[hatchetation]

HELLO IT'S ME AGAIN!

I've so many thoughts and I hope I'm able to express it here clearly. I love the episode. Petition to get Jan Nash to write every kacy scene!

Okay here it goes:

1) I hate that they're prolonging the angst, but I understand that it's only right for them not to rush the making up part because people don't get over that kind of hurt so easily. I'm not excusing Lucy's behaviour in any way; she should stop running from the pain and try to communicate with Kate. But like Ernie mentioned, love is pain. And the only reason she's hiding is because it hurts too much to be in the same space as Whistler. That says a lot. She still loves Kate. She desperately wants to not be mad at her anymore. But it's not that easy, isn't it? Especially when you're still hurting. Also did you realize Ernie did not ask Lucy to talk to Kate? He didn't tell her what she was supposed to do. He knew better. Because earlier on when Ernie was talking to the bad guy he said, "This is your pain. It's not for me to tell you how to process it."

2) Kate and Jane being there for each other after going through a loss is well, such an amazing development. From not having friends at work to sharing drinks with Tennant in her house is such a step up for Kate, aside from the job. I love how Lucy has Ernie whom she can talk to about this, and now Kate has Jane. I believe that there are a lot of foreshadowing in the show. And it all makes sense as the story develops.

3) Saw a discussion on twitter about Lucy's behaviour, and one fan mentioned that Lucy's probably acting this way because of her upbringing. Since we don't know much about her backstory I'd say it is a possibility. She might not have the best role models when it comes to relationships and love, so it wasn't a surprise when she reacted that way around Kate.

4) Some fans are unhappy that Kate seemed to be so patient when dealing with Lucy to the point that she was the one grovelling most of the time. I understand the sentiment. It was indeed infuriating to see Kate being the only one making the effort to fix this. But when Kate mentioned to Jane that it was entirely her fault, it finally made sense. We can agree to disagree on that; some fans may say that it wasn't entirely Kate's fault. But Kate saw it that way, hence why she took full responsibility instead of blaming it on Lucy. Now it made sense why she was willing to do anything to get Lucy back. I also think she knew deep down that if she was going to act the way Lucy act, then the situation would be worse. She knew she had to be soft and tactful when dealing with Lucy because you cannot put off fire with fire.

HELLO!! I think you expressed your thoughts really clearly (also I appreciate the numbers cuz I'm gonna use them in my reply lol). Also yes s/o to jan nash on this one!! Okay so some of my thoughts on your thoughts lolol

1) I did notice that neither Ernie nor any of Lucy's friends have given Lucy advice on the Kate situation or even suggested that she talk to her. And I think that's a good move cuz I don't think Lucy is ready to hear that advice...and it can get messy to move beyond supporting a friend and into telling them how to live their life.

2) I LOVED the Jate scenes!! I loved how Jane's situation with Maggie was very much paralleled to the #kacy break up from the start of the episode (with Lucy talking to Jesse about betrayals and all that). And I loved how we saw Jane supporting Lucy in 1x11 and her now supporting Kate in 1x14.

3 and 4) Okay okay this is where I kind of disagree with you! Cuz I kind of think Kate should be patient and she should be the one making an effort to fix things. Cuz like, she really fucked things up with Lucy. And I don't think Lucy has been mean to Kate or has been sending a message that she's angry with Kate or that Kate should grovel. I was actually really impressed with how she handled their scene in 1x14. She congratulated Kate and wished her well and then set a boundary that she didn't think they needed to talk. Obvs I think they should talk, but idk Lucy needs time. Anyway, I was also impressed with Kate for like owning that she fucked up when she talked to Jane--most people don't do that, they just make excuses for themselves. I'm not saying she should keep beating herself up over it, but I feel like Kate's strong enough and smart enough to get through this with her self esteem in tact and ultimately she and Lucy will get together.

