#we shall see my mind is fickle in its focus

[fishyartist]

Microorganisms born from the tube. I was trying to draw yuri of sonics two moms the other day but I got distracted and drew some small freaks instead. Plot idea in my mind is they’re petri dish babies who escape from some lab but get separated, and through a comedy of errors keep missing eachother as they meet different groups of characters.

#idk if I’m gonna be sonic mode much longer so I’m not tagging #and I don’t want expectations hanging over me if I’m not ^u^ #not a garentee of nothing else tho. I just genuinely don’t know #we shall see my mind is fickle in its focus #also the blue one only has one eye? half an eye? hard to describe the Cyclopes thing hedgehogs got #but yeah there’s nothing behind that closed lid #so goddamn funny bc my process was yuri->sonic+shadow fusion-> oh these are Sonadow fan kids huh #my art #fan art

[jeromesxreader16]

Such a Joker (49)

Part 48 Here

~o0o~

I walk in looking at the extravagant new home hidden away. "This is beautiful, Jeremiah." I gasp looking over every inch of beauty crafted from the mind of my man. "The children already have an empty room waiting for them. I'll have the workers gather some materials. From now on I would like you to stay here. If you must leave, please be with Ecco or Babara at all times." Jeremiah speaks calmly sitting on the couch. "You trust me with Babs?" Jeremiah smiles nodding his head. "For now."

I smile laying in his arms looking out of the large windows. "Are you happy you're going to be a father?" Jeremiah pulls me close humming. "Of course. We'll need to get married. I will not have my children be born Gordons." I laugh kissing his nose. "They're Valeska's, trust me."

~

I sit up covering myself with the silk sheets. Jeremiah stands in the mirror looking over his new attire. His hair has fully darkened and his lips are a brighter red in contrast to his pale tone. "I like it," Jeremiah smirks at me walking over. "You're adorable, dear mommy." He leans down kissing me.

"Now while I'm out where will you be?" I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. "Right here, Jer. You don't have to worry." "Oh, I know. It's others that worry me. Call me if you have any trouble, love." I nod watching him walk away.

Hours later my phone rings as I'm going through my new wardrobe Jeremiah provided me with. "Hello?" "(Y/n)! How are you doing, love? Want to grab lunch before your boyfriend blows the city up?" I giggle at her as I hold up a shirt smiling. "So you've heard." "Yeah. Care to chat?" "I can do that. I'll send you the address." "Great! I'll get you a ride."

Not long after the call ends a black car rolls up into the driveway. I exit the house getting into the car. Barbara sighs, "I'm sorry, (y/n). Nothing personal. We just need the upper hand." "What?" Suddenly a bag is thrown over my head and my wrists tied together.

As we enter a warehouse I'm sat down in a chair and the bag is removed. I look over and see Jongleur has been captured as well.

Barbara kneels, smiling. "You look really good by the way. Glowing and all." I turn my head away. "I'm still mad at you." She nods, "Yeah, but we can't have Gotham blown up."

Only after a long ten minutes, Jeremiah walks down with his followers seeing us.

"Oswald Cobblepot. Barbara Kean. In my stronghold."

"Not one step closer, Mr. Valeska," Oswald says pointing a gun at me. Jeremiah's eyes grow deadly cold. "And is that my dear Jongleur with my core relay in his hand and a grenade taped to his mouth? Not only that, but you have the future mother of my children strapped to a chair with a gun pointed at her head?"

"Indeed, it is."

"Huh. Well, it seems you have the upper hand."

"Undoubtedly. And now, we have our own demands.... $50 million.

Jeremiah widens his eyes in amusement. "That's what you want?"

Oswald smiles nodding, "It's a nice, round number."

"I don't quite have that on me right now," Jeremiah says calmly. "You gave the mayor six hours to evacuate Gotham. An impossible task. Let him buy another hour. He will save thousands of lives. $50 million will seem cheap." I laugh, shaking my head. "You're playing him the villain, while you get away free and rich? Shoot me now." I roll my eyes laughing.

Jeremiah smirks at me, giving me hope. "I get you the money, you give me back my fiance and my core relay." Barbara hums smarting off, "That is usually how a hand-off works, yeah." I look over my shoulder at her huffing.

"You drive a hard bargain, but I'll see what I can do. Hold tight, darling." Jeremiah pulls out his phone quickly. "Just like that? After knowing your brother, I expected something more..." Jeremiah scoffs, "Insane? I'm nothing if not sane and reasonable. Two things my brother never valued. That's why I'll be successful where he failed. Well, that, being vastly more intelligent and winning (Y/n). Now, to see about your money."

He dials the numbers and brings his phone to his ear. "This is Jeremiah Valeska. I'd like to speak to the mayor. I have additional demands... Yes, really... 50 million, unmarked bills. I'll tell you about the location. "

Jeremiah chuckles looking at us. "Would you believe it? They put me on hold." He bends down pulling out a bazooka. My chair is pulled out of the blast range from one of our followers as Jeremiah aims and shoots at the core relay blowing it up.

Jeremiah cuts me free holding me close. "Are you alright?" I nod into his chest.

"Are you out of your mind?" Oswald screams in shock.

"Why do you keep insisting I'm insane? What's insane about having a backup plan, something Jongleur never knew about. And, so you know, this building is within the blast radius. And because of your interference, I'm going to detonate the bombs as soon as I'm far enough away to observe the destruction in peace with my family."

"No, you promised the city six hours!"

"Whose fault is it that I changed my mind?"

~

"You've blown up the bunker and the Mayor already. How many bombs were you thinking of using, honey?"

Jeremiah lays his hand on my leg as he transports me home safely. "I need a blank slate. Everything must go. I want to be set up in the center and have the whole Gotham city park the backyard for the kids." Jeremiah opens the door for me as we walk into the house. "I'll be home soon. Take a tour of the barracks downstairs. Then tour the master bathroom with the newly renovated jacuzzi." Jeremiah finishes halfway out the door. "I'll miss you." He sighs dramatically gazing at me. "And I you, darling."

~

Jim POV:

I walked into the GCPD shocking every one of my colleagues. "Jim!" Harvey rushes pulling me in a hug. "Oh, Buddy." I chuckle while pulling away wincing. "All right, easy there, big fella. Remember, I just got blown up."

"How did you get out of the bunker?"

"It's a long story, but what matters is, I have the locations of every bomb Jeremiah planted." I hold up the plans from the bunker for everyone to see.

"Jeremiah wasn't bluffing. There are at least a dozen bombs on this map."

"But you're saying, if we disarm one of them in the sequence, we'll stop all of them from going off. And according to this, the closest one is just a mile away."

Harvey starts rambling off plans for the squad to carry out, "Alert the bomb squad. Tell them to meet me there." "Wait, Harvey. Let the bomb squad handle this. You don't have to go." He nods at me with the determination of prey. "Yes, I do. I need this, Jim."

~

Jeremiah walks in the bedroom seeing me spin in one of the many new outfits he gifted me with. "Are we happy, (y/n)?" He asks strolling over and taking me in his arms as he looks at us in the mirror.

I nod smiling at my soon to be husband. "Are you ready to start our new life together, sweets?" He pulls my hair over my shoulder lining my neck with kisses. I turn away from him pulling him out the door by his tie. "If you keep that up we'll be late."

We enter the elevator descending to the followers' barracks. As we enter they chant cleanly, "Jeremiah! Jeremiah!"

Jeremiah switches the denominator on his trigger; just one flick of that switch and its bye bye Gotham City.

"All my life I spent by myself, hidden away. I am so glad to be sharing this happy moment with you, (y/n), and all of you as well. Today marks the dawning of a new Gotham City. One where we will all be free. Now, shall I do the honors?"

Jeremiah makes his speech walking down the lined army of members, towards a TV with the news just waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly a familiar face appears on the screen. My father.

"That's Jim Gordon! He's not dead." The followers cry out in a tantrum.

"This is a message to the followers of Jeremiah Valeska. Jeremiah claims to have killed me. Well, bad news, I'm alive." My father smiles smugly on the screen.

Jeremiah turns back to all of us shaking his head trembling. "No. No, it's a trick. I killed him."

"So, just know, you're worshiping a fraud. A pale imitation of Jerome. You did your worst, Jeremiah. And I'm still here. And I'm coming for my daughter." Jeremiah turns off the TV in a rushed frustration.

"Doesn't matter whether he's alive. When I hit this switch, you'll hear the sounds of a new world being born. Our world. Now... Listen." He hisses as he flips the switch. I smile awaiting a reaction, but nothing changes. I tilt my head confused and look at Jeremiah turn the switch over and over.

Every one of the false followers starts to gang up on Jeremiah, "He's a fake!" "He's a liar! Liar!"

"SHUT UP!" He screams, slowly making his way to the door. He makes his way to me grabbing my hand and kissing it. "I want you all to know I find your fickleness quite hurtful... And more so, very predictable. Come, love." Jeremiah pulls us out, locking the room shut with the followers inside. He pulls open the box on the wall pressing the large red button engraved with PURGE.

The room soon engulfed in horrid screams and bright flames as they burn in the chamber. He sighs watching them through the window. "Well, that is disappointing."

I grab his hand pulling him towards the elevator. "Don't focus on that, what we need to do now is go to your office and figure this out." "Darling, I adore enthusiasm, but I haven't gotten started in the office. This was supposed to work out." He groans frustrated.

The elevator takes us up a floor to a large room I have started to make into his office. He walks in seeing a desk there with his plans and breaks into a smile. "You didn't have to do this, darling." He removes his blazer, tossing it on his chair while I move to sit on the desk.

"I know, but I wanted to. If this is going to be our home I want you to have your spot to work again." Jeremiah rolls out the map smirking, "Well then, let's get to work."

We spend hours looking over the plans for flames and or issues, but I can't think of anyone who would've taken the chance between the two triggers.

"I got it!" I laugh lowering my feet from the desk. " If you had Jim in your office with the prints he took them when he escaped!" Jeremiah nods gathering along, "Gordon found one of the bombs, and sabotaged the sequence... I'll have to start again." Jeremiah nods looking down at the map of the City.

"You're tenacious. I like that." A ghostly voice runs along the walls of the room. Jeremiah pulls me behind him pulling out his gun. "Who are you? What do you want?" He speaks calmly.

"I had a vision of Gotham in flames. Together we can make that happen." A man from the upper half of the platform speaks. "Well, I say we appreciate the offer, but recent events have convinced me of the benefits of working alone." Jeremiah shoots at him, but the man moves too fast.

I stifle a giggle pulling out my gun. "Your shot is horrible."

"Don't be so rash. Your dream of a new Gotham fit for your family will come to be, with my help." This man speaks again from the other corner of the room. I raise my gun shooting at him, but he vanishes.

Jeremiah sighs laying a hand on my hip. "You're behind me, aren't you?"

We turn around meeting this mystery man with the plan. "I can conquer Gotham on my own. What makes you think I need your help? Whoever you are."

He smirks walking closer. "Because, my boy, all this is not just about Gotham. This is about Bruce Wayne."

I gasp giggling. "This just got interesting."

~

"You're going to get arrested!" I fight Jeremiah as we go over this plan. He shrugs dusting his hat. "Love, I'm escaping. Can't you focus on that?" I huff crossing my arms. "I want to go with you." Jeremiah laughs shaking his head. "Have you forgotten you're carrying twins, my love? I am going to be shooting people. Use your head." I laugh pulling at his tie. "I've been thinking of names." "Oh? Want to tell me as we watch Gotham burn?" "Root beer floats will be waiting." Jeremiah rolls his eyes. "You and your cravings." "Blame your kids!"

~

I walk into Wayne's home leaving the door wide open. I walk to the study smirking as I hear the ongoing conversation.

"Why do you think he's so obsessed with you?" Selina Kyle asks Bruce. "Jeremiah said, "All it takes is one bad day to drive a person insane." I wonder if my parents dying made me a little insane? Maybe he sensed that. Maybe he wanted to bring it out." I smirk nodding my head. "Smart boy."

"Well, you proved him wrong."

I roll my eyes entering the room. "To be fair, the day's not over yet." Selina stands up going to attack, but I simply pull the trigger of my gun shooting her in the lower abdomen.

Bruce screams as I am tackled to the floor by the butler and brutally beaten. Just one bad day Bruce.

#jerome #jerome x reader #jerome valeska #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska smut #Gotham #Gotham City #gotham cast #Cameron Monaghan

[100hearteyes]

Clexa Week 2020 - Day 7 - Free Day

(thank you @butmakeitgayblog for beta'ing and cheering me on 🙌 and @dreamsaremywords for helping me avoid the pitchforks and torches)

Read it on AO3.

–

Eventide

“Your Majesty?”

A queen did not start.

A queen did not get distracted while being courted by a handsome foreign duke, either, but Clarke had never been quite like her peers, for better and for worse.

She dragged her gaze from the horizon line and met the kind eyes of Duke Finneas; a boy who meant well but could never be her equal match.

Perhaps he too meant well. Though Clarke’s heart yearned for the kind of devotion he would give, her brain craved a wicked mind like hers. Someone just as brilliant and terrible as her.

Someone else.

“You are distracted today.”

He said it kindly, amusement clear in his voice, and Clarke hated him for it. Still she bowed her head, as she should, and blushed like the besotted girl she was supposed to be.

“My apologies, Finn.” He preened at hearing the sound of his nickname, as he had asked her to call him by it countless times before. “I sent the best of my Queensguard to the border and they are expected to return today. I can barely wait to hear whatever news they bring me. And I am… naturally worried about their safety.”

He smiled softly at her. “Few would be so concerned about the lives of those who are sworn to protect them. You have a noble heart, my queen.”

The irony almost made her smile.

--

The Captain of the Queensguard knelt before her, head bowed and a fist closed upon the left breastplate of ornate, light grey armor.

“As I am sure you remember, Your Majesty, your cousin, Earl Aden, lost both his parents to the harsh bite of winter this year. He has requested to spend the next winter with you, so as to avoid further tragedy.”

Clarke nodded, thinking fondly of the boy with unruly blonde curls and a gentle smile. “I shall make arrangements in that regard. Is there anything else?”

“Your Majesty, the rest of the information I bring you,” distrustful eyes landed on Prince Finneas, “is meant for your ears only.”

Clarke did her best not to roll her eyes. The Captain of her Queensguard was extraordinarily competent, dedicated, and brave, but had a drastic tendency to be dramatic. There was no need for such showmanship, yet the Captain seemed intent on fanning out feathers and strutting back and forth like a peacock.

“If you say so, Captain,” she conceded at last. “Would you care to accompany me to the balcony?”

The Captain stood up and the two of them strolled past the thick curtains that separated the throne room from a balcony that oversaw acres upon acres of beautiful, green fields and thick forests.

Clarke walked up to the railing, resting both her hands on it. At times like this, it was soothing to feel the rough stone under her palms, scraping at the fair skin.

It grounded her.

She steeled herself as she felt the Captain sidle in next to her.

“Did you have a safe trip home?”

Clarke felt more than she saw the Captain nod next to her. She hadn’t expected any different. When she glanced at the elegant figure next to her, she found the Captain’s gaze trained on the horizon.

“What sensitive information is this that you requested a private audience?”

Green eyes finally met her own, dancing with mischief and something else tender and forbidden. “Everything was in order while we were there.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “So you wasted your queen’s precious time to tell her everything is exactly as it should be?”

The sky was painted in broad, reckless strokes of pink and purple, and the sun had started to hide behind the skyline. The moon would soon take its place on the throne with the stars as her witness.

“I would not go so far as to say it was a waste of time.” The Captain’s tone was teasing, but laced with fondness. “I gave you the chance to see the sunset, I know how much you like it.”

Clarke liked the night best. It was at night that stolen moments were a solution rather than a problem and sneaking, when the palace was cold and silent, didn’t feel so scandalous anymore. Sunsets were the promise of night. A promise that just for a few hours, she could take the crown off her head, leave the corset on the bed, and be just Clarke. The girl in love with another girl.

“Your absence was felt.”

Lexa’s lips twisted minutely. When she spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “Be careful, my Queen. The walls have ears.”

The Captain’s cautious words were betrayed by the tips of long fingers brushing against Clarke’s on the balcony rail.

Their hands were concealed by coats and dresses, but Lexa’s touch was featherlight nonetheless. It still gave Clarke pause; her entire body’s focus was on the points where their skin came into contact and her heart was a fist banging at the doors of her chest. It wanted out, as it always had; it yearned to flee its golden cage and tell the secrets the walls around them would have killed to hear.

“The stars have eyes, too.”

“Luckily, they haven’t mouths to tell a secret.”

Lexa’s words may have been meant to be soothing, but they awakened Clarke’s mind. They reminded her of the boy in the throne room, of long walks along the palace gardens and the crown atop her head.

“Duke Finneas of Traisson will be staying at the palace for a few weeks. He has stated his intention to court me.”

It was only because she was so attuned to Lexa’s touch that Clarke felt the sudden absence of delicate fingers against her own, so light had the pressure been to begin with. Nevertheless, it felt like a stab to her chest. The world around her dimmed, colors became duller. Clarke felt trapped in a world in tones of grey.

“He took me to the orchards. It seems to be a popular spot for courtship.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We found this… carving on a tree. Very queer.” A smile played at the edge of her lips, teasing at more carefree times. She found it mirrored in the Captain’s clever eyes. “Couples ought to be more discreet, don’t you think?”

“They ought to.”

--

“Can a queen ever marry for love?”

The bench they sat on, made of stone only, wasn’t the most comfortable to perch on. However, the way the moonlight slanted and made the orchards look like a pathway to heaven more than compensated for a stiff behind. When she turned and saw how Lexa’s features looked in the same light — cheekbones sharper, lips fuller and eyes prettier than she had ever seen them —, Clarke realized she could spend days sitting on that bench, never moving.

Lexa looked like those otherworldly spirits mythology books told tales about, so impossibly, painfully beautiful one may turn to stone just from looking into her eyes. Clarke would’ve taken that risk. She would’ve dared never moving again for just one chance to bask in the glow of Lexa’s eyes. For all of the Captain’s aloofness and penchant for speaking as few words as possible, her eyes spoke loudest than any Clarke had ever seen. Their expressiveness… The way they could never hide what Lexa was feeling… Clarke had tried to replicate them on paper countless times, only to come up short. She’d usually get the shape, the lights, and the shadows right, but— something in those eyes was simply unrepeatable.

Human hands couldn’t recreate it. Lexa had been shaped by the gods, and her eyes were the map to eternity.

And Clarke was always oh so close to unlocking the secret, to reaching the summit, but something always pushed her off a cliff and sent her hurtling back to the ground.

“Love is weakness, Your Majesty.”

Clarke was used to the impact. It didn’t hurt any less. Still, she stood, then and again, and braced herself for the climb. One day she would make it to the top.

“And civilizations are fickle. History is ephemeral. We live and die and whatever mark we leave on this world can easily be erased by war and pillage. Love is forever.”

“It lasts only as long as those who feel it.”

“No,” she countered, stubborn as ever. “It lasts longer. Love is immaterial, it lingers in the air around us, beneath our breaths and through this life and the next. Castles and parchment stay here until someone burns them. Love travels with us to the afterlife.”

Lexa stood up without a word and waited for Clarke to do the same, before taking off on a brisk pace towards the castle.

Catching up to Lexa was neither easy nor dignified, but Clarke eventually fell into step with the Captain, who took pity on her and slowed her pace to a languid stroll. Now going at an appropriate pace for a queen, Clarke took her chance to admire the trees around her, with ripe fruit hanging from thin branches and pulling them towards the ground.

No matter the heights one reached, gravity always did its bidding and pulled one back to earth. Clarke felt its effect now. She had reached for the stars once and been pulled so violently back she’d lost her footing. Then again, and again, and again. Every time, Lexa was there to catch her fall. And Clarke would swear the earth had turned upside down, it had to have, for Lexa was the very stars she had been trying to grasp.

How lucky she was, to touch the stars without having to lift her feet off the ground.

It had only been much later in life, when she’d been told to find a husband or doom her kingdom to ruin, that Clarke had realized just how cruel it all really was — the stars would always be within her reach but she would never be able to catch them.

Why love a star if you cannot have her heart?

As they neared the edge, Lexa halted, eyes locked on a tree in one of the final rows. Clarke followed her gaze and felt her lips sketch an outline of a smile.

Feeling reckless, Clarke followed a short, but uneven trail towards the tree and laid a hand on the rough bark. Her palm grazed the bumps and ridges of an age old carving and she read the words without seeing them.

L + C

Feelings cut into wood a lifetime ago, indelible as they were immutable, able to endure generations for the robustness of their canvas. Only human hands could erase them; only human words could disprove them.

Clarke felt Lexa’s presence behind her and turned around, her hand never leaving its home. They shared a secret smile, although Lexa’s was somber as her eyes swept over the entire orchard. One of many trees. As if it ever fell, it could be replaced with another. The earth it drank from and gave its strength to, however, could not.

Clarke knew the knife was coming before it embedded itself in her heart.

“If we are to be judged at the gates to heaven,” Lexa started, voice not quite trembling, though thin and weighed down by regret, “let it be because I failed my heart rather than the people I am sworn to protect, above all you.”

Clarke knew that song from heart. Lexa would’ve died before being selfish and taking something, or someone, for herself. And Clarke would’ve given her the world, yet she couldn’t afford to relinquish the political hold on her own heart.

Clarke and Lexa held the axe in their hands and little by little they were chipping away at the trunk. Human hands and human words.

Lexa turned around, ready to return to the palace. She stopped only at the sound of Clarke’s voice, scraping like sharp claws against the walls of her throat. “One day they will weigh my heart and find it heavy with sin and regret. None greater than for allowing the world to convince me to let go of you.”

--

“Duke Finneas proposed today.”

Clarke could see Lexa stiffen despite the dim light. The Captain turned on her heels and approached the window, laying a quivering hand on the parapet, back turned to her sovereign.

It was unusual for the Queen to visit her Captain’s quarters. The rumor mill surely would’ve started running the moment Clarke stepped inside Lexa’s chambers if not for the circumstances they found themselves in.

Lexa’s room was as Spartan as could be in a royal palace. Moonlight shrouded it in mystery, much as it did its owner’s expression, whose features were unreadable from ten feet away.

Words weren’t a clue, either, when spoken blankly. “Have you given him an answer?”

Clarke desperately wanted to let the ensuing silence speak for her, but she knew she owed Lexa a proper answer. She, who helped take down their tree, should swing the axe.

“I said yes.”

For a moment, Clarke thought she saw Lexa’s knees buckle and she might collapse. However, the Captain stood tall and brave, and Clarke admired her so for her stalwart asceticism.

“I see.” Lexa’s voice was brittle, no more than a murmur, and it was only the grim silence that carried it to Clarke and cut her with it.

Clarke bled, and with the pain came resolve. She took a step forward, then another, and a third. A deep breath later, she’d gathered the courage to take the leap.

“It’s my last night of freedom. We could finally—”

“No,” Lexa interrupted, turning to face her.

The Captain’s tone left no room for discussion, but Clarke had never been one to be content with the space she was assigned. She felt the need to push the walls, expand the perimeter and win back the room she had been denied.

So she stepped closer even, broaching Lexa’s personal space. “I cannot fathom a world where I don’t know the taste of your lips.”

Lexa’s eyes shone with agony, as though Clarke had struck a dagger to her gut and was twisting, and twisting, and twisting. They were mere inches asunder, so close Clarke could feel Lexa’s shallow breath on her cheek. She couldn’t remember a time there had been less than the width of her crown between them.

“You can’t say things like that, Clarke. Not when—”

Lexa reached for Clarke’s face, but froze before allowing herself to touch. Her hand hovered, fingers yearning and twitching minutely above a pale cheek. “I shan’t let you disgrace yourself for me.”

Clarke closed her eyes, sighing, mustering the courage to lean away from Lexa’s absent touch and speak the words that lingered in the back of her mind since she’d said yes.

“Then I am letting you go.”

Lexa lowered her hand as though she’d been burned, but made no other motion to draw back. She remained steadfast as Clarke watched the questions flit across her eyes, all of them going unasked.

All but one.

“Why?”

Clarke swallowed, though it did nothing to untie the knot in her throat. “I am setting you free,” she husked, resisting the ever-present urge to take Lexa’s hands in hers. “I can find another captain, someone you would recommend. Just… Please go, Lexa. Find someone else. Love someone else. Be happy.”

This time, Lexa recoiled, face twisting with resentment. She would have looked less affronted had Clarke slapped her.

For once, Clarke wished the stars would bear witness to one of their trysts and grow mouths to yell at Lexa to go and never look back — to love someone else, anyone else. Someone who would not chain her to a love story without closure.

No great epopee ever ended with a broken heart.

“I will not leave, Clarke. I shall stay and see you married and love you like the day I carved my soul into a tree.” Lexa took a step towards her, closing the rift she’d created moments ago. Clarke counted the lashes resting on the elegant bow of her cheeks, long and dark and thick like the night that hid them from prying eyes and outstretched ears. Lexa’s lips were parted and Clarke would have given her kingdom to be able to brush a finger over the bottom one; to feel the supple flesh give under her thumb. Longing green eyes danced between Clarke’s own and dropped to her lips for just a moment, before once again plunging into pools of midday sky blue. “Who I love is not my choice to make. My heart has never been my own, Clarke. I believe you’ve held it in your hands since long before we were even born into this life.”

No great tragedy ever ended with a smile.

--

Clarke was dressed in white and gold when the letter arrived.

Amongst a thousand apologies, Finneas relayed about how he had fallen in love with one of her ladies in waiting and decided to run away with her before the wedding. Clarke would have felt humiliated, if she’d cared for anything except the way her heart sang for joy.

She was free.

Clarke all but ran up stairs and down corridors, towards the hall where she knew her most faithful soldier stood waiting and suffering, withering under the weight of their most dreaded day.

There Clarke found her Captain, and something about her (perhaps the light shining in from the window and setting her hair on fire or the way her eyes widened with concern when Clarke barged through the heavy double doors; maybe it was simply that freedom made everything look twice as beautiful) almost propelled Clarke to start crying a river at the mere sight of her.

So focused was she on the object of her adoration, Clarke didn’t register everyone else filing out of the room at the flick of the Captain’s wrist. It was but a coincidence that the moment the door closed behind the last intruder, Clarke fell to her knees at Lexa’s feet, taking flummoxed hands between her own. Her fingers trembled, but she had never felt so steady.

“He’s gone. He ran away with one of my maids.”

The stricken look on Lexa’s face — the tragic, mechanized selflessness — made Clarke love her just that little bit more. “Your Highness, I am so sor—”

“Don’t you finish that sentence, Captain, for I am not.”

Clarke brought Lexa’s hands to her lips and kissed the knuckles one by one, tasting the salt of her own tears. When she looked back up, she found them mirrored in Lexa’s eyes. “What will you do now?”

The question yanked a laugh from Clarke, wet with tears and husky with bliss. She brushed a kiss to long fingers and held Lexa’s burning gaze, unfaltering.

“I swear myself to you, my love,” she whispered reverently. “My heart is your heart, my soul is your soul. My life is now yours. I needn’t a ring to speak my vows.”

“Clarke, you can't—”

“I can,” she stated, pushing to her feet, “and I will. Let the people know I’m no less of a queen without a man at my side.”

If anything, she would have been less of a queen for not being brave enough to follow her heart, Clarke decided. How could she be expected to make hard decisions for her people if she couldn’t make them for herself?

“What about the throne, Clarke? Your kingdom needs an heir, or else it will be at the mercy of its enemies,” Lexa insisted, raising mountains across the road of Clarke’s dreams. “I will not accept that.”

Clarke’s will knew no boundaries or chokeholds however, and she’d weave roads around mountains and over precipices to meet her goals. This time, with or without witnesses, and despite the slumber of all stars but one, Clarke would finally make promises she could keep.

“I plan to train Aden to be king and appoint him as my heir. He will carry on the bloodline and keep the crown from falling into the wrong hands.”

She knew Lexa had a soft spot for the young Earl and would gladly help her broaden his shoulders enough to trust upon them the burden of sovereignty. Meanwhile, Clarke would be so powerful and so ruthless none would dare question the absence of a king consort. Human hands and human words bore the power to devastate, but also to mend what was broken and etch new life into faded vows.

She looked out the window; the sun was setting, hanging new oaths on the sky and yielding up its holy perch for the moon to take. Sunsets held the promise of tonight, when a lifetime’s worth of dreams could finally become true.

Lexa’s voice pulled her focus back to the present. “If this worked… How would I fit into it?”

Clarke had always been bravest at eventide.

With hands that no longer hovered, she grabbed the back of Lexa’s neck and reeled her in for a kiss.

#Clexaweek2020 #Clexaweek2020 Day 7 #Day 7 free day #free day #mine #my fics #clexa #clexa au #aesthetic #eventide #royal au

[seyaryminamoto]

Matching Heartbeats: Sokkla Saturdays 2020

Day 8: Yakuza AU

On FF.net//On AO3

(Directly inspired by THIS PROMPT! Thank you, anon who brought it to mind... writing this was a blast :DDD)

The soft whirring of the machine stopped, and the teenager who had been flinching on the tattooing chair now gazed at him with tearful, hopeful eyes.

"I-is it done now?"

"It's done," the tattoo artist replied, setting down his implements. "You're a whole new man, eh?"

"W-will girls think I'm cool now?"

"Oh, please. Tattoos are a mark of greatness! You should know this!" the artist laughed, shaking his head. "The worthwhile girls, yes, will love a good tattoo on a cool man, I guarantee it."

He was only eighteen, so he was old enough to make wild decisions he might regret in the future. He had graduated from high school recently, and wanted to impress girls once he started college, apparently. If only a tattoo were a guarantee of a shift in personality and confidence… but for most common people, it was but a placebo they forgot about soon enough. Tattoos didn't mean the same to them as they meant to a certain, select group of people…

That select group didn't request for machine tattoos, or vivid, sometimes even fickle designs that held simple meanings. But irezumi, or tebori, were a true sign of strength, a rite of passage he had branded onto his own skin successfully many times now… a sign that revealed the difficult, disciplined way of life he'd abided by for his adult years, even if he still worked with machine tattooing system on the side, too.

He left the teenager to recover for a few minutes, and then guided him to the parlor's door: a new arrival held it open just as the boy was slithering out, and the innocent young man shrank in his frame upon glimpsing the tall, intimidating man who stood outside the parlor. With so many tattoos across his body, he appeared to be a most dangerous threat to a young man who only wanted to visit the parlor for a simple snake tattoo upon his forearm – it hadn't even been bigger than three inches.

"E-excuse me!" the teenager squeaked, rushing out as fast as he could. From inside the store, Sokka smirked as he watched him go.

"Definitely not of our type of people, eh?" he said, glancing at the older man by the door.

The same smirk appeared on his counterpart's face, and the man even let out a hearty laugh before reaching to clasp his shoulder with his strong hand.

"Seems like business is doing well, son?" he asked. Sokka grinned and nodded.

"So far, so good!" he said, ushering Hakoda inside the parlor. "I know Master Piandao thought I shouldn't practice both traditional and modern tattoos… but hey, it pays. Casual kids these days don't think our lifestyle's worth emulating, but they sure believe tattoos make them more interesting…"

"A good belief to have," Hakoda declared. Sokka chuckled as he collected two cans of soda from a small fridge behind his desk, offering one to his father quickly. "Though… as it is, our clan could do with more than tattoos to move forward, Sokka."

"Uh… what's that supposed to mean?" he said, blinking blankly as Hakoda accepted his offer of a drink.

"It means… well, you know just the type of work I've been trying to get into," Hakoda said, his voice lowering into a growl. His business voice, Sokka had learned as much since childhood. "But it's been a problem, you see? Those damn Homura…"

"Are they fighting our people again?" Sokka groaned, shaking his head. "They keep sneaking into our territory and then pretend we're the ones at fault…"

"They surely think we are. The Homura, as you well remember, have been around since the Edo period," Hakoda sighed. "We're too new to earn their respect. But that's precisely why I'm here today."

"Because… you have a plan on how to earn it? Or you have a plan to get rid of the Homura, fancy ancestral clan it is?" Sokka asked, crooking an eyebrow before sipping his drink. Hakoda smirked.

"I have a plan to get rid of the problem they pose, yes," he said. "And I think you, my wonderful heir, are the most suitable person to fulfill it."

"I… what?" Sokka said, with an awkward grin. "Uh, that's a little much, isn't it? You sure, dad? Why me?"

"Well, for one thing, this is crucial for our clan's survival," said Hakoda. "Can't entrust such a delicate operation to anyone I can't fully rely on…"

"And I'm the best choice for it?" Sokka asked, puzzled. "I thought I was supposed to focus on the tattoo-side of things…"

"You are, of course," Hakoda continued, with a shrug. "But a young man as talented and intelligent as you… surely you can take care of both things at the same time?"

"That's a lot of trust you're putting on me," Sokka chuckled. "But I guess I'll have to hear you out first, huh? What's your plan, dad?"

Unwelcome news weren't too surprising in any yakuza clans. That being said, it wasn't every day the uncontested crime bosses of Kobe would find themselves troubled by the behavior of any of their competition… for there was no sense in there being any competition in the first place. They already had control of the area, they'd held it for years, and they had no intentions of yielding it, only of cementing it further.

Methods to achieve such a feat were more complicated than other clans might have believed: they didn't merely deal in common crime, but also in crime at the very heights of society. It wasn't merely a matter of extorting the right, connected people, but of commanding enough respect from them to obtain exactly the results they were looking for. Ozai Homura saw this as an art, and it was one he was more than pleased to teach his son, despite he appeared to not have much of a knack for economics and numbers.

That was when two of his closest associates had arrived, however, with that day's puzzling news:

"Takase, that madman supplier, has reached out to us," Zhao said, releasing a heavy breath. "It seems he wishes to serve the Homura clan, despite his many claims in the past that he only wished to work with smaller clans."

Ozai's heart beat fast underneath his old chest burn, the one with which he had proven himself the true heir of Azulon Homura. His own father had chosen to brand him, once Iroh, his older brother, had turned his back on the clan and abandoned the yakuza life. Ozai had been more than ready to inherit the role, no matter how nervous he was about the prospect when it first presented itself. Now, his own son had a burn on his face, one that proved his resilience and strength to their clan. That his eye could still function, despite his face had been burned directly, had been yet another source of pride for his father. He had feared Zuko might not be strong enough for his fated role… but all in all, two potential heirs were better than one.

