#wilhelm got the freedom he always wanted

[princess-from-another-galaxy]

My wilmon shipper heart, right now:

My August/Sara shipper heart, right now:

#young royals #wilmon #sara x august #simon eriksson #sara eriksson #august of årnäs #prince wilhelm #august got what he always wanted and will soon realize he should have been careful with what he wished for #wilhelm got the freedom he always wanted #and he got the boy!!! #august did not get the girl #the girl got friends and family and freedom and she will get over him and live her life #while he will always be haunted by her and the what ifs #i need someone to start writing fanfiction for these two cause there is so much potential #also shoutout to the person who said the two couples were foils of each other and only one of them could ever be together at a time!! #you were absolutely right!! #wilmon is happy and together and free and my heart is smiling at that #nobody else deserved a romcom fairytale ending as nuch as they did!!

[groenendaelfic]

touch starved Wille ficlet

set during the second half of season 1

The two of them are sitting in the park, alone. Simon is still missing payments from August, and his mom is texting him about stopping by the store on the way home.

There is homework, too. The annoying kind, the one which is needlessly repetitive and takes ages to complete, not the challenging kind, the one which Simon actually doesn't mind all that much, as if their teachers' sole goal is to suck all the freedom and joy out of their lives and tie them down with eternal boredom.

But for now he and Wille have a few minutes to themselves, before they have to go back up to the school for class.

They have found a nice secluded corner, Wilhelm's protection officers out of sight and the afternoon sun high above the lake.

Wille, next to him, is fumbling with his sleeves and staring out onto the water.

"You’re the only one who touches me anymore," he says into the quiet, clearly lost in thought.

Their knees are touching, and Wille’s voice is sad, a desperate note in it that hurts Simon in his very soul.

Simon wants to argue, but can’t.

It’s true. Ever since Wille became Crown Prince it seems as if the entire school took a very respectful step back and stopped seeing Wille as anything other than the heir to the throne.

The teachers won’t even call Wille by his name anymore, and most of the other students are the same, either out of respect or because they are afraid of doing anything wrong.

"I mean my parents were never …"—and here Wille breaks off, only to cross his arms in front of him in a self-soothing hug—"but now it’s not even, like, slaps on the back from the rowing team anymore. Even August is suddenly all different, and … I don't like it."

"Wille," Simon says, pulling the other boy close and wondering how he got there, attending one of the fanciest boarding schools in the country with the Crown Prince, someone who stands for everything he hates, and yet all he can think about, all he can see, is how handsome the other boy is, even with the anguish in his eyes, and how much he wants to kiss him and caress him and enfold him in his arms to keep safe forever.

Wille lets himself be drawn into Simon's embrace and immediately buries his face in Simon's neck, arms still wrapped around himself.

"When I came back after … after … the headmistress asked me if there was anything she could do for me, anything at all, and all I could think about was that I really wanted another hug. I don’t think you’re supposed to hug headmistresses after the age of six."

"Wille," Simon repeats, not knowing what to say. There was never a lack of physical affection in his life.

His mother and sister hug him all the time, and he, Ayub and Rosh are always up in each other’s spaces as well.

He never lacked physical attention, not when Micke was at his worst and not ever, quite the opposite, nor does he crave it the way Wille obviously does. Or maybe he just never had to go a day without a hug from his mom and so never noticed.

The protection officers who are now Wille’s constant shadows don’t help either. They make Simon feel weird and uncomfortable, and he can only imagine what it must be like for Wilhelm, who cannot step a single foot outside of his room without them, and won't be able to for the rest of his life, because he's the Crown Prince, and that means he's constantly being watched and protected, but never hugged.

Even if he can’t see them he knows they are always within earshot, and yet he’s supposed to pretend as if they aren’t there, because they are there to do a job, and asking them to turn around will only result in a decisive—and sometimes awkward—no.

Simon knows, it happened before.

He does not tell Wille that he's sorry, that won't help, but he does tighten his hug and pulls him closer, and it only takes a short hesitation from Wille before he lets go of his own embrace and wraps his arms around Simon, clinging to him so Simon can't let go.

He's not going to. He is quite sure he loves the other boy, who has so quickly become an intrinsic part of his life, and he does not want to let go of him, not ever.

He doubts he could if he wanted to.