#phew that ended up being long!! #long post #thanks for sending! #kacy #lucy tara #kate whistler #lucy x kate #ncis hawaii #whistara #also i feel like my 3 and 4 are unpopular opinions lolllll #but rest assured i do love kate

[bigskydreaming]

I’d say the thing about some characters lending themselves better to some stories than others actually can apply to the Batfam as well, and is a sign of how well-developed they actually are. I know I’ve ranted in the past about the tendency to try and fit the Batkids into niches like the smart one and the angry one and all of that, but in terms of story TYPES, I think they do have certain niche-like feels that mean some of them are better suited to certain GENRES of story than others.

For instance....I didn’t love Grayson, but that was more due to the overshadowing circumstances and the fact that I just think King and his writing suck. A lot. But the basic premise was not at all out of Dick’s wheelhouse. He IS well predisposed to kinda globe-trotting, spy versus spy, switching disguises like they’re outfits, making the most out of his ability to make friends everywhere he goes and turn enemies into allies.....those types of stories. Not saying these should be his only stories, by any means, or that he can’t center in all kinds of other types of stories, but I’m just saying, these kinds of stories do have more of a Dick Grayson feel than they do various other Batkids.

Similarly, Jason is better suited to gothic horror types of stories than the others, just in general. His history with the Lazarus Pit, his general disposition, his THEMES, like....they speak to the same kind of aims and tones that gothic horror both births from and embodies.

This might just be me, but to me, Tim is best suited to kinda oddball, off the wall sorta stories, and that’s part of why I’m so meh on him just being shelved into the uber-genius, mini-Bruce, heir to the best detective mantle kinda thing. I’ve spoken before about how much I miss 90s Tim, but to me, Tim was always at his best, and at his best-defined, most feeling like uniquely HIM, when he was playing the underdog. When he was just this well-intentioned kid who plunged into this world that was so much larger than viewing it through his camera lens had prepared him for, but he had spunk and determination and he wasn’t about to back down or let anyone think he was in over his head so he was gonna make it through whatever the superhero life threw at him even if flying by the seat of his pants the whole way. So to that end, I mean, I think Tim is at his best when just dealing with totally WTF kinds of stories. The cross-dimensional capers, the time travel mishaps, the ‘great, I was abducted by aliens on my lunch break and now apparently I have to save planet FUBAR with nothing but my pocket knife and scathing dry wit.’

I would fucking kill for Cass at the center of noir type stories where its like, idk, the Maltese Falcon and she’s the jaded but still optimistic-at-her-core PI when trouble walks into her derelict office wrapped up in an eggplant shawl and the name Stephanie. Maybe its just that I don’t think there’s enough focus on the fact that Cass is SMART and she’s as much a detective as any of the family, does plenty of investigative work and if she’s heir to the cowl she’d be just as good at the mystery side of things as Bruce is, but just......noir stories just FEEL like dappled shadows and eerie shades of blue and black with hints of moonlight spilling through slatted blinds and all of that just screams Cass to me, faint notes of jazz in the background, a wry smile on her lips as she plays her informant like a fiddle when chasing down clues.

Duke is another globe-trotter in feel to me, like his backstory and his family and his stories with the Outsiders, like, I really want to see Duke on more superhero teams than just the Outsiders now that that’s over, because he’s better suited to stories not confined just to Gotham, I think? Like, Duke fits the conspiracy theory chasing niche to me, like, his character really comes to life when pursuing leads all across the world, digging into his past, his family’s past, seeing how it all connects to various mysteries of the DC Earth that are generations old but still affect the present....like I don’t know how many people have read Planetary, but that to me is a PERFECT fit for Duke, and I would love to see him with his own Planetary style team or even just part of one.

Damian is best suited to coming of age stories, which sounds vague, but the thing is, it really is its own genre. So much of Damian’s character, the best parts I think, are about Damian FINDING himself, DEFINING himself......he more than any of the others, debuted so clearly defined by his origins, his parents, who he was CREATED to be.....and so he more than anyone else is perfectly poised to star in stories that are all about him breaking away from that mold, from parental expectations or preplanned destinies, or even just searching for things to define him on his own terms rather than through the eyes of others. Stories that are about choosing your own path, making a self-realization or having an epiphany about who you truly are or what you want to do with your life....that to me, is Damian’s best niche. Again, doesn’t mean that other characters can’t be great in these kinds of stories as well, just that if I’m pairing one character to one genre they lean into best, this is what’s that for Damian, IMO.