"What brought about this change of mind?" Ozai said, scowling. "Such a sudden switch must have happened for a reason."

"I thought the same thing," spoke the second newcomer: Ozai turned his attention towards his daughter as she spoke. "I believe it's a play by the Kawakami clan, as a matter of fact. What its ultimate purpose may be remains to be seen, but I advise against trusting this sudden offer of generosity blindly."

It was only natural that she'd have unique, special insight to offer, and yet Ozai's heart surged with pride when Azula intervened: he knew that, when problems emerged, she was ready to resolve them. Wherever his daughter involved herself, everything simply turned out for the Homura clan's favor.

"The Kawakami clan?" Zuko repeated. "They're meaningless though, aren't they?"

"For the time being, they appeared to be," Zhao agreed. "But if they're acting boldly in this manner, perhaps they're seeking to strengthen their position somehow…"

"By losing their suppliers?" Zuko asked. "Don't you think maybe they're just weak, Father? Too weak to even hold onto their providers?"

"I'm afraid we're in no position to make assumptions," Ozai said, frowning. "Leaving lesser clans unchecked can result in dangerous problems in the long run. They may mean no harm, they may be dissolving, but it isn't befitting of the Homura clan to jump at every opportunity for profit all the same."

"It's not how we've carried ourselves over the last five hundred years," Zhao agreed.

"And that we've retained our standards has brought us this far," said Ozai, strongly. "This supplier of arms may not be reliable. He could even serve as an inside source for the Kawakami…"

"I thought of that as well," Azula interjected. "While it could be a fool's move, I can't claim the Kawakami clan's leadership is completely sound of judgment. They might want Takase to serve as an inside source on what's happening within our clan, what movements we've been making. And while a supplier is far from the most reliable source of information, that's precisely why it'd be a useful one: they're counting on us to lower our guard and take for granted they wouldn't be quite so stupid as to spy on us through a weapons' supplier."

"A Trojan horse," Ozai finished. Azula nodded. "Fortunately, we are not quite as gullible as that old civilization was. You shall take point on this, Azula."

"Should she…?" Zuko asked. Ozai raised an eyebrow before turning towards him. "It's only, well…"

"You know what your sister's duty is," Ozai declared. "One day, she will clear the way for you to be a successful clan leader, allowing you to focus your attention on the bigger picture while she removes the competition. She serves as your shield, and your first line of defense. This is no duty for the heir of the Homura clan to perform, but the perfect duty for the Homura clan's enforcer to deal with."

Azula smirked proudly at those words, staring at her brother pointedly. He shrank in his frame, shooting a light glare in her direction: he would have expected his duty as the heir of the Homura family to involve far more action than he'd seen so far. He bore the mark of the heir across his face, no less, making such a painful sacrifice to prove just how worthy he could be… and now he was stuck with what amounted to a desk job, while his sister, with her impeccable face and no burn marks to her name, dealt with the real threats herself.

It wasn't what he would have expected from the yakuza lifestyle, but he couldn't bring himself to protest, not when he knew his father would be cross and displeased if he failed to understand his place in the clan. But watching Azula walk away with that satisfied smirk only brought Zuko to frown further, to wish he could have a different life, one where no one would cast him snide glares, no doubt questioning whether he or his sister were better suited to inherit the great Homura clan…

"Back to your work, Zuko," Ozai said, once he finished speaking with Zhao about any other pending subjects.

Zuko turned again towards the screen, towards the stocks. Towards his studies… away from the complicated, strange times that would soon be brought about by two clans, set into collision by the wishes of their leaders, and by the actions of their respective chosen children…

The Kawakami headquarters appeared to be a perfectly simple building on the outside – true, with a few burly men standing guard by the doors –, that concealed nothing out of the ordinary behind its walls. It was where Sokka had been raised, and thus, his second home ever since he had moved out and into his master's home, six years ago. Nowadays, he lived in the upper floor of his tattoo parlor, where he spent most his time unless the clan required him for one reason or another. Today, of course, he would keep the parlor closed, despite he longed to return to working with his needles. Priorities were priorities, and no doubt his father would be cross if he disregarded his duties only to continue tattooing green teenagers with no true understanding of what a serious tattoo stood for.

He had been skimming through files in the headquarters' main computer when he heard a ruckus outside. Assuming his sister would handle it, Sokka decided to continue focusing on which other suppliers he could afford to send off to the Homura clan, when suddenly the door to the room was thrown open: Katara marched in, with Kattan beside her.

"Uh… something the matter?" Sokka asked, grimacing preemptively – there was no doubt something had gone wrong, especially going by Kattan's horrified face.

"Sokka, I was… I was on my way to Kuinase, to collect our tax?" he said, swallowing hard. "Two… two huge Homura henchmen were at the doors. I couldn't believe it, Sokka! I ran away before they could see me, but they were definitely Homura! I saw it, you know? That ugly-ass flame tattoo on their necks…"

"You just said… in Kuinase?!" Sokka gasped, jumping to his feet.

"Those bastards are messing with our territory," Katara snarled, looking at her brother intensely. "What are we going to do about it?"

"I…" Sokka gritted his teeth, clenching his fists.

Oh, so much for the damn Homura honor. Was this really how things worked with them? No wonder they were so successful: even offerings in good faith went nowhere with these people. Any clan that so much as attempted to reach out to them would be doomed to be destroyed, for they'd likely, deliberately, interpret such displays as weaknesses rather than as the olive branches they were meant to be. They accepted no competition, was it? No one could go toe-to-toe against them…?

Well, they were in for quite the surprise. He had no intentions of yielding, and if this was how they wanted to play things, he'd step up to their level, for sure.

"I have a plan," Sokka leveled his cold, blue eyes at his sister and Kattan.

Deep in the heart of Kobe, the Homura headquarters stood inconspicuously as a tall, beautiful skyscraper, masqueraded as a perfectly upstanding company like those that were hosted in the neighboring modern buildings, with glass panels reflecting the sunlight and blinding all passersby during the day. It was a beautiful building, manned by countless elegantly dressed people who wouldn't be out of place in an actual company.

One of them was, of course, Azula Homura. On her casual days, she'd wear a black leather ensemble. Otherwise, her attire was comprised by a perfectly form-fitting pantsuit, with lapels as sharp as the bangs that framed her face, or the eyeliner she applied flawlessly every morning. She was beautiful and daunting: few dared approach her, for few knew what to make of someone as intimidating as her. She seemed to know every member of the clan thoroughly, had been able to sniff out spies within their ranks since her teenage years, and was rumored to have a secret database with all relevant information about their members and their enemies. It sounded like a fantasy, however: how could someone possibly keep track of the largest yakuza clan in the nation so effectively, let alone keep track of other clans, on top of theirs? And of politicians, and of businessmen, too…?

Whoever thought it was a fantasy, however, was severely mistaken: she had eyes and allies everywhere, and she smirked as she sat at her office, a massive room within the tallest floors of the Homura headquarters. She had customized it for her personal use, with a massive screen that displayed the view of many cameras all across Kobe's area. One day, she expected, she might acquire access to more than just the ones from Kobe… but for now, it was enough for her purposes.

For just this had helped her track down a rather curious man on a motorbike, who had just parked outside Hiranuma Shoten. It would have appeared an utterly irrelevant happenstance… if only his very bearing hadn't given away that he, just like herself, was part of a yakuza clan. Only, he had to be from a lesser clan, not only because few clans could afford to be as luxurious as the Homura… but his clothes, his bearing, even his motorbike, revealed he retained a certain humility, despite everything.

She had connected quickly with Hiranuma's internal camera afterwards: she kept an eye on the new arrival, amused by his initial attempts to purchase some food… and then he leaned close to the old man selling meat. Before long, the two were laughing. And then the butcher wasn't laughing anymore.

It was all an intimidation act, masqueraded by captivating the defenseless with promises and honeyed words… an intimidation tactic she herself had stooped to in the past, a tactic she had asked some of her top-trusted advisors to perform recently in the Akashi area, too. But this man… he had a way with it, no doubt. And while Hiranuma's cameras weren't highly defined – she'd have to convince her father to finance better surveillance systems for those under their protection, it would only help in the long run – she had the distinct feeling she knew who this yakuza stranger was…

She bit her lip before inputting her first guess in her database, on the next computer. And while the database was at it…

She dialed a number expertly, without even looking at her phone, before raising it to her ear with her left hand while deftly navigating her resources with her right. Within instants, the man she was calling picked up the phone.

"Yes?"

"Hiranuma Shoten's owner is being extorted by a Kawakami, I believe. Perhaps even the heir, if my guess is accurate," Azula said, shifting through files quickly.

"We'll be there soon," the man on the other side spoke.

"I'll follow him too. You won't lose track of him," Azula promised.

"That would help us very much. We are ever at your service."

She smirked as she hung up the call, and just then, she happened upon the file she had been navigating through. She only had a picture of his face, which was exactly what the camera wouldn't allow her to see… but curses, she had updated this resource and hadn't so much as looked at the Kawakami heir's file so far, had she? Otherwise, she certainly wouldn't have forgotten that damn handsome visage…

"Guess you grew up just fine, did you?" Azula mused, allowing herself a small smirk.

His strong cheekbones, his manly, perfectly defined jawline, that dark skin, typical of the Kawakami's main branch… where so many in Japan preferred light skin, Azula found herself inevitably drawn to the opposite. A whim, she thought, the first times it had happened… but this damn Kawakami was likely to convince her of the opposite.

Though his most striking feature were his eyes: coldly, sharply, beautifully blue. Those were the eyes of a man who, if pushed, could commit a murder without blinking… and where that thought might have daunted anyone else, a yakuza princess, as she was often referred to, could only find that haunted darkness underneath the Kawakami's eyes to be a fascinating thing. If only his clan hadn't been founded over the last hundred years, he'd be under Homura protection instead, and…

… And she wouldn't finish that stupid, pointless thought. Fine, he was attractive, but she wasn't here to daydream over the enemy. Fool that she was.

Her eyes switched to the camera's screen again just when he was saying his goodbyes to a most grateful butcher. Azula snapped her tongue, making a mental note to send word to the man as soon as she had sorted out the Kawakami heir, if it truly was him. She really did hope it was him…

He had to be the one behind the generous giveaway of Takase, just as well. This was, she knew, retaliation for her own retaliation – she had sent henchmen to Akashi, to spread word that the Kawakami were weakened and couldn't afford to protect them anymore, losing suppliers as they were. No doubt that move didn't sit well with her rival, but she couldn't care less: he was playing a game he couldn't afford to win, and she would gladly teach him as much with each of her responses.

She swapped back to the street's camera and watched him climb aboard his motorbike, setting his helmet in place – he was responsible, of course, but he was also a man of style, wearing a helmet worthy of racers rather than a simple, casual, cheap one. It was, perhaps, the least humble element in his apparel. Azula smirked as she switched from camera to camera while following him across the streets: she jotted down the motorbike's plate, and was unsurprised when she found no identifiable bike under those numbers in the Japanese government's databases of legal vehicles. She couldn't help but smile as she continued to follow him, riding along with him, without his awareness.

He finally made a new stop: a yakiniku restaurant, Miyabi. Azula released a breath before redialing, once she confirmed he had entered the restaurant in question.

"He's in Miyabi now. How far away are you?"

"Oh, a change in location? Not to worry. We can be there within the next three minutes."

"Make haste, then. I can follow him as much as necessary, but this is for the community's good, isn't it?" Azula said, sardonically.

"Of course it is," replied the serious man on the other side. She smirked.

"You're never any fun," she said.

"I'm not paid to be fun," was his reply again.

"Not sure you could be, even if you were," she said, releasing a breath. "I'm counting on you, Renkai."

"As you wish."

Again, the communication was interrupted, and again, Azula was free to watch the Kawakami heir, now through Miyabi's better cameras. Yes, this was him, no doubt. His haircut was different nowadays, with that manly shaved undercut, as well as that perfect ponytail – was it called that, in his case? She sported one of her own, though his was shorter than hers – that only enhanced his intimidating factor. He appeared as a modern samurai, Azula guessed… perhaps that was what he fashioned himself as. The idea should sound ridiculous rather than appealing, and yet…

"How you've grown, Sokka," she whispered, biting her lip.

She had met him only on occasion, during yakuza clan meetings, whether those held to solve disputes between other clans, or to strike temporary alliances to destroy those who weren't playing by the rules. He always stuck to his father, just as Azula always stuck to hers. They had met each other's gaze a few times, as they were amongst the only young people in the room, even when they were teenagers… but that had been all. She wasn't sure they had ever exchanged any words, and if they had, she sure had forgotten them. They had only been children back then… now they were fully grown, actual players in this game, ready to make their mark across Hyogo prefecture by any means necessary. He was surely just as ambitious as she was… and that thought was thrilling to her.

Though she wondered if she was giving him too much credit: how would he react, once the inevitable happened? Once the men she had sent after him broke through Miyabi's door, in less than a minute now…

Azula couldn't contain a grin as she saw him growing nervous: was he hearing the sounds of doom? Was he truly so foolish as to assume it wasn't meant for him? He wasn't doing anything harmful, no, of course not, he was innocent… she could see it all in his face, and it was more than laughable. Oh, perhaps she really had been giving him too much credit: the Kawakami could be as attractive as they wished, but they were no match for the full forces of the Homura clan.

The door was thrown open before Sokka had any chance to react: he raised his hands bitterly as the police stepped up, with their blunt weapons at the ready in case he did anything dangerous. Miyabi's owner, an elderly woman, appeared utterly horrified by whatever was happening, but she deflected all blame and pointed to Sokka constantly… that was, of course, the natural behavior of anyone who owed their safety and wellbeing to a yakuza clan. She couldn't be caught dealing with someone from another clan, absolutely not…

Azula laughed and sighed, watching as Renkai, clad in his immaculate, white uniform, dragged Sokka through the doors after shackling his hands. Well, that had been fun, even if her contact within the city police hadn't intended to amuse her…

Yet the stubborn, angry yakuza shot a glare at the nearest camera in the streets, taking her by surprise for it. Had he known he was being followed remotely? Had he noticed, perhaps? Surely not… surely he believed it was just the police's doing. He might not have known the Homura had infiltrated their organization for almost two hundred years… and yet, even through that low-resolution camera, she could sense his bitterness, and she relished in it. A soft chuckle left her lips as she raised an eyebrow defiantly towards his image:

"Well, then… what shall be your next move, Sokka Kawakami?"

Katara and Kya didn't hold back the judgmental stares once Sokka's fine was fully paid, and he was a free man once again. He scoffed as they walked together, as the sunset ominously promised they'd be in hostile territory by nightfall, but surely they'd be able to find a car to take them to Akashi before long…

"You really are an idiot, picking fights with the Homura like this…" Katara said. Sokka huffed.

"I'm not picking fights! I was trying to be friendly, they gave me the finger figuratively, so I retaliated!" he said. "But they're just… Ugh! How shitty can they be, setting the police on me? That's bad form! That's like… tattling on your sibling when you're a child!"

"Hey! Are you really bringing up our childhood now? You're the one who landed himself in this mess!" Katara scolded him, but Sokka rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Kya groaned and wrapped an arm around each of her children's shoulders, pulling them together and against her body. Even then, Sokka and Katara wouldn't stop scowling at each other.

"What matters most is you're safe now, Sokka. Safe, and soon outside Homura territory," Kya said, smiling at her son. "I know you must be frustrated, dear, but take it easy. Whatever mission your father gave you, surely there's other ways to fulfill it…"

"I wonder about that," Sokka grumbled. "As far as I can tell, I'm simply…"

A light tremor, underneath their feet, stopped Sokka halfway through his rambling. Katara gasped, despite quakes were perfectly common in Japan… for the vibrations were growing stronger, worrisomely so.

"Mom, Katara!" Sokka shouted, wrapping his arms protectively around them as he ran them away from the tallest buildings.

They were lucky to be out in open spaces, but panic flared inside all their chests as the earth's movements continued to shake them to the bone. People were screaming – glass shattered, and even cracks on the floor appeared to spread as the telluric movements continued for what felt like an eternity. Sokka continued to shield both his mother and sister with his body, in case any glass from the buildings around them came crashing down, but they managed to reach a park safely, without any such projectiles falling upon them.

That being said… the vibrations continued, and loud, explosive sounds could be heard across the city. Sokka still held onto both Katara and Kya, who seemed to cower from the rustling earthquake in his chest. He'd protect them… but earthquakes of this magnitude were seldom harmless, and the sounds they could hear in the distance weren't promising. Even before the shaking dwindled, he knew the whole prefecture had sustained a lot of damage… and he knew he wanted to be there to fix as much of it as he could, no matter how difficult it might be.

It wasn't the worst of all earthquakes, and yet a 7.7 quake was still powerful enough to shake down the foundations of the weakest buildings in Kobe. The damage was difficult to assess at the earliest stages, but the wounded numbered around the hundreds, and the confirmed death toll wouldn't be much lesser than that. News outlets reported on the disaster, as relief efforts seemed to flood the city area, aiding those who had been left homeless, those who had lost everything.

The Homura clan had been safe, for their perfectly modern building hadn't sustained even a single crack to its foundations. The evacuation was quite nerve-wrecking, for many people couldn't possibly stay calm in the face of catastrophes, and their anxiety could prove contagious to those who, under other circumstances, might have handled themselves better. Even Zuko had appeared close to a nervous breakdown for a time, and Azula wished she could stop from being affected by other people's actions or reactions… once she was safely outside, and most the evacuation efforts were finished, she turned to her father, who stood at their building's entrance, surrounded by bodyguards, a stern scowl on his face.

"What… what shall we do?" she asked. Ozai scoffed.

"This will be an economic disaster. Again," he growled. "I'll let you know if I need your assistance."

Azula swallowed hard but lowered her gaze. Well, at least she'd done her job before this tragedy took place. The Kawakami clan would certainly not be much of a problem, though she did wonder quietly, despite her better judgment, if the heir had been released from jail before the earthquake started…

Why did she feel the need to check on that? Maybe she had been enjoying the strange entertainment he provided her with… maybe that was it. But it was no reason to focus on him now, for sure. She didn't know the guy, not truly, and however handsome he might be, his wellbeing was his clan's business, not hers. That's how life worked. That's how it had to be. Yakuza looked after their own, and that was that.

Yet as days passed, and relief efforts became the sole focus of the bulk of the population, unsettling news reached Azula by word of mouth: it seemed a yakuza clan had taken to offering relief, personally, to the victims of the disaster. She received pictures soon, of those men in what in her eyes was outdated yakuza apparel, covered in tattoos, helping hoist debris off buildings. There were even women, also bearing similar tattoos, offering relief in the form of food and shelter to many who were left with none.

And then the helicopter: they had a helicopter. They were scouring the city from above, searching for survivors, sending their people to dig through the worst rubble until they saved as many lives as they possibly could.

She could tell it was them, even before seeing a picture where he, of all people, was featured. A picture of him climbing out of a fallen building, carrying two battered children in his arms, an exhausted expression across his handsome, haggard face. A symbol of hope, of hard work, of strength… all of it, carried across those richly tattooed arms. If she hadn't been floored by the impact of their actions and rescue efforts, her loins might have just taken the wheel to focus, as unnecessarily as ever, on what a powerful man the Kawakami heir had turned out to be.

But there was something far more important than that to worry about. For her father would need to hear about this. And once he did…

"Curse them! Curse those bastards!" growled Ozai, slamming the tablet on his office's marble floors. Azula flinched when the device shattered by her father's violent gesture: Zuko as well recoiled, watching his father warily, in fear of how far his temper would take him this time.

Ozai shook his head as he paced through the room, the shattered tablet forgotten now. Zuko swallowed hard and raised his voice, no matter how daunting his father's wrath might be.

"We should be out there too. If we help…!"

"Silence! I won't even hear of it!" Ozai snapped, turning quickly to shoot a deadly glare at his son. Zuko shrank in place, daunted immediately. "We won't imitate lesser clans! We will find another way to put an end to their ambitions. They've certainly bitten off more than they can chew if they expect they'll ever be allowed to take our clan's place!"

"If I may…" Azula chimed in, and this time Ozai did appear inclined to listen. Yet another blow to Zuko's ego, although this time it didn't seem Azula was about to rejoice for it. "A yakuza clan looks after their own. That is our founding creed."

"What of it?" Ozai said, and his temper appeared poised to rear its ugly visage again.

"I believe we should look after our own, yes," Azula said, swallowing hard, intimidated as well… despite she was certain her plan would appear far more agreeable to her father than her brother's words had been. "You know I keep tabs on all our associated businesses. I suggest we offer monetary relief to those associated with us. While it may not garner our clan the same renown and media attention the Kawakami might attain…"

"It will ascertain they know we haven't forsaken them," Ozai finished. Azula nodded. "And it will prevent them from turning their backs on us, at least."

"I hope so," Azula said. "We do have the funds, don't we?"

"Yes… yes we do," Ozai said, releasing a breath. "Well, then. Perhaps it is time we remind the common folk of how valuable it is to stay on the Homura's good side."

Zuko frowned, glancing at his sister uneasily as they both were dismissed from Ozai's office. With curt bows, the two siblings left together, and Zuko barely waited for the door to be closed before scowling at Azula.

"Why did you suggest that? We're not loan sharks, are we?" Zuko said. "We can't let the Kawakami upstage us…"

"They already have," Azula hissed back. Zuko froze in place. "The Homura family doesn't follow the examples set by others, Zuko. You should know better than to even suggest we do. We're the trailblazers, not them. And if we simply fall in line, right behind a lesser clan, our reputation will be far more damaged than it is already."

"But… those are actual people, in danger, suffering," Zuko told her, as they walked together towards the nearby, modern elevator. Azula scoffed, but Zuko didn't relent. "We can't just toss a check at them and expect it'll all turn out for the better!"

"We'll make wire transfers, much faster and more effective than checks…"

"That's not my point!"

"I know it's not, but I wish it were," Azula hissed, glaring at him. Zuko froze in place. "Keep talking like this, and it won't be long before father decides you're not worthy of your burn mark. You sound like Uncle Iroh."

Zuko gritted his teeth as Azula stepped into the elevator. She didn't wait for him to enter it too before tapping her floor, and Zuko made no efforts to join her as the doors closed. Well, waiting for another elevator ride should give him some time to think, at least.

Truthfully, they had never involved themselves with these disasters beyond looking after their own people. At least, not as far as Azula remembered. She had memorized the clan's history since childhood… and it was impossible to think of any other situation where they had barged into the scene the way the Kawakami had just now, because the Homura simply didn't do that sort of thing. If they ever had, they would've beaten the Kawakami to it already.

Azula sighed, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. What she'd offered Ozai was but damage control… a manner of retaining some power, before the media and the relief efforts of the Kawakami clan stole it all from them. And yet why, even as she made her way to her hi-tech office, was it the only thing she could evoke in her mind was that image of the strong, tall Sokka Kawakami, helping children to safety…?

"You're not serious, are you? Money? That's what they're doing?" Sokka asked, aghast, staring at Hakoda in chagrin.

And yet Hakoda smiled proudly, patting his strong son's shoulder gently. The whole family was gathered for lunch at one of the relief centers, where they had aided in distributing food to countless homeless people who now looked to them as saviors. They'd need as much help as they could get… but most the ones who had businesses, whether still functioning or not, had already stopped appearing at the Kawakami clan's relief centers. Their absence had bothered Sokka at first… and now it unnerved him, despite it seemed his father was perfectly comfortable with the situation.

"The Homura have offered monetary relief to the people, yes," Hakoda nodded. "And yet not all have taken it. Beyond that, many new faces have turned to us for help: not the Homura, not the government, us. While we have certainly taken a blow to our finances… it's safe to say we're on a good path at the moment, Sokka. You needn't panic, alright?"

"I… I know that, it's just… ugh," Sokka growled, shaking his head. "Every new thing I know about the Homura makes them more despicable. They're so… distant, even with those they're supposed to be protecting. And giving people money when they've lost everything… as if that'd be any good."

"It helps in its own way," Kya acknowledged, sipping her plastic cup's drink slowly. "But it's not the honorable way to proceed, no."

"That's the thing with the Homura. It always has been," Hakoda said. "Honor… it's an important concept for some yakuza: not them, though, no matter if they claim otherwise. Profit drives them, profit and success. And while I did ask you to figure out how to strike an alliance with them, you should never forget that truth, Sokka. Even if they decide to join forces with us, the Homura aren't going to do anything against their interests. They'll always look for profit and advancements. It's not how we should ever conduct ourselves, for sure."

"We won't," Sokka said, stubbornly.

"Why ally ourselves with them anyway?" Katara asked, with a grimace. "Our great-grandfather really should've set up his clan elsewhere. Having the Homura for neighbors is dreadful."

"They could be worse," Hakoda smiled, awkwardly. "But I only want an alliance for the sake of our clan. I don't want them to continue phasing us out. Other clans have joined forces elsewhere in the country, you know? Mainly to hold the fort against other up and coming clans. We could do the same thing with the Homura, and it'd certainly be the strongest alliance in the nation…"

"Now it is. Considering how big we've gotten," said Katara, grinning. "We have a lot of new recruits, begging to join the clan."

"See? It all comes together," said Hakoda, beaming at Sokka. "Don't despair, my boy! Hope is in the horizon!"

Was it, though? Sokka bit his lip but nodded, in surrender.

He didn't return to headquarters with the rest of his family after the food operative was finished. Instead, he took to doing what he'd done since the earthquake: walking across the streets, assessing the damage, pondering how many efforts and resources were needed to fix it. His parlor had been safe, he had checked on the day after the earthquake, but the nearby houses, especially the traditional ones, had sustained plenty of damage, some even torn down completely by the shockwaves. He had helped as best he could in his area, and then proceeded to offer support everywhere his father told him to go, as he organized the relief efforts to the best of the Kawakami clan's ability.

But Hakoda's words about the Homura returned to mind. Sokka sighed as he made his way through the sidewalk across Matsugaoka Park, pondering just how complicated this whole matter of an alliance would be. They didn't share the same values, nor did they work for the same purposes. Ozai Homura had always been known to be a merciless clan boss… meanwhile, Hakoda was the most spirited, good-natured of them all, as far as Sokka could tell. If the Homura were truly this dishonorable, though… was it even worth it to strike a bargain with them?

It could allow them to help more people, Sokka reasoned. The Homura, if they ever let loose with their money, at least just a little, could fund immense community programs of the sorts the Kawakami had never been able to handle themselves. It was a valuable alliance… and not having to fear the Homura henchmen would fight their own on sight was quite a good idea. Not being sent to jail because he was trying to poach their people would be nice, too…

How had they even pulled that off, for starters? He had heard the Homura kept an eye everywhere, on everything… he frowned, blinking at a contraption not far from where he walked: traffic cameras. There had been one near Miyabi, too. While those surely were connected with the government, there were far more cameras on this street's surveilance contraption than the strictly necessary, weren't there? He scowled, hands on his hips, as he stopped to stare at them: some were aimed towards the sidewalks, not exclusively the street. It wasn't that the government was too cheap to do this… but six cameras in the same place? Excessive… and perhaps meaningful.

Was this what the Homura did? They surveilled the whole city through an immense camera circuit? Were they setting up their own devices, or were they working covertly with the government and the police…? Both possibilities were there. But he guessed, as he stared at the camera aimed at him, that he could send a message to the Homura all the same: an alliance should be struck, as Hakoda had asked of him. An alliance that should prove favorable to both clans, an offering of something the Homura lacked… the Homura, who had everything in the world, as far as everyone know.

Everything but one thing, come to think of it. Sokka stroked his chin, pondering Kattan's words, and his own knowledge of Homura henchmen, before making up his mind about what the next move should be.

He returned to headquarters quickly, rather than heading home: the one man he had to find, the one he was looking for, happened to be there, waiting to meet with him.

"I was rejected!" Takase declared, throwing his hands in the air. "Sorry, but you can't get rid of me that easily. That's just how it is."

"I see," Sokka chuckled. "Well, it's good to have you back. Though I'm surprised they rejected you so boldly, huh? One would think they'd know better than to toss away a great asset like yourself."

"And quite the asset I am, too, but if they don't know my worth, it ain't my business," declared Takase.

"Good, though… can I ask, who did you meet while they deliberated on whether to work with you or not?" Sokka said. "Was it goons, or were there any higher-ups in there…?"

"Eh? Two higher-ups, actually. They can't have goons deciding on hiring a bigshot like me, eh?" said Takase. "The first one… he had those ear whiskers, you know? Them bug fuzzy hair right past the ears…"

"Mutton chops? Sideburns?" Sokka asked, with an awkward smile.

"There, there! That's the thing!"

"Then Zhao Homura," Sokka hissed. "And the other?"

"Eh, some girl. Probably a little younger than you… your sister's age, maybe? But it looked like she was the boss instead. I didn't catch her name, but it felt like… like she was a razor, somehow? You know? I thought to offer to design a razor for her, but then she cut me down, so I thought – does she even need one? Heck no!"

"Was she… dark-haired?" Sokka asked. "Fair skin? Maybe gold eyes?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, all that," said Takase, nodding. "She was dressed all fancy too. You know… maybe she's the Homura daughter! Ha! I hadn't even thought of it, but it's got to be her…"

"It's got to be her, alright," Sokka smiled slowly, the gears turning gradually in his mind.

It did make perfect sense… she was, after all, rumored to be the true strength that held the Homura together. She was seldom seen unless it was necessary, and her private life was, in all likelihood, as private as it could get. Sokka couldn't even remember the last time he had seen her in person… surely they had still been as good as children. But that was then, and this was now: he needed to contact her, and to settle their dispute in the smoothest way possible.

The best means through which to achieve that, however, was none other than his top-of-the-line, networking sister: Katara was happy to see him, as ever… and utterly confused when he voiced his request.

"You want me to tell you everything I know about Azula Homura?" she repeated. "Well… damn, not much. She keeps to herself? Some people say she's obsessed with her work, and the whole reason the Homura clan is even succeeding despite the massive loss of members they had after the previous heir abandoned? You remember that story, right?"

"Right, the heir who defected and ran away to Korea?" Sokka said, nodding. "His son was killed or something, wasn't that it?"

"I think so," Katara answered. "No idea if Azula Homura has an heir burn, if that's what you wanted to know…"

"I doubt it," Sokka said, with an awkward grin. "But… do you think you know people who know her?"

"I think I could reach her, if you need me to?" Katara said, eyeing him warily. "Why? If you want an arranged marriage you could ask for something a little less outlandish…?"

"I wasn't going to ask for… hey. Hey, now, that's not the worst idea," Sokka reasoned, smirking as he prodded his stubble with his thumb. Katara huffed, rolling her eyes.

"I bet this is all over dad's request to help him ally with the Homura… well, whatever!" she said. "I'll see what I can do, I'll try to get her a message. But just so you know…"

"I owe you, big time, yep," Sokka grinned. "I'll design a great tattoo for you!"

"You'd better," Katara huffed, smiling at her brother: she wasn't quite as covered in tattoos as he was, but she already sported a few of her brother's creations on her arms. Maybe one on her ankle wouldn't be a bad idea…

Sokka returned shortly afterwards with the message he needed to convey. And Katara took to unraveling the network through which she'd bring it to the Homura princess, a far more complicated feat than she expected it to be.

The key to the plan was a perfectly discreet locale, a classy bar behind a beautiful brown door, in a small building. Shiori had often been a location suited for casual encounters between low-ranked clan members of any yakuza family, and as it happened, the most common visitors were the henchmen of the Homura clan. Katara found the right person to whom she could ask to slip the note to any Homura who appeared capable enough to act on it: the karaoke room within the building was where the exchange took place, where a young man of the Kawakami took to any and all extremes to convince a mature Homura woman to see to it that Sokka's message was conveyed successfully.

The message was then passed from Homura hand to Homura hand, until finally it reached the destination it sought, when a tall Homura goon had knocked on Azula's door, gesturing at a small leaflet in his hand.

"Seems like you've got a message. Nothing harmful in it, I checked, but… might useful, I dunno," said the goon, handing the message to the heir's daughter. Her eyes narrowed as she snagged the paper from his hand… and her heart, so tempered and evenly paced, suddenly raced upon reading the contents of the message.

Got a business proposal for you. Check your logs, Meimai Central, 12/6: Matsugaoka Park on 15/6, at 7. I'll make it worth your while.

Her chest tightened as she read those words. Someone had unraveled the rather obvious truth – that she could see through the cameras all across the city. And that person had a business proposal for her: even before dismissing the goon, and searching through her camera logs, she knew who she'd find in the video registry… and her heart nearly skipped a beat when she saw him, staring directly into the camera, waving, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive and definitely inappropriate manner.

A business proposal… well, she could hear him out. She should, if anything: if she found any weaknesses worth exploiting, she'd tear the Kawakami down and protect the interests of the Homura. That was what she'd do, what she'd always been meant to do…

Though, if she took a light detour before getting there, in case the Kawakami heir was interested, she wouldn't complain one bit.

Sokka breathed out slowly as he stepped off the sidewalk. The street was fortunately empty… or perhaps not quite that fortunately, really. Surely the Homura princess had set up some sort of forcible detour for cars to ensure the encounter between them would have perfect privacy… and perfect surveillance by her people. He released a breath as he entered Matsugaoka park's premises, sensing a thousand eyes upon himself… knowing there might as well be a thousand. There was no way she would attend this meeting without the thickest, sturdiest security detail ever.

He breathed out as he paced inside the park, searching with his gaze until his eyes finally landed upon a human silhouette, standing amidst the trees, under a lamppost with unsteady, blinking brightness.

He started on his way towards her as quietly as possible, assessing the enemy – or the ally-to-be, if all went well – as thoroughly as he dared. And there was plenty to assess, too: she had decided to wear a leather ensemble for this encounter, apparel worthy of a biker, Sokka thought to himself, but where it could have looked ridiculous in anyone else, it was breathtaking in a woman of her figure. Her long, dark, flowing hair played in the breeze, held up in a long ponytail that exposed her nape frequently, if the wind blew her strands in the right direction.