#groenendael's yr fic snippets #touch starved Wille #yr fic #young royals fic #young royals #wilmon #fic snippet

[thewestern]

Chapter 19:2

Whereas in many respects the Phish business plan — or lack thereof — was built to spec on the Grateful Dead’s blueprint, there is one major exception wherein the student became the master. That is Music Festivals, a space in which Phish was a trailblazer. Their jam-flow elders, meanwhile, never quite found their footing with the festival format. But how can this be? After all, the Grateful Dead played the granddaddy of them all — we’re talking about Woodstock here. Well, their by-all-accounts-forgettable set opened with one of the band members electrocuting himself with his guitar. What had happend was, Bear Stanley thought the festival PA system was some amateurish bullshit, so he spent Soundcheck doing some on-the-fly fiddling with the wiring on the amplifiers. And then it started raining. Playing the first few bars of the opening song — a rare Saint Stephen, and perhaps now we know why — Bobby recalled feeling a distinct tingling sensation, right before his rig blew him ten feet back across the fucking stage. 

So Woodstock could have gone better, but the boys remained steadfast. Beside, everybody knows the Grateful Dead are a California band. Which is to say these East Coast cats weren’t yet hip to their jive. Naturally, then the question became: what if there were a Woodstock West? Enter: Altamont. 

Not much to relitigate, really. Hippie speed freak charges the stage, brandishing a .38 Special. Beer-drunk biker fascist dude stabs him three times in the back. Party’s over. 

(It was always Jerry who had the hard-on for those wannabe outlaw assholes. Nobody else in the family wanted them around, picking fights with the men, and copping feels from the women. Not to mention the work they could do on a backstage buffet. But, hey, Garcia insisted, and this was his rodeo. To him, the whole wave they were riding at that time was about Freedom, with a capital fucking f. And they, The Angels, were Freedom Personified, he said. Whatever the hell that means.)

The licensing agreement between Saints Sixtus and Bernardus expired in the early nineties. Both parties would probably have been pleased to extend their symbiotic business arrangement, were it not for those tight asses at the Brotherhood of Holy Brewers. Around that time they were creating an unofficially official industry standard for designating authentic Trappist breweries, as opposed to plain old abbey breweries. It heretofore mandated that all monastic brewing take place in an accredited monastery, to be performed by gen-u-ine monks. So the free ride to total consciousness was over for the everly pious brothers of Saint Sixtus, just as the gravy train had reached its final destination for the contract brewers at Saint Bernardus. Though there were no hard feelings between them. For a fact, Saint Bernardus was allowed to keep the recipes and the famous Sixtus yeast strain, just so long as they gave back the Westvleteren Brewery brand name. They were even allowed to keep the picture of the monk on the bottle. Although they had to take off his little yarmulke and his special tunic. Still looked like any other monk you ever did see. Brown-robed, donut-headed, Friar Tuck-looking mother fucker. On the Christmas Ale label he’s got a little Santa hat to cover up his bald spot. 

Mayor Mockingbird (cat) didn’t show much enthusiasm for anything apart from licking himself and torture killing the odd rodent. Brewing, certainly, the kitten did not much care for it. Whenever the hoses turned on, he took off. But, for some reason, that cycloptic little feline loved the forklift. He’d hear it beeping and coming running. Hop on Grace’s lap and lean his little paws up on the steering wheel — Seven and Five. The way Wilhelm II would let Hildy drive on his lap around the dirt roads down on the ranch. Her kid brother Ernie rode shotgun. He was still too small to see over the dash, but he cherished the memory always, as if someday it was still going to be his turn. Hildegard hadn’t thought about it in years. For a fact, she had almost no memory of her father. Not as he lived. Grace, never the sentimentalist herself, nonetheless thought this to be the cutest possible violation of occupational health and safety protocol. She even wanted to get Larry Cat his own little yellow hard hat.  

Here’s a thesis: from Amy’s Farm to Big Cypress, Phish pioneered the modern music festival. 

But … somewhere in between, was the beginning of the end. He was called Clifford Ball. 