Steph is a bit of an oddball for me, and I don’t quite know how to describe this, but she’s best suited IMO to those kinds of stories that like......there’s not really a specific NAME for this type, but you know them when you see them. The best comparison I can think to make is like.....the kinds of stories Harley Quinn stars in? To be clear, I’m not drawing parallels between Steph or Harley or saying they’re the same kind of character at ALL, I’m just saying like.....Harley is another character who overall is very hard to pin down in specific concrete terms, but nevertheless is centered in various stories and adaptations that are nevertheless very clearly HER.....and that’s the kind of thing I picture for Steph. She fits that niche that isn’t really a niche for anyone BUT her, because nobody else can summon that type of feel for it......the kind of story that you can’t switch anybody else in for her because the story only works with her specific kinda....energy. Bleh. I really wish I could describe it better, like its very clear in my brain, but its a story that’s more of a kind of FEEL than it is a specific description? If that makes sense like at all? LOLOL. Whatevs.

And Babs, like, I would love love love to see her centered in a proper cyberthriller. I mean, they’ve done stories kinda like that with her as Oracle, but not to the extent I’m thinking. I mean just full on cyberpunk dialed up to 11. Give me Babs enlisted by the JLA because Brainiac is loose in the internet and she has to go into cyberspace utilizing different avatars of herself and calling in allies as needed as she relentlessly hunts a villain through landscapes of data she maps and molds and turns into traps. Babs hyper-fixating on her task, her hunt, to the degree that she has to be reminded to pull herself out at times and take care of her physical needs, has people grounding her so she doesn’t get lost in cyberspace and the lure of it all, this place that’s her domain and where she shines the brightest. And so it balances that razor edge that makes for the best cyberthrillers IMO. The ones where all the possibilities of the future as embodied in technology and cyberspace are balanced with the necessity of remaining human, of being human and with roots and history embedded outside of it, in the real world. And with there being a clear juxtaposition between the two even as the protagonist goes back and forth between the two extremes of their existence, the physical and the ephemeral.

Anyway. Like I said, you can mix and match and its not like Dick can’t star in gothic horror and Jason can’t do off-the-wall dimensional hijinks or noir detective stories and Tim and Cass can’t do coming of age, etc.....its just in terms of what I was talking about, how some characters lend themselves MORE easily to certain kinds of stories than others.....this is how I perceive the various Batkids.

[riskeith]

HIIII hope you have been well my dearest last airbender hehe. i have so much exciting things to share <333

so first off, i did two wish rolls the other night and guess what? on one roll i got BOTH bennett AND qiqi!!!!!! (the other one was just weapons but 🤷🏽‍♀️) i love them both so much i literally ascended them the second i got them. i still can’t believe my luck. so now my team looks like: traveller, noelle and those two. i’m having a little issue bc i don’t have a long range combat character but i love them all too much to change anything. which means i struggle sometimes maybe if i roll for someone else in the future i might change but rn i’m LOVING them. have you ever had luck like that?

AND i started watching haikyuu again and i forgot how funny it is. i usually don’t laugh out loud while watching things but i was literally chuckling while watching some moments. i’ve only watched 10 eps-ish but i fell in love with it again at the first ep already. i cant believe i dropped it before i’m so stupid.

ok that’s all the updates i had hahaha ! i was like buzzing waiting to tell you lmaidhdhdbd 🥺

oikawa is SO pretty it’s insane. when he showed up i was like yeah.... that’s him. that’s the pretty boy. but then again pretty much everyone is pretty in haikyuu who the hell are we supposed to focus on hehdhd the art style is just that good yk?