Even now, when looking at her from behind – and enjoying thoroughly the sight of her rear's curves, goodness, how dared she dress in leather when she already had a killer body? – his whole system jolted with anticipation. Chances to interact with other clans were sparse, and they never ever sent anyone who looked remotely as good as Azula Homura did… though Sokka hoped, despite he knew it was stupid, that her face wouldn't be all that pretty. If it was, he'd be a goner, so if just that…

"That's far enough," spoke a strong, feminine voice: her voice. His body shivered involuntarily, as he halted on his spot, obeying her immediately.

She turned then, and all his hopes shattered altogether: she was gorgeous. Everything about her was impossibly appealing, to the point his damn body appeared to be reacting to the Homura's presence as it pleased. No, there was no reason to be aroused, not when she would only be here with very strict purposes in mind…

"You're awfully relaxed, aren't you?" Azula Homura asked. Sokka swallowed hard but smirked.

"If your sharpshooters take me down now… well, can't say I'd ever hoped to get a better view than this, in my final moments," he said.

"How terribly corny," said Azula, rolling her eyes. "Does that sort of line work with all the girls you meet?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I said I don't usually attempt to meet up with girls who have hundreds of sharpshooters aiming at me, would you?" he said. To his delight, she smiled.

"Your dating life must be boring, if so," she said. He smirked.

"Has been, so far. Are you feeling bad for me, all of sudden?" he inquired, casually. Azula scoffed, though she still smiled.

"Not quite. I'm amused, if anything," she said. "But I'd assume you didn't ask me to come here just because you wanted to swap our dating histories, did you? I could've simply sent you a summary of mine if you'd asked…"

"Right. And I'm sure you've already looked through mine?" he said, smirking. "Seems like you know everything going on in this city."

"And I thought the Kawakami were relegated to southern Akashi, hence, not in this city," Azula said, raising her eyebrows. "Or is it that you're here to sell Kawakami territory to us? Want me to keep watch over your city, too?"

"Want to keep watch over it?" Sokka asked, raising his eyebrows. Azula's amusement receded. "Look… you're smart. Smarter than anyone else in the Homura clan. Surely the thought has occurred to you, right? We Kawakami are a pointless, boring rock in your fancy Homura shoe. We get in the way of your business, whether intentionally or not, because we took office way too close to your domains. And where you guys probably think the best solution is to snuff us out… I think there's a much more peaceful solution we can consider."

"And what's that?" Azula asked, with a sardonic smile.

"An alliance," Sokka said. Unsurprisingly, Azula scoffed.

"What do we have to gain by allying with you? What would the Kawakami offer the Homura that we lack? This is what you and your father have been after? The reason you gave us Takase, the reason you started to defy us by attempting to steal our people…"

"Hey, now, you started it!" Sokka pouted. Azula, despite herself, smiled.

"You're childish. And only a childish man would make a suggestion as outlandish as this one," she said, simply. "I should have the sharpshooters shoot you indeed for all this nonsense…"

"Don't know if you should do that," Sokka said, smiling. "Your defenses are within the park, aren't they? Well… I may have posed a few friends in the nearby buildings just as well. I made an educated guess regarding where you'd position yours, offered my own sharpshooters the possible locations for your henchmen…"

"So you're saying, if mine shoot you, yours will shoot them… you'd die, then my henchmen die, then I make myself scarce and I survive while you don't?" she said, smirking. Sokka chuckled and shook his head.

"You can't be sure you'll get away so easily," he said.

"Oh, what makes you think that?" she asked, amused again. "You expect I won't know these territories as thoroughly as I please, Kawakami?"

"I expect, rather, that you'd be amenable to discussing business instead of jumping for the kill right away," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I know you've been watching me for a while, hell knows just how far your reach goes. You know I didn't come alone either, much like you didn't. So… how about we have our perfectly normal business exchange, and if you think my idea is worthless, you let me know, and we'll go our separate ways without causing any deaths that might result in a massive clan war?"

"Hmm… wouldn't be massive. The Homura outnumber your clan by tenfold, at least," said Azula, with a sardonic grin. Sokka rolled his eyes but smiled.

"My point still stands. You don't want to cause more trouble for the Homura by killing me when I'm only here for business," he said, raising his hands.

"Indeed, the business of an alliance that doesn't appear to offer much in the way of benefits to the Homura clan," said Azula, haughtily. "Why do I need to ally with you, Sokka Kawakami?"

"You don't need to, that's the truth. Neither do we need to be allied with you," he conceded. "But the Kyoshi clan down south was faltering, and after striking an alliance with the Tsuchiya clan, they've both thrived and resurged as leading clans. I'm not saying the Homura need an alliance to stay solid in their position as the biggest clan in the nation… but surely you guys don't want the others to catch up to you, right?"

"Surely," Azula repeated, tapping her arm with a finger. "All that being said… the Homura clan doesn't quite need to associate with a lesser clan to rise in prominence. There's parts of Asia that outright don't know what the word "yakuza" stands for, but tremble in fear upon hearing the family name "Homura". There have been movies about us, documentaries, we have contacts that the rest of the clans wish they could attain… and you think your clan would be our most favorable alliance possible? Why?"

"I suppose the geopolitical angle doesn't interest you much?" Sokka said. "Having freedom to go in and out of Akashi… I'd argue, of course, that the terms of the alliance should make it so we retain jurisdiction in our cities and territories, but the other clan has freedom of passage and occasional operations – with previously granted permission – in the area. We could even settle on a fee of a sort, a percentage of money gained from operations that we'd offer you, you could do the same for us…"

"Sounds counterproductive," said Azula. Sokka chuckled.

"Right, right, it's easier to kill off the Kawakami, isn't it? But see, there is one thing our clan can offer yours, one thing you really could use…" he smirked, stepping closer to her. "Something you have been missing for, well, I don't know how many years? Something I guess you guys disregarded as irrelevant, going by how your people are always dressed in fancy, full-body suits, these days…"

"What… are you getting at?" Azula said, despite her better sense already suspected what his point would be. Sokka smirked.

"You don't have a proper tebori artist anymore, do you?" he said. She couldn't hide the irritation that crossed her face. "Haven't had one for a very long time. Your people? If they have any tattoos, it's some ridiculous-looking little flame, probably made with western technique…"

"The fools who have tattooed themselves with that thing have been reprimanded, and others discouraged from following their example," Azula snapped. Sokka's grin only gained further mischief. "That being said, how exactly does the Kawakami clan wind up obtaining a rare, tebori artist where the Homura clan couldn't find any to replace the old master we lost about twenty years ago?"

"Why… we have our secrets, you have yours," Sokka shrugged. Azula scoffed.

"I question your words. Perhaps you don't have one at all, and you're pulling my hair," she said. Sokka snorted.

"Alright… this won't look good, but please, don't order your men to shoot me for it," he said, raising his hands defensively… before pulling open his jacket.

The t-shirt he wore underneath it wrapped around his muscular body, despite it wasn't meant to be tight. His chest appeared large, even while hidden beneath another layer of fabric… and his arms were rather thick, with tense muscles that shifted in an entrancing way as Sokka set down his jacket and made to remove his t-shirt next.

Azula's jaw threatened to drop, but she ensured not to show how badly this particular, shameless display of her opponent was affecting her. Oh, that body… the more he exposed it, the more she feared she'd make a fool of herself, jumping to devour him in the eyes of all the sharpshooters they both had brought with them to this park. Ugh, she was a fool for wishing she had taken no precautions, but the gradually exposed body before her, each tense muscle, each ridge of his abs and pectorals, were tugging through all her many layers of powerful self-control, urging her to act on her impulses for once instead of holding back for appearances' sake…

She had forgotten the purpose of his disrobing once the t-shirt was fully removed, but he hadn't: he gestured at the shapes over his shoulders, spreading into his bare chest.

"You can tell, can't you? They're actual tebori," he said. "I applied these myself."

"You… what?" Azula gasped, staring at him in genuine astonishment. Sokka grinned.

"Let it be known that I have the self-control and pain-threshold to pull off art on my own body without mucking it up," he smirked. "I've been tattooing many of the Kawakami ever since my master decided I was ready. Most prefer koi tattoos in our clan, but I… I liked the wolf. It's fierce, and it protects the pack. I like to think of myself as one, obnoxious as it sounds…"

Well, a man with that body had every right to be as obnoxious as he pleased, as far as Azula was concerned. Twin wolves stood at each of his shoulders, their jaws open threateningly, claws and fangs beared, and they lunged downwards into Sokka's pectorals, right above his nipples. It wasn't all though: waves appeared to spread across underneath the wolves, across his abdomen, perhaps even over his back…

"And you expect me to think… you tattooed your own back?" she asked, skeptical. Sokka chuckled.

"Yeah, that one I couldn't do myself. My old master actually started the back tattoo for me," Sokka explained, turning around and gesturing at the design: Azula nearly gasped, for the pattern of the sea merged into yet another wolf shape, one that appeared ready to pounce, right across his spine. "I told him what I had in mind, he started from there, told me I'd only be allowed to start tattooing my clansmen if I succeeded at tattooing myself. And I did."

"You… did. I suppose. Though… I don't know if I believe you yet," said Azula, raising her eyebrows. "You claim you can do tebori, but you alone have tattooed all the Kawakami? Just one man wouldn't suffice for our clan."

"I'm not the only one, no," Sokka smiled. "Though I'm one of the best, for sure. My master might agree to tattoo a few of your people, as long as you all ask nicely. There's about three more of his apprentices within our ranks, the third is still pretty green but the others are good enough. Of course, it'll take a while… but your clan can go right back to bearing amazing tattoos that will instill fear in the hearts of the enemy, eh? Instead of inspiring laughter, like that silly flame does…"

"Be that as it may, we haven't needed tattoos for that purpose for a while" Azula said… though her tone suggested she saw actual value in this proposal, if nothing else.

"Not like they'd hurt, eh? Well, figuratively anyway," said Sokka, smiling as he pulled his shirt on again, and while Azula didn't quite want to stop watching his bare body, even the visual of him dressing up proved a most stimulating. "It's a big tradition for yakuza, always has been. Surely your dad will want to hear of this offer, at least? If he says no, fine, I'll accept my defeat. If he says yes…"

"He won't say either no or yes until I've decided your offer and your apparent skills are trustworthy," Azula declared, stubbornly. Sokka blinked blankly. "By which I mean… if you agree to tattoo one member of our clan as an example of what you can do, and you prove successful, I'll discuss your alliance proposal and possibilities with my father. If I can interest him in this arrangement, you may meet directly with him – though I suppose it'd be more agreeable if your father were the one to meet him and settle the alliance. Still… first of all, I'll have to be sure you're not pulling our hair."

"Heh. Seems fair," Sokka nodded. "Alright, then. I guess I'll give you the location of my parlor, in a show of good faith… send your clan member tomorrow? If it's a full-body tattoo, though, this could take a while."

"How long is 'a while'?" Azula asked, raising her eyebrows. "Pardon my ignorance, but I haven't really had to worry about the logistics of tebori tattoos for as long as I've been working actively in the Homura clan."

"Well, depends on the difficulty. But sessions could even span months, if it's too tricky," Sokka admitted. Azula scowled.

"How do you plan on tattooing all our people if it takes months?" she asked.

"It doesn't always take that long, but I'd think you'd know better than to expect this for all your people?" Sokka laughed. "I'd think the bigger fish are the ones who ought to have the tebori, if they want them, of course. You could even make it a matter of a reward: if they do their jobs well, they'll be eligible for tattoos with us. See?"

"I see," said Azula, raising her eyebrows. "Well, then… I'll contact you for the address tomorrow."

"I guess you can get my number, just like that?" Sokka asked, amused.

"Buy yourself a burner phone, if you don't trust me," she said, smiling too. "There's a store nearby, you can find one there. I'll get the number out of the owner, and contact you through a burner of my own."

"Seems fair," Sokka smiled. "Well, then… we're in temporary business, for now?"

"Making it a permanent deal shall hinge on your skills, above all else," Azula raised her head haughtily. "For the time being, I'll expect your people to stay in their lane, and I'll make sure mine stay in ours, without causing any problems for either clan until this matter of a potential alliance is either confirmed or completely dismissed."

"Seems a great idea to me," Sokka said, nodding.

"Good to know you agree to these terms," Azula replied. "Continue this way, and your pet project might have a better chance at succeeding. Anyway, feel free to take your leave first."

"As you'd have it," he said.

She didn't ignore that he started walking backwards… while allowing his eyes to take in her body shape in a rather careless, lecherous manner. Her blood burned underneath her skin… and not quite because of outrage. She knew those looks… she hoped he knew them too, for she had been casting them in his direction from the moment she had seen him. Was he merely taking her in as best he could right now, in fear they might never meet again? If so…

When he turned, her eyes strayed towards his rear, settling there, admiring their perfect curves until the shroud of darkness hid his whole body away from her own, lascivious gaze. Azula smiled, despite herself, once he was gone, and once she suspected the many weapons aimed towards the location of their conversation had been withdrawn and put aside. His business proposal had been slightly more interesting than she had expected, and suddenly she wasn't quite so determined to take down the Kawakami completely as she had been before… but she would test his resolve further soon. Just how far was he willing to go to score this alliance with the Homura clan…?

"You truly believe this is worth pursuing?" Ozai asked, frowning, once Azula met with him in private on the next morning. "An alliance, with the Kawakami clan?"

"For the sake of the tebori, it may be," said Azula, breathing out slowly. "I understand your reluctance, but it is true that allying with a clan, however lesser it may be, could bring advantages in the long run. We could, presumably, manipulate the Kawakami freely if this alliance is arranged. They'll expect to gain a rise in power, by joining forces with us…"

"Not knowing we're the ones assimilating them, without their awareness?" Ozai finished. Azula shrugged.

"It's a possibility. Though Hakoda Kawakami might be wiser than we expected," Azula conceded. "He might not make it easy for the alliance to be corrupted for our benefit, but it's probably safer to have the Kawakami close by if we intend to ensure their growth doesn't go out of control after the events following the earthquake."

"It's a dangerous game… and unfortunately, we cannot simply poach the tebori artist from them, considering it's the heir," said Ozai, rolling his eyes. "The others might be fair game, but I question he would ever betray his people."

"He likened himself with a wolf," Azula said, hoping the blood wouldn't rush to her cheeks as she remembered the impossibly alluring tattoos decorating that man's powerful body. "Said he protected his pack. So… yes, corrupting him may not be easy."

"You might as well try," Ozai said. "Every man has a price, as far as I'm aware. If we can plant discord within their ranks, it'll serve for our benefit too. So… perhaps the alliance isn't the worst idea. Though you'll have to assess if the risks outweigh the possible benefits, Azula: in this case, we've lived fine without tattoos for the last years. If the potential improvements for our circumstances aren't considerable, I wouldn't go forth with this venture."

"I agree, completely," Azula said, nodding curtly. "I shall let you know what the test's results are."

"Very well," Ozai nodded, dismissing Azula.

Her next step was simple enough to perform, once she returned to her office: she searched through her database quickly, tracking down the cellphone store where Sokka had bought his burner. After a quick call, she had the number, and had ordered a phone of her own. It might be awfully inconvenient, she couldn't deny it, having a single phone to communicate with a single person… but once the messenger she sent to retrieve the package had returned with her new device, her heart was racing with excitement.

Sokka didn't think it was a good idea to sit at his parlor all day, waiting for a message to arrive, and yet that was exactly what he did. Business was slow now – who would prioritize getting a tattoo after the earthquake's devastation, really? – but he left the open sign on the door, despite knowing he'd have to turn it around as soon as Azula's chosen Homura arrived. Sokka had gone through his designs carefully, making sure to evoke the images he'd need to keep in mind, the technique, the patience… he was ready. He could do this, especially when the rise of his clan might as well depend on his performance now.

The phone rang with its new, custom beat – he had been bored enough to scour through the libraries of the device until he found one that suited him. He opened the message quickly, and smiled upon reading Azula's curt, blunt message: Send the address now.

He decided to save the number immediately, though he hesitated at which name to give the contact. Obviously, using her real name was beside the question… he smirked upon jotting down 'My Flame', and he wondered if she'd approve of it. He thought she'd liked what she'd seen yesterday… perhaps he should try to flirt some more and see if that would get them somewhere. If the alliance failed, well… sleeping with the enemy could make this whole ordeal worthwhile, regardless.

He answered the message just as directly, hoping to appear professional despite his previous, shameless attitude while picking her contact name. He wondered, briefly, if she had given him a nickname of her own… would it be an embarrassing one? Or also a teasing, flirty one? He'd love it if it were the latter…

After around fifteen minutes, the sound of a motorbike alerted him that someone was approaching. The area had been quite silent lately, but it wouldn't stay that way forever. Still, it was an extra layer of privacy that would enable him to tattoo a Homura without worrying about prying eyes, misunderstandings or rushed judgments…

The bike stopped right at before the parlor, and the rider climbed off. Sokka could see the person's silhouette through the darkened glass panels of his parlor… and he frowned lightly upon noticing the outfit wrapped around an undoubtably female body appeared to be of leather. Much like Azula's chosen attire from the previous night.

His heart nearly stopped before she pushed the door open while removing the bike's helmet: his jaw dropped, for she had come alone. She hadn't brought anyone. Which meant…

"W-wait…" he chortled, jumping off the chair he'd been sitting at. Azula slid a hand over her hair, taming it again after the previous bike ride.

"Do you have other customers? Why do I have to wait?" she asked, with a light grin.

He couldn't seem to snap out of his disbelieving amazement. He swallowed hard and stood up straight, puzzled, utterly confused… here he had been, pondering how to coax her into a new date, and she had come to him of her own volition?

"I… I'm a bit surprised, is all. You want me to tattoo you?" he asked.

"Is it the Kawakami don't tattoo their women?" Azula asked. Sokka swallowed.

"The Kawakami do a lot of things different from the Homura. I mean… my mom and my sister are part of the group, but they're not really part of the operations? Not the big ones? If that makes sense, though I've tattooed my sister's arms because she asked a few months ago… b-but that's not it!" Sokka said, looking at her with uncertainty. "You're sure you want to do this? I thought you didn't trust me."

"And why would I trust you to tattoo one of my men without making sure, personally, that you can handle the job?" Azula smirked, stepping closer. "Are you afraid of something?"

"I… no, not at all. Just… I really expected to tattoo a guy," Sokka smiled, biting his lip. "Not complaining, though, not complaining. But… well, you do realize, like I told you, this will be a long process, depending on what you want? You might have to come back a few times to get the whole thing finished, unless you wanted something small…?"

"Do I look like someone who would have a small venture in mind?" Azula asked, amused. Sokka swallowed hard but grinned. "I have an idea in mind, yes: a dragon, naturally. In a field of flames."

"Oh. Heh, well, that can be done, for sure," Sokka said, nodding positively. "How big? A sleeve, or…?"

"Hmm…" Azula tapped her chin, in deep thought as Sokka stepped towards the door: he spun the "Open" sign upon itself, and Azula smirked for it. She had him for herself now, then… all his attention would be on her body. Whatever the result might be, she couldn't quite help but rejoice in that awareness. "I think I want something quite dynamic, actually."

"Just how dynamic?" Sokka asked, curious, as he turned towards her again.

"I want this dragon across my back… shifting across it, as it may?" Azula said. Sokka raised his eyebrows appreciatively as he made his way to his desk.

"Let's see…" he said, quickly drawing the outline of a female body on a free sheet of paper.

Azula watched with curiosity as he jotted down lines expertly. She rested her body weight against the desk, and Sokka continued to sketch while keenly aware of her closeness, as well as her gaze upon him.

"How's this?" he asked. Azula hummed as she studied the design.

"Not enough, actually," she said. Sokka bit his lip. "Not that it's wrong, just… I'm looking for something slightly more complicated. Like… ah, how about if the dragon's tail starts at the base of my nake, but the body… wraps around mine? I mean, if it hugs my flank, then goes across my front…?"

"U-uh… wow," Sokka blinked blankly, but he attempted another sketch… this time of the front of her body. He hesitated at drawing her breasts, at which Azula smirked knowingly. "Well, um… sorry to be bold, but how big exactly are they?"

"Need that much information for a full design?" she asked. He grinned guiltily.

"Alright, let's just say… the dragon's body goes over your ribcage, on either side?" he said. "And below your breasts…?"

"Hmm. I guess tattooing them could be tricky," Azula reasoned, with a voice that attempted to convey an innocence she clearly lacked. Sokka bit his lip but smirked.

"I'll be blunt: I've never done that before," he laughed softly. "I figured it'd be more comfortable if it's just… around them? But you're the boss right now. You tell me."

"Hmm? So Kawakami women don't get tebori that often?" Azula asked, smirking.

"Not quite?" Sokka grinned awkwardly. "I'm not too popular yet anyways, I've only tattooed my sister with a few small designs, and… well, it is Japan, tattoos are usually frowned upon. Most my latest customers have been teenage nerds trying to look intimidating before starting college?"

"Such upstanding customers for the Kawakami heir," Azula said mockingly. Sokka snorted and laughed, his shoulders shaking with each chuckle as he lowered his head. Strangely bashful, and just so, incredibly charming…

"See why I want to tattoo your goons now?" he said. "Though… got to say, I'm not sure any of my next customers will be much to write home about after you."

"Intended to write about me, did you?" Azula smirked. "Would your family appreciate hearing about the outlandish challenges I keep forcing upon you?"

"Eh… my dad would laugh a lot," Sokka chuckled, as he continued to doodle across his new sketches. "Though you'd better be careful, eh? Don't be too impressive, or he'll start pondering other ways to establish an alliance between our clans…"

"Other ways? Such as?" Azula asked, deliberately playing dumb. Sokka stopped sketching, snorting before shooting her a meaningful stare. "What?"

"You're way too smart not to know what," he said, simply. She smirked.

"Can't say my father would agree with that notion," she said.

"Exactly. So… you know, better for us not to get any hopes up, right?" he said, with a nonchalant shrug as he returned to his design.

"Hopes? You'd actually hope for it? How ambitious of you…" Azula said, shaking her head reproachfully.

"Might not be a matter of ambition, Homura Princess…" he whispered. She shivered upon hearing him speak that nickname. "There's other reasons to marry someone besides social advancement…"

"Hmm? And what other reason could you possibly have to marry me?" she asked. Sokka smiled slowly and tapped his sketch.

"How's this one?" he asked.

Azula clicked her tongue disapprovingly, shooting him a long, meaningful, stare before turning to the paper.

"Cowardice doesn't befit you…" she said, though she froze upon glimpsing the new design: the dragon's body would slither across her collarbone and shoulders, dipping down the valley of her breasts, hugging the outline of the right before dipping down to her belly and rising again to hug the left before scurrying towards the back.

"I'm thinking… do you want claws?" he said. "Could be I could fit them… over here? Above your breasts…?"

Azula shivered at the suggestion, as he drew the lines to depict what he meant. Well, curses, she had thought he was evading the question, but he might have just intended to answer it with his artwork instead…

"It'll loop across your abdomen a couple more times, I think? And then it goes to the back," Sokka said, gesturing at the initial artwork. "Menacing snarling dragon, right? Any guy who gets you naked will think twice before doing anything out of bounds this way…"

"Sounds like a plan," Azula smirked. "You'll be the first victim of the dragon, if so, because you'll be drawing it. You'll have to tell me if it's truly that daunting."

"I'll make it as scary as I can," Sokka smiled. "So… is this good? Or do you want another attempt?"

"I… think I'd like to see the idea in a much more solid way before pushing through with this design," Azula said, biting her lip. "Do you make stencils? Or…"

"Not quite stencils, I usually draw an outline on the body," Sokka explained. "The initial outline, then I go forward with the inking of the outline, but… it's true it's probably better if you have an initial glimpse of what I've got in mind. You, uh… are comfortable with letting me doodle a mean dragon over your naked body?"

"Comfortable?" Azula repeated, raising her eyebrows. "Why… not quite. Not while we're in plain view of the street, despite those darkened glass panes of yours…"

"I wouldn't have worked with you up here," Sokka laughed, rising to his feet. "Come on. Step into my basement, why don't you?"

"You'd better not have a full regiment of nasty Kawakami goons down there, ready to eviscerate me…" Azula said, raising her head haughtily as she followed Sokka to the stairs.

He laughed again at her words as he opened the door that led to the basement, and she found she was growing quite fond of that sound… at least, her stirring lower belly was. Surely there wouldn't be a regiment of Kawakami down there, but she certainly hoped the only Kawakami within the area would be willing to do something other than just tattooing, once they were in private…

It wasn't every day she found herself so attracted by a man, let alone was it every day that she felt the urge to act upon it, let alone so boldly. Her plans for the design were a most deliberate, reckless attempt to seduce him… and she sure hoped it worked. So far, it looked like it would, but she couldn't take anything for granted…

The study downstairs was rather orderly, once Sokka flipped the light switch and revealed it before Azula's gaze. The shelves, the tattooing implements sitting in their right cases, the already-mixed inks, as well as the ingredients to mix new ones… all of it appeared angled towards the modern tattoo chair, out of place among so many traditional tools. Azula finally reached the last step, taking in the location in full, but her gaze inevitably fell upon the chair: leather, adjustable, hopefully comfortable and stable. Good.

"Alright, then… we won't be working with the proper needles yet. A painless process to begin with… then comes the true challenge," Sokka said, smiling at her. "So… mind disrobing for me, Homura Princess?"

That he dared wink at her should have been outrageous… but her whole body felt like melting chocolate because of it. Her heart skipped a beat most delightfully, and she smiled before loosening her jacket first. Sokka smiled at her, making his way to his shelves to collect the tools with which he'd start the sketches of the outline, but he dared glance at Azula again as she clasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head with one smooth movement: her pelvis tucked in lightly over the movement, her ribcage highlighted, as well as her abdomen's lean muscles. She got plenty of exercise, he realized, despite she kept such tight surveillance of the whole city… She was a true wonder, Sokka thought, snatching three different skin markers from his collection, and he didn't tear his eyes off her… not even when she tugged her belt loose and pushed down her trousers.

"W-woah…" he said, unable to hold back his smile. Azula blinked blankly in his direction. "Not that I don't appreciate those fine legs of yours… but I didn't sketch for anything in your lower body"

"You mentioned claws…" Azula said, casually. "I thought, curiously, that you probably could have the dragon's front paws over… here?"

She turned, deliberately squeezing her ass cheeks together while trailing her hands suggestively over them. Sokka's eyes damn near bulged, and he swallowed dryly as Azula gazed at him inquisitively.

"Y-you… have amazing ideas," he finally decided. Azula's knowing grin spread widely over her face.

"Thought you might appreciate that one," she said, reaching up her back to tug loose her bra.

Sokka damn near cursed himself as he tore his gaze away from her back: fool. He couldn't just tell her to turn so he could see her better. No matter if the Homura Princess had come here for many purposes beyond just getting a tattoo, he couldn't succumb to such stupid impulses. He had to play by her rules, and even if he did, he might wind up landing himself in a world of trouble. If he dared touch her, even if with her consent, she could easily turn things around and use that to her advantage to destroy the alliance before it was even formed… ugh, he kind of wanted to do it despite that risk, but he knew he needed to be cautious, to think things through. And wanting to see her breasts wasn't at all the cautious way to proceed…

But he'd see them anyway, he knew, as he heard her walking towards the chair. She snapped her tongue somewhat dismissively, and Sokka released a breath before turning to find her back to him again… she was fully naked now. No underwear, no socks, nothing. Only her ponytail remained in place, though after she had disrobed, it appeared to be falling loose: she noticed, and undid it quickly. Her hair fell in an elegant curtain across the back he'd soon tattoo, just before she pulled it together again and redid the ponytail. With her arms raised, he could see the outline of her breasts and… dammit! He had to stop!

Though it was already far too late to reel back the erection that had been growing inevitably, ever since she had first climbed off that bike. It wasn't like she was the first woman he'd seen driving one, but curses, she was sensual even in that sense. It was as though everything he had ever found desirable in a woman had been thrown together in one, extraordinary package, and now she was naked before him. Naked, and flaunting her body, as per the light slant of her hips…

"How many sweaty, disgusting fools have climbed atop this chair?" Azula asked, glancing at him over her shoulder once she had finished composing her ponytail.

"N-not that many…" Sokka said, swallowing hard. "But… I clean it every time! I do! Want me to clean it again? Because I can do it, if you're uncomfortable…"

"You'd better do it. I am uncomfortable," Azula smirked, stepping away from the chair… and again, deliberately doing so by keeping her back towards him. Sokka chewed on his cheeks as he tried to control himself: she really was going to drive him mad, at this rate.

He found his cleaning supplies, the strongest of them, and got to work. Azula was enjoying a thorough inspection of his wares in the mean time, walking barefooted – if she was so concerned with hygiene, it seemed odd she would do that when she, for one thing, didn't even need to loosen up her shoes for a tattoo that would only reach her rear… – as she waited for him to finish cleaning the chair from any lingering residues of any kind.

"Alright… I think you can do it now," Sokka smiled, climbing off the chair as he shifted the adjustable settings: it became a perfect bed, better for their purposes, he hoped.

Of course, Azula would only climb it once he was putting away his cleaning implements, and he didn't even let his damn groin protest over that: he focused on his task, giving Azula enough time to relax on the bed… before turning towards her, collecting his markers again.

"You'll have to forgive me, Princess Homura… but you'll need to turn over many times while we do this," he said, his professional voice blatantly insincere.

"Oh, dear. I guess I shall have no choice," Azula said, dramatically. He smirked.

"Shall we, then?" he said, pulling his own chair close so he could start the design.

Azula nodded awkwardly, facedown as she was.

"Go ahead," she whispered, and Sokka raised his first marker.

She had decided the tail should begin at her nape, so he began there: he'd go slowly, gradually, sketching lines of the dragon's contour and body until he reached the head, which would occupy her middle-to-lower back, much like his own tattooed wolf did – he couldn't help but think she hoped to mirror his design with her own, and it was quite a flattering gesture. He dragged the marker along expertly for the first curves of the dragon's shape, tracing it all the way until it reached Azula's right armpit, and then he returned to the beginning, depicting the spikes that should accompany the dragon's body. Then he returned one more time, to draw each scale perfectly carefully, and wherever it should be visible, the dragon's underbelly, with another marker.

And with that, it was time for her to turn around. Sokka released a breath before speaking his thoughts:

"I'll be going over the front now."

"Ah… right," Azula said, smiling as she obeyed, impossibly slowly.

Sokka swallowed dryly, and she could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he did, a rather masculine, sensual gesture she was entranced by… but she supposed he was far more taken with her own, fully bare body, once she was lying on her back, arms raised so he could patch the dragon outline with the new share of art he'd decorate her body with.

"Is this okay?" she asked, innocently. Sokka jumped, as though he had been about to fall off his chair… his eyes, of course, most unprofessionally focused on her bare breasts. "Or would you rather I take up some other position?"

"N-no, no, this is… this is good," he said, with a nervous grin, as he raised his marker again. Azula, though, clicked her tongue teasingly.

"You sure? You look… uncomfortable," she said. He snorted and laughed, touching her skin with the marker's tip again.

"I… am not uncomfortable. Not in a bad sense anyway," he said. "If anything… I'm probably enjoying the view way more than any tattoo artist has any right to. Excuse me for that, if you would, Princess Homura…"

"Should I truly excuse you… Prince Kawakami?" she teased him back. He laughed, though he continued to drag the marker over her collarbone.

Azula smiled, inevitably, delighted by his reactions… by his unwillingness to back down, too. He rose up to every challenge, and seemed quite willing to acknowledge the wild thoughts that were coursing through his mind. She wondered just how long it'd take before he bit the bait… she hoped he'd do it soon, too. She wasn't sure it was advisable for anyone to have wild sex after taking several needles to the skin at a rapid pace, anyway.

Because, yes, they were going to have wild sex, one way or another. She had no intentions of leaving this parlor today without a taste of the man she was being touched and intimately studied by.

He dragged her arms down when he needed them in another position, and then doodled a quick loop over her arm… only to ask her to turn again. Azula sighed but relented, feeling him dragging the marker over her back, relaxing under that soft, wet, localized sensation… and again, she had to turn, once he was drawing the dragon's body over her other arm. Azula complied, lying on her side now, watching him intently while not subtly squeezing her breasts together in this position. His eyes traveled there on occasion, and his cheeks would heat up whenever they did: she smiled each time, but he only continued to work… until it was time for the front again, and he asked her to lie down as he brought the dragon's body down through the valley between her breasts.

"I… may need to touch them," he said. Azula gasped in feigned astonishment, and he smirked. "Just thought I'd warn you, if you needed me to…"

"Oh, my. A man, touching my chest… unfathomable," she said, teasingly. Sokka laughed and shook his head as he started on the first curve that would hug the outline of Azula's breast.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation, but more than that, the knowledge that he was absolutely looking forward to touching her. She waited, impatiently, her heart drumming in her chest…

And then it happened: fingers, catching her breast's underside, raising it gently as the marker trailed below it. She wasn't imagining the way those fingers felt her skin, certainly… he was fondling her lightly, and she was starting to think she'd leave quite the wet spot on his adjustable chair after today. This simply couldn't be so exciting…

"How's it feel?" he asked, teasingly. Azula hummed.

"Wet… and cold," she replied. Sokka snorted.

"The marker?" he asked.

"What else would you have meant to ask me about?" she said, closing her eyes carelessly.

He bit back another laugh: but curses, she was beautiful. Her eyelashes, the perfect makeup applied across them, her straight nose, her full lips, her feminine, yet strong chin… He damn near distracted himself with the urge of covering her with kisses, rather than with a tattoo's initial design. He had to find a more productive way to do this, he thought to himself, and yet…

She had to turn again, as the dragon's body would loop around her back, and then return to her front. Sokka erased the unnecessary portions by dabbing alcohol on a cotton ball and wiping off the marker's previous lines. The cold liquid made Azula shiver… or she took advantage of it to deliberately shift sensually against the chair, Sokka didn't know which it was. She had hiked up her rear unnecessarily this time, and his eyes kept escaping southwards to gaze at those perfectly circular mounds, barely resisting the urge to fondle them…

But he could lightly fondle her next breast now, and so he did, once she turned again. Azula was the picture of helplessness, arms raised over her head, eyes closed, soft purrs slipping from her throat…

Oh. Oh hell, she was moments away from moaning, and he sure as heck wanted to hear that.

In a most bold, careless manner, he brushed her nipple with his thumb: Azula moaned indeed, and Sokka's pulsating erection begged for him to cut it out. If he was going to do filthy things to her, he'd better stop playing around already… but no, he couldn't. He had to finish this. The claws now, the claws…

"I'm going to have to touch them again…" he said. She bit her lip.