ships that have silent (+ points for angry) yearning are just superior. and usually they fall in the enemies/rivals category which is lovely. nothing is finer than watching people struggle with their feelings like mmmmmm... tasty. also as good as rareships can be, popular ships are popular for a reason yk? like canon content isn’t everything ofc but if canon can back it up in some way more people tend to be interested heh

wanna know something super weird? when i consume content i always fall for the stotic bois with angst backstories first but after i finish the shows i always miss the cute happy babies and that makes me obsessed with them? idk it’s crazy like voltron for example keith is literally my favorite character of all time but when i finished voltron i was literally bawling bc i missed lance so much help

well i guess we’re talking about voltron now HAHA 😭 dude s3 was a fucking blessing i can’t believe we got that and they just cut it off cold. the leader and his right hand man dynamic makes me yell to this day 😭😭😭 remember all the scenes where they continuesly reassured each other 😭 the ‘leave the math to pudge’ scene lives in my head rent free no joke dhdnhdbdud... s3 was just them loving each other tenderly and dw stole it from us.. ALSO PLEASE WRITE THEM AGAIN LITERALLY BEGGING 😭 pls 🥺

dude our government doesn’t give a shit we literally have politics traveling around and chilling without masks. they don’t care at all we barely have any restrictions so people don’t care either. it’s a mess here ngl.. :/

can’t wait to hear from u again... mwah!

hi hi!!!! is this gonna end up being 2 replies in one day for you again HAHAHA i’ll try not to disappear after

!!!!!!!!!! QIQI AND BENNETT??!!?!!!!!!!! oh my goodness… oh my goodness!!! i can’t believe you got a 5 star before me fjskskkdd but big deserve 😭😭😭😩😩😩 i’m so happy for you nejdnskamxlxmm holy shit!!!!! that’s so cute tho that’s such a cute team… and big mood!! who cares about team dynamics/fighting styles all that matters is that you like them 😩 but also does that mean you currently have 3 sword users and 1 claymore on your team jdjsndnsm. i also used to not have a ranged fighter on my team but it just got so inconvenient lolol. and no my luck is actual ass :( so often i only roll weapons, and when i do roll charas it’s like. all the base free ones djdkskdk

haikyuu is SO funny!!! everyone’s humour is so >>>> omg they’re just silly boys… are you restarting it from the very first ep? and it’s all good if you dropped it before bc you’re coming back to it now and that’s what matters 😩 keep me updated tho! i’m so excited to hear what you think

HFJDNSKSN sorry i went mia and made you wait chksjs WHICH REMINDS ME!! omg i’ve been meaning to tell you and keep forgetting but i downloaded genshin on my phone last week for my trip and it’s so??? difficult? like mad mad respect to you for being able to play on mobile omg… maybe it’s just bc i was used to pc already but damn.. djsjjs

HAHA yeah just admiring the visuals instead of focusing on the story.. we’ve all been there 😩 sometimes you just gotta rewind and take 48394993 screenshots of the one scene you know? who let them be so gorgeous..

yesssss the mutual oblivious pining is so good.. like they’re enemies to lovers but they’re also IDIOTS to lovers… or my fave headcanon which hurts so bad… the one person (keith) pining for their rival (lance) but it’s unrequited and they’ve just accepted that and are kinda resigned to it but. they just want them to be happy above all else :’) :’(

and honestly you are so right like if the popular ship are foils and have all these parallels between them and a deep backstory and stuff that’s so good too there’s so much food AHAH

omg that’s kinda cute tho.. like once you’re done you enter the honeymoon phase w bubbly outgoing charas.. (speaking of honeymoons when’s ours 🤪) speaking of lance he deserved everything lmao.. he deserves everything PRESENT TENSE!!! wow we are really talking about vld in 2021 huh