"M-must you…?" she asked, her voice suggestive and playful. He smiled.

"The claws will be right here… I need a proper view of the skin," he said, tapping her upper breast. Azula hummed.

"That high…?" she asked. "I thought it'd be… more over here?"

She led his fingers lower… and they brushed her nipple again. Another moan, and she opened her eyes to gaze at him wantonly as he smiled knowingly.

"It… might not be anatomically correct," he said. She bit her lip.

"What a conundrum, isn't it?" she whispered.

"And it… could hurt," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Azula smiled.

"You think a Homura doesn't know how to handle pain?" she asked. "We literally burn our bodies to prove our worth, when need be…"

"You haven't burned yours, I see," Sokka whispered, carelessly dragging his hand down her flank. Azula moaned again. "Unless… it's somewhere else?"

"I thought you'd have seen me… completely by now," Azula smiled, moaning suggestively again once his hand trailed over her thigh.

"Not completely, I admit…" Sokka whispered, leaning closer to her… just as his fingers slipped between her legs.

Azula's moan was no longer intentionally erotic: she gasped and clenched up, and Sokka hummed as his fingers dipped into her hot wetness. Her chest started to heave, and he smirked for it, guiding his marker over the rising and falling breasts to decorate them with the outline of the dragon's claws.

"Hmm… doesn't feel burned, no. If anything… quite the opposite," he smiled. Azula whimpered, lightly thrusting her body towards him. "Hmm? Oh, is this too invasive?"

"Y-yes… it is…" she smiled, closing her eyes as she thrusted again. "That's… Homura territory, you shameless Kawakami…"

"Oh, no… I've made a terrible mistake, haven't I?" he said, smirking as he finished the details of the first claw, and moved to mark the second one. "I suppose I'll have to do extra work here now, won't I? Otherwise, you'll never forgive my transgression… and there'll be no alliance."

"That's… that's right," Azula moaned: his fingers were dabbing into her opening, the thumb rubbing her clit in the sweetest manner. "Do good… and… and you'll be free to enter Homura territory at will…"

"Hmm… sounds like the best deal ever," Sokka whispered, finishing the fourth claw, and moving to depicting scales now – it was, admittedly, quite difficult to focus on the art when most his body was focusing on his hand's actions upon Azula's lower body instead.

"T-then… do right by me… oh, do right by me, Sokka…" she moaned, thrusting harder, her chest still heaving terribly sensually: he wanted to see those breasts bouncing as she rode his shaft, they were more than large enough for that…

Oh, he was being so unprofessional, his master would have his hide if only he knew… and yet the woman underneath him was hotter than her last name, than everything her fire clan stood for. He couldn't be above his damn base desires… not when they were hidden away from the world in this basement, safely alone, free to be intimate, to desecrate his sacred working place… he wanted to. He absolutely wanted to.

"Alright… alright, then," he said, smirking as his face hovered right above hers.

Azula's lips parted, and she seemed to be about to catch his lips with her own… but he pulled away, to her chagrin. Where the hell did he think he was going…?

She got the answer upon sensing a sudden, wet, warm pressure around her nipple: his breath brushed against it just before he sucked for the first time, and Azula didn't hold back her loud cries of passion. Oh, he was the worst, the absolute worst, and she just loved it. She was perfectly used to seducing men whenever she felt like it, to being the object of someone's desire, for she had been that for many of her father's henchmen over the years… but she always had the urge to enforce her authority, her strength, her control and superiority. This time… oh, this time she didn't even want to. Not with a man who was fingering her most recklessly, sucking on her breast persistently before switching to the other.

"T-the… t-the marker's ink won't… c-come off, will it…?" Azula moaned, as Sokka's strong body loomed closer to hers.

"No… and if it does, I'll do it again," he smiled, speaking between loud suctions of her nipple. He was a shameless bastard, truly… and she wanted more of that. So much more of that…

"Will you… wind up devouring my breasts again… if that happens?" Azula asked.

"Would you like that…?" he moaned against her chest.

He was covering her breasts in light nibbling as he pointedly avoided the places he had traced with his marker. Oh, he would've loved to cover her chest with kisses, but at risk of intaking chemicals he shouldn't, he'd have to hold back until her full set was done… ah, by then, once she was fully rested and recovered, she would be even more sensual than she already was, with her soul's dragon bearing its fangs, threatening any and all unwanted menaces… but he had wolves that could fight the dragon, just as well. They would clash and collide, and sleep together as many times as she allowed it… he sure hoped it'd be about a thousand times. Just this much was as exciting as could be…

"Yes… yes I would, I… don't stop… don't stop…" Azula moaned, thrusting lightly against his hand. "Ah! D-don't, please, don't…!"

Her urgency compelled him to drill into her with his fingers, going harder than before: his other hand held her wrists, which she had helpfully raised over her head. She was completely at his mercy, and the powerlessness appeared to turn her on so badly she couldn't stand it. With a few more powerful thrusts of his hand, and that thumb ever prodding and exploring her sensitive clit, Azula came undone with loud cries. Sokka smirked as he returned to kissing and sucking her nipple, chuckling maliciously as he continued driving into her, harder, rougher, without any restraint. Azula trembled on the chair, her voice failing her when the second peak arrived soon after the first, tearing through her violently, so much her body seemed to shatter… and yet it didn't. And perhaps because it didn't, her wicked lover had decided to keep going, bringing her to the brink one more time as she screamed, completely losing control while writhing under his hand.

Sokka slowed at the third peak, laughing deviously as his lips hovered over her left breast. She was sweating now, and even that was exciting as hell. Nothing about her could be unappealing, as far as he could tell…

He raised his head slowly, his mischievous smirk found by her misty gaze as she shivered violently still, her legs spread, her lips parted.

"Y-you… y-you just…" she said, and he raised an eyebrow cockily.

"Want me to do that again?" he asked. "Got a few more tricks up my sleeve, but if you want more…"

"You're… mad," she said, furthering his amusement. "Doing this… to your tattoo customer…"

"It's a first for me, if you really want to know," he chuckled. "Like I said… most my customers aren't exactly my type."

"And I am?" Azula smiled, despite the heat of the situation was still overwhelming for her.

"You? I think you've completely torn down every standard I thought I had… and rewritten them all on your own," Sokka whispered, rising until his face was level with hers. "If this makes our alliance impossible… well, woops. I'll have to tell my dad I mucked it up. But damn, I… I really want to have sex with you."

"Y-you… you perverted man," Azula smiled, closing her eyes in obvious delight. Sokka snickered.

"Don't like perverts much, do you…?" he asked, prodding her nose with his own.

"Not usually, no," she said. "But… you're on a league of your own, looks like."

"I'm worse than the others?" Sokka smirked.

"Yeah… because you're good at this, they aren't," Azula smiled. Sokka laughed, pressing his brow to hers just before diving for a kiss…

But her hand darted to his chest and clasped it hard, just as his upper lip touched hers, and she forced him to climb the chair by flipping them around: it was him below her suddenly, and she was the one above, chest still heaving, face still flushed, hair falling out of that ponytail again… but this time she didn't seem to mind that much.

"Az-…" he said, but her fingers landed on his lips.

"I… will return the favor," she smiled, dragging her fingers down to his shirt – he was wearing a perfectly casual outfit today, though the long sleeves prevented her from seeing the beautiful tattoos he sported over his arms.

She dragged herself down his body, pushing his shirt off in an urgent hurry – Sokka intended to help her tug it off but it was no use when Azula stopped once the shirt was at his neck's level: his chest and abdomen were fully exposed, and she needed to devour them at haste.

Sokka snorted, laughing as he struggled to pull off the shirt in the awkward situation she had left him in, with his elbows awkwardly stuck while only his lower jaw had slid under the shirt's neck.

"You… you're into bondage, are you?" he laughed. Azula, busy lavishing his strong chest with long, sucking kisses, only moaned in response. "Oh, hell, that's good…"

Her hands didn't help him with his upper body's struggle: instead they were undoing his belt, shoving off his trousers forcefully, and as her teeth nibbled teasingly down his defined abs – they were just as delightful as she had thought yesterday, damn him – she continued to move south until she reached his underwear-clad groin. Sokka gasped when her lips pressed a kiss over the fabric at first, and he groaned once she cupped his testicles with one hand, the other massaging his manhood while her lips continued to teasingly unravel his full girth: she wore lipstick, didn't she? She was going to stain his underwear with it? Oh, that should be a completely ridiculous thought and yet his very hard cock seemed more erect because of it.

"Y-you sure love… to tease a man," Sokka growled, finally tossing his shirt aside, and Azula snickered as she tugged the hem of his boxers.

"Be… rough," Azula advised him. Sokka smirked. "Not to the point of killing me, of course, but… use my mouth as you please. Alright?"

"You don't know restraint of any sort, do you…?" he asked, and Azula's smile reflected his own.

"We're yakuza, aren't we? We don't play nice and sweet," she said, teasingly, as she tugged the garment down, enough to expose his large erection. She licked her lips. "My, my, someone's enjoying himself…"

"Mind you… this is the best tattoo session I've ever had, so yes, I am," Sokka chuckled. Azula smirked and winked at him.

"It's about to get better," she said.

She leaned down, engulfing his cock with her mouth in one quick motion: Sokka cried out, throwing his head back against the cushioned chair's headrest, for Azula had taken him in deeply enough for his tip to press against the roof of her mouth. She didn't ease up in the least, bobbing her head back and forth while seeking his hand… placing it on her hair. She had asked for it rough, hadn't she? Sokka gritted his teeth and hoped she wouldn't change her mind.

His fingers dug into her hair as he started thrusting upwards: to his surprise, his thrusting compelled her to moan, in time with his own groans: one of her hands toyed with his ball sack, the other snaked upwards, touching all those strong, tense muscles that had charmed her since that day in the park. She wanted him to break her if he wished, to show her just how strong he was, how much pleasure he could provide a woman… and he sure had showed her plenty before, but she was greedy enough to want more. She sucked him eagerly, thoroughly, basking in every perfect ridge of his body, whether related to his pulsating manhood or his strong abs… and then he grew more savage, thrusting harder, faster, and she focused exclusively on the cock inside her mouth, doing her best not to choke, to continue breathing through her mouth, to enjoy his powerful thrusting as his hands messed her hair and kept her in place…

"I'm… I'm close… I'm close, hell, I'm gonna…!" he gasped, thrusting harder, more urgently: Azula helped by sucking in a quick, violent rhythm, and suddenly a hot liquid sprayed the back of her throat.

Oh, it tasted terribly and yet she relished in receiving it. She laughed as she sucked some more, aiding the still-thrusting Sokka to find his ultimate release, and that he did: he soon flopped on the chair, breathing heavily, his arms falling to the side as his eyes rolled closed.

"You… are something else, Princess Homura…" he whispered.

"Hmm, you are wild when you want to be… I like that, Prince Kawakami," Azula announced, smirking as she pressed soft kisses to the side of his manhood. Sokka chuckled and sighed in bliss, relishing in the continuous oral pleasure she offered him.

"I… want to return the favor too," he said, smiling. "I bet you taste amazing…"

"Hmm, you gross pervert… wanting to taste and smell my privates, what has the world come to?" she said, before taking a deep breath and licking his flaccid cock thoroughly, enough for it to twitch gently as she smirked. "Oh, wait a second…"

Sokka laughed, sitting up to reach for her and tug her towards him. Azula relented despite herself, sighing upon being taken away from the most delightful cock she had ever been acquainted with. His hands fell right to her rear, cupping each cheek, and Azula hummed before grinding her bare body against his.

"Want something?" she asked, casually.

"You," he said, and his hand reached up to fist her hair before he pressed a powerful, open-mouthed kiss to her lips.

Azula moaned, surrendering to the kiss quickly: his invasive tongue danced and twirled around hers, and her heart raced faster and faster as it did. It felt so good to kiss him, just as good as she had hoped it would, as she allowed him to claim her thoroughly for himself… and no doubt, it had to feel good for him too, considering he couldn't seem to stop – he only let her catch her breath for a second before nibbling on her lower lip, or trailing his tongue across her mouth, a smooth battering ram demanding access it was granted instantly: she really liked this overwhelming feeling, as his hands fondled her every curve, at first her ass, slowly her waist, then her breasts again…

"I'm going to eat you," he whispered. She moaned against his lips.

"Thought you already were…" she said. Sokka snickered before slipping off the chair, only to flip their positions anew.

It was he who sat at the edge of the chair now, balancing himself skillfully while Azula, boldly, knowingly and shamelessly, wrapped her legs around his neck and urged him to dive into her perfectly waxed core: with the same skill as with his hands before, Sokka toyed with her clit and unraveled, quite quickly, the places she needed his touch most in, by the urgency of her moans, to the point of near becoming screams. She wouldn't stop urging him onwards, spurring him to continue, whispering many surprisingly dirty phrases in the process. Sokka couldn't contain occasional laughs upon hearing those, and when he gazed up to look at his delightful lover, she'd meet his eyes just the same, her lips parted as though waiting for his to claim them anew…

Oh, he was in real trouble if he kept on in this path. No doubt he wasn't supposed to be having sex with Ozai Homura's prized golden daughter… but more than that, he had a feeling he wouldn't have enough with a single outing. And damn, he hoped neither would she.

He needed to make sure she wouldn't have enough, of course: and as her not-so-dormant excitement rose anew, while Sokka's tongue traveled mischievously across her wet folds, a new peak neared and Azula had half a mind to give herself to it completely…

"Y-you should… ah – you should come here, and… and go for it. S-Sokka… Sokka…"

Ah, she wanted him to go inside her already? He was hard enough to try… but he wanted her to ask again. He wanted her to beg, for some twisted, ridiculous reason…

"Please…? Sokka, I can't hold it… I-I'm going to…!" she said: the words surprised him, for he hadn't expected she'd be so close.

But as irresponsible as it might be to disregard her prior request, he refused to let her lose a perfectly good orgasm if he eased up now. So he didn't slow down, and instead devoured her even more ravenously… and he was rewarded by an onslaught of sex juices that he could develop an addiction for, from that day forward. He groaned happily, caressing her thighs erotically, and Azula whimpered in a sensual way as she flopped, helpless, on the chair.

"You… you kept going… when I told you to fuck me…" she said. He had still been face-first up her core, but he pulled away to glance at her somewhat apologetically.

"I wanted to tease you for a bit," he admitted. "B-but I just didn't think you were that close. When I realized you were, well… I didn't want your orgasm to be unfulfilling."

"You…" Azula whispered… and then a smile spread over her face. "You're good. Better than good."

"You think?" he smiled awkwardly.

"What kind of man… doesn't jump at the chance of putting his cock inside me as soon as I offer the chance?" Azula laughed. "But you… you'd rather make sure I have all the pleasure I can have. Do you realize what a rarity you are…?"

"Eh, I did suspect I was one of a kind," Sokka smirked, winking at Azula before leaning close to kiss her abdomen. "Glad I didn't fuck up, I thought I might have…"

"You were amazing," Azula decided, releasing him from her grip.

"You're even more amazing," he whispered as he kissed his way up to her collarbone, avoiding the lines his marker had trailed over her body. Azula moaned and caressed his back.

"How do you want… to do this?" she asked.

"Four orgasms… and you still want more," Sokka smirked. "I like you. A lot."

"I like you too. That's why I want more," Azula smiled. "Well? Any special requests…?"

"Ride me," he asked, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. Azula groaned and kissed him harder, urging him to switch with her again on the chair.

"You want me to like you more and more… don't you? Surrendering control to me…" Azula smiled, nibbling on his lip as she pressed him down on the chair while straddling his hips. "And the weirdest part is… I don't mind it much, when you're in control. Most other men are just…"

"No good?" Sokka smirked arrogantly. Azula huffed.

"More than a little full of themselves," she declared. Sokka snickered. "They assume they're good even before they've brought me to the brink the first time… it makes no sense, does it? Pretending you're good at sex without any basis…"

"Might be they're just no good for you…" Sokka suggested, kissing her jawline softly. "Might be, and this is just a wild guess… that you're better off with someone who takes his time to figure out where you want your clit to be prodded?"

"Hmm… yes," Azula moaned, pressing her chest to his. Sokka snickered. "Someone who likes to do naughty things when he's supposed to be a very professional tattoo artist…"

"Well, excuse me for my shamelessness," Sokka whispered, clamping his hands at either of her ass cheeks. Azula moaned again for it. "I'm a work in progress, clearly…"

"Shame on you…" Azula said, swaying her body against him. "Whatever shall I do? Will all our sessions turn out like this, I wonder?"

"Would that be so bad?" Sokka smiled. Azula bit her lip and grinned too.

"No. Definitely not," she laughed, kissing him and sliding into position.

With as many orgasms as she had enjoyed so far, it was only natural that Azula would fit Sokka's sizeable manhood without so much as flinching: he stretched her sensitive walls in a marvelous way, and she arched her body forward over the pleasure. Sokka grinned lecherously, playfully toying with her nipples, and Azula's moans only grew louder and more lustful because of it. She wanted everything he could give her, without holding back…

"You feel… so damn good," he laughed, with that charming smile she had been taken by from the moment she had first seen it. Azula purred again, thrusting forward and causing him to gasp. "A-Azula…"

"You feel good… inside me, too," she smirked, her long nails scraping his shoulders as she braced herself for thrusting again.

She took to a steady rhythm, one Sokka followed fit with: his eyes remained utterly entranced by the bouncing breasts before him, which enticed him to grope and fondle them before long. Azula's string of moans continued as she thrusted harder, recklessly chasing further excitement as Sokka's caresses only aided her in that particular pursuit: she would sway her body sensually, grinding her pelvis into him, her clit brushing delightfully against his skin and prompting her to moan further.

He filled her so well, to the hilt, and she wanted nothing but to keep him there forever. All this sex was probably not the best preamble for a tattoo, considering her skin would be extra sensitive because of it… but she thrived in the feeling of that cock tearing her walls down, smashing through her powerfully, threatening to wrestle control she found herself wanting to relinquish to him. If she couldn't keep going, she sure hoped he'd continue for her…

Sokka's hands had stayed on Azula's breasts, his palms almost tickled by the nipples that brushed against them. By now, though, his impulsive greedy lust overcame him: he sat up on the chair, tugging the controls expertly to recline the backrest. Comfortably sitting now, Sokka tugged her closer, making her spread her legs as far as she could while he penetrated her powerfully, covering her lips with eager kisses.

He had made his move at the right time, of course: Azula could barely hold herself back now, trembling as she felt a new peak looming closer. She was sure she hadn't ever reached so many climaxes in her life, and she absolutely relished in it, diving into Sokka's mouth with her tongue as her needy moans conveyed that she was at her limit. Yet again, Sokka only moved faster, harder, thrusting almost frantically inside her until Azula's long nails dug into his skin as she came with the strongest burst of pleasure yet. Oh, she couldn't even feel herself anymore, she was nothing but a huge blanket of aroused bliss, and he still wouldn't stop thrusting, still he kept going, rubbing his cock powerfully against the walls that tried to milk it. And milk it they would, but not until he was ready to relinquish his conquest: he had incredible self-restraint, capable of going forth with the wild tryst without losing himself to the swarms of pleasure. He'd give in eventually, yes he would, but he would last as long as he could, he would give her as many orgasms in a row as he could muster… and by her erotic moans against his mouth, their wild kissing interrupted as she struggled to catch her breath, he was probably close to getting her another one already.

Azula nearly screamed when the second peak came, and Sokka relished in her exposed neck, only to then move lower, to her chest anew. His voracious, lascivious kisses made it more than clear that he wanted her, all of her, and he'd stop at nothing to show it… yet, again, when Azula's third peak loomed closer – and she was seeing shapes dancing in her eyesight now, her whole body appeared to be both lighter than ever and heavier, somehow – Sokka couldn't hold back any longer: he released himself inside her just before her climax was triggered, and the shuddering inner walls around his cock squeezed him marvelously as he gave himself to her wildly, roughly, thrusting hard as his flesh slapped against hers, their sweaty bodies making magic wherever they might be joined.

He only stopped once her walls stopped shuddering too, and even then they lightly rocked together, grinding their bodies, kissing each other long, deep and slow, now that the surging passion had peaked. Azula clung to embracing him, comfortable by pressing her chest into his… and clearly Sokka wasn't about to complain for the delightful sensation of her nipples brushing his skin. His hands clasped her rear, keeping her in place, teasing her with light squeezes.

"That's… how a Kawakami tattoos his customers, then?" Azula asked between kisses, smiling teasingly. He snickered.

"Only the ones hotter than the earth's core, I'd say," he whispered, pressing his lips across her jawline.

"Hmm… so I got the premium package, did I?" Azula asked, fingers sliding into his hair. He chuckled again as he kissed his way up to her cheek.

"You're the sexiest woman that ever lived," he said, thrusting teasingly – despite he was flaccid now, they had remained in the same position, and the friction between their bodies still made Azula moan suggestively. "Say… we do need to work on the tattoo, don't we?"

"Mmm… maybe…" she moaned, sighing as she melted into his very physical teasing.

"You think you could, maybe… tell your people I'm a very devoted artist, and I've asked that we pull as many all-nighters as necessary to get the full tattoo done?" he said, smiling teasingly.

"Ah? You're asking me to stay with you?" Azula asked, amused. "For how long?"

"Until the job's done?" he said, stroking her hair. "I literally live on the second floor. We can just…"

"Go up there to rest. Have some more sex, then head back down here, work, have more sex on your fancy chair…?" Azula proposed, smirking. Sokka laughed. "You'd better do an amazing job with the tattoo, you know? Otherwise they'll all know I'm just sleeping with you."

"I'll do my best," he promised, kissing her lips softly again. "So? You'll… stay?"

"Oh, I don't know. What will I wear?" she asked, teasingly.

"On the most part… nothing," he smirked. "But if you really want to… I can lend you my things."

"Can you… at least tattoo me while shirtless?" she asked, biting her lip. "I'm sure having some really good eye-candy will make this whole process way smoother and much more enjoyable for me…"

"I wouldn't say no to anything that pleases an upstanding lady like yourself…" he replied, caressing her thigh suggestively. Azula smiled and kissed him again.

"This is quite the promising start for the Homura-Kawakami alliance," she said. Sokka snickered, stealing another kiss from her lips.

"I knew you could be persuaded to join us. With the right leverage," Sokka smirked. "Alright… I think I should order something for lunch now. We can keep going after, if you want? For now…"

"Keep going with what? Sex or tattoos?" Azula asked. Sokka snickered.

"With you, I'm not sure what's the difference," he said, and she smirked while biting her lip, a most sensual gesture he topped off with a kiss. "You're so beautiful…"

"You're as handsome as can be too, if you must know…" she smiled, resting her head upon his shoulder. "And such a handsome man will kidnap me for days… It's probably the most exciting thing that ever happened to me, and I don't even live a boring life."

"It's about to get even less boring," Sokka smiled, kissing her fiercely. "I can promise you that."

And while she usually didn't trust people, Azula believed him. She trusted him when he offered to take pictures of her body to document the whole process – she even posed suggestively for him, making him laugh and sending pleasant shivers through his groin. They ate together, once the food Sokka ordered arrived – noodles, hers were extra spicy, and she attempted to kiss him after, but he knew better than to let her, knowing it was a dangerous trap. It proved a helpful tool, for only this way could Sokka pull off the full outline of the tattoo without distracting himself… or rather, distracting himself too much.

Only the outline was done by the evening, and as Azula's spicy meal was no longer a cause for concern, Sokka picked up his new lover and carried her up to his room, in the upper floor. And there he had raunchy sex with her anew, seeking, as ever, to make her climax as many times as possible. They both fell asleep while wrapped together, limbs interlocked, lips breathing mere inches from the other.

And that was how their whole week proceeded: they would work in the mornings, take a break before lunch, work again afterwards, then stop for the day and do anything they wished with each other. And as strange as it was to basically live together for a week, by the time the finishing touches were done, Sokka was almost sorry to finish Azula's luxurious tattoo.

It was exactly as she had wanted it, with the dark, black dragon as good as watching her back, while hugging her body sensually. Flames burst around the creature's body, and where it could have been a threat, Sokka thought it was but a sign of how intensely hot his lover was. She sat on his chair, fully naked, as he tapped in more ink at her lower belly, and Azula sighed as she wished this could have lasted a little longer…

"You can always get another set of tattoos, if you want them," Sokka suggested, stealing a kiss from her lips. "I'll love to close up shop and not talk to anyone but you for a week again…"

"Hmm, don't tempt me," Azula smiled, pressing her brow to his. "Is it done now?"

"Just… one more thing," Sokka said. "Where should I put my signature?"

"Ah? You'll sign my body, will you? And here I thought this whole art piece was a way of saying you own me…" she smirked. Sokka laughed and shook his head.

"I'm pretty sure no one can ever claim they own you, fierce Homura Princess," he said, cupping her cheeks to kiss her lips softly. "Though, if you do see this whole tattoo as a way to brand you as mine, well…"

"I think it's sensual to see it that way," Azula whispered, kissing his cheek. "One day… you'll have to teach me. And then… I can tattoo you somewhere, and add my signature so everyone knows that you're branded as mine, too."

"Sounds perfect," Sokka smirked. "Tattoo marriage, of a sort?"

"It's fine by me," she laughed.

Sokka smiled and kissed her, before nudging her to lie down again. Where to set the signature…? The question had pestered him for at least two days, but he guessed Azula herself would be the one to decide the location…

"Should be on the back, right?" Azula said, biting her lip teasingly. "I guess… here?"

She tapped her coccyx, and Sokka smiled before rolling his eyes and getting to work. Azula laughed, knowing that, if anyone saw the suggestive signature, the nature of her relationship with the Kawakami heir would be more than obvious… oh, but why bother hiding it? As it was, they were clearly going to do this again, and again, and many more times…

She had been startled by the pain despite being prepared, the first time he had used the actual needles. By now it was almost familiar, the initial sting, the liquid sensation as the ink settled, the light swelling that settled across her skin. She was going to emerge from this tattoo parlor a whole different person, she knew, and once Sokka finished setting his signature, he covered the rest of her back with soft kisses, reaching all the way to her nape.

"You know… it's pretty late," he whispered, reaching her face. Azula smiled as he kissed the very curvature of her mouth's corner. "Maybe… you can stay one more night?"

"If you hadn't asked, I would've likely demanded to stay anyway," she smiled. Sokka chuckled. "I hope I look extra appealing to you now, lover…"

"I want to ravish you immediately even though the ink's not fully settled," Sokka laughed, kissing the side of her head. "You're something, you know? Most people take it easy after being tattooed… you basically just determined which position we'd fuck in depending on what I'd inked each day, eh?"

"You can call it what it is: genuine wisdom," Azula smiled, and Sokka laughed again. "Ah, but I really will miss this… miss you."

"You don't have to," Sokka said, stroking her hair. "We'll have an alliance soon, right?"

"Oh, yes," Azula smiled. Sokka chuckled.

"Then, see? We'll see each other again. For work, maybe? But then again, this was supposed to be work, so…"

"I guess," Azula said, reaching up to cup his face. "Didn't think this weird ordeal would land me a lover, but… I'm glad it did."

"I'm glad it landed me one, too," Sokka said, kissing her wrist softly. "Here I thought I'd have to give up my dreams of dating the hottest woman in the world one day, but heh, turns out they came true anyway…"

"Well, I sure can't complain either," Azula smiled as she eyed his body hungrily. "My lover is god-like, as far as I can tell…"

Sokka chuckled, kissing her again as he continued to offer her gentle affections: the final stroke was done now, and with it, all the implications of their shared bond, their mischievous crime. They'd have to keep the relationship quiet, for Ozai surely wouldn't approve… but Azula wasn't scared, for some reason. Perhaps life outside the Homura clan had appeared unfathomable, for a time… but now she had lived life with the Kawakami heir, no less, if just for a week. And perhaps such unfathomable possibilities were no longer so difficult to envision…

Sokka returned to the Kawakami headquarters to many questions that turned into loud applause when he announced the tattooing process had been a total success. Azula, of course, had returned to find the Homura clan was bordering on chaos without her active, constant surveillance, for as hard as he had tried to fill in for her, Zuko hardly knew how to handle the many cameras deftly. She had been welcomed gladly… though Ozai had been astonished when she had suggested he pulled through with the alliance suggestion.

"I know it sounds mad, but… his strokes and technique are truly quality work," Azula assured Ozai. "We could benefit from this alliance. We haven't had an tebori artist for a long time, so…"

"So, I take it the Kawakami boy is a seasoned professional ink artist?" Ozai asked, unamused. Azula nodded enthusiastically, though the word 'professional' certainly wasn't one her father would use if only he knew they'd indulged in so much wild, hot and relentless sex… "If you're impressed, then I suppose everyone will be. That being said, I need to know their full terms. Are you still in touch with the boy?"

"I can reach out, yes," Azula confirmed – no, she hadn't scheduled to meet him that night at his parlor to celebrate the likely success of their endeavor, of course not… "Shall I organize a meeting, then?"

"Please, do," Ozai said, releasing a breath. "An alliance with the Kawakami clan… well, I suppose we could do worse than that."

Azula deeply hoped he'd stick to that mentality, though there was no telling if he would, let alone if he found out she was doing her tattoo artist… but for now, it was a victory. One she'd be quick to tell her 'ink prince', as she had named his contact on her phone, as soon as she had a chance to.

A week later, a silent, elegant meeting took place at a predilect bar of Ozai's. He and Hakoda sat together at the head of their table's long room, discussing the minutiae of the alliance, while many of their closest associates watched: Zuko was there, tense, constantly eyeing the Kawakami as though he feared they might try to kill him. Katara, of course, kept shooting glares at him for his distrustful attitude, which resulted in just extra anxiety for the Homura heir. No matter how many times Kya asked Katara to cut it out, her daughter wouldn't budge.

And Azula and Sokka shot each other stern, serious glares whenever anyone else caught sight of them… and traded light smiles, occasional touches, whenever no one noticed. After half an hour, Sokka had excused himself from the table, claiming he needed to pace to stretch his legs. He approached the spot Azula stood at… and slipped a hand, most imperceptibly, towards the spot his signature had been branded at. Azula remained most impassive, until some discussion over taxes bored her enough to glance at Sokka with a teasing smile as well.

"Want me to order you a drink?" he asked. "For old times' sake, my first Homura customer?"

"Should be me ordering you one, you set this whole mess in motion," Azula assessed. Sokka chuckled.

"Guess that's one way to look at it," he grinned. "About, well, tonight–…"

"Whatever happens now… I'll go once I can give everyone the slip," Azula interrupted him, eagerness plain on her face. Sokka grinned back.

"Then I'll be waiting," he said. "Seems we keep having things worth celebrating, eh?"

"That we do," Azula smiled…

And her hand slipped to Sokka's tailbone just the same, prompting him to laugh quietly as they both indulged in their mischievous, private moment despite standing in public view. They had no doubts their wild, raunchy, tumultuous, dangerous affair was only just beginning… and as much as they knew strife, chaos, and much darkness could loom in the horizon, a moment as bright as this one, of an alliance cemented between clans, was meant to be cherished, just as another bond strengthened between two driven, talented, likeminded lovers, who couldn't wait to discover what their newly entwined destinies might just have in store…

#sokkla saturdays #sokklasaturday #sokkla #sokka #azula #with a few Gladiator cameos because #sometimes you need bg characters #and Renkai's name sounded more Japanese than Rui Shi that's literally why it's him #:'D #this is another wild ride of smut #because I couldn't help it #they be the horniest #and I love it #no stops pulled in that tattoo parlor ohohohoho

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 25- Trust Issues

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3498

Warnings: Ivar being an ass.

24- Let Them Come

...

It was eerily quiet, not at all like the yelling from earlier.

As soon as they entered the hall, Ivar stomped over to his council chambers without a second glance at anyone, Bjorn following behind him. Hvitserk remained with his two brothers as a sort of peacemaker.

The rest stayed out in the main hall, keeping warm by the large fire pit in the center. There was an awkwardness that lingered about, and Artemis wanted to defuse it immediately.

"You may sit by the fire if you'd like. Get yourself and the children warm." She says to Torvi. The older woman nods, guiding her babbling children to sit upon the floor. Artemis sighs, turning to see Ubbe hesitating to say something, his lips parting and closing like a hungry fish.

"Artemis," He says finally, "It is good to see you."

"Likewise." She replies with a small smile, and he nods, the corner of his lips curving upward. Even after all this time he seems to have retained his gentle heart. Before she could say anything more he heads down the corridor and into the council chambers.

Heahmund remains out in the hall, leaving the brothers to themselves. He calls for the thralls to attend them, bringing out food and drink for the children and their mother.

"Ubbe is kindhearted." Torvi speaks against the silence, though she made no movements to indicate a start to a conversation. She keeps her hands up towards the fire to eliminate the chill, "I sometimes think it'll kill him."

"Ubbe is the kindest of all the Ragnarssons," Comments Artemis, "I hope that does not change." Torvi stays quiet for a few moments before deciding to speak again.

"Lagertha used to express her regret giving you to Ivar," Her voice was soft, almost melancholic, talking of her former queen, 'What were the odds that the girl would be a blacksmith?’ is what she would say," Artemis thought she heard amusement in her tone. "She thought you'd hinder a weakness in him." Artemis scoffs, shaking her head at such a ridiculous notion. Ivar was never weak.

"But you weren't Ivar's weakness. You only fueled him. It was indeed Lagertha's weakness." Torvi continued, rubbing her hands together to rid the chill. Artemis casts a glance at Heahmund and then Tordis before stepping close to Torvi and her children. She gently sits beside the older woman, keeping her eyes on the flames.

"I will not deny you nor your children the hearth," She says quietly, "But why are you here?" From the corner of her vision she sees Torvi turn towards her. The blonde clenches her jaw and swallows thickly before answering.

"Help."

"Help?" The children began to play with the growing kittens and the large mastiff, emitting giggles and little shouts of glee. So innocent.

"Our plan was to take Hedeby, but we had very few supporters and not enough men to take it."

"Did you know a shieldmaiden named Dabria?" Artemis asks suddenly, turning sharply to look at Torvi. The fair haired woman wrinkles her brow in confusion, eyebrows almost touching together as she searched her mind for any memory of the name.

"Dabria..." She repeats, before her eyes widen in sudden realization, "Yes, I knew her. She was a shieldmaiden serving Lagertha back when she was the Jarl in Hedeby. She fought against your husband in the war. I assumed she was killed. Why?" Artemis shrugs, noticing how both Heahmund and Tordis watched them carefully. Geirdis saunters to Heahmund with a horn of mead, and they both smile at each other. She'd inquire about that later.

"Ivar thinks perhaps Bjorn had sent her."

"So what, you're saying is that she's not dead?"

"She is now," Artemis shrugs, "She attacked me. Wanted to kill Ivar's Queen in return for killing hers." Torvi frowns.

"She had no allegiance to us." Artemis only hums in response. This was perhaps the first conversation she's had with Torvi as their other encounters were wordless, mostly due to their different stations and status. Torvi seemed calm, despite their reasons for being in Kattegat.

"And what did you hope to gain by coming here?" Torvi accepts mead from Aria, who then places a gentle touch on Artemis's shoulder before standing with Geirdis.

"As Bjorn says. An alliance."

"Ivar would never give it you."

"We know," Torvi says with a sigh, "But you are his Queen, and if anyone could get through to him, it would be you."

"You want me to convince Ivar into forming an alliance with you?" Artemis could have laughed, and she almost did, cracking an amused smile, one that Torvi did not appreciate.

"Look," The shieldmaiden says, "Ragnar was avenged. Lagertha had gotten her revenge on Aslaug and Ivar on Lagertha. This game is over. What we need is an alliance and an army to help us gain control of Hedeby. Ivar has the means, and you have his ear."

"And is that what they speak of in there?"

"I imagine."

"And what does Kattegat gain in return?" Artemis asks. She was not one for political negotiations, but it was a start.

"Protection against attack, men for war and raid if need be. Trade, of course. And," Torvi looks intently at her," A marriage between my children and your future heirs to strengthen the alliance." Artemis felt her cheeks burn at the word heirs. It seemed that the gods were postponing any heirs, no matter how heated their chambers had gotten with activity. The thought made her cheeks redden more, and she had to place a cold hand on her skin in order to focus on Torvi.

"How are we to trust you? How am I to trust you?"

"I can see why you wouldn't, but I take you for a smart woman," Torvi grabs hold of her youngest daughter who had been running round in circles with Heracles stomping behind her. The girl screeches in delight, falling into her mother's lap as she fought against her mother's kisses.

"My children need a home, Queen Artemis," The blonde says after a moment of coddling her child, "And although you wouldn't believe it, Ubbe has spoken fondly of you. Even Bjorn. They believe you have the power to sway Ivar's fickleness."

"Ivar wouldn't forgive any of you so easily. He wears his hurt like armor." Artemis says with a sigh.

"Your Christian ways give you a soft heart. Help him to forgive whatever transgressions he feels we have commited. Is it not the Christian way to forgive?"

"There are no Christians here besides Heahmund," Artemis mutters, jerking her head towards the bishop now in deep conversation with Geirdis.

"Oh?" Torvi blinks, "You are no longer Christian?"

"You sound surprised."

"Should I not be?" Torvi answered, "Last I saw you, you wore a cross on your neck. Everyone was surprised Ivar let you keep such a thing." Her blue eyes shift down to Artemis's collarbone, finding not a cross, but Mjölnir, hanging from black cord, "But...his fondness for you was no secret. You follow our ways for him."

"I have my own reasons why," Artemis says, "And I am still learning your ways." Torvi smiles at this.

"I made you out to be something useless in my head," She admits, and laughs when Artemis scoffed, "I always thought ill of you, though I had no real reason other than you being a Christian."

"You sound like Floki." Artemis mutters.

"Will you help us take Hedeby?" Torvi had expectant eyes twinkling like little sapphires. Artemis stares at her, not fully trusting her, but the plan sounded decent. Bjorn could rule over Hedeby in Denmark, while Ivar ruled in Norway, far enough away from each other to avoid personal conflict, but close enough to help each other as allies.

"I need to know I can trust you." She says firmly, "I do not wish to be betrayed or made a fool." Torvi nods in understanding, letting go of her daughter and reaching to pull off a silver ring from her finger. Taking it gently in her hands she holds it out to Artemis, the silver shinning brightly.

"This ring has been in my family for over 3 generations. It was my mother's, and her mother's before her," She motions for Artemis to hold out her hand, and when she does, Torvi places it firmly in the middle of her palm. "A symbol of trust and loyalty. I shall like to be friends one day, if the gods see fit. You are an extraordinary woman."

It was Torvi who Artemis regarded as an extraordinary woman. She was a fierce shieldmaiden and a mother. There was nothing extraordinary about a foreign blacksmith. Artemis stares down at the ring in her palm, admiring its beauty. She bites her lip, closing her hand into a tight fist.

"I swear upon the gods," Torvi finishes, putting her hands over Artemis's fist.

"I accept your oath, Shieldmaiden," She says firmly, "I will bring it to the King's attention."

Torvi smiles brightly, and that alone made Artemis's mood lift.

...

"No."

"But-"

"No, I do not wish to discuss it any further." Ivar grunts out, already annoyed at the stubborn look Artemis was producing.

"Ivar, I have the right to speak."

"Yes, my love, you do, but not on this matter." He rolls over onto his stomach, one eye peeping at his wife putting on her nightgown, quite angrily if possible.

"You're stubborn." She mumbles loud enough for him to hear.

"You think this is the type of talk to be had after sex?" His voice is muffled from shoving his face into a pillow. Artemis's eyes lingered on his bare back, noting how his skin glistened in the candle light. His muscles were lean and tight, and not what she should be thinking about at the moment.

"I think it's a good start, yes." There was a smile in her voice, Ivar could detect it.

"No."

"Ivar." She whined, moving away from the window and jumping upon the bed, her fingers already gravitating to touch the tight lines of his back.

"Artemis, do you intend to torment me as much as my brothers? Come, lay beside me." He lifts an arm up, still laying on his stomach, but turns his head slightly to pop open an eye, using it to convince her. It was enough. She sighs, snuggling in under his arm. She turned her head to gaze at his tired features, the one eye already drooping in the tell tale sign that sleep would soon evade him.

"My love," She says softly to him. He frowns, though his eyes still remained shut, "Will you not at least negotiate?"

"Stop. You sound like Hvitserk," He whines, "He is the last thing I want to think about in these moments."

"Your brother is smart."

"He is a fool. Nostalgia eats away at him."

"He misses his family," Artemis frowns, "I can relate."

"I'm sure you are not related to any traitors as I am."

"Well, what if it was your mother who had killed Lagertha, and Bjorn were to take revenge on her? Would you not have defended your mother?"

"That is not what happened." Was his simple reply. Artemis rolls her eyes.

"But what if?" Ivar remains quiet, feigning sleep, and doing a very bad job of it. His lashes flutter slightly until finally he peeks up at her. She was frowning and he sighs.

"What would you have me do, hmm? This isn't a simple matter. This is about power, Artemis. I will not risk being made a fool nor betrayed over a failing town."

"A failing town that could rise into prominence with our help! Hedeby has some advantages, does it not?"

"Mmm, I don't care," He groans out, frustrated, "How do you know so much about Hedeby all of a sudden?"

"I talk to the people, and the people talk to me."

"Well, don’t ." Ivar says stubbornly now rolling on his back, as if his missing touch would keep her quiet. He stares up at the slanted roof of their chambers in silent thought before speaking.

"I did not marry you for any political reasons, nor did I marry you for the supposed strategies of politics you think you possess. I married you because you have a pretty face and look lovely as a Queen. You are just a blacksmith, not a dignitary." It was quiet for a few moments, and Ivar knew the wheels were turning in her head, but he did not bother to turn towards her.

She says nothing still, quietly getting up and wrapping herself in her furs before leaving their chambers in silence.

...

"Where's your shieldmaiden? You shouldn't be out here on your own, it's dangerous." Artemis scoffs, turning to look over her shoulder. Bjorn put his hood over his head to block the cold, though he made no movement to approach until she allowed him too. She jerks her head so that he may come closer.

"Dangerous? You are already here, that is the only danger I need to be worried about." He chuckles, smiling as he leaned against an ancient tree and crossed his arms. They were near the entrance of the Great Hall, which is probably why Artemis decided it was fine to be alone. He takes note of a hammer hanging on her side from a belt around her waist. Ahh. That was why.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Artemis."

"I would hope not, I'm trying to help you despite our history." She replies. She doesn't turn round to look at him, her focus taken up entirely by the full moon that shone over Kattegat.

"So you'll help us?" She could hear the snow crunching under Bjorn's boots as he goes to face her, "You've spoken to Ivar then?"

"I've tried..." Artemis sighs, tightening her cloak, "But he won't have it. He'd rather insult me." She could taste the bitterness of the words on her tongue.

"My little brother has a way with words. That should not have escaped you." Bjorn says just as bitterly. She sighs again, placing a cold hand on her brow at the oncoming headache. She sniffled, and a few tears escaped her eyes but she quickly wiped them away, not daring to cry in front of Bjorn. If he noticed then he did well not to mention it.

"I am well aware of Ivar's attitude," She says before clearing her throat, changing the topic, "How is the cabin I had prepared for you all? I hope you are comfortable." Bjorn smiles. She was acting every bit a queen.

"It is quite comfortable despite all the guards. We thank you. I came hoping to speak with Ivar again, but-"

"Try your luck tomorrow, he will not hear you now."

"Or ever," Bjorn mutters, and Artemis cracks a smile.

"I...am sorry about your mother," She says to him, "I seemed to have been involved in her death." The words came out awkwardly as she realized how horrible the situation was. He makes a noise before replying.

"I saw you shoot the arrow," He says, and he almost smiled at the look of horror on her face, "I heard you are quite impressive with a bow," His eyes shifts to the weapon on her waist, "And skilled with a hammer, of course,"

"Bjorn..."

"It was fated by the gods," He interrupts, though he swallows thickly, "Let us speak of it no more." Artemis eyes him wearily, but nods.

"Why don't you come and visit the cabin? I'm sure you're tired of the bishops company." He offers.

"I don't think that's wise, Ivar-"

"Hvitserk is already there. You can bring the shieldmaiden if you'd like." Artemis ponders for a moment. Perhaps it wasn't that bad of a suggestion, and she really didn't want to be under the same roof as Ivar anyway.

Let him sleep alone for the while.

...

"Ivar sent scouts searching out for weeks," Artemis says. She sat close to the fire, Heracles laying beside her. In her hands was a warm cup of mulled wine she had brought for them, "Where did you go?"

"Perhaps it isn't wise to reveal such information, in case we need it again.” Mutters Torvi beside her, gently petting Heracles's wrinkly head.

"Does he follow you everywhere?" Ubbe asks, eyes glued to the giant beast. He's never seen a dog of such build before.

"Basically," Hvitserk answers for her, "He killed Dabria."

"Dabria?" Bjorn perks up at the name, stepping over to him, "My mother's shieldmaiden? I thought her dead."

"And we thought you might have sent her. She attacked me." Artemis replies, turning her gaze to him, "There are those who still support your mother even in death. That is why Ivar doesn't trust you."

"Because he thinks we rally supporters." Ubbe finishes with a sigh, sitting beside Torvi and placing an arm about her shoulders. Both Hvitserk and Artemis notice this but say nothing of it.

"It is a rational thought, I suppose, even for Ivar." Bjorn says, rubbing the stubble of his shaved yellow hair.

"Too much has happened between all of you for Ivar to willingly offer assistance," Artemis says, "He would need something to prove your loyalty. All of you."

"Like what?" Asks Torvi.

"I've been studying with Headmund." Artemis begins, the tone in her voice has everyone on edge.

"And what has the bishop been teaching you?" Hvitserk asks with narrowed eyes. He was civil with Heahmund, but did not trust him as fully as Ivar did.

"The laws of governing in Wessex."

"You don't mean to rule Kattegat like those foolish kings of England?" Bjorn snorts with a shake of his head, "Ivar would never allow it."

"No, no, nothing of the sort," She says quickly, watching everyone grow weary, "It is only to understand their ways for any plans in the future. Ivar still controls York, meaning we will encounter the King at one point."

"You clever girl," Hvitserk grins, moving from the table to ruffle her hair like a child, "You have the makings of a queen." She slaps his hands away, producing a smile, but it falters, remembering Ivar's words.

"At least you think so." She says quietly.

"So what do their politics teach you?" Ubbe asks.

"You won't like it," She answers, turning to look at both Torvi and Bjorn before continuing, "When kings and noblemen demand loyalty to be proven from an enemy, a ward is issued...like a hostage."

"What are you proposing?" Torvi demands, losing interest immediately in the mastiff. Artemis stays quiet for a moment, her eyes shifting between Bjorn and Torvi again before landing on their youngest daughter, sleeping soundly beside her brother. Everyone's eyes follow hers.

"No, no, I forbid it!" Torvi yells, though low enough to not wake the children.

"You mean to make Asa a hostage?" Bjorn demands, crossing his arms. He too was angry, though he did better to control his anger.

"How can you propose such a thing?" Hvitserk shakes his head, "To take a child from their mother?"

"You had no problem taking me from my father," Artemis snaps, her eyes flickering over all of them as they fell silent at her word. "Just listen to my reasoning." She commands, her voice more stern than ever before. Ubbe reaches over to place a hand on her shoulder in comfort. Even after all this he wished to show her kindness.

"We're listening," He says, sighing when Torvi shrugs his arm off her shoulders.

"If Ivar were to take Asa as a ward, she would be under my care. She will be safe with me. Unfortunately, it is the only other way I can think of, and I believe there is a chance Ivar would agree to it."

"Holding her hostage would be holding us hostage. He'd have us by the throats." Comments Bjorn, turning to walk to the farthest corner of the cabin.

"Any word of disloyalty and betrayal, any wrong move, and you risk her life." Artemis says, lowering her eyes in shame. It was not something she wished to propose, but it was the only option she could see succeeding.

Suddenly there was a pounding on the door, and Torvi rushed to the children in case they woke in fear.

"My Queen, it is the King and his men." Tordis says hastily.

"It was a matter of time before he came for you," Bjorn says, "Go, we will discuss this further in the morning." Artemis stands with a sigh, Heracles already jumping to his feet, his eyes glued to the door. He recognized the sounds of Ivar's crutch and braces, and it made his tail wag in excitement.

"Will you come, Hvitserk?" She asks him, and he nods, downing his wine before making any movements. He goes to hug his brothers and Torvi, and Artemis nods her farewell.

"Have a goodnight, Queen Artemis." She hears Bjorn say before opening the door.

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @leilabeaux @jzr201 @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @rastakami23 @ostra814 @zumzum96

#vikings #ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #vikings ivar #ivarxofc #alex hogh andersen #ivar the boneless

[shythesheep]

The silvertounged fool and his golden hearted king Chapter 2

content warning: Violence and slavery.

Kanen had kept Merlin bound for hours, the boy had not been quiet and small whimpers of restrained loss had been coming from him since the beginning of the trip. In an attempt to quiet the child, Kanen had yelled and cussed at him, but it had only worsened it. He had then let one of his men, Janus, tend to the boy. The man was big, had battle scars littered all over his face, and long dark hair that was tied in a ponytail. If anything, the man looked scary, intimidating even to the likes of Kanen. Non the less, Janus was the most loyal of them all and he had children of his own, so his brutish heart felt for the youngling in their midst. The child had been reluctant to take comfort from a stranger, who had mere days ago ripped him from his mother’s love and everything that he had.

Kanen scoffed as Janus cleaned Merlins face for mud and sweat with a wet cloth before helping the boy to drink and eat some stale bread.

“Don’t give him too much, we don’t want him to end up spoiled before we sell him”

“None is spoiled by the merest of kindness Kanen.” The man rumbles before ruffling Merlin’s dark locks. Kanen huffs, but doesn’t say more, even he knows when to stop, at least when it comes to Janus.

“Get him back on the horse. We’ll need to ride again if we wish to get a deal done while Cenred is still residing in Essetir.”

“Ah yes, the young king.”

“He is a rather fickle man to find, with all the wars he is battling, it is a miracle that he hasn’t lost the kingdom yet.”

“He has the war gods looking over him.”

“More like sorcerers.” Says Kanen and pulls himself unto his stallion, the others have also gotten up on their steeds, except for Janus who had to help Merlin into the saddle before himself.

Without all the dirt and the cloth bag over his head, Merlin seems less like a spoil of war and more like a child riding with his father. Kanen cringes at the sight, the boy looks so much as his own, and the fate that he is going to be subjected to is not anything Kanen would let his own be victim for. He meets Janus’s steel gaze and nods. The silent agreement between them is clear. It’s too late now, and if anything, the boy won’t suffer starvation, as he would have had he stayed in Ealdor.

“Better just get it over with.” Mumbles Kanen to himself and kicks the horse into a quick paced trot.

v•v•v

Merlin is sore. His hands are red from the cold, his legs feel heavy from all the riding and his movement being restricted by the ropes. All the nicer of the men, the one he is sitting with, has readjusted the ropes, so they aren’t as tight as they were in the beginning, and at night the man had also removed the once on his legs. The man’s actions are confusing to him.

In the distance Merlin can see tall walls of grey bricks and he sits up straighter in the saddle to better be able to see it. Nothing of the likes of it has he ever seen in Ealdor. The wall is at least 3 horses tall, from what Merlin can see. Kanen sees Merlin’s open mouth and wide eyes and laughs at the boy’s wonder.

“It is the works of the last king of Essetir, Cenred’s father.” Says Janus, his voice is low, and Merlin can feel it rumble of the man’s chest on his back. “It has stood for over three decades, countless of foreign soldier have lost their lives at the roots of that wall.” He says this with a tender smile. “I know so, because I was once a guard, standing at the top of said wall. I still hear the screams of those poor sods.”

“You killed people?”

“Yes, as a young soldier it is expected of you, I’m no innocent man boy. You should know so much.”

Merlin simply nods, his small head still not capable to comprehend the concept of killing. Death isn’t something he is unfamiliar with. Many children of Ealdor has died as well as adults. His mother always thanked the gods when Merlin miraculously got healthy after a bad wave of fever spreading through the villages. For some reason he always got lucky, never staying sick for long. Much unlike the other children and the elders.  

When they are close to the wall, Merlin can see that he was far from right at his estimation of its height. It is now clear to him that it is at least five horses tall. He gets dizzy as he gazes up at it when they ride through the big iron barred gates.

People move just barely out of the way as the horses walk through the streets. Janus and the others step down and guides the horses on foot, only Merlin is left in a saddle. His eyes are round and flicker through the masses of people, the sounds of chatter and the smells from the market is overwhelming. He spots an angry donkey that whines loud enough to make him cringe, and as the angry owners small whip hits the donkey he winches as had he been hit himself. He makes eyecontact with the donkey, and a feeling of warmth overtakes him, he reaches out with his bound hands, his eyes glow and as he wished the rope holding the donkey falls looslsy to the ground. The donkey kicks out with its hind legs and throws a thankful nod towards Merlin as it runs in a frenzy through. The streets. Merlin laughs but stops as he is ripped down from the horse and his shoulders are being shaken harshly.

“Boy! Never do that again or gods help me you’ll get a pounding worse than any you’ve had before.” Hisses Kanen, spit flies from his mouth and on to the Merlin. His eyes wide and his mouth open in shock.

“I- I ju-“

“no, never do it again. You are worth a lot but not so much that I’ll let you do reckless stuff like that, that can potentially make me lose money.” Kanen shakes his shoulder again. “Never do it again, understood?”

“Yes.” Merlin mumbles and without another word he is lifted back onto the horse. For the remainder of the ride, he stays quiet and with his head hanging low. His shoulders sore and his childish soul bruised. Silently he doesn’t regret his actions, but like magic his feelings shall stay hidden inside his mind.

v•v•v

“The king will see you now.” A prudish old man in dark clothes and a funny looking hat bows for them and guides them through the dark halls of the castle. Tapestries filled with the king’s banner, that has the motif of a dark horse, litters the halls. Painting it in a blue color. It is Kanen himself that pushes Merlin through these halls, as the others weren’t allowed entrance. Merlin can feel the nervouse energy radiating from Kanen, and it only intensifies the longer they walk. Merlin himself is calm as ever, his mind still trying to catch up on all that has happened in the last span of days. The only thing his child mind seems to be able to focus on is his empty stomach and how he’d wish his mother were here.

“Wait here.” The prudish man with the funny hat, opens a dark oak door and goes behind it, leaving Kanen alone with Merlin. Kanen quickly crouches down and grabs Merlin’s chin to make the boy look him directly in the eyes.

“Listen to me boy, be quiet in there unless spoken to and when spoken to say my lord in the end of your sentences. I have no idea of what manners your heinous mother has taught you, but you better show the king respect if you want to keep that head of yours.”

“King Cenred bids them welcome in his halls.” The prudish man is back, with his silly hat and all. He opens the door wide and lets Kanen and Merlin step into the giant hall. The first thing Merlin notices is all the torches and the lone figure sitting straight on the dark throne. The man has a slight stubble, and a few scars that is partially hidden behind his long dark hair that shadows his face.

“What have you brought me Kanen?”

“A sorcerer my lord.”

The king laughs and smirks arrogantly as he points at Merlin.

“That looks like a mere boy to me, nothing of the likes of a sorcerer.”

“He has magic, my lord, strong magic for someone so young, he needs no spells or charms to make things do as he wish.”

“Really?” the king’s posture changes, and he leans forward looking more interested in Merlin now. “Why demonstrate your powers for me little sorcerer.” Merlin bites his thumb and looks up at Kanen, and when he doesn’t catch the man’s gaze, he looks to the floor and shuffles with his feet.

“mnot allowed.” He mumbles. “my lord.”

“Why yes, you’re allowed. Your king commands you to show your powers.” The king’s tone isn’t unkind, but there is weight unknown to Merlin behind those words. Whatever he chooses to do, Merlin knows that it will decide his future.

“Come on boy.” Hisses Kanen, low enough so the king won’t hear it. Merlin closes his eyes and lets his inner eyes see the butterflies of the forest from Ealdor. He sees their blue wings flicker in the air as the birds chirp around them. The sun is making them glister in its rays of light. He opens his eyes, and the gold overtakes the blue of his iris, blue butterflies sprout from his open palms as rosebuds and they fly out into the dark room.

A loud laughter fills the quiet hall. The king claps his hands loudly and slowly. His face having been overtaken by a gleeful smile.

“Kanen, Kanen. What a sorcerer you have gotten me.”

#bbc merlin #merlin fandom #merlin fanfic #merlin #arthur #merthur #whump fic #emotional whump #fantasy

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 12

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3,191 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Also on ff.net and AO3. Note: I haven't actually read either of the books referenced in this chapter, but they came up when I was doing research and seemed to fit so I threw them in there.

Scars are souvenirs you never lose The past is never far Did you lose yourself somewhere out there Did you get to be a star

We grew up way too fast And now there's nothing to believe And reruns all become our history

-Goo Goo Dolls, "Name"

————————– 

Then. On Monday, Tim went to the library as usual once classes were over, but with a different purpose in mind than simply secluding himself in studies.  …That is to say, he wouldn’t be by himself this time. He wondered why he even agreed to this. That knock on the head must have scrambled his judgment – that was the only explanation he could think of for permitting himself to be possessed by such an insane notion. When he reached the agreed-upon meeting place though, there was someone else sitting at the table instead of the person he expected.  She had short, pitch black hair – sleek and strict – a style resembling Annie’s but with a widow’s peak; far darker bangs parted in the center, pulled back taut by a barrette. In addition, her skin was much more pale in comparison, emphasizing midnight mascara and lips.  Both her chin and slanted eyes were sharper, piercing pupils snapping up from her book to stare straight at him with such intensity he flinched on instinct.  He’d never seen anyone react so immediately to his presence. “Uh… Hello?” She eyed him with suspicion, silent and unmoving.  Statuesque. “Sorry to bother you, but… I’m supposed to be meeting someone here soon…” Again, no response. Tim didn’t know what to do. He thought about just giving up and turning tail (hey, can’t say he didn’t try at least), though somehow the prospect of presenting his back to her seemed like a dangerous idea.  He was about to retreat in reverse by slinking slowly into the shadows – safety – of shelves when a pair of hands suddenly emerged from behind him, blocking his vision. “Guess who~?” “Gah!” He whirled around in a panic, almost about to punch the invader to his personal space when he saw it was – of course – Stephanie.  The librarian sternly looked up from the counter at the loud disruption and pursed a finger to her lips, shushing. “Fuck- don’t do that,” he hissed with a sibilant shiver, clutching his rapidly beating breast. “…Sorry,” she whispered back, contrite. “It’s okay,” he muttered with a heavy sigh.  “Just give me some warning next time.” Meanwhile, the seated spectator was still watching the two intently, stony view shifting back and forth between them.  Tim felt even more uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze, and was about to suggest they move to someplace else when Steph waved to the glum girl in gleeful greeting. “I see you’ve met my roommate,” she chirped as she bounded over, cheerfully clasping hands on the sculpture’s stiffened shoulders.  “This is Cassandra, but you can call her Cass.  She doesn’t say much, but she’s a nice girl.  I hope you don’t mind if she joins us for today.” As she briskly babbled introduction in lieu of the stranger herself, who still had yet to speak, Tim felt he was starting to understand how Steph was able to put up with his own severe lack of social skills. “Um… Okay.  Sure.” “Awesome.  I’ll be with you guys in a sec, just let me finish shelving these books.” She bustled off again, leaving Tim alone with Cassandra before he could even say anything. Defeated, he laid his bookbag on the table and took the chair diagonally across from her, not wanting to remain directly in her field of vision.  She continued to follow his movements closely though, keeping sight trained on him as if a hawk tracking its prey – rigid and unwavering.  …It was starting to seriously creep him out. “So, er… What’s that you’re reading?” He blurted out in a feeble endeavor to fill conversation. Mechanically, she raised the cover so he could see.  Judging by the winged figure in frilly jeweled fashion painted next to a medieval knight, both holding what appeared to be fanciful masks, it looked like some kind of fantasy young adult fiction novel. “I… see.  Is it interesting?” She simply nodded, before (blessedly) returning attention to her reading material. … Can I go now? As the suffocating silence stretched on, Tim wasn’t sure if the situation was any better than before. Though her scathing appraisers were now fully fixed on the page in front of her rather than him, they didn’t seem to be making any progress.  …Which he supposed only made sense, given the orientation of the subject. …Should I let her know she’s holding that book upside-down? To his surprise, a rosy tint developed on the other’s complexion as she subtly flipped the tome to the correct position.  Odd, he was sure he hadn’t said that statement aloud.  …But then, reality was such a fickle thing these days. Yet, even though the volume was righted, her focus still didn’t seem to advance at all.  He mused idly if she was actually absorbing any of it. Don’t tell me she can’t actually read. “I can read.” Tim startled at the unanticipated answer.  …Okay, this was really getting weird.  He definitely hadn’t said anything that time.  Given that the supposed responder still hadn’t budged an inch, he began to doubt whether he was really hearing things… Before he could decide whether to inquire further out of sheer curiosity, Stephanie conveniently showed up at that precise moment, arms inflated with textbooks. “Back!  Sorry about that.” She plopped the heavy publications and herself down, insinuating cozily between the two, apparently without noticing the aura of awkwardness permeating the air. “Shall we get started then?” “Y- yeah.” Tim cast one more confused look at Cassandra before attempting to apply concentration to his other company instead.  It was difficult when said study partner’s own awareness kept wandering though, growing bored and fidgety within minutes.  In the corner of his periphery, he could sense the third party’s irises still peeking at him from over the pages as well, albeit remaining mute throughout the entire period. By the end of the (exhausting) hour, Tim had managed to at least hammer in a few concepts.  As they finally stood up and started gathering their things, Stephanie sheepishly apologized for her short retention span, and promised she’d be more attentive next time.  Meanwhile, Cassandra quietly shut her text and rose, maneuvering fluently – like lighter fluid, hazardous and almost undetectable – around the desk to approach Tim.  To both his and Steph’s astonishment, she leaned in alarmingly close, lifting delicate digits to lightly touch his forehead.  He swallowed apprehensively as she scrutinized his mystified expression, as if searching for something. After a bewildered beat, she lowered her hand, and placed the paperback she had in his. “Here.” He blinked at her in bemusement. “Read it.” She merely instructed, before departing without another word. “…What the heck was that about?” Steph pondered, scratching her hair. Tim shrugged.  “Beats me.  You know her better than I do.” “Yeah, but I have no idea why she does stuff sometimes.”  Stephanie paused, contemplating with a half-anxious, half-amused countenance.  “Hey, maybe she likes you.” Tim blushed, busying with packing away his possessions again. “Yeah, right.” … As he lay on his dorm bed later though, looking at the lent item against the light, he reflected on the strange glance and gesture she gave him.  It wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced before.  It was as if the cold contact infiltrated deep into his soul, chilling to his very core… Conner came in then, bearing a broad grin. “Yooo Timbo, so how’d it go with that girl?” Tim shrugged, sitting up. “…She brought her roommate along.” The other boy elevated an eyebrow. “Dude.  That’s a bad sign.  Inviting someone else on the first date means you’re totally in the friendzone.” “I told you, it’s not a date.” “What is it then?” Tim exhaled, shaking his head. “…I don’t know.” Conner crossed over to clap a thick paw on Tim’s shoulder. “Lighten up, man.  You’ll win her over, don’t worry.” He elbowed with a wink and cheesy thumbs-up, and Tim rolled his retinas, but didn’t say anything. Conner’s eyes caught the object in the other’s lap, and he plucked it up without warning, wrinkling his nose as he examined the lacey title. “The Black Swan?  Since when do you read chick lit?” “It’s not mine,” Tim defended hastily.  “Steph’s roommate told me to read it.  Now give it back.” Tim made a swipe for the article, but Conner easily kept his extended muscle out of the shorter one’s reach as he flipped teasingly through the embarrassing narrative, reciting passages aloud with gusto. “‘Odile watched her father's back, swallowing involuntary bitter tears of disappointment and rejection, feeling her head droop a little as her heart sank with dejection.’” “Will you shut up?” “‘If she could have wept, her tears would have burned furrows down her face, so bitter were the dregs of degradation that she drank at that moment.’  …God, who writes this stuff?” Tim grimaced as he made another desperate effort to grab at the entity.  In the midst of their scuffle though, two tags secretly tucked into the spine slipped out from between the sheets, landing at their feet.  They both blinked and bent down to pick one up each, puzzled by the bizarre bookmarks. They were playing cards. Conner glimpsed up from the Ace of Clubs he was holding towards Tim, whose eyes were expanded wide with shock and – horror? – as his hand began shaking. “Hey, you okay, man?  What’s wrong?” Gulping, Tim gradually rotated the thin cardboard around to reveal its front: not a number or face… but a Joker. Anger and concern promptly carved onto Conner’s visage. “What the hell is this?  Some kind of sick joke?” Tim said nothing, as he peered down at the scarlet diptych design of mirrored angels and demons on the backside to find a brief note written in bold, black marker: Park.  4PM. Biting his lip in baffled frustration, Conner revolved his own cue around to discover a much longer message.  His brow furrowed as he tried (rather unsuccessfully) to pronounce the alien language it was inscribed in. “‘Rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno’ – what is this, French?” “It’s Latin,” Tim clarified.  “’A rare bird in the lands and very much like a black swan.’   It likely refers to a recent theory published by Taleb.  It’s a metaphor to describe an event that comes as a surprise, that’s hard to predict since it’s beyond the realm of regular expectations, and has an extreme major impact as a result.  Afterwards, it is rationalized by hindsight, as if it could’ve been anticipated if the relevant data were available – but this only becomes apparent in retrospect.  The phrase itself was coined by the ancient poet Juvenal, back when people thought black swans didn’t exist and that such an abnormality was impossible. It was only later proven wrong when the first one was discovered in 1697.” Conner blinked vacantly at Tim, looking as lost as he always did whenever the other went off on an encyclopedic (if perhaps slightly pretentious) tangent. “So…  What does it all mean?” “I don’t know,” Tim admitted as he took the pair and headed determinedly over to his computer, booting up the system.  “But I’m going to find out.” He navigated to the browser window – keeping a weather eye on the worrisome memo as it unwillingly brought back bad memories – and did some digging. … By the time he was done with his research, the hour of summons was fast approaching.  He snatched his jacket and was out the door before Conner could even get a word in edgewise, racing towards Gotham Central Park. As soon as he arrived there, he stilled for a second at the entrance gate, surveying the tranquil scene of people walking casually to and fro: lovers holding hands, families enjoying late afternoon picnics and games of Frisbee or Fetch with their pets, children running joyfully to their parents across the grass – the latter giving affectionate hugs and pats before sending off with smiles to the playground, all while keeping a careful watch on their precious bundles from a distance. Tim spotted Cassandra sitting by herself on a swingset towards the outskirts, exuding a gloomy atmosphere that likely aided in deterring any nosey youngsters. He neared cautiously, observing her glide like a gentle pendulum for a while, before she slowed to a stop and looked at him finally. “You came.” Dispensing with preliminaries, Tim cut straight to the chase. “How did you know who I was?” Cassandra smiled softly. “The way you move – it resembles him.  No openings, always on guard, not a single wasted motion…”  She then added in a hush: “Plus, I read your mind.” Her head declined in apology. “Forgive me.  It’s not something I normally like to do to others, especially to someone I’ve just met. …There was such a dark cloud surrounding yours though, I- I couldn’t help it.” She dragged a heel through the dirt. “Besides, you know who I am now, don’t you?” Tim sat down on the swing next to her, repeating everything he had learned based on his hunch. “Several years ago, the Joker broke into a Cadmus facility in Arizona. He released five metahuman kids, who had been abducted from their families shortly after birth and raised as secret weapons for the government.  He took them on as his own protégés, calling them the ‘Royal Flush Gang’.  The strongest of them was named ‘Ace’, who possessed telepathic powers the likes of which the world had never seen before.  …’Ace’ reportedly died not long after of a brain aneurysm in the presence of Batman, who was the only witness, in a park not unlike this one.” Cassandra merely nodded affirmatively. “…He helped you fake your death, didn’t he?” “It was the only way to free me completely from Cadmus’ clutches.  Otherwise they would keep hounding me forever.” She gripped the chains bitterly. “He sent for an expensive foreign doctor who performed the surgery in secret.  Afterwards, he gave me a choice: I could stay and be a part of his team, or I could live peacefully on my own. …I chose this.” Tim afforded her an odd look, thinking how close he evidently could’ve been to having an actual “sister” his age. “…I’m guessing ‘Cassandra’s’ not your real name either.” “It is the name he gave me.  After the Greek prophet from mythology.” “Can you actually see the future?” Tim questioned, genuinely intrigued. Cass regarded the horizon, as if squinting into some sort of far-off void. “What I see are… ‘possibilities’.  Infinite paths our lives could’ve taken, had we made different choices.  If just the slightest factor changed course.  ‘Alternate realities’, if you will.” She told him, about a world where there weren’t just two Robins, but a third Robin and then a fourth, a world where Barbara was the one shot and paralyzed instead of Dick, where Joker lived and he died and came back to life and his name wasn’t Tim it was- “Stop.  I’d rather not hear any more.” Tim prolonged a palm to halt her crazy-sounding speech, grasping his aching skull in the other. “I’m not saying I totally understand or believe you, but basically what you’re saying is… ‘Something’ was bound to happen sooner or later.” “…If that is how you wish to interpret it.” She removed her limbs from the links, resting on her legs instead. “I am sorry, for what he did to you.  The… things I saw inside his mind, they were so terrible, I should’ve known better than to leave him be.  I… should’ve ended him when I had the chance.”  Her knuckles clenched, impressing into her thighs. “Even though they trained me to use my powers to kill, I- I couldn’t.  I didn’t want to.” Tentatively, Tim reached out to wrap his own hand soothingly around her wrist. “Hey, that’s not on you.  It’s not your fault.  None of it was your fault, including-”  He hesitated. “-What happened with your parents.” He heard an abrupt wailing coming from the court where a kid had tripped and fallen from the bottom of the slide, scraping her knees on the wood chips.   Her mom and dad hurried to her side, cooing and consoling as they stuck numerous kisses and band-aids with colorful cartoon kitties and pretty princesses on them to the boo-boos.  Turning, he saw there were tears rolling down Cassandra’s cheeks as she unfurled her fist, knotting fingers into the comfort of his. While her nails were startlingly long, she took care not to wound his flesh, closing just tight enough to exchange warmth. “You and I… are similar.  I don’t mean just because of Joker either.”  She meditated off into that empty space again.  “The two of us are anomalies.  Outliers.  Outsiders. We don’t fit into the grand scheme.  We’ve always been… ‘different’.  We don’t ‘belong’.” Tim wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about.  But he took a stab at alleviating the mood anyway. “I guess you could say we’re… ‘Wild Cards’?” She stared at him. “…Sorry, bad joke.” And people say I’m humorless now. Cass looked a little put-off as she pouted, and he winced, remembering she could hear what he was thinking as well.  He swiftly opted to switch the topic instead. “You cannot tell Stephanie about any of this.” “I don’t intend to.”  Gray eyes narrowed with gritty resolve as her voice dropped to a grave mumble, digging her toe into the earth and gravel.  “Someone like her should not know of the horrors we’ve been through, the darkness that we come from.  The number of evil sins we’ve committed.  …It will only lead to causing the same kind of pain in the end.” Her face contorted obliquely as she said this, ominous and foreboding. Breathing out, she monitored the fading violet brightness of the sun as it started to set. “Stephanie… is light.  A ray of hope.  She’s the first person I’ve met who wasn’t instantly afraid of me, but accepted me right away for who I was. She’s the first real ‘friend’ I’ve ever had.  …I would never do anything to hurt her.” She looked down at their connection, as if realizing the implication just now, and nervously began to relinquish.  Tim didn’t let go though.  Something she had said triggered a thought in the back of his conscience, and he stood up, coaxing mildly. “Come on.  There’s someone else I think you should meet.” Timidly, she trailed after his tow.  Whilst they stood there waiting for the bus, he overheard a passing elderly duo remark wistfully on that “cute young couple”, which in turn urged him to be the one to impulsively liberate this time.  As they both coughed and avoided each other’s eyes, Cassandra spoke up in a somewhat troubled tone. “There’s… something else I should mention.” “What?” “When I… looked into your subconscious, I saw an even greater darkness buried deep down.  I can’t explain it, but… I fear it may consume you someday.”  She frowned in vexation at her inability to identify, to express.  “…It bears strong resemblance to him.” Though he was afraid to ask, Tim did so anyway. “Who?” She gave him an ambiguous look, constricted and conflicted dots overwhelmingly obscure. “Both.”