LEAVE THE MATH TO PIDGE!!! I AM SCREAMING JUST THIBKING ABLIT THIS TOO!! WHAT THE FUCK DOCYOUCMEAN KEITH. WHY DIDNYOUCSAY IT WITH THAT SMILE. LANCE WHY DIDNYOU SMILE LIKE THAT IN RETURN. LEAVE THE MATH TO- KEITH EXPLAIN??? WHA WERE YOU WDOIDJGNDKDNSKFKDKFNDNNCMS the way that lance went from ‘despising’ keith and hating being beaten by him in everything to SEEKING OUT HIS ADVICE AND COMFORT???? IF THAT ISNT GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IS like their relationship progressed so so so so so so so so SO much in that one single season… like. i cannot BELIEVE that was real???? no fucking way. like. we were literally so close.. SO FUCKING CLOSE!!!!!!!! my god the trust they had in each other..… LANCE SEEKING KEITH OUT!!! lance accepting keith as the leader before even keith accepted himself EVEN WHEN LANCE HIMSELF SO DESPARATELY WANTED TO BE THE BLACK PALADIN bUT RECOGNISING IT WASNT WHAT THE BLACK LION WANTED AND i have to stop or else i’ll literally never stop typing chskdkdkndcuksncjxjskcoskosnaksj

hhhhhhh i wanna write them sometimes i get hit with the feels SO SO BAD (like just then? LOL) but i haven’t properly written them in so long i feel like i don’t even know how to anymore D; but anyway do you have any prompts? i have so many wips (i have one fic that i said was gonna be my Final klance fic but lmao i’m never gonna finish it at this stage so i guess i’m also not done writing klance? lmao) but after a while i just. have no desire to go back to them anymore fjdjjx so something new might spark my motivation! but also no promises sorry i always say i’ll do shit but never do JEKSKS altho i will try!! i’ll try bust out at least a drabble even if it ends up as an unfinished wip as well lol 😩

oh fucking rip that’s so horrible i’m so sorry you have to deal with that :((( legit it’s so upsetting to see so many governments just. complacent and not caring about this issue at all like?? this is your job? you’re literally meant to be doing all these things to help us right now and you’re just not. which i guess unfortunately also makes sense bc they’re the ones who would suffer least. it’s so frustrating lmaoooo >:(

:***** i’ve stayed up again bc i am Not intelligent fjskdk but i’m looking forward to your response!! goodnight and sweet dreamssss (for when you next sleep LOL) 💗😘

#cluna cries at 2am over s3 kl potential 😔 #marriage anon #wowclunaanswers #long post

[bluemoonpunch]

Is there a particular reason why the term "folding/collapsing timelines" is used with this particular vocabulary? Like, do some people actually see time folding in half or something dramatic like that? Or is it just a term for the sake of being a term. Does it just mean that there is no longer a possibility for something that was initially going to happen to happen?

I don’t know if there are set terms specifically, but the way that I use them, which is based on how people I follow closely use them, the two terms refer to different things. When timelines are folding over on themselves, I see energy signatures of the “past” literally overlapping on present circumstances on a third-dimensional level. This can also be used to refer to alternate timelines merging into one, overlaying different aspects and realities of one individual into one single “frame” of existence. When people experience this they can forget very prominent aspects of their current life or start remembering prominent aspects of another.

As an example, back in mid-2018 I experienced this and just kind of, out of nowhere while sitting at my desk, felt like the room I was in wasn’t my own and then started thinking I had somewhere to be the next day. Like, I knew it was my room, I wasn’t like completely out of body or anything, but it just felt weirdly unfamiliar. It was really weird because I knew that it was happening, but I still was kind of O.O over it, just walking around my room trying to see if I had moved something that made it seem unfamiliar. I even called my Gram to see if we had plans for the next day because I was so sure I had to be somewhere. A parallel experience was overlapping onto that current frame.

When timelines are collapsing, it’s like they are dissolving. The effects of the past timeline and the potentials of the future come undone. I’ve experienced this as well where very, very, very deeply rooted trauma, anxiety, and paranoia just kind of disappeared overnight. I had this weird thing for a long time where I was always kind of attached to middle school because that was the last time I was really around people and it was also very significant in terms of development with some personal issues. I really don’t know how to explain that other than that I was just kind of stuck in that vibe. Then when I was made aware of a timeline jump coming, one that I would be aware of and would feel, I opened myself up to and it was a whole thing. But quite literally, the past timeline, the one in which I experienced all that, collapsed. I still remember it because I experienced it, but there is no energetic hold on me or my consciousness. I used to have flashbacks to certain things in my childhood which were triggered by too many different things in the present and now that doesn’t really occur ever. I can access the memory, but it’s like I’m looking at a 2D image rather than stepping into an virtual reality to experience it in 3D.

Timelines folding over can give you those “mandella effects” and can make you feel like you’re experiencing things all over again. In reference to BTS, there was a collective timeline that was literally folding over as part of a process to collapse, and right when it was folding over, a whole bunch of people started messaging me about having dreams where members of BTS were getting sick or were in pain, describing images similar to what I was seeing back when I was working on the soul body and the soul body healing. What they were picking up on and having dreams about were not things that were happening at that current time, they were picking up on an energy signature which was reintegrating and dissolving from a past situation. To be more specific, the soul body healing took place in late 2018 and people started experiencing this early 2019 after the members of BTS and some of the soul group had jumped timelines. The people that were experiencing the dreams, or experiencing those overlays were still on the lower timeline. The way I was seeing it, it’s like as a timeline folds, it folds in increments, and it pushes people either further along that timeline that’s about to collapse, or it forces them to jump timelines completely.

So, for me, “collapsing” refers to a timeline dissolving and the effects/potentials of it are dissolving with it. The memories of past timelines remain, but the energetic influence is no longer there (unless you choose to hold onto it, in which case you would be attaching yourself to a broken timeline with no potential). “Folding” refers to a process in which timelines, realities, potentials start to merge, literally fold over each other for the collective or for an individual. Folding can occur as a result of a collapse but, from what I’ve seen, can also be something that proceeds a full collapse. 

Anonymous: In one reply to an ask you mentioned that people in the soul group might shift up with BTS as they finish their work here and I am wondering what that means? What does it mean to shift? And how do timelines relate to this (I’m new to this)?

It’s hard to explain that kind of stuff now as I don’t see much of it anymore since it’s closing up, or at least when it comes to the influence on the soul group through ascension and higher alignment. But basically, you can imagine it like tissue laid out flat on a table. If you pinch the very center of the tissue, that would be BTS, that single point in the center. Then if you lift that center point off the table, the tissue tapers, so the edges are still touching the table, but the further towards the center you go, the further off the table it is. If BTS is the center of that tissue, every other part of the tissue that surrounds it would be the soul group.

The closer the center an individual is, the higher their frequency is, the more aligned or synced up to the collective projected frequency of BTS they are. Similar to how the connections within the soul body versus conscious level connection occur within BTS, the more aligned and synced up someone is with that figurehead (BTS) in this process, the less involved they are with them on a conscious level. This is because the higher frequency individual is fully dedicated to their own path and progression on all levels, they are not relying consciously on BTS or individual members to literally do the work for them. People of a lower frequency in that group are the ones that lean into them so consciously that it’s like they completely remove themselves from their own personal progression in order to somehow absorb the progression of the guys. Like you know that common issue where people will vote for awards and buy a shit ton of albums (I’m guilty of this lolol) just to get the guys to a higher position, yet in turn they sacrifice their own time, energy, and resources, depleting their own ability to grow and progress for others - it’s like that, but on a soul level and just slightly more complicated. 

The soul group itself, this one specifically, is dissipating as BTS dissipates, or the soul group will start to unload people as the members of BTS, within the soul body, start to separate and pursue the individual soul progression. A while back it was kind of straightforward saying, “where you end up is where you end up,” in terms of how high off the table you are when things are complete. Everyone in that soul group, which is like millions of people, had the potential and opportunity to utilize that process, but a lot didn’t, or they thought they were but it was more superficially oriented than they realized, something governed more by the ego than the soul. 