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And now we're grown up orphans That never knew their names We don't belong to no one That's a shame But you could hide beside me Maybe for a while And I won't tell no one your name

#TimSteph #Tim Drake #Timmy Todd #Stephanie Brown #Cassandra Cain #Conner Kent #Batman the Animated Series #Batman Beyond #DCAU #Return of the Joker #fanfiction #starstories #getting meta up in here #in more ways than one #fun fact: this is actually a harem story #*shot* #jk #apologies to anyone who was expecting a faithful representation of Cass #this is my headcanon and I'm stickin' to it #*flees*

[dicebox]

The Pit

How you have fallen from heaven,        O morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cut down to the ground,        O destroyer of nations. Isaiah 14:12

The demon was toying with her in the darkness

A hissing cackle echoed down the dim tunnels, sounding from every shadowed corner at once. The arms of Jillian’s coat were shredded and bloodied, the skin and muscle underneath only marginally less so. The lamp in her offhand swayed with her heavy breaths, but her gun was still held rigidly aimed up.

“Word-speaker.” The demon’s voice echoed down the tunnel as Jillian delved deeper into the darkness. “Light-bringer. I knew you would return." 

Jillian’s breath hitched quietly as she forced a rigid calm upon herself, shining her lantern about, but there was nothing to be found in the empty mine tunnel. Her wounds ached and stung, but with only two rounds left in her revolver, she had not even found a hint of the demon’s spilled blood upon the stone. The only sign of life to her eyes was the dried blood of long dead miners, any further sign of their bodies utterly lost. But grim resolve, and a thrum of heavenly fury in her heart, pushed her onwards.

"Tell me, how far does the trail of blood reach this time?” Its voice was dangerously eloquent. Almost human. “How deep did you soak the ground?”

“THE DARKNESS IS NO WARD AGAINST HEAVEN’S LIGHT.” The Word boomed in return from Jillian, as she whirled about yet again, firing into the darkest of the shadows. The radiance burned inside her, flaring up as the darkness deepened.

But the burst of golden light only illuminated an empty mine shaft, just long enough to bare the shadowed outline of something monstrous scuttling along the cavern wall, only for it to disappear as the darkness swiftly returned. 

No matter how true her aim had been, every single shot had only struck stone.

“Ohohohoho… my heavenly friend, I do not come from the darkness. My origin is not so far from yours. Did He not tell you?“ The demon wheezed with a mocking laugh. "It is the light that gives me shape. You see things so… how do humans say… so black and white. That is why the humans flee from you, is it not? Is your radiance not too shining? Too pure for their fickle souls? Will you not burn through this one soon enough?”

Before Jillian could retort, whether by her own voice or otherwise, a sudden wind rippled through the tunnel. There was the briefest sound of a heavy footstep against the stone floor  before claws raked across her arm once more. She staggered, hissing a curse, spinning about with her lantern raised as she tried in vain to find the creature. But the tunnel was empty once more, shadows flickering across the walls, a horned, hunched form flickering along the stone, swiftly disappearing into the shadows once more.

"The light cannot touch me.” It taunted. “Your bearer’s weak flesh-mind cannot comprehend me. Its ancestors paid tribute to me in blood and gold, and you think it will save the rest of its pathetic kind?” 

“You can’t hide from me, demon!” Jillian shouted, in her own voice. She didn’t have time to think about the demon’s taunts, even if she were to be so foolish as to give them credence. The steady, wet dripping of blood soaking her coat’s sleeves was an aching reminder of what little time she had left. If she faltered now, she would suffer the same fate as the miners who had awoken this creature. Soon enough, the demon would no longer see fit to merely draw out her pain. 

“Quiet, human! I do not speak to you, I speak to it! The light hiding in your bestial excuse for a soul! You are nothing but a vessel! I will carve it from your chest and that power will rebuild my kingdom.” 

“I AM THE WORD. THERE IS NO ALPHA, THERE IS NO OMEGA. THERE IS ONLY I, THE FULFILLMENT OF THE NEW COVENANT.”

The power swelled up fuller in Jillian’s chest, until she could feel as if her ribs were pushing out against her chest, as if there was something inside her heart desperate to be free. Desperate to strike out. Light flared around her, from nowhere and everywhere, but the darkness around her only swelled through the tunnel in turn, rising above her, and starting to collapse down.

As the darkness crested up against the ceiling and crashed down upon Jillian, the light still blazed defiantly, and she began to suffocate. 

With her last breath caught tightly in her chest, Jillian turned about yet again, but still she could not see anything but the darkness, just barely held back by her meager lantern, and a burning, heavenly light radiating from herself. The shadows roiled against that light, like a sea of darkness, and every tremor of it crashing onwards left her chest searing with pain. She couldn’t tell whether it was her lungs withering from lack of breath, or her heart bursting at its seams from the fire within. 

"Do you not know the brightest fire casts the longest shadow, light-bringer?” The demon’s mocking snickers echoed around her. “You have no power here, word-speaker.”

The shadows crawled across the tunnel, pushing the light back inch by inch. The sound of heavy footsteps drew closer. 

With her last breaths, Jillian whispered to herself, “I walk through the shadow of the valley of death… I fear no evil, for Thou are with me.“

She closed her eyes and reached inwards. Grasped gently at the light within herself. Wrapped her fingers around it, forcing it to snuff itself out, until there was only a spark hidden in her hand. Her chest burned all the more painfully.

The only light left was the lantern in her hand. Jillian raised it up and threw it onto the floor. The clatter of broken metal and glass echoed through the tunnel. 

Her eyes opened, but it was as if they hadn’t. There was nothing before her but a void of black. She couldn’t even see the gun still gripped tightly in her hand.

But the pressure crushing at her lungs faded and she forced herself not to gasp too desperately. The darkness surrounded her wholly, chilling her now that the fire was no longer raging from herself, but it was no longer clashing against the light, with her frail form trapped between the two forces.

A hungering hiss echoed around her. And then, the sound of a heavy footstep. Another footstep, behind her. The first hint of a sickly warm breath upon the back of her neck. 

Jillian whirled about, drawing her knife, and swiftly burying the blade through thick scale, and deep into the meat underneath. The demon howled, frozen in surprise for the briefest of moments. Even so close, Jillian couldn’t see its face, but she could feel hot, stinking breath upon her face, its maw looming over her. That was where she fired her last bullet.

There was no invocation, save for the crack of gunpowder. The demon’s shriek swiftly fell to a wet, choking gurgle. Claws fumbled against her shoulders, but with no strength left to bite down into her flesh.

"If you were so powerful,” Jillian hissed, her voice tight with pain and fury, “You wouldn’t be hiding down here like a rat. You still hide from the light of the sun. From the light of Heaven." 

 “We…are legion.” The demon wheezed weakly before her, barely able to speak through its shattered maw. “I… shall return.” 

"Begone.” She whispered in her own voice, and tore the blade down through its chest. Foul blood splattered across her, but she paid it no mind as she heard the demon topple back.

Then, silence. 

With a ragged breath out, the last of her strength gave way, and Jillian slumped to her knees. Her gun fell from her hand as she strained to draw in a heaving breath. Even without the demon’s malign presence it was so, so cold. The darkness lingered, still sapping at her strength, draining her as surely as her bloodied wounds, urging her to collapse, and never rise again. She shivered hard, hugging at herself, eyes twisted shut as she struggled to focus. The fire in her heart was weak, guttered by the demon’s shadow and her own efforts to restrain its burning radiance. 

But a spark was enough. Jillian forced in a hoarse breath. 

“LET THERE BE LIGHT.”

And there was light.

#Fic #Deadlands #jillian cain #submission

[emailme]

Fields of Vesuvia

Hi! This is a writing piece for the wonderful @nebula-nights, involving his apprentice Artery Woodworm and Julian Devorak. I really did love writing this!

The flower I chose is “Abatina”, meaning “fickleness”. I hope you enjoy reading!

Thank you to @fieldsofvesuvia for hosting this event :-)

Full piece under the cut.

❀ Abatina: Fickleness ❀

A rumbling sound of a groan permeates through the room. Artery realizes, a bit belatedly, that the noise came from him. 

He runs a hand through his hair and looks at the ceiling above him as he pulls a blanket to his side, absentminded. Artery’s been waking up much too early these past few days, probably due to the voyage he’d taken across the seas. Everyday, around dawn, someone had to be awake to adjust sails and make rounds around the ship. He’s still getting his “land legs” back from the cruel, cruel ocean who stole them.

Artery looks to his right and sees the love of his life. Typically, on days such as this, he would stay under the covers, and sleep till the sun had made its journey halfway through the sky. That was when he was alone, though. At this moment, he’s filled with the urge to fix up some breakfast for him and his husband. It’s an odd feeling for sure, but still, he rises from bed. He tosses his now discarded blanket over his husband’s sleeping form. 

He stretches and cracks his back. He senses pressure on his right shoulder, and glances to see a small, black bat perched on him. “Hey, Orion.” He scratches his familar’s ear, as Orion lets out tiny squeaks in contentment.

His mind now at ease, Artery heads out to the kitchen. Ideally, he’ll scramble eggs and toast some bread with butter. Realistically, he’ll only manage the bread part. As he rummages in the cabinet for ingredients, he feels an arm snake around his waist, and lips kiss his head.

“Morning, Julian,” he murmurs, pulling a tub of churned butter towards himself. “Sleep well?”

“Of course I did, love. I had you at my side.” Julian gives him a lopsided grin.

“No matter how many times you say that, it’s still just as sappy. I hope you know that,” Artery says. “I’m making breakfast. Do you want some?”

Julian frowns. “Oh, no, no, no, that won’t do. Put that butter knife away, dear Arty, we’re going out to eat.”

Artery turns his head to stare at him. “You do understand the concept of morning, yeah? I’ll bet any places we go to will be closed.”

“Oh, it’s not that early. And I’ve been having a hankering for, ah, pumpkin bread from the baker you introduced me to.”

He shrugs in response. “Sure, we can head for the marketplace. Right now, though?”

Julian kisses the top of his head. “I’ll get changed,” he says, not really answering Artery’s question. Instead, he retreats to his quaint privacy screen near the dresser. A little bit unnecessary, if you ask Artery. Regardless, he begins putting ingredients back into their respective cabinets.

He grabs his scarf that’s resting on a nearby chair from the kitchen. He lets Orion down from his shoulder with gentle fingers onto the kitchen table. Orion squeaks in protest. After wrapping the cloth around his neck, Orion flies up and secures himself in the folds of Artery’s scarf. In the snug spot, the bat promptly falls asleep, and Artery knows he’s ready for a day out.

-

“Two loaves, Selasi?”

The stout man behind his stall looks towards the sound of his name. He grins brightly upon seeing Artery and Julian. “Hello! It’s been awhile, Arty. You boys didn’t get into any trouble out on the high seas, did you?”

“Not beyond a reasonable amount, good sir,” Julian says.

Selasi lets out a deep belly laugh, eyes crinkling. “Yes, yes, of course. Two loaves of bread, you said?”

“That’s right.”

Selasi gets to work on their order in the bakery. Out of the corner of his eye, Artery notices Julian tapping his fingers on the counter of the bakery stall in rapid fashion. Even so, he doesn’t comment on the nervous behavior he’s come to recognize from being with Julian over time.

This continues until Selasi delivers their order. Julian wastes no time in stuffing the bread loaves into a pouch as Artery pays Selasi for his work. He notices Julian straightening his back and looking ahead at another market stall, which seems to be selling coats. Before Artery can ask him if he wants to check out the wares, the sight of his husband has already migrated to his peripheral vision.

Selasi hums. “Still a slippery one, eh?”

“I suppose so. I don’t mind, though.”

“Well, stop wasting your time here, and make sure he doesn’t get himself into any trouble.”  He laughs, and turns away from Artery to serve another customer. Artery takes his advice and catches up with Julian, who seems to be haggling with a coat vendor for a particularly expensive piece of cloth.

“Julian.” Artery taps his shoulder from behind, causing him to jump in surprise.

“Yes, love?”

“I… Never mind. What are you up to?”

Julian quickly updates Artery on the situation at hand: He had just bought a linen coat, but the coat feels much more cheap than it was worth. Now, he’s fighting for his money back. Artery smiles in amusement at this new information.

“Well, it all sounds very important, Julian, but I think we should clear out.” He nods his head towards some customers who are looking increasingly agitated, murmuring to each other and narrowing their eyes at the offenders. Unfortunately, it seems that Artery is now considered to be Julian’s accomplice. He tugs on Julian’s arm until he understands Artery’s urgency.

“Alright, alright.” Julian smiles at him with a raised, wicked eyebrow. “Why don’t we take a little visit to a friend of mine? Down in the Red Market?”

“Yes, I’ll go wherever these people aren’t.” He fiddles with his pouch-necklace. Artery isn’t one for having strangers dislike him, especially when he’s done nothing to offend them.

Before he can blink, Julian’s leading him towards the Coliseum, hand on Artery’s lower back. “So, do you have a specific place in mind?” He asks, seeming to have forgotten about the argument he was just engrossed in with that vendor. “We can browse wares, we can stop by the bar… Oh, do you know my friend, Yula? She’s a wonderful lady, makes the best- simply, the best- coffee I’ve ever had. I should introduce you two…”

Julian rambles like that for a while, with Artery jumping in every now and then, until they reach their destination. “Ah- we’re here,” Julian says, interrupting his own anecdote (something about a weasel stealing medical tools?) and looks at Artery, grinning sheepishly. “You don’t happen to remember where the entrance is, do you?”

Artery hums in response. “No, but give me a second. Let me focus…” He closes his eyes, takes steady breaths, and attunes himself to his surroundings. His mind clear, he lets his feet take control of his walking path instead. When he feels it appropriate to open his eyes, he’s in the middle of the Coliseum, like the last time they were there. He crouches down to feel for the hidden hatch, until a significant bump hits his hand. He opens what he believes to be the hatch, and there’s the ladder.

“Ah!” Julian grins in delight. “Wonderful job, darling. I wasn’t worried for a second. Shall we go?”

-

“Yula! Dearest, could you get me and this lovely vision-” Julian gestures towards Artery, “-some black coffee?”

“Of course! On the house.”

“No, no, I insist-”

“What’s your name?” The market vendor ignores Julian’s response. The woman is short, with defined laugh lines across her cheek, and looking at Artery.

“Ah, uh, my name’s Artery. Most folks call me Arty, though.”

“Well, it’s a delight to meet you, Arty.” She hums, picking up her mortar and pestle to grind coffee beans.

He shifts on his bar stool and clears his throat, not entirely sure of how to handle such direct friendliness. It reminds him a bit of when he first met Julian- he likes it, but wasn’t expecting it. Especially not in a Red Market coffee stall. Artery feels a hand on his, and looks to see Julian looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, rubbing his thumb over his palm. “Are you doing alright, Arty?”

Artery tilts his head. “Of course. Why? Is something wrong?”

Julian bites his lower lip, and opens his mouth to answer, but is interrupted by the clanks of two mugs on the counter.

“Hot and fresh! Black, just the way you like it, Ilya. And Arty, I wasn’t sure about you, so I added cream if that’s alright?”

Artery nods in confirmation, and feels the comforting presence of Julian’s hand leave his own. He glances to his right, only to see Julian standing up. 

“Ilya, got somewhere to be?” Yula asks with a playful lilt to her hoarse voice.

“No, no, I just don’t want to stick in one place for too long today,” Julian responds. “Arty, dear, are you coming?”

Artery stares at Julian’s fidgeting hands. Something’s wrong, but he can’t understand what. Quite frankly, it’s beginning to bother him. Despite that, he nods, and stands up from his stool. “Thank you for the coffee, Yula!”

“Yes, yes. Come back anytime. Take care of yourselves, boys.”

Julian mock salutes, turns around, and walks with his chest out to an unknown destination.

As Artery keeps up with Julian, following him through twists and turns in the underground marketplace, his mind gets away from him. Why is Julian acting like this? Yes, he has a tendency for fickleness, not wanting to stay in one place before getting nervous, but he hasn’t seen him like this while they were married. Is it something that’s happened? Did he not tell Artery something important? Is he trying to-

Artery’s thoughts are halted by a sharp pain in his right ankle. He stops walking and hisses as a reflex, crouching down to look at it. It seems like he cut it on a nearby stall selling various appliance, which had sharp cutlery sticking out of a basket on the ground. Which is pretty hazardous, at least to Artery.

Before he knows it, Artery is being hauled up and carried, bridal-style, by his husband. “Hey- it’s not that big of a-” He stops his sentence upon noticing Julian’s deep frown and knitted eyebrows. Julian sets him down in a corner of an alley, and pulls his injured ankle into his lap to examine it. As he mutters to himself, running his gloved fingers over the deep cut, Artery sits up  further. “Hey. Hey. Look at me, Julian.”

Julian seems to be pulled out of his own thoughts, staring at Artery in surprise. “Uh, yes?”

“What’s going on with you?”

He frowns in response. “We should focus on your injury. It’s not serious, but it’s a deep cut. I’m going to have to disinfect this as soon as we get home. Ugh,” he stops to run a hand through his hair, “I should’ve been paying more attention. I shouldn’t have let this happen-”

Artery moves Julian’s hand away from his ankle. “Stop that. Whatever it is that you’re saying… I don’t want to hear it. My ankle can wait. What’s happening with you today?”

Julian puts his moved hand to his face instead. “Ah… It’s going to sound incredibly stupid. But, uhm. You know, recently, I’ve been worried about. Well, about you.” He looks at Artery through his fingers.

“What about me?”

“I just…” He sighs and takes his hand away from his face to crack his fingers. “I don’t want you to be bored. When we got married… I wanted every day to be an adventure for you. I didn’t want… I didn’t want our, uh, little flame to fade away, if that makes any sense. I didn’t want our relationship to get worn out. So I guess I tried a little too hard to be exciting today, but…” He gestures vaguely towards Artery’s injured ankle. “Well, see where that got us.”

It takes Artery a second or two to fully register exactly what Julian is confessing to him. At least Julian’s strange behavior is starting to make much more sense. He bites his lip, trying to properly word what he wants to convey to Julian.

“Look, I, I love married life. Regardless of whether every day is an ‘adventure’,” he accentuates with air quotations. “You don’t need to worry about whether it’s boring. It’s perfect, no matter what we’re doing. I…” He takes a deep breath. “I was a little nervous marrying you. I love you so much, but I think I was worried- was worried about if I’d be enough for you? It seems silly. Anyway-” he shakes his head, “-My point is that I love you. A lot. That’s what I mean to say. Please don’t feel like you’re not enough, or that you need something more to keep me satisfied.”

Artery managed to avoid eye contact with Julian the entire time he spoke, and still maintains that record even after he’s finished unspooling his emotions. It was starting to get silent, so he tries to break the awkwardness. “So, that’s my little spiel.”

He feels a hand on his cheek, and looks to see Julian pecking him on the forehead. He kisses him again, on the top of his head this time. He continues this with various parts of his head until Artery lets out an undignified giggle. “I-” he says between kisses- “love you-” a kiss on his tattooed hand- “with all my heart-” another one- “and soul.” Julian finally kisses him properly, on the lips. Artery hums and smiles into the kiss, and pulls away.

“Oh! I almost forgot. Hey, give me a second.” Artery pulls his ankle back from Julian’s lap, and puts his hand over it, summoning enough energy and strength to patch up the cut magically. It takes a minute or so, but it works, luckily. He looks up to see Julian staring at him in awe.

“I love you.”

Artery laughs, and kisses Julian’s cheek. “Let’s get back home, huh?”

❀

#fieldsofvesuvia2k19 #the arcana game #the arcana julian #the arcana oc #the arcana fanfic

[curtklingermanposts]

Overwhelming Evidence

The Funny Thing About Evidence

  Evidence can be a funny, fickle thing. Even though it can be clear and precise, it can be ignored or misinterpreted. To be sure, there can be a lack of any evidence; and yet, someone can take something minuscule, vague, out of context, and call it evidence. The optic behind it may be determined by the heart of the beholder. It can depend on how honest someone is with his or her self, and others.

  Whatever a person’s world view will greatly shape how he interprets things. As believers, we are called to renew our minds, because our thought processes can interfere with receiving God’s truth in the way He wants us to receive it. It is important for our way of thinking to align with His.

  That being said, when someone misinterprets evidence, it doesn’t necessarily mean he is being dishonest. It means he seeing things through a specific lens that discolors what’s being seen. One example would be someone’s upbringing greatly affecting his viewpoint. Something to remember, should you be tempted to be frustrated with someone who just doesn’t see things your way.  

  There are those who reject truth, and no amount of evidence will sway them. Truth holds people accountable, and many want to do their own thing without consequence. This is one reason some call themselves atheists. Not to worry, this will not be a lesson on apologetics. It is something, however, to consider if you should find yourself pushing back when you hear truth.

  Hebrews 4:12-13 For the Word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in His sight: but all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of Him with Whom we have to do.

   Similarly, truth tends to challenge people to think differently and make changes. Hence, another reason some overlook evidence that contradicts what they believe. Truth can shake things up, especially if you’re comfortable.

   Another aspect about evidence is that God places much of it before us. He gives us reasons to believe and to walk by faith. It’s not about having blind faith; in fact, there’s no such thing. Faith comes by hearing and hearing by the Word of God (Romans 10:17). Faith requires God to manifest Himself, before it can legitimately be called faith. He calls to everyone, and provides evidence of His existence, as well as the legitimacy of His Word.  

Evidence Revealed Visually

  Romans 1:18-21 For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because that which is known about God is evident within them; for God made it evident to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse. For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks, but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened.

  This verse reiterates some things just mentioned, and also reveals the reason for the wrath to come. For the moment, let’s focus on evidence. Creation itself, screams there is a God. Nature reveals it’s the God of the Bible; not some empty manmade god. Here is one single illustration to underscore this point. By the way, there are innumerable examples.

  Have you ever wondered why the most terrifying animals on the planet are afraid of man? How is it we have dominion over creatures much larger than ourselves? Many of which could easily destroy us. The Bible gives us the explanation.

  Genesis 9:1-2 And God blessed Noah and his sons and said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth. The fear of you and the terror of you will be on every beast of the earth and on every bird of the sky; with everything that creeps on the ground, and all the fish of the sea, into your hand they are given.  

  Of course, earlier in Genesis we were told we would have dominion over all that inhabited the earth (Genesis 1:28). The Word is very specific with things beyond man’s reasoning. In short, humanity on its best day couldn’t come up with these things. And yet, there’s another piece of evidence: our capacity to reason. After all, we were created in His image.

Remember the Evidence

  Many of us can testify of things God has done for us. Which is also evidence of His love. Should things get dicey in life, remember the evidence. It serves as a reminder of what He said in His Word.

  Hebrews 13:5 For He hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my Helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.

  Matthew 28:18-20 And Jesus came up and spoke to them, saying, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

www.perfectfaith.org

#PerfectFaith.

[myspiritsong]

23/06/18

Seeking Christ in the midst of the storm

当我软弱 你没有离场 你安慰我 在爱里坚强 仍会跌倒 仍会失信 在羞愧里 你找到我 做我永远的依靠

耶稣 我感谢你 从恩典内 找到自己 在你手中 破碎��可完美 你��能 疗愈我心扉

Had been having some troubled thoughts for a while now - what a bad time to have such thoughts considering that there are quite a few things that I really need to focus on now. It is not that I no longer believed in Him... Fatigue and discouragement have clouded my senses to see Him clearly. Like Elijah, I wanted to hide away. 

I confided in my mentor and a close friend of the despondency that has been encircling me. I’d try to rationalise some of the thoughts away - thoughts that cause shame to trickle into my heart.

How could I allow these thoughts to invade my mind? 

Now I feel that I’m stuck in a rut, in a miry clay, unable to budge. I wanted so much to be alone, but I decided to account to my mentor about it after much deliberation. I know I can’t do this alone. I can’t allow pride to stand in the way. And partly because I know that the reason why I feel the way I do is pride and the desire to establish my worth and value in anything else but Jesus. Even if sin is part and parcel of this earthly life, I cannot allow it to sap the life of God that makes its way to thrive in me.

Sometimes when the thoughts in your mind overwhelm, they suffocate the desire to even flip the Bible to find His promises.

But God has ever been so faithful, even as I am so faithless.

I found the answer to my thoughts through this line of Scripture:

Philippians 1:21 “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”

At that moment, everything made sense. 

What am I really here for? Am I just here to live, earn my keep, start a family perhaps, and then die? Like a flower quickly fading, a vapour here today and gone tomorrow?

I am but dust. 

I know life is not easy and troubles may come, and I’m just passing through temporary doors till I come before the King face to face. One day, this too shall pass - my dreams, my desires and my passions. Then the question is, how now do I live my life unto Him as an offering? As fruitful labour? 

Surrender is a happy exercise. 

If all of heaven sing for the One who made it all, there is power in praise. Rightly so, because He inhabits the praises of His people and calls forth praise from the lips of children and infants. Having been brought up in a very typical Chinese/Canto household, songs sung in these languages hit very close to home. Having said that, I want to believe that one day, I would be able to say, “As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

在羞愧里 你找到我 / In my shame You found me

在生命中 你永远是唯一 / In my life You will be my sole desire 求你满足 我的渴慕 / May You satisfy me completely 

Like David, I want to be a (wo)man after God’s heart. If God has made me this way, and put me here, then I want to be the best that I can be in Christ, seeking no other thing but only chasing after His glory. 

What big words. My fickle-mindedness mght just bring me elsewhere tomorrow... But at least for today, this is my heart’s desire that He would fulfill the desires of my heart. 

He is still faithful to save.

And because He is faithful, teach me to number my days and live wisely.

[kentthewolf]

Are You Above Average ? 🧠 Check Out These Personality Traits — You Might Be, According To Philosophy

“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence is not an act, but a habit.”

 — Aristotle

To live well is to move toward existence with the correct methods of philosophy. 

Success, happiness, and a life well-lived are not secrets. There is no magic recipe, hack, or trick to them. There are the timeless habits and characteristics that have stayed valid for thousands of years and will stay genuine forevermore. 

The best exercises we can apply to our lives have just been sorted out, and have been repeated by philosophy again and again, for a long time. Why? because they are true and they work. These instruments of individual power have had a significant effect for extraordinary individuals for quite a long time, and can have a similar effect for you. 

12 Attributes of Above Average People 

1. They Respect — And Exercise — Their Power Over Their Reactions 

" It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters." 

— Epictetus 

You, me, everybody has control over their actions — in the event that they so decide to focus on dominating the habits. This guideline for action and perception is a core value of stoic philosophy.

We don't control what happens more often than not. We can't handle markets or climate or traffic or the behavior of others. Yet, we can generally control how we react, and history's best perceived that is the thing that issues most — that it's not what occurs, but rather our reaction, that decides our direction, our outcomes, and our lives. 

2. They See Happiness As A Decision, Not A Goal 

" A man’s as miserable as he thinks he is. " 

— Lucius Annaeus Seneca 

As Abraham Lincoln would later repeat, “ we are as happy a we make up our minds to be”. As corny as it sounds, happiness is a choice, but the vast majority transform it into a restrictive prize. 

Cash, career achievement, they certainly play a part, however, what ends up happening to CEO’s and celebrity stars when they feel miserable? there's obviously more to happiness than that. Money and Materialistic Things can only content us so much. There is an inner perspective, and it is this: to allow yourself to be happy.

3. They Listen More Than They Speak 

" Practice really hearing what people say. Do your best to get inside their minds. " — Marcus Aurelius 

Listening is a ground-breaking ability, and to listen to somebody, to really listen, is the characteristic of an above average individual, for the vast majority are bad bad listener despite the fact that they might think otherwise. 

As Epictetus stated, “we have two ears and one mouth so we can listen twice as much as we speak”. To stand separate from the rest, we should be good listener and selective speakers. As Tim Denning composed, “there is power in saying less.”

4. They Have A Vivid Direction In Life — And A Purpose 

" If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable."

— Lucius Annaeus Seneca 

What are you doing here? What is your purpose? What is your raison d'être? 

Individuals who transcend the standard, who accomplish their own extraordinary type of significance, know the responses to those questions. Having a clear, defined reason, has the important effect of organizing your effort, bringing your power to bear on something tangible, consistent, and directed. — Dale Carnegie.

However numerous individuals try, but go around circlers, failing to have the life they desire. It is as Marcus Aurelius wrote in his diary: “People who labor all their lives but have no purpose to direct every thought and impulse toward are wasting their time — even when hard at work.”

5. They Are Truly Kind 

"Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness." — Lucius Annaeus Seneca 

Kindness is the characteristic of an incredible soul, an honorable heart, and is in fact a quality seen by philosophy as a strength as opposed to a weakness, as many people refer to it. Not false kindness, not egotistical kindness that has many strings attached, but rather the valid, solid, genuine consideration that gives without expecting anything in return.

Marcus Aurelius, in his time the most impressive ruler of Rome, composed that ”kindness, as long as it is without flattery or hypocrisy, is unconquerable. It is a strength to be valued and nourished.”

6. They Do Not Rely On Luck 

"I was once a fortunate man but at some point fortune abandoned me. But true good fortune is what you make for yourself. Good fortune: good character, good intentions, and good actions." 

— Marcus Aurelius

Luck is an extremely fickle lady. The best luck is simply the one we make for ourselves. Luck assumes a part in certain successes, without a doubt, yet the majority of the world's greats say otherwise, they were not by some coincidence, but rather by the simple formula of: blood, sweat and tears.

Seneca, the incomparable Roman stoic philosopher, once said that “no one has ever been wise by chance. Few are exceptional by chance either”. The vast majority wait around for luck to improve things, overestimating their luck. The above average don't stand by. They get up and make their own — through the correct character, the correct intentions, and the correct actions. 

7. They Are Intellectually Humble 

"It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows.”

— Epictetus 

The mind is only as receptive as it is humble . Somebody who thinks they know it all, who accepts that he is instructed to the point that he shouldn't be educated, isn't just foolish, but an incalculable moron. As Epictetus, and numerous philosophers have instructed, an above average individual is the person who acknowledges the limits of his or her knowledge, and doesn’t care about being correct, but simple for the truth.

“If someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake in any thought or action, I shall gladly change. I seek the truth, which never harmed anyone: the harm is to persist in one’s own self-deception and ignorance.”

— Marcus Aurelius 

8. They Practice The Art Of Contentment 

" Any man who does not think that what he has is more than ample, is an unhappy man, even if he is the master of the whole world.” 

— Epictetus

Wealth is not just money.

Wealth is a mindset

Philosophy has since quite a while ago perceived this fact, which today has gotten extremely well known in the personal development field. Particularly in our consumerist culture, an ever increasing number of individuals find that their assets are not sufficient, and continue pursuing more — rather than understanding that the genuine disease is inside, in their minds. 

Epictetus, who was born into slavery, said that wealth comprises not in having extraordinary belongings, yet in having not many needs. Also, when asked who is rich, he said this: 

"He who is content." 

Anybody can want more and more. It takes an above average individual to dominate the craft of happiness. 

9. They Are Not Ashamed To Ask For Help 

“Don’t be ashamed to need help. Like a soldier storming a wall, you have a mission to accomplish. And if you’ve been wounded and you need a comrade to pull you up? So what?” 

— Marcus Aurelius

Requesting help takes strength. Being straightforward with yourself as well as other people, to know when you are up the creek without a paddle. It takes a specific measure of humility to admit this, yet it is additionally a demonstration of strength — Aurelius, as solid as he was as Rome's head, perceived this quite well, thus can we. 

10. They Take Full Responsibility For Their Lives 

"You have to assemble your life yourself — action by action. And be satisfied if each one achieves its goal, as far as it can. No one can keep that from happening.” 

— Marcus Aurelius

One of the foundations of above average individuals is taking responsibility — for their lives, for their careers, for their personal development, for their successes and failures, for their bad behaviors, everything. What's more, as Marcus stated, no one but ourselves can make our own lives, no one but ourselves can make our dreams come true.

Nobody else can get you to where you wish to go. Others can help you, indeed, yet everything starts, and ends, by your actions, your will, your goal. You should take responsibility and create a life step by step. 

This implies not accusing others or circumstances as well. It implies not stooping so low as to point the finger at others, which is a misuse of energy.

“Small-minded people blame others, average people blame themselves, but the wise see all blame as foolishness.

— Epictetus

11 They Radically Protect Their Focus 

"The value of attentiveness varies in proportion to its object. You’re better off not giving the small things more time than they deserve. " 

— Marcus Aurelius 

Our focus is just as significant as what we put it on. Numerous individuals squander their focus on unimportant details, on amusement and interruptions rather than their legacy and blessings to the world. Above average individuals respect their focus, secure it, and fundamentally guarantee that they focus around what matters most. 

12. They Are Filled With Love 

“If you wished to be loved, love." 

— Lucius Annaeus Seneca 

A live without love incomplete and empty. Possessions, success, power, fame —  mean nothing if you live in it alone.

“There is no enjoying the possession of anything valuable unless one has someone to share it with.”  

— Lucius Annaeus Seneca 

Above average people are filled with love for others, and are not afraid to show it. So for those we share our lives with, as Marcus Aurelius wrote, let us treat them with love, real love.

You do not need to be a billionaire to be great.

As tacky as it sounds, all you need is love. True love.

#personal development #mindset #mindblown #philosophy #smart #read #longread #life #life quotes #quotes #motivational quotes

[kickassfu]

The Cursed Treasure

This was my contribution to klaroline winter wonderland for the wonderful @honestgrins I’m really happy you liked it ^^ I have to thank @garglyswoof for all of her incredible help on what stuff was missing and what fit or not, @gooddame for helping me out how to end the story and giving me ideas, and @austennerdita2533 for being excited with me lol Couldn’t have done it without u guys!

On AO3 and FF.

The Cursed Treasure

It almost seemed like a choreographed dance, with their feet light and fast, and their swords clashing. A duck here, a feint there, round and round they went, neither of them winning the fight. It mattered not that the ship was being blown all around them, or that the blood of their dying companions seeped into the wood as they kept their focus on each other. She wasn’t about to die over a moment of distraction, and apparently he was even more cold-blooded than she - not a speck of worry etched into his features, but a touch of delight and madness shone through his blue tempest eyes. Somehow in the midst of death and fire, he seemed to be having fun, and if she were to be completely honest, so was she.

“Caroline, the ship is sinking, we need to leave.” her first mate yelled as she stabbed a soldier in the chest, but as much as Caroline would like to leave this hellish wreck, she wasn’t about to turn her back towards him , it would mean instant death.

“Caroline is it? How delightful.” he said, never stopping his attack.

“Captain Caroline Forbes, pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d rather leave the epilogue to this story for another time.” she answered, parrying his sword with style, and smiling all the while.

Taking a step forward, he parried her strikes until her back was against a wall; their faces so close their lips almost touched, he whispered “I’m not very much into leaving things to chance I’m afraid, so I don’t think I’m letting you go so easily. I quite enjoy you love.”

“I apologize, but I don’t feel the same,” she shrugged and headbutted him hard enough he stumbled back, without giving him a chance to get his bearings, a pirate from behind him hit his head with the hilt of his sword knocking him out.

“So being the pirate I am you’ll have to forgive me for not playing fair. Bye, random soldier, you were slightly entertaining.” Caroline said unapologetically, and as she walked away from the sinking ship she blew him a kiss.

XXX

- 3 Years Later -

The bar was full; yelling and cursing abound, pirates and less respectable folk hanged around making their messes and getting drunk - the usual merrymaking with the casual fist fight, after all their blood ran hot and their brains slow. Caroline sat in the corner, drinking peacefully and not minding the usual ruckus - completely alone with her thoughts - although her crew was never too far from her. Some of them were scattered throughout the place always keeping an eye on her - lest she make trouble and the wrong person ended up dead or worse .

Pirating had been her life since she was but a child, thriving in it, loving it. A deadbeat man who happened to be a semi-famous pirate didn’t make for much of a father, but in turn she got a big family - yes, they were pirates, rough and mean, but they loved her as if she was theirs and took care of her when her parents didn’t. It was no wonder she followed their lead, gained as much knowledge as she could and went her own way; some of them sticking with her when she put together her crew, some stayed with her father, and others she had met along the way, becoming as important to her, as any other crewmember. So of course, everyone was protective of their Captain, mostly because she was the one that kept them all together, and for most, their savior and family. They would lay down their lives for her faster than the rum runs out on a pirate’s ship, because they had no doubt she’d do the same for all of them.

So when a man approached her, they all took notice and were ready to jump in, if necessary , but he didn’t seem to care about how they stared at him, and Caroline almost smiled at his carelessness. Not even looking up, she took another sip of rum and ignored him.

“This is a rather glum welcome for someone you almost killed, I think I deserve something a bit more exciting, wouldn’t you say love?”

That voice - she knew that voice - it stuck with her for some unknown reason. The way it coiled around someone’s heart in its fake innocence, and squeezed it until it stopped, was something unforgettable. No matter how brief their encounter had been, she had never managed to shake him off, “I kill a fair amount of people.”

“I bet you do, but it seems you failed to do the same to me.”

Looking up she rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t trying to kill you, if I was I would have stabbed you, but I didn’t . At most, you can say I left you to die.”

“Ah yes, how truly kind of you.”

“The point is moot, you’re alive and well, aren’t you? If you came for a rematch, sorry to say I’m not in the mood.”

“Not at all, I just came to pay a visit. I couldn’t forget you, and now that I’m going to spend more time in your waters, and hopefully will run into you more often, I just thought I needed to pay my respects.” smirking, he winks and mockingly bows, “Goodbye love.”

“Captain Caroline Forbes!” she insists; Caroline wasn’t a fan of the pet names, and she deserved recognition for who she was, and what she had accomplished.

“I would think you’d rather be called Captain Caroline Sparrow , but I guess I was wrong. Not a fan of your dad I suppose, guess we have that in common.”

“Who are you ?”

“I’m Klaus, just a lowly pirate.” he said, walking away, and leaving her in utter confusion.

A navy man turned pirate, and someone that knew who she truly was? Klaus was proving to be more dangerous than she had anticipated, and she was slightly intrigued. Whether he was friend or foe, Caroline would figure out eventually, and if she was being honest she was looking forward to meeting him again. Klaus , a lowly pirate he was definitely not. No worries, they’d meet again.

XXX

“Are you sure this is the right Island?”

After weeks of sailing they had reached their destination. The voyage had been rough; the winds had been against them, the storms almost never ceasing to torment them, and the sea as always, the fickle lover, that gave and took at its whim. It was an enormous Island, - apparently deserted, but you never knew - the trees seemed to engulf the whole island, the sight was slightly terrifying and in part mesmerizing, although the energy surrounding it was ominous and strange. She was sure .

“Yes Bonnie, I’m sure. Believe it or not I can read a treasure map.”, it was a bit old and fragile, but still readable, and Caroline would never make such a rookie mistake.

“It’s not the treasure map I have issues with, it’s that old compass you stole from your dad; it doesn’t even work properly.”

Feeling a little attacked, by how she clung to sentimental things - even if they were pretty useless - Caroline tried to stop that topic of conversation, “You worry too much, you’re a pirate now, live a little .”

“Says the person that likes planning everything perfectly, and gets mad when something’s out of place.”

“I am...flexible.” as Bonnie stared holes into her soul, Caroline gave in, “Fine, I’m just emotionally attached to this compass, and even if it drives me crazy sometimes, I can still work with it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Bonnie smiled, shrugging at her little confession; after all she knew Caroline better than anyone else, and would always be there to make her see reason when emotions blinded her, and to let her be emotional when she closed herself off. It had been a lonely life, before Caroline had found her, and Bonnie wouldn’t trade the freedom of pirating for anything else.

Rolling her eyes, Caroline changed her attention to all of her crewmates, “Gentlemen, ladies, and all in between, we have reached our destination. This treasure shall be ours for the taking.”

“What about the curse? ”

“Enzo, since when do you care? Besides, every treasure is cursed, precisely because no one wants it stolen.” Caroline answered, not in the mood for superstitions.

“Come on Captain, you’ve seen things, you’ve heard stories, from all those years spent on that ship.”

“Even if that were true, for the one treasure that is actually cursed, there are thousands that are not. So we will be going , you can stay and take care of the ship if it pleases you.”

“As if I’d ever let my dear Captain go to dangerous places without me, who will have your back if not me?” Enzo winked at her, he’d follow her to the end of the Earth if he had to. If not for her, he wouldn’t be alive after all.

“Bonnie, or really anyone else, although I can take care of myself too.” Caroline joked.

“Now you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’ll get over it. Pirates, prepare the boats, we’ll be departing soon.”

XXX

As soon as her feet hit the sand, Caroline felt something was off , and drew her sword instinctively. Her crew, as always, following her lead with no questioning. She went forward carefully, not knowing what could pop up, but feeling certain that something would.

What she wasn’t expecting to see was Klaus - and a few other people she couldn’t recognize as quickly - run away from the forest and towards them, with seemingly no intent to battle them. Everyone seemed afraid of something , but not Klaus, he looked intrigued, almost delighted with the situation. Caroline wasn’t sure what they were running away from, but she wondered if Klaus had a death wish, always finding comfort in the midst of horribly dangerous situations. Not that she couldn’t relate sometimes - to emerge victor when the odds were against you, was an indescribable high.

The sight that followed was something completely unexpected, and for some reason - maybe the absurdity of it all - made Caroline laugh. Skeletons, walking - well, running - skeletons were chasing them, and very effectively killing the slower ones. Her crew stared at her in disbelief and she stopped laughing, grounding her feet and ready to destroy those measly bones.

“Hack away at them, until all their joints are disconnected and they can no longer move. And if that doesn’t work, burn them. If that doesn’t work, well...we’ll go from there, if it comes to that.”

“I was right after all Captain, the treasure is cursed.” even Enzo was surprised by the validity of his concerns.

“If the only curse is the treasure being guarded by bones, we’re in luck, because I am not giving up my bounty for something as silly as this.”

“Aye aye Captain.” they all screamed in unison.

Klaus’ eyes and hers met, and he smiled, knowing that somehow she had his back, and if not, she was welcome to try and stab it. Turning around, he started fighting those monsters once again, only one other person staying behind with him, while the rest of those fools ran away.

“This is the last time I listen to you, I told you this treasure was not to be messed with. I warned you. I even showed you a million better things to steal or do, but no, you have to go where you might be killed. Nik, you’re an idiot.”

“Says my reckless little brother. You still came.”

“I thought if you should die, it must be by my hands.” Kol said ducking, swinging so hard the skull of the thing went flying off.

“Thank you, that’s comforting at least.” Klaus grunted, trying to push off two skeletons from him at the same time.

Cutting an arm off, Kol pivoted out of another monster’s way, taking both of its legs off and then its head. By now he was huffing and puffing, tired of this dance he needed more excitement, something interesting to talk about, “This wasn’t just about the treasure, it was about a girl as well, wasn’t it? The blonde tasty little thing you were staring at? You knew she would be here, and wanted to take her treasure, taunt her, and eventually bed her. Not sure you understand how courtship works, but doing that would probably get you a slap, not sex.”

“Watch your tongue, before I remove it.”, Klaus had been growing more irritable with each word out of Kol’s mouth, and imagined it was his face on the skeleton he was currently skewering and smashing to pieces.

“I’d like to see you try.” Kol taunted, the exhaustion almost ebbing away compared to how much fun it was teasing his older brother.

From the corner of his eyes he could see Caroline swing her sword with incredible accuracy, taking down monster after monster, as if she was almost dancing to the sound of the wind. For a second he got distracted by the vision that was her, and got nicked by the rusty sword of one of the skeletons attacking him, not even flinching he kicked the thing back as hard as he could, and kept fighting. Knowing now wasn’t the time to have his attention stolen by the enigmatic pirate, that consumed his every thought.

XXX

Everyone was exhausted, but things had seemingly calmed down; the monsters seemed to be gone for good - but Caroline was not about to let down her guard, not just yet. It had been surprisingly easy to fight off, and she didn’t trust any of it. Suddenly, all her fears came true; people started falling down, for no apparent reason. She had to be strong, to not show any weakness, she was their Captain after all. It wasn’t easy though, seeing her crew, her family, on the sand groaning in pain. Bending down, Caroline checked Enzo’s forehead, it was deathly hot, once again having to swallow her fear, she then checked for any injuries and lo and behold, a scratch on his neck pulsing black.

“How bad is it?” seeing the look on Caroline’s face Enzo continued, trying to lighten the mood, “Is my face still pretty?”

“Was it ever?” she joked along, smiling in relief. Looking around, she saw Bonnie taking care of everyone she could get to, giving instructions to anyone still standing; getting up she gave two soft slaps on Enzo’s face, “I’ll be back, don’t move.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Bonnie was special , there was a little bit of witch in her and if there was ever any problem, Caroline trusted no one better to figure something out. Pulling her away from everyone, Caroline said, faking optimism “I’m here for some good news.”

“Turn around and come back later, I don’t have any for you.”

“Bonnie.”

“It might be poison, it might be mystical, it’s probably a bit of both, and I need time to figure things out.”

“I don’t think they have much, and I’m not losing anyone. Tell me what to do, and I will get it done.”

“We need to leave. If this is supernatural, it will probably be purged from their body when they get far away enough, and I’ll figure a way to deal with the poison. We shouldn’t stay here any longer.”

“People have died, I am not leaving without that treasure. Grab everyone, put them in the ship and I’ll be back shortly. If I’m not here in half an hour, leave.”

“You’re the Captain, we’re not going to leave you stranded here. You have to come with us.”

“I’m the Captain, and I’m ordering you to follow my orders. Do it, Bonnie.” Caroline said, but couldn’t help but whisper her true feelings, “Please .”

“Fine, if you’re not back in time, you’ll swim back even if it kills you.”

“Sounds about right.”

Hugging her Captain, her friend and family, Bonnie whispered, “ Come back. ”

“I will . Go.”

Readying herself, she took one last look at her crew, and walked into the forest of death. They needed this gold, and by the Gods, Caroline would get it. Curse or no curse, her blood was too strong to die here.

XXX

“I’m not leaving without the treasure.”

“Nik, are you daft? We need to leave, you’re hurt and I’m not carrying your arse out of here.”

“I’m fine, I’m not on the ground am I? I’m going.”

“Well then I’m…” Kol’s eyes caught sight of the most intriguing woman, and his basest desires won out, “sadly, not going with you. It seems my help is needed elsewhere. Good luck brother.”

He felt for the poor soul who had to deal with his brother, but at least it wasn’t his problem anymore. Looking around Klaus saw Caroline leave, and followed her. Maybe he’d leave this cursed island not with one treasure, but two.

Jogging to her side he teased her, “Why would you leave without me love? Thinking of stealing that pesky little treasure for yourself?”

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead by now, some appreciation would be nice. The bounty is mine, and I’ll kill you before you get close to it.” her smile was cold, and razor sharp.

“I just thought it dangerous, you walking around all by yourself, what if more skeletons appear, or god forbid, something infinitely more nefarious.”

“Something like you?”

“I wouldn’t ever dream of hurting you.” Klaus said honestly, and the truth behind his words stunned even him.

“As if I could ever trust you.”, Caroline was a pirate, trusting people came sparingly and with difficulty and Klaus used to be from the navy - her enemy .

“I happen to be a very trustworthy chap, ask anyone.”

“You must think me dumb, but that pretty face of yours won’t fool me.”

“You think I’m pretty?” flirting, he stood in front of her face, - his fingers lifting her chin - inches away from her open lips.

Slapping away his hand, she kept walking, “I think you’re dangerous.”

“Dangerously pretty?” he was fairly certain, that out of the two, Caroline was infinitely more dangerous to him than he could ever be to her, but he still felt the pull to her side and the truth of the matter was that he always was partial to a little bit of danger.

“I would rather be attacked by a dozen monsters than deal with you. You’re exhausting. ”

“Then why are you smiling?”

Caroline hadn’t even noticed she was smiling, “I wasn’t, you’re delirious.” after looking up at him she saw how pale he looked, sweat dripping from his forehead in an unnatural way, “Actually, you do appear quite sickly.”

“I’m fine, we have gold to find, let’s move quicker.” it was his turn to try and change the subject, but he doubted she’d let it go.

“Wait a second.” she grabbed his hand - it was hot, and sweating - and pulled him towards her, reaching up to feel his face, “ You were hurt too .”

“You’re imagining things, sweetheart.”

“I bet I could kill you right now, without breaking a sweat.”

“Is that so? Want to bet?”

Rolling her eyes, she kept walking, “Stop distracting me, I don’t have time to deal with you. If you fall down, I’m not dragging you back with me.”

How could she be worried about someone she hardly knew, someone that could be quite irritating and more than a bit dangerous. It didn’t matter, she would keep an eye on him; just her luck having to take care of someone else when she was tight for time.

They walked in silence for a while, until she spoke up again, “Did you manage reach this far?”

“Now you have time for me again? I’m honored.”

“Ugh, fine.” he sounded like a child sulking, and Caroline was not in the mood to deal with anyone’s tantrum.

“No, we were pretty much attacked as soon as we walked into the forest.” he answered truthfully, his words falling on deaf ears as she was so concentrated on her ancient little treasure map.

“There it is.” Caroline said excitedly, her map never once betraying her expectations. It was a waterfall, behind it there was supposed to be a hidden cave, and then X marked the spot. Going in, both of them got drenched, there were several chests, and for one second she got reckless, and walked forward with her guard down. The ground buckled under her, and suddenly she was falling into a pit full of spikes, until a hand grabbed her arm.

“Careful there, don’t go dying on me before our re-match.”

“You saved me.” she couldn’t believe it; not that he had saved her, but that she wasn’t as surprised as she should be. In the depths of her being, Caroline thought Klaus’ words carried weight and honesty - that he’d never betray her, and that made him even more fatal.

“You sound surprised.” he said strained; his fever had been going up and his strength down since they had begun their little adventure, and only with his willpower he pulled her back out.

Caroline lied, “I still don’t trust you.”

Klaus laughed, of course, even after all this, she - a pirate - didn’t trust him . “How are you going to take all these trunks with you? The most I can take right now, is a few coins.”

“I’ll take what I can, as long as I don’t go back empty handed, I’m fine with it.”

Opening up the chests, - carefully - she filled her pockets as much as she could, and filled her sack as much as she could carry; it was heavy, but she could handle it. Klaus on the other hand, couldn’t carry as much, but still took a pretty good haul. Caroline should be thinking that he’d still find a way to double cross her, and steal her bounty, but she couldn’t even fathom it anymore. She was in trouble.

XXX

He was basically dragging himself along, trying to look strong and failing miserably, trying to keep up with her. Suddenly, Klaus dropped to the floor, and Caroline stopped in her tracks, “Get up Klaus, I told you I’d leave you to die. You’re not doing this.”

He was completely unresponsive, and she considered it, she really did - she was a damn pirate, for Gods’ sake - but she couldn’t go through with it. Dropping her very lovely sack full of gold, - she cried a little - and put his arm around her neck, dragging him along with her.

“I will kill you after this, I promise.”

Caroline reached the beach, and they weren’t there. She had taken too long, and now Klaus would probably die. Throwing him on the sand, she sat next to him. She knew he had to have a ship, but he wasn’t awake, and he obviously didn’t have enough time for her to go look for it, and his cowardly friends might have stolen it anyway, so what was even the point?

Waking up, his insides felt like they were on fire, his head as if it was splitting apart, and he thought this really might be the way that he died - how bland . Still, he noticed Caroline by his side, that she hadn’t left him behind after all and smiled, and that surprised him - she did have a soft spot for him after all.

“Sparrow, I have a dying wish.”

“To die by my hand instead? Because if you call me that again, that’s what will happen.”, she half joked; he was still alive, and all of sudden she didn’t mind him calling her that name, it was inconsequential.

“Being killed by you doesn’t sound all that bad. But no, just one kiss from the most beautiful and fascinating woman, I have ever met.”

“She sounds delightful, I’d love to meet her.”

“Caroline, we both know you’re not against it, so stop pretending. I’m dying anyway, it won’t hurt you.”

She felt for him, and she knew kissing him would hurt her for a multitude of reasons, but she couldn’t let him die without ever tasting his wicked lips, and so she granted his wish. Caressing his fevered face, her lips touched his dry ones; it was soft and kind, as if sending him off to the next world with tender love, and not consuming passion.

She regretted it, as soon as someone cleaned their throats behind them.

“I told her not to interrupt, Nik. That you would rather die in the arms of your lovely angel of destruction, than to be rescued, but I couldn’t stop her.”

“You didn’t think I’d actually leave you behind.��

“Bonnie!” Caroline basically ran into her arms, and hugged her.

“Still in pain over here.” Klaus said; his head hurt even more, now that Caroline had basically let it fall helplessly against the rough sand.

“I’ll help.” Kol said tiredly, picking his brother up.

XXX

- A Few Days Later -

“Are you feeling better now?” Caroline asked, feeling his forehead - it was colder now but still warm.

“I’d feel better if you k-”

“Well, I need to go check on my crew, so you have fun.”

Grabbing her hand before she could leave, Klaus laughed, “I’m just kidding love, we have time for that later.”

“I think you’re still delirious.” she commented, sitting back down on the bed, next to his lying body.

“You enjoyed that kiss as much as I did, Sparrow.”

“That only happened because you were dying.”

“Then I will just have to do that, again, and again, and again, until you can be honest with both of us.” he shrugged unconcerned, near death wasn't as terrifying as not being able to be by her side and bask in her light.

“Good luck with that.” Caroline laughed, wondering if his words rang true, and anticipating his future actions.

Their hands were still linked, and he kissed the back of hers tenderly, “We have time, and we both know you value my life more than you do gold, and you’re a pirate.”

If he was offering, she had no reason to refuse. He was right, she had chosen him; his life had more weight in her heart than the gold she needed, and so returning the favor she kissed his knuckles, “Then from now on your life is mine.”

“It has been since the day you almost killed me.”

#klaroline #klaroline drabble #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline winter wonderland #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson #kc #kc fic #kc drabble #mine #my ficlet #my ficlets #honestgrins

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 15- York

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3422

Warnings: Minor violence

14- Propositions

...

Crete was an island of fame in the Greek world.

It is said that Zeus, king of the gods, was conceived and raised there, on an obscure mountain, in an obscure cave. It is said that the fiercest warriors were bred there, fiercer than any Spartan or Athenian. It is said that Crete was the first Greek island that bore civilization in the Mediterranean. They were proud islanders, and yet, it had produced such a stupid woman.

The islands of gods and heroes, of myths and legends, could not have helped such a sorry soul. Such a pity, to have a woman named after a powerful goddess, only to be caught in the web of a heathen from of the North.

She was sure she'd never see her home again.

There was a strained silence despite all the noise they were surrounded by. When Ivar spares her a glance, she tenses at his expression.

"Surely you have an explanation for your actions, hm?" He grits out through clenched teeth.

"I-"

"I haven't given you permission to speak." He spits. Obviously displeased, his brows twitch in irritation and his pink lips were pulled back into a snarl like an angry dog.

"You gave me your word that you would not do this," His rage continued to build up behind his words, "I've given you privilege above all slaves, yet you attempt to betray me?" Artemis's face collided with the side of the chariot when they pass over a particular stone across the road. She groans, clutching her head to soothe the pain.

"You are foolish." She hears the last part of his mutterings, remaining silent as he kept on with his berating. As he steadly rambled on his grievances, Artemis buries a hand within her wild mane, hissing when she touches the tender spot on her scalp. There were traces of dried blood on her fingertips.

"Bjorn must have fed you such pretty little words, hm?" Ivar barks down at her, "You danced right into his grasp." She goes on staring at her stained fingertips, only coming back to focus when Ivar tugs at a strand of her hair.

"I'm talking to you, Artemis." He seethes.

"He offered to take me home." She says with fluttering eyes. Small dots danced across her vision.

"For a price, I'm sure."

"He needed a translator."

"So he gifts, only to take back." Ivar scoffs, worrying his lip out of habit.

"He said he wanted to right his wrongs." She repeats Bjorn's words sadly.

"You want your freedom. You want to go back to your little island. I understand," Ivar's tone was anything but understanding, yet he continued, "But it will be done when I say." She hears him without processing his words. Instead, she lays her head against the side of the chariot, her knees tucked under her chin. Her eyes began to flutter as sleep tried to claim her. She was far too tired and disoriented to fear whatever consequences she may face.

"Hey!" Ivar yells, pinching her cheek a few times, "Stay awake. You are no use to anyone dead." He jerks the chariot to a stop with a tight pull of the reigns, grabbing at her collar to secure her before she could meet the ground.

"Hvitserk!" Ivar barks, "Help her up. She needs to walk the sleep off, no thanks to you."

"You could not bare to live without her, could you Ivar?" Hvitserk jokes, quickly going over to help her up so that the procession may continue. Ivar doesn't grace his brother with an answer, keeping his eyes focused on the passing meadows and the road ahead.

Artemis stumbled into Hvitserk before catching her own footing.

"I hope I did not hurt you too bad." He tells her, waving his axe about by the blunt end. His lopsided grin sent a fury in her bones, and her hands balled into weak fists.

"You struck me?" It came out so much weaker than she intended it.

"I was only following Ivar's orders." He says with hands up in surrender, his smirk not faltering.

"Since when do you follow orders?" She mutters.

"Since I became the leader of our Great Army." Ivar reeks of confidence, his gloating words reaching Ubbe's ears. The older brother was silent up until that point.

"You mean we are the leaders, little brother. It is not you alone who commands the army." The look on Ubbe's tired face said it all. He was beyond annoyed, exhausted of the bickering between his brothers, and especially tired of Ivar.

"We shall see once we get to York." There was a smug look on Ivar's face that made her want to strike him.

And their journey continued.

They stopped along the way, a chance to relieve themselves and rest their horses. Artemis laid out on a patch of grass, fighting to keep her eyes open. She stares up at the passing clouds, the shy sun finally showing itself. The warmth felt nice, yet had her feeling empty. It wasn't the same heat of the sun that rose in the east.

"Artemis!" Ivar's voice was always so loud, enough to be heard over the wild chatter of the warriors, "I told you not to sleep! Come here!" He commands. She sighs, sitting up slowly before walking over to the chariot. Her eyes were unfocused, but not so much as before.

"If you sleep," He reminds her, "There is a chance you will not wake up." He offers her his waterskin, watching her drink before beckoning her forward.

"Are you not curious to know who disclosed your plan?"

"I have my suspicions."

Ivar chuckles. Whatever ounce of affection she had for the blacksmith was surely gone now.

Artemis searches for Arvid in the crowd of men, easily spotting him. She glares when he brings his eyes to hers and it took all her strength to not run over there and punch him. Ivar grabs her attention by tossing her the cloak again.

"We must keep moving. Hvitserk leads the army. Go walk with Ubbe." Putting on the cloak despite the warm air, she catches up to Ubbe. They walk in comfortable silence for a majority of the way, until he decides to speak.

"Ivar will not let you out of his sight." He comments, looking over his shoulder to see his little brother with his eyes trained on them.

"I am aware."

"I understand your reasons for attempting to flee. I have freed Margrathe so that she may have a better life, but perhaps the timing was not in your favor."

"It was the only chance I had." Ubbe gives her a sad smile.

"I know. But I consider you lucky."

"You would not be the first to say it."

"It seems the gods are having their fun with you."

"If there is any truth to that, then I pray they grow tired of me." He chuckles.

"If only it were that simple." He agrees, pushing the short pieces of his hair away from his face. "As fickle as Ivar is, he has grown a fondness for you. With Sigurd dead and Floki gone, I fear for him."

"I cannot mend his pride, nor his heart."

"And you cannot pretend that you haven't grown a fondness for him either," Ubbe counters with a shrug.

"Why should it matter?"

Ubbe looks up towards skies, watching the sun disappear behind the clouds before meeting the storm in her eyes with the calming waves of his own.

"Perhaps the gods have a plan for you."

...

There was no sun in York. Only gray skies and equally gray clouds, just like the rest of England.

Its walls were tall and its wooden gate massive, but one look at the perimeter as a whole, and one knew it was a city of prominence, but in most cases, good things come to an end, and surely this would be the end of York.

Artemis sits against the wall of the church, her hands pressed over her ears in a weak attempt to drown out the screams. She pants, her heart picking up speed and her eyes watered.

She curls tighter into herself, her cloak a useless barrier between a futile safe haven and the violence surrounding her. The stomping of the warriors grew louder as they pass. The screams were shrill, loud enough to wake the dead, suddenly cut short by a slash to the stomach or a hit to the skull.

Animals ran free, goats, sheep and chickens. Dogs barked in the distance, some searching for their owners, others feasting upon the bodies of the slain left to rot.

"You Christian's are all weak, even if you do not all look the same." Artemis lifts her head from her knees, glaring at the brown haired girl without a name. "You look stupid, cowering the way you do." The young shieldmaiden beside her joked, swinging a small axe in her hand with a taunting smile.

"You look stupid, watching over a slave when the real warriors fight." Artemis snarks back, and the girl immediately growls, lifting her axe as if to swing it.

"I told you to watch her, not kill her," Ivar interrupts, his bloodied hands gripping into the dirt, "But with the way you grip that axe, I doubt you would. Leave." The girl scurries off while Ivar plants himself at a decent distant away from Artemis.

"Do you want to die? Is that it?" He questions, fixing his legs. He rubs the dirt from his hands over the sides of his already dirty trousers, waiting for an answer. She doesn't reply, nor does she look at him.

"Do not mind her," Ivar sighs, "She's decent."

"You had her watching over me."

"As a precaution, you see. You are quite cunning." Whatever he was worried about her doing didn't matter anymore. She had no means of escape.

"Your expression is not at all pleasant." Ivar nudges her shoulder with the flat side of his axe and she flinches, turning to watch him wipe the blood from his face.

"We are not surrounded by pleasant things."

"Veikr," Ivar says with a roll of his eyes, "You cannot handle such things, baby bird." His anger seemed at bay for now. Keeping silent, she leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

"Come now, I hate that look," He tells her, "It almost makes me feel quite terrible." Ivar sighs. He follows her lead, leaning his head against the wall. "You grieve these people." He states, his eyes scanning over the town. His army was still wreaking havoc.

"I do." She answers truthfully.

"Then do what you must and...what is it that you Christian's do? Pray for their souls?" They both turn to look at each other, their eyes intensely fighting a silent war.

"Why did you leave?" He finally whispers. She could have sworn there was a sadness in his tone.

"It was an opportunity I could not refuse." She answers just as quietly, dragging a finger to draw circles into the damp earth.

"That was not your decision to make." Ivar grunts.

"I realize that now." He expected her to sound bitter, but all his ears picked up was exhuastion. They sat in silence after that, comfortably quiet in each other's company.

"I am still angry with you." Ivar begins.

"I know."

"And you do not deserve my forgiveness." He pouts in the most childish way, banishing all seriousness with that one look. "But perhaps you can earn it," She looks at him curiously, waiting for him to continue.

"Get familiar with the forge," He says, "I have a special task I want you to complete."

...

Ivar declared his plan quite vividly: he wanted legs of iron.

He wanted a contraption that would help him navigate on his legs. He was tired of being pathetic, having to drag his legs along with the strength of his arms.

The process began immediately with the measurements of Ivar's frail legs. It was a challenge. He would flinch, getting upset whenever her small hands would graze the fabric of his trousers. She was not inflicting pain, but he was incredibly nervous, as the only outsider that gazed at his malformed limbs was Margrethe. Artemis made him immensely uncomfortable, but she was infuriatingly patient, as if she'd done this many times before.

It was only until Ivar finally loosened his pride and felt comfortable did she take the measuring rod to probe and record the length and width of his thighs and calves. The measurements were quite small.

Having her kneel before him in such a state gave him an odd pleasure. She was in such concentration, so absorbed in her work that he was sure nothing could distract her, not even their close proximity.

He wanted so much to reach out and touch her face, to feel how smooth her skin felt under his calloused fingers. He refrains from doing so, silently cursing his dilemma to the gods if they'd hear him.

He should be furious with her, and he was...at first. He couldn't explain why or how, but he knew he was growing a certain affection for her. It was strange.