I used to worry a lot about it because back then it was like MY JOB to gather up a certain, tiny portion of the soul group in order to put out these transmissions to make up for what was being lost while the soul body itself was being manipulated. So, it was like i had a tiny piece of the tissue and was trying to raise the area around me, which would have had a teeeeennnnyyyy tiny domino effect where those frequencies and transmissions would have been passed around on a higher level of awareness. I was like beyond dramatic and was thinking it’s my JOB to make sure as many people as possible get as high as they possibly can, but no. I provide an opportunity or the option to grow and expand on a conscious level, and that’s it. Whether or not people choose to work with it is completely on them, which is true for everyone everywhere.

So, to be honest, it’s not something to really worry about anymore because there’s not a whole lot coming for the soul group anymore, or at least the version of the soul group that I was working with back then. There are chunks of it that are, in terms of vibration and frequency, are starting to sync up but it’s much, much smaller and it doesn’t seem like it’s meant to be one that is fully connected on a conscious level, whereas that was one of the main points of the original soul group. Conscious level connection for conscious level expansion and progression. 

Anonymous: How does someone become a light worker? Are they born as one? And if one is a light worker in one lifetime, do they continue to be one in every lifetime after?

I have this post here with a video that talks about that.

Anonymous: Whats ur opinion on kpop prediction accnts?

I don’t really follow any, I mostly see stuff from them on Instagram or twitter if someone is reposting or retweeting something. I always figured that any kind of prominent celeb/idol prediction account was nothing ~psychic~ but just someone who’s got their nose in the right dirt, lol. Like, they just know what stories are going to be printed and when.

Anonymous: do past lives have any influence on current physical traits or the kind of body they inhabit next

I would assume so. There’s a lot that can go into certain features being affected by more than just genetics, but I’m not too familiar with any of it. 

Anonymous: What is your stance on soulmates? and could you do a personal reading about that if you believe in that?

Soulmates and twin flames are part of the game we’re playing, but when it comes to twin flames specifically I don’t personally like to focus on them. I do have some posts about soulmates here and here.

Anonymous: I’m not sure if you’ve answered a question like this before, sorry, but do you have any recommendations/resources for learning more about things like tarot reading? I just my first tarot deck (prisms visions by James r eads) but I don’t really know the proper ways to do it or connect with it like you.

I have some Q&As and resources here on the bluemoonpunch website.

Anonymous: do you use modern astrology or traditional? do you know of places to find astrologers that can explain birth chart readings? how does one know they are legit and not just hobbyists of astrology?

When it comes to astrology, I like to keep it as intuitively based as possible because I almost exclusively view it as imprinting and that’s how I read charts, no matter what kind of astrology the chart was made under. When it comes to just learning and understanding things, I really enjoy Molly McCord and Astrology With Heather. Molly McCord is an intuitive astrologer while Heather is more technical. Both gravitate to the same mediums but give two different perspectives. Both are definitely not hobbyists, lol, so you can use them as examples, I guess. 

#Anonymous #resources #astrology #tarot #lightworker #past lives

[allimariexf]

Do u think we'll get a real Olicity sex scene later in the season? You are my most favorite blog and I love your insight when it comes to Olicity.

Whaaaa omg I love you!!! *big hugs to you!!*

As for a real Olicity sex scene - I thinkhope we will? That’s a word, right?

Some people in the fandom are like 150% confident we will, but I’m definitely not there. Mostly because I hate disappointment so I try not to have too high hopes. But it does give me confidence that other people are so confident. ( @dmichellewrites is one such person, for example). 

Judging by the Olicity intimacy we’ve been given in season 7 so far, I’d say we have maybe 80% chance:

The 7x01 prison visitation scene doesn’t give us enough to go on. On the one hand, there’s “I love yous” on both sides, and the hands...oh, the hands. But there was also anxiety and lingering anger and a million other negative emotions, not to mention a literal wall, between them, so. But all in all I’d say that scene was more intimate than it strictly had to be, so I guess that makes me hopeful.