And she was just as angry with him as he had been with her. Ivar knew her decision was rational, who wouldn't escape back home if given the chance? Ivar wasn't stupid, but he was selfish, and Artemis was his property by northern law.

He knew Arvid only warned him of her plans for his own selfish desire of her, but Ivar was grateful nonetheless, because he only realised at the point that he wanted her with him, maybe even needed her, and perhaps, in the very back of his mind, that is why he had not considered freeing her. She would leave as soon as she was given chance.

He didn't want that. He was indeed selfish.

So he feigned anger and annoyance with her becuase it was easy for him. The growing affection he felt towards her was foreign, but the anger was familiar, and that was what he reflected.

Her anger would pass with the winds as his anger slowly did, he knew. For now, he would continue on as is and enjoy in the conquering of his new city. Once his iron legs are complete, he would be a man.

...

Fighting was inevitable, as King Ecbert's son, Athelwulf, who was now king, attacked York with his 2 sons and an army. They posed a great threat at first, for they were formidable fighters, but Ivar was always a step ahead of them. The crippled bastard had a natural talent for strategies and seemed to be far more superior in matters of war than Ubbe and Hvitserk. The men began to look at the youngest for direction.

The menial task that she was once spared of were given to her once more, added on top of her forging duties.

It was punishment for her failed escape, but she didn't mind it. It stimulated her mind, and kept her distracted. She occasionally prepared baths for Ivar, a task he never dared to give her until recently.

That is when she would hear him talk.

He would talk of his future plans, often pulling out an image of York's settlement drawn out on old parchment found within the churches archives. There were a system of underground passage ways from the days of Roman occupation, and Ivar intended to use them in case of attack. He was right of course, but he rarely revealed his plans to his brothers, causing much tension them. But as expected, Ivar did not care much for their opinions.

The Saxon's wished to take back their Christian city, but failed in the attempt, ultimately retreating. The rain beat on them fiercely, much like it always did since they arrived to England.

Artemis had never seen the likes of war. In fact, she was innocent towards violence for most of her young life, until she faced Bjorn and his men almost a year prior. She watched from the cracks within the walls of the forgery, men slaughtered on both sides, swords and axes clashing in a dance to the death. Swords and axes she herself had welded and repaired.

Alfhild was with her, as well as other women who did not part take in the battle. Alfhild began to worry, staring through the cracks as best she could while biting her already short nails, pulling at her yellow hair. Arvid was nowhere in sight, lost among the sea of men. He was an excellent warrior as most men of Kattegat were, and Artemis reminded Alfhild of this.

She didn't know why, but she prayed. She prayed for her own safety, and the safety of the women. Despite what he'd done, she prayed for Arvid, wishing him no harm. She even prayed for Ivar, wondering if he was among the dead. She told herself it was more for her own protection than for genuine worry, but that might have been a lie.

Ivar was last seen on his chariot charging through the crowd, but he disappeared after that, and for all she knew, dead.

Hvitserk fought well, talented in the skills of a warrior, cutting down any man that came his way. Ubbe held an air of command, his rope like hair plastering on his face with every swing of his bloody sword. The fighting raged on when suddenly she heard a mighty scream that seemed to stop the world in its track.

"You cannot kill me! I am Ivar the Boneless!"

Well, he was definitely not dead.

...

Artemis knelt over the small stairway that led to the makeshift throne. She was made to wash the steps, suds of soap floating about in the air. Some of the men watched her, causing her great discomfort, but they knew better than to do much more than look. When Ivar appeared, they scattered like rats in daylight.

"Why must you mope about, hmm? You should rejoice in our victory," Ivar calls out to her from the doorway, his voice bouncing off the church walls. The men cheered for their leader, filling him with immense pride for their success against the Saxon's.

Artemis looks to him after realizing he was speaking to her. The darkness in the church made him appear as nothing more than a shadow. A standing shadow.

"I've no reason to celebrate." She responds, dipping the brush into the soapy water, continuing her relentless scrubbing over the stone floor.

"Of course there is! I have defeated the army of Wessex!" The scraping of iron against the stone floor catches her attention.

Ivar was finally wearing his iron braces. He looked so much more confident, the missing piece of himself he'd been wanting his whole life. Being around him now for some time, she recognized the pain he was in, though he did well to mask it. Even with his iron braces he still suffered from aches and pains, even more so now than before, but it wasn't enough to deter him from his new image.

She assumed Ivar would be tall, but he seemed massive, as tall as a tree, walking with the aid of the crutch she made for him. He takes cautious steps, being careful not to make any sudden movements that would imbalance him. He looked so childlike, so proud of himself, and it almost brought a smile to her lips.

She too felt pride. She had never created something of the sort before, and the iron braces were no easy task. She had worked on it for days, and like her other tasks, it helped to alleviate her mind. Hammer against iron was always a welcomed distraction.

There were warriors the trailed behind him, holding onto a rough looking man bound in chains. The man was dirty from battle, covered from head to toe in dirt, blood smeared across his face and over his leather armor. His dark hair was cropped messily, and his eyes were a calculating blue.

Ivar motions for her to stand, snd she complies, wiping her hands down before facing him. He smirks, finally satisfied to be looking down at her instead of the other way around.

"Meet the new prisoner." Ivar says, pointing at the man,"Come now, we do not bite." He beckons the man in the Saxon tongue, laughing when one of his warriors pushes him forward.

"This is Bishop Heahmund."

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @rastakami23

#vikings #ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #ivarxofc #vikings ivar #hvitserk #alex hogh andersen #ubbe #ivar the boneless

[wildroseofarran]

Hunting and Archery Practice || Salt, Emmanuel, & Judy

Salt: It was becoming a weekend ritual for Salt, sitting in the backyard between his tree and Emmanuel's property. Today, he was carving through a thick branch. Today was caltrops.

Judy: Today was also the day Judy decided she didn't feel like being a kid.

A baby white hawk was hopping from branch to branch on Salt's tree, alternately watching him and watching any bugs that came into her line of sight.

Salt: "Don't go too deep into the tree, darling," Salt called to the eyas.

Judy: Judy gave a tiny screech before settling on the branch closest to Salt.

Salt: "Come here," he called, tapping his shoulder. She could be where he could see her, away from the tree with its sticky webs, his possessions, and traps.

Judy: Another tiny screech and Judy was floating gracefully onto Salt's shoulder, settling in happily.

Salt: "Good girl." Realization dawned on him. Oh yes, this wasn't his young. Sometimes it was easy to disregard that fact. He looked around for her father.

Judy: Judy might not have been his, but the little girl was slowly growing to love Salt as if he were another of her uncles.

And her father? Well, he already trusted Salt enough to have him watch his most precious possession while he--also in bird form--found them a rabbit.

After dropping his prize near the tree, the much larger white hawk landed beside Salt.

Salt: "There you are," the spider sighed. Birds! Enemies. Yet here he was befriended by one. A consistent, constant man worthy of respect. The meal was examined and pointed at with his blade. No, actually, it was one of Emmanuel's. "Do you want me to break that down for you?"

Emmanuel: Much like his daughter, Emmanuel gave a screech. He also accompanied it with the bird version of a nod, which was more like a head bob.

Salt: "Alright. Clutch," he said to Judy, "not too tightly." Carefully he stood, minding her balance before heading for the rabbit.

Judy: Judy dug her little talons into Salt's shirt--not too tightly--and hung on, using her wings to help her balance as he stood.

Salt: Salt's hands performed with experience, breaking apart the rabbit with ease, breaking and spreading the ribs without so much as a wince. Another slice and the heart was pulled from the chest cavity. "Ahh," mouth opened to mimic, offering it to Judy.

Judy: After having watched Salt's butchery skills carefully, the heart was taken and eaten with gusto. One day Judy would be big enough to hunt her own rabbits but until then, she relied on her father.

Salt: The liver was then extracted, eyes returning to her father. "Will this be for you?"

Emmanuel: Salt was given another birdy nod of approval before Emmanuel hopped over to take the liver.

Salt: This was fine. Somehow, cutting into a rabbit to feet to a pair of supernatural hawks was just fine. A highlight of his afternoon.

Judy: It was a highlight of the hawks' afternoon as well. Very rarely did they get to share this part of themselves with someone outside their family. It was very...freeing.

Suddenly, Judy went very still. She spotted something.

Salt: Salt froze as well, trying to follow her gaze. A smile crept over his face. A mouse!

Judy: A mouse indeed! Judy left her perch on Salt's shoulder, flying closer to the fallen log that housed her prey, patiently waiting for it to pop out again.

Salt: "Today might be her first kill," he mused.

Emmanuel: It was impossible to tell, but Emmanuel was beaming with pride. A mouse would be a great accomplishment for his little girl. She'd already mastered the art of catching bugs--often in mid-flight. This was a good next step. They were birds of prey, after all, and even though they were supernatural healers, it was important to embrace this aspect of their nature.

Emmanuel assumed Judy's perch on Salt's shoulder, watching her watch the mouse hole like the little hawk she was.

Salt: It was just a natural response to stroke two fingers over Emmanuel's breast. He wasn't going to make another comment. He wasn't going to disrupt her concentration.

Emmanuel: Emmanuel didn't mind the affection. Not from Salt, anyway. If Salt was any other person he'd be pecked. Hard.

Meanwhile Judy was exerting all the focus a seven-year old possibly could. She tilted her head this way and that, listening for any movement within the log. The moment the mouse--blissfully oblivious--emerged again, it was dive bombed.

It never stood a chance.

Salt: "Brava!" Salt applauded. "Good girl! Good job!" It would be appalling to praise a human child for such a thing in the backyard of their home. Anything outside of a formal hunt, but to Salt this was natural. This was reality and it was worth praise.

Judy: Judy wasted no time in bringing Salt her catch, dropping it at his feet before hopping and screeching in excitement.

Salt: "Excellent catch. Do you want the heart of your first kill, or shall you do with as you see fit?"

Judy: She nudged the mouse closer to Salt, offering it to him.

Salt: Salt looked to her father and smiled. He was honored to have experienced this moment with the Gaias. "Thank you both for taking me in. I know I'm not the most... hospitable at times." He began to cut into the mouse. "Ovids, I was taught not to associate."

Emmanuel: Emmanuel rather thought the occasion deserved an actual conversation.

He left his perch and flew a little ways away before spreading his wings and undergoing his transformation. Feathers and beak receded, limbs and torso elongated, and in just under a minute, the hawk had become a fully grown man once more.

Emmanuel stretched and cracked his neck, smiling over at Salt. "We like you just the way you are, buddy. And we're glad you broke the no association rule."

Salt: "Well," Salt smiled. He loved watching that transformation. His were often instantaneous, so there wasn't something spectacular to admire. "Well...you're not true Ovids anyway."

Emmanuel: Emmanuel chuckled. "No, I suppose we're not. We're as unique as unique can get."

Salt: "You are. I've never seen your like. I believe I never will."

Emmanuel: "You're pretty unique yourself."

Salt: "I suppose. I haven't heard the call of my kind in some time."

Emmanuel: "One day you will."

Salt: "Of course. One day." He nodded to Judy's kill. "What shall we do with this?"

Emmanuel: "I say we cut it open and let her have lunch."

Salt: "What works in one form I imagine wouldn't in the other. Then again you both feed me insects without blinking." The knife was picked up once more.

Emmanuel: "You imagine right. When we hunt in hawk form we eat in hawk form. Otherwise I'd have to cook."

Salt: "Fine. I won't offer you the liver this time. She gets everything."

Emmanuel: "Seems fitting. It is her first successful kill."

Salt: "You didn't have to change back."

Emmanuel: "Only inconvenient part of being a bird is not being able to talk."

Salt: "Learning to speak was such a challenge."

Emmanuel: "I'll bet. How did your mom go about teaching you?"

Salt: "Listening to the humans in the nearby village."

Emmanuel: "They do say immersion is the best way to learn a language."

Salt: "We listened to the English. Greer listened to everyone. She picked it up so quickly she began to teach the rest of us as though she had been born human."

Emmanuel: Emmanuel smiled. "Sounds like she had a gift for it. How many languages did she end up learning?"

Salt: "Oh, I don't know. We were never so close. She clung to some of the others. We all had favorites."

Emmanuel: "Who was yours?"

Salt: "I had...Guy, and Cyn." He had attempted a closeness with Madog, but nothing had been good enough to save his brother.

Emmanuel: He thought about his own brothers. Kind-hearted Bash, ever reliable Arturo, fickle Piero.

"What became of them?"

Salt: Salt closed his eyes, thinking back on the ones he had been around to hear about. He shook his head.

Emmanuel: Even though Salt hadn't said a single word, he'd told Emmanuel all he needed to know.

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Salt."

Salt: "What's to be expected when I'm so old and it was so long ago."

Emmanuel: "Doesn't make it hurt any less."

Salt: "I suppose not."

Judy: Judy gave a soft screech and settled on Salt's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. She could feel his sadness.

Salt: "Oh, forgive me. I need to finish with your mouse." Thank you, Judy, he thought, for the distraction.

Judy: She gave another screech, nipping Salt's ear gently. Her version of kissing his cheek.

Salt: "Emmanuel, do you know any spells?" he asked, offering pieces to Judy as he spoke.

Emmanuel: "I know a few, yeah. Mostly wards but a couple others."

Salt: "This home, is it warded?"

Emmanuel: "Judy's bedroom is."

Salt: "That's all?"

Emmanuel: "Everything else has been protected but her room is the only one with serious wards."

Salt: "What happens within the wards?"

Emmanuel: "Severe physical pain."

Salt: "How do the wards determine?"

Emmanuel: "They read a person's intent to harm."

Salt: "What if the intent wasn't to harm, but to steal? Someone wanted to steal your little girl?"

Emmanuel: "That's a separate ward. There are a few."

Salt: "What must I do to obtain one of these wards for my tree? And please don't say nothing."

Emmanuel: "Well the spell itself costs nothing but you do need to obtain a few ingredients."

Salt: "What ingredients?"

Emmanuel: Emmanuel thought back. It had been years since he'd placed those wards. "A few herbs, some crystals, rock salt, iron, a butterfly or moth cocoon, and a sea shell."

Emmanuel: "Oh, and holy water."

Salt: Salt sighed, pulling his notebook from his back pocket.

Emmanuel: "I know where you can find a cocoon without really looking too hard."

Salt: "Do you collect those as you do books?"

Emmanuel: "I don't, but the nursery in town sort of does. A lot of butterflies like to hang out in one of their greenhouses. You're guaranteed to find a cocoon in there."

Salt: Salt nodded to this information, adding it underneath the ingredients. "I take it you don't recall the exact measurements?"

Emmanuel: "They're written in the book along with the spell."

Salt: "What do you want for this?"

Emmanuel: "Watch Judy while I go get the book from Bash?"

Salt: He blinked. Again, that trust. "Of course."

Emmanuel: "All right, I'll be back in ten minutes tops. Be good, angel baby." And off Emmanuel went.

Salt: Back to Judy. "Are you finished with your mouse?"

Judy: Judy bobbed her head.

Salt: "I don't know if your father would approve of my teaching you archery."

Judy: At that she hopped up and down in excitement. She'd seen her father practice and it definitely looked like something she wanted to try.

Salt: "There are two smaller ones I've made for you." Getting to his feet, Salt made his way to his tree. Slowly but surely the core of the tree was being hollowed out from the top, carved within with little compartments, just enough room for a single person to fit.

Judy: Salt's tree brought Judy infinite amounts of joy. It was like the secret magical places in the stories her dad read her, and Salt himself was like a magical character too. He was a spider and he could sit on the ceiling even when he wasn't a spider!

Salt: Out from the tree emerged two bows, followed by their maker. "Are you decent for human form, Judy?"

Judy: Rather than answer, Judy fluttered down from her perch and underwent the same transformation as her father, albeit slower and on a smaller scale.

Since she'd decided she wanted to be a hawk just after waking up, she was wearing her pajamas, sneakers, and a jacket.

"Yep!"

Salt: Salt smiled from his perch in the tree. "Judy, be very careful around this tree, alright? These here," he pointed to the gray webs facing the sun, they were loose and similar to cobweb. "Under no circumstances are you to touch this kind, understood?"

Judy: Judy took note of the web he indicated and nodded. "I won't touch them. Promise. Are they how you catch your food?"

Salt: "No. I'm not that type of spider."

Judy: She nodded again. "Okay. I promise I won't touch them."

Salt: "These are protection. If ever your father's wards fail, you're to run to the tree and hide within." The bows were set aside, walking down the trunk of the tree to offer his hand. "I'll show you."

Judy: "Do they trap bad guys?" she asked, barely able to contain her excitement as she took Salt's hand.

Salt: The little girl was pulled onto the nearest branch with a view of the hollow trunk. "It will not be pleasant, no. If all else fails you're to use your wings. Is that what your father has told you?"

Judy: "Yep. He says if something bad happens and he's not around to fly away to my Uncle Bash's house."

Salt: "Good. That's what I want to hear from your father."

Judy: "Then Uncle Piero said to use my talons and Daddy made a face at him."

Salt: The spider smiled. "Never be afraid to defend yourself if you must."

Judy: "Daddy said that too. He said if he gets a call from the principal he wants it to be because I defended myself."

Salt: "School, right. Yes. That's how it should be."

Judy: "What if I get in trouble for helping someone else defend themselves? Is that okay too?"

Salt: "I don't see why not. Helping those that cannot help themselves, if they matter. Don't help just anyone."

Judy: Judy nodded. Sounded perfectly reasonable to her. "Okay. I'll help the people who are nice."

Salt: "So, you still want to learn about archery?"

Judy: "Yeah! Can you teach me how to shoot arrows like Daddy?"

Salt: "Of course I can."

Judy: "Right now?" She was all but vibrating with excitement.

Salt: "I need to teach you the basics of archery first."

Judy: "Okay!"

Salt: The smallest bow, fourteen inches, was offered to her. "Do you know anything about a bow?"

Judy: Judy took it with both hands, treating it with the same care one would an egg. "It's what you use to shoot arrows."

Salt: "At it's very basic, yes." He began to list the anatomy, the nocking point and grip, the arrow rest, nock, belly and back. "Think you can remember all of that?"

Judy: "I can remember some of it." She began to list the parts that had managed to stick, pointing to them as she did. Remembering them all would probably require a diagram being drawn for her.

Salt: That would probably happen eventually. He still wasn't aware that he could obtain a diagram from his new phone to show her. The largest bow was pulled from the trunk of the tree. He then showed her the correct form for drawing.

Judy: Judy watched him as she'd watched the mouse, paying close attention to every movement, listening carefully to any explanation.

"Can I try?"

Salt: He nodded to the two smaller bows, the fourteen inch and twenty-something. "Try on those. See which feels better. It shouldn't be an arduous struggle to draw your bow, but you should feel the tension in the string."

Judy: She tried the bigger bow first in hopes it would be a fit, feeling mild disappointment when it didn't.

It was set aside in favor of the smaller one. The difference was noticeable and had a giant smile lighting up her face.

She drew the string back carefully, looking up at Salt for approval.

Salt: He drew his own again for her to observe the perfect straightness of his arm, parallel to the ground. "Like this. Your elbow is high."

Judy: Judy adjusted her stance, looking from her elbow to Salt's to make sure they were in the same position. "Like this?"

Salt: "Good. With time and practice the stance will become natural."

Judy: She nodded. "How long until I can hit a bullseye?"

Salt: "Not for some time."

Judy: "Can Daddy hit a bullseye?"

Salt: "On chance, not skill yet," he smirked.

Judy: Judy giggled. "He told my Uncle Bash he always hits the bullseye."

Salt: "That's called fibbing."

Emmanuel: "What's called fibbing?" Emmanuel asked, emerging from the woods with a few books cradled in his arm.

Salt: "Your bullseyes," said the spider.

Emmanuel: He gasped dramatically and turned to his daughter. "Angel baby! Did you rat me out?"

"Mayyyybe."

Salt: Salt only smiled. "Join us in the treehouse?"

Emmanuel: "I would love to." He indicated the books. "Got lots of useful information for you."

Salt: "Good. Thank you." He motioned to the bows. "Is this alright?"

Emmanuel: "'Course it is." Emmanuel smiled. "It's a good skill for both of us to have."

Salt: "From what I've heard, it's archaic."

Emmanuel: "Not for everyone. Lots of people prefer to hunt with crossbows."

Salt: "I've seen. A store in town. Bows look ridiculous now."

Emmanuel: "Complicated too, and for no reason that I can see."

Salt: "Supposedly easier for the inexperienced? Laziness."

Emmanuel: He chuckled. "I agree. Hunting with a bow should require learning how to handle one."

Salt: "Exactly," he smiled. "You should show your daughter your form."

Emmanuel: Before Emmanuel could answer Judy said, "Yeah, Daddy! I wanna see!" Emmanuel chuckled. "All right, angel baby. Give us a bow."

Salt: The largest bow was offered to Judy to give to her father, humored with the size comparison; it was as tall if not taller than the little girl.

Emmanuel: It was definitely taller, which amused Emmanuel to no end. Judy had to hold it horizontally.

"Thanks, sweetie," he said, smiling as he took the bow from her. He assumed his stance. "What do you think?"

"Your arm's straight. Good job, Daddy."

Salt: Salt was smiling from ear-to-ear. For a moment, he could pretend this was his family. "Soon he'll be teaching you everything you need to know, Judy."

Emmanuel: "You gotta teach us too. If you don't teach us we'll never learn how to hit the bullseye every time!"

Salt: "I won't stop until you can hit a bullseye, Judy." A look was given to Emmanuel.

Emmanuel: Emmanuel just smiled. Meanwhile Judy's face was dead serious.

"Promise?" she asked.

Salt: His family would have scolded him for making a promise he wasn't likely to keep, but still, he smiled and nodded. "Mhm."

Judy: Her expression cleared instantly, giving way to a brilliant smile. "Did you hear that, Daddy? Salt's gonna teach us until we hit bullseyes."

"He sure is, angel baby."

The little ray of sunshine turned back to Salt. "Can I shoot an arrow?"

Salt: "Hmm. That's up to your father."

Emmanuel: "Can I, Daddy?"

"I don't know, baby. Are you ready?"

She nodded.

"Are you really ready?"

"Yeah!"

"Then go for it."

Salt: "Show your father your stance first," he said, climbing down from the tree with his personal bow.

Judy: Judy took her bow and got into position. "Is my arm straight?" she asked, studying it.

"Not quite." Emmanuel crouched down next to her. "Bring it down just a tiny bit...there you go."

Salt: Salt kept his distance as Emmanuel instructed his daughter, letting her father take the lead.

Emmanuel: With his trademark patience, Emmanuel showed Judy how to notch an arrow, how to aim, and when the time came, how to release it.

She didn't hit the branch he told her to aim for, but she did manage to hit one in the general vicinity.

Salt: "Good job," Salt praised. "That's an excellent start. Now, let's work on your breathing."

Judy: Judy tilted her head. "My breathing?"

Salt: "Mhm. Archery requires proper breathing techniques."

Judy: "What do I gotta do?"

Salt: This was an easy way to teach two in one sitting. He carried himself over and smiled at Emmanuel. "Watch your father's breathing. This is why he doesn't bullseye."

Emmanuel: "Hey, I've come close a bunch of times," said Emmanuel, returning Salt's smile before picking up his bow again. "The breathing just isn't second nature yet. What am I aiming for?"

Salt: Salt looked to the tree and sighed. He wanted to paint that tree for their target practice. Impatient, Salt made his way to the tree and settled underneath it. "Above my head."

Emmanuel: "All right, I can do that." Could he hit a specific spot? Eh...40% of the time. Could he hit a specific area? Definitely.

Emmanuel notched an arrow and took his stance, aiming well above Salt's head.

Controlling his breathing as he was taught, he released.

Salt: Salt knew if the aim was weak he could dodge or catch if need be. His breathing remained steady as he monitored Emmanuel's stance. Any indication that the arrow was going to be shot low, he would have shouted a critic. The arrow was three inches shy of his ear.

"Good. Again."

Emmanuel: Emmanuel hissed out a breath as the arrow hit its mark. Three inches wasn't bad, but he knew he could do better.

He nodded and notched another arrow, this time aiming even higher. Breathe in, center aim, and release.

Salt: More central this time, so he could praise Emmanuel once more. Now he raised his hands into a circle above his head. "You're doing so well, you need a new challenge."

Emmanuel/Judy: "Lemme guess. Your hand circle is my bullseye." Emmanuel took a deep breath. Here was hoping his 40% success rate would help him.

Judy was far more confident. "You can do it, Daddy!"

He smiled down at her. "Thanks, angel baby." He notched his arrow. All he had to do was visualize. Imagine it hitting dead center and it would. Believe and it would. Another deep breath. He was a hawk practicing archery in the woods with a spider; he could believe anything.

His stance was taken, breathing controlled.....and release.

Salt: "Astute," said Salt. This was a hawk with superior vision. There were high expectations for Emmanuel, which was why he felt no surprise when the fera had hit the mark. Warmth tingled from his index finger; he inspected his nicked hand. "Excellent," he praised.

#Hunting and Archery Practice #tobysalt #emmanuelgaia

[tinyshe]

Dowry of Mary

Presentation given on the National Consecration of England to the Blessed Virgin – March 29th 2020, by Fr Henry Whisenant, Assistant Priest at St Mary’s Shrine, Warrington, England

What a blessing that because of the LiveMass facilities in this church, those of you watching at home can join us in these devotions for the national consecration of England to Our Lady, even if we cannot be united in person.

This consecration, taking place across our country today, is to renew the offering of England to the Blessed Virgin under its privileged title of Dos Mariae, the Dowry of Mary.

It’s difficult to know when such a title was first in use – perhaps by the time of St Edward the Confessor – but there are at least clear, indisputable references to it by the 14th century. Already in 1350, one preacher was able to state: “it is commonly said that the land of England is the Virgin’s Dowry”. And on the eve of the Battle of Agincourt, priests in England prayed to Our Lady under the title, “Protectress of her dower”.

What does the term mean: Our Lady’s Dowry or Our Lady’s Dower? It refers to the custom in marriages of old, that when a woman was married, the bride’s family provided certain possessions or property to be given with her to her husband. This property, this “dowry”, could not simply be liquidated by the husband – rather it was a conditional gift that was still in some way attached to the bride, so that if the husband were to die, the widow would have some financial security for herself and her children. It was also customary in certain cultures for the husband himself to provide a “dower”, a gift of wealth of property to his bride upon their wedding, for this same purpose.

England then was seen to be Our Lady’s Dowry, or Our Lady’s Dower, in this sense: that the Lord God, the Divine Spouse of her immaculate soul, entrusted to her this small island country to be her portion, to be under her custody and at her disposal. Throughout the centuries, from its evangelisation until the wanton destruction of the country’s faith under the Protestant revolution, the people of this land felt a great affection for the Mother of Christ as their mistress and protector, and they had a devotion to her that was famed in Europe.

At the height of this devotion, in 1381, around the Feast of Corpus Christi, King Richard II took the step of formally consecrating the country to Our Lady, in front of her image in Westminster Abbey, an event which is famously commemorated in the Wilton Diptych, which you can go see (but not right now, alas!) in the National Gallery in London.

On this Passion Sunday, in 2020, we gather, if not in body then in spirit, to renew this same consecration to Our Lady once again.

We might be forgiven for regretting the timing of this renewal, with all this happening around us. We might be forgiven for hankering after the solemn ceremony of 1381, and for thinking that – with the current virus doing the rounds, and everything cancelled and everyone in lockdown – we are, by contrast, in the very worst possible circumstances – the most dispiriting, the most underwhelming – for a renewal of that national consecration today!

But I suggest we look again at that first consecration of 1381… For we will find that, in reality, even more than ours today, that historic event took place in the midst of terrible pestilence and disease, social disruption and national anxiety.

To see this, we must go back 33 years before that consecration to the Black Death. The Black Death, the Plague, was a disease that also began in China, and was carried to Europe in 1348 by infected rats along prominent trade routes from East to West.

Between 1348 to 1349, the Black Death swept through England, and wiped out as much as 40-60% of the population. To get a sense of the magnitude of this, compare it to the coronavirus today. To this date, roughly 20,000 people in the UK are said to have tested positive with the virus: that’s 0.3% of the population. And just over 1,000 deaths have been attributed to the virus: that’s less than 0.002% of the current population… And now imagine a disease that claimed 40-60% of the populace! Not only this, but the plague returned every dozen years or so until the end of the century… For example, from autumn 1379 to 1380, it carried off up to another20% of England’s population!

The country, in terror, came to a standstill. Parliament was postponed. The King’s court was dismissed from Easter until midsummer. The London Guildhall was closed.

Keep in mind that this was less than a year before King Richard’s consecration of the country to Our Lady. The consecration took place in a country that was struggling to function normally after such a great atrocity – a plague significantly more crippling than anything we are yet facing today.

And not only this…

Because of the dramatic and sudden loss of life, England under Richard II was also experiencing profound social unrest. With the drastic shortage of labourers, those who were left to do the work demanded a greater salary for the increased work that was left to them. But the landowners, the employers, were reluctant to do this, and the ongoing tension led finally to the Peasants’ Revolt in June of 1381, when thousands of workers marched on London, killed anyone they found connected to the Royal Court (including the chancellor and the treasurer), and forced King Richard to meet with them and accede to their demands. It wasn’t until the end of June that this riot was largely quelled, and the rebels killed or dispersed.

Now bear in mind that this was the very same month when the Dowry Consecration took place. In other words, the King was not consecrating England to Our Lady simply as a nice and pleasant thing to do…! He was consecrating it to her, as her Dowry, as a way of saying: “Help! I don’t know what to do about all this! I don’t know how to manage all this chaos in my country! Come and be the mistress and protector and ruler of this land, your possession.” The consecration of 1381 was a plea to Our Lady in a time of great confusion and need.

It is in that same spirit that we present England to Our Lady on this day. “Mary, come to the aid of this country! Protect us from calamity, but protect us also from fear!” Let us not be paralysed by the daily media updates of new cases and hypothetical outcomes calculated to keep us in constant suspense and anxiety. Let us not have that fickle spirit of the world, that one day appears so confident and secure, even invincible, in its emancipation from God and in its freedom to sin, and then when the first threat comes along is paralysed by a terror mixed with morbid fascination. Such is not the spirit of the followers of Jesus Christ, who are called, rather, to live by the words of the Psalmist: “Those who put their trust in the Lord are like Mount Sion – they shall never be moved”.

We ask Mary, the mistress of her Dowry, to protect us also in these times from a spirit of bitterness and frustration…

Perhaps many of you watching these ceremonies today are frustrated that you cannot be here in the church. You might think, “What kind of consecration is it if I have to do it in the obscurity of my own home?” You may have had plans to be here, to be in your local cathedral, to be in the national shrine in Walsingham, before the lockdown made that impossible.

But let’s remember what the message of that particular shrine is about. Let’s move our focus for the last part of this reflection from the Richard II’s consecration in Westminster Abbey in 1381, to the vision of Richeldis de Faverche in Walsingham in 1061. When Our Lady appeared to Richeldis, what did she ask? She asked for a copy of the Holy House of Nazareth to be built in that place – the house where the angel announced to Our Lady herself the Incarnation of the Lord, and her vocation as the Virginal Mother of God.

Recall that event as it happened in the Scriptures. Recall that in the first chapter of St Luke’s Gospel that mystery of the Annunciation is paralleled with another announcement: to Zechariah, the father of St John the Baptist. Zechariah, a priest of Israel, was in the sanctuary of the Temple, offering incense to the Lord, and the Angel Gabriel appeared to him to tell him that his wife Elisabeth would, in her old age, conceive a son. Zechariah doubted the angel’s message, and as punishment for his doubt was struck dumb, until the birth of the Baptist…

Notice this… Zechariah is a priest… he is in the Temple… but he is not by virtue of these things alone at one with God. Rather, he is found wanting.

Then St Luke recounts the angel’s announcement to Mary. She is called full of grace, she is told that the Lord is with her, and that she will conceive the Son of the Most High by the overshadowing of the Holy Ghost! And all this took place, where? Not the Temple in Jerusalem, where Our Lady had spent her girlhood, but in the obscurity of her parents’ home, in the unremarkable, unimportant town of Nazareth. It was in the isolation of her own home that Our Lady, by her Fiat, consecrated herself to the service of Jesus Christ as His mother.

At the same time, it was in in her womb, under the roof of that ordinary house, and not in a great stone temple, that Christ was consecrated High Priest of the Human Race. For at His conception in the womb, the Eternal Son of God took to Himself a human soul, and flesh and blood, and thereby the priestly power to offer sacrifice.

Again, it was not in a Temple, but on a hill of execution, outside the city walls, that the Lord offered that most sublime priestly sacrifice of Himself to save us from our sins – not on a richly carved altar, but on a rough wooden cross – a wonder that we are preparing in this Passiontide soon to commemorate.

And you too, in whatever place you are, are not hindered from acting under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, and performing a supernatural and meritorious act, in consecrating England to Our Lady today. Because, by virtue of our Baptism, each one of us has become a Temple of the Holy Ghost. Whatever we do, whatever action we perform and wherever we are, if we are in a state of grace, and perform our actions for the love of God… then everything we do has a supernatural character, and becomes a pleasing offering in God’s sight. St Paul says, “Whether you eat of drink, or whatever you do, do all for the glory of God”. So within the walls of your home today you can offer to God a prayer for this country that will pierce through to the sanctuary of Heaven itself, and that will increase, in a sense, the glory of God in this land.

So let’s be undaunted and encouraged as we make this collective consecration of our nation today. Let’s put England squarely in the hands of Our Lady, and ask her in the midst of these trying times to be the protectress of her Dowry…

May she protect England’s people from fear and anxiety, by leading them to place their security not in temporal prosperity and health, but in the saving sacrifice of her Son Jesus Christ, and in the eternal life He won for us.

And may she, the Virgin of the Annunciation, speak to us the words that echo still in her heart from the announcement of the angel: …the words, “Do not be afraid!”… and the angel’s greeting: Kaire! Which we translate as Ave, “Hail”, but which means – more than this – Rejoice! Be happy! Rejoice… for we are giving England back to her who is the Cause of our Joy, and whose Son ever harries and destroys the sadness of the Fall.

Our Lady of Walsingham: Pray for us!

Cause of Our Joy: Pray for us!

#catholic #consecration #dowery of mary #ol walsingham #rejoice #keep praying #pray