The 7x07 reunion scene scores TOP INTIMACY MARKS from me. Honestly that reunion scene was PERFECT. By far the most honest, intimate thing we’ve seen from them this season so far, in my opinion. Which gives me hope!! Because the ending of 7x07 was a perfect example of deliberate, conscious storytelling. Every movement, every moment, every touch beautifully conveyed a wide range of distinct emotions, always mingled with clear love and intimacy. If Beth and her writers and crew can put forth the effort to give us something so perfect - even with no words and lasting only a few seconds - then I believe they are capable of giving us a sex scene that rivals 3x20. (Because I do think it was exactly that same attention to storytelling through expression and touch and emotions that made 3x20 so amazing. Well, that and the fact that it was such an important moment in Oliver and Felicity’s relationship, of course.)

The 7x08 love scene, however, was not nearly as perfect. But again, I don’t know if I want to judge too harshly.

on the one hand, the weird camera angles were not great. Like, even as late as 5x20 and 6x04 (sigh!) we got close-up shots of their faces, their mouths, their lips while they were kissing. Which, when I type it out, sounds pervy lolol but NO! There’s important storytelling in how they touch each other and in the way their mouths come together - in fact 7x07 is a great example of that. In contrast, the 7x08 kiss was filmed from far away and behind and it unnecessarily cut from bad angle to bad angle, and in my opinion it was just not well done. 

and of course aside from being filmed badly, the kiss was much too short.

and the worst part of all, obviously, was the fact that they cut the whole thing off after like NO TIME, and showed us basically nothing in the mirror. Honestly that whole thing was the opposite of 7x07 - it was telling, not showing. It hardly made me feel anything. (I get a lot more emotion from watching gifs, because they create the illusion of time and lingering. The fault was definitely filming and editing, not Stephen and Emily’s acting).

on the other hand, I get that they are trying to show that Oliver and Felicity are struggling to find their footing with each other, and maybe the way they chose to do that is by not letting us see much intimacy between them. (But if that’s the case, I find it rather lazy. The mirror scene conveyed their struggle much more clearly, in my opinion. The way Oliver wanted to touch her, but pulled away. The way Felicity closed her eyes when he touched her, and watched their reflection in the mirror, but didn’t turn to him. The way that she brought up William almost as a buffer. Am I reading too much into this? Maybe. lol)

so yeah I guess the 7x08 love scene gives me less hope, because it seemed more like season 6′s old tricks: quick kisses! kisses during transitions only! just the suggestion of intimacy, don’t let the audience feel it! 

All that being said, the overall focus on Oliver and Felicity’s relationship - both their parallel/converging storylines in 7x01 - 7x07, and the fact that they’re actually arguing delving into their issues for the first time in a long time (ahem: actual issues rooted in character development, not just manufactured drama), proves to me that Beth and her team are committed to seeing this Olicity arc through. We’re clearly in the middle of it now, but we have all the reasons in the world to believe that Beth will keep her focus on telling this story until its conclusion. And we know we’re going to like the conclusion, because aside from all the external evidence (Stephen Amell’s quote, for example), there would have been no point for this focus on Olicity - both Oliver and Felicity, remember, not just one to prop up the other - unless they are going to get back on the same page in the end. I believe that 100%. 

I think I just convinced myself to be 90% confident that we’ll get a real sex scene. I guess my one remaining hesitation is that Beth still might be trying to “please all the fans,” and less time spent on romantic/relationshippy things might be one way she chooses to do that. (STUPID, IF YOU ASK ME). The camera angles and weird editing and physical intimacy couched in transitions suggest that. But then again isn’t Beth the one who said she would have liked an entire episode dedicated to the Olicity wedding? 🤔

In conclusion, this got very long! And I still have no idea! 😂 But thank you for asking and making me think about this! 😘

#arrow #arrow meta #olicity #olicity meta #arrow season 7 #arrow season 7 speculation #Anonymous