Pleased to meet you  

Hope you guessed my name

It all started out with the best of intentions, like these things so often do. They were going to Build Something, (Gestures) Out There. Plattsburgh, New York, specifically, would be the place. A short hop and a skip across Lake Champlain from Burlington, their beloved Vermont home. The venue, such as it was: a decommissioned Air Force base. Back in its heyday, about eighteen months before the Altamont Free Festival, a B-52 bomber had took off from right there, on a Hard Head mission, part of Operation Chrome Dome. (Again, what pervert is naming all this stuff?) Before it could reach the edge of Soviet airspace, where it would maintain a perimeter of first-strike capability, a cabin fire sent this Stratofortress into a tailspin, corkscrewing into the icy depths off the coast of Greenland and dumping its ruptured payload of four thermonuclear bombs into the North Star Bay. Anyway, that was thirty fucking years ago. There hasn’t been a Broken Arrow incident since, not counting that shit sandwich in Damascus. (Arkansas, not Syria.) By now the Cold War was ancient history. We were ramping down our strategic defenses. And did anybody think about what effect that would have on the fine people of Plattsburgh? No they did not. Because it would take another thirty years to recover the economic loss wrought by the base closure, per the official estimate of the Clinton County comptroller. But then along comes these four hippie goofballs from across the lake. And damn if they don’t make up the deficit fivefold in a fucking weekend. Seventy thousand concertgoers descend, sextupling the local population. They build their own popup city, complete with campgrounds, food vendors, a town square, provocative art installations, free parking as far as the eye could see and two thousand port-a-toilets. There’s a Clifford Ball Chapel, where two wooks have a tie-dye wedding. No amount of Internet research can confirm whether they’re still married, but you can still watch the ceremony online. The first comment reads: My first Son was conceived at the Clifford Ball. Good times. Quite. Come to think of it, everybody knows how four kids died at Altamont Speedway. (The aforementioned fatal stabbing, plus two victims of a hit-and-run, as well as an LSD-induced drowning in an irrigation ditch, makes four.) However, according to the American Red Cross there were also four babies born that day at the festival. So in terms of net life lost, it was a wash.   

The Mick was doing paperwork — POs on the HIHA. He didn’t get to ride the forklift so much anymore, what with all this desk job bullshit, come fallen into his lap. Managing the accounts as they fluttered away like leaves with the changing of the seasons. Considerable fewer stops for Skip, the Newfy’s longtime delivery driver. He was getting up there, though. Probably for the best. Topher SKIP Engel had used to be Hank’s mailman, as well as he was his weed dealer. How about that for convenience? Door-to-door service, before that was the expectation. Nowadays you can get blood or semen — whatever your pleasure — delivered same-day. Anyhow Skip would have held out for that sweet postal service pension were it not for President Pudding-For-Brains implementing mandatory drug screening for all federal employees. Clean piss was much harder to come by back then in the late eighties, so urinalyses were a non-starter. (By the mid-nineties, pee was everywhere. Yellow piss, clear piss, pregnant piss. All kinds.) To hell with it. He had his pastoral ideal of the postman — Charlie Utter, Cliff Calvin, Karl Malone. The old Pony Express. Whatever he was now, it wasn’t that. Not even in the same zip code. By then hardly all they were delivering by the U.S. mail was out-and-out junk. Scams for cash sweepstakes you didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in heck of winning. Catalogs for crap you couldn’t afford unless by some miracle you did. He didn’t want to be a party to the demise of such a storied public institution anyhow.

Well, so it goes how one door closes. Because it just so happened that the Newfy were outgrowing Mary Ellen Moffett’s station wagon, what with the exponential growth of the Distribution Co-op. So Hank made the capital expenditure investment of a new delivery vehicle. And dammit if he didn’t buy a Grumman LLV — a mother fucking mail truck for all you laymen. Not Skip’s old rig, per say, but one just like it. Naturally Hank offered his old buddy the gig driving it, on the condition that he continue to sell to him on the side from his private stash; in addition to being a distributor and retailer of cannabis products, Skip was himself a manufacturer. This in his capacity as a pharmaceutical botanist, which was the term he preferred. After some terse negotiation, Skip accepted. He’d been zig-zagging the state in that POS ever since. (It was a POS, but Hank had his reasons for buying it. Two of them. First: it should come as no surprise that they’re fucking indestructible as a Sherman tank, which is how come they so rarely appear on the auction block. Therefore, if they do go up for sale, you basically have no choice but to buy it. Also, of all commercial vehicles, the mail truck bears the closest passing resemblance to the Space Shuttle, with the sort of snub nose. Hank’d since come around on the whole astronaut thing. The Mick hand painted their ripoff of the NASA insignia with the letters NEWFY swapped in that outer-spacey, red font.)  Though he wasn’t a prideful sort, Skip would go on to take immense personal satisfaction in crossing the CDL million-miler rubicon. Even though he would’ve never said so to his colleagues, they all knew how much it meant to him, so there was a little ceremony for him at the bar. Hank hand-made him a medal (a gold medal), and hung it around his neck like Chewbacca. Skip affixed it onto the rearview mirror. The Mick even brewed a commemorative beer to mark the occasion. Two Trips to the Moon and Back. A Belgian-style dubbel. (For those of you wondering, should a prolific grower and smoker of Marijuana have a job driving six thousand pounds of sin up and down the highway … grow up. Skip had the reflexes and the hands-free hygiene routine of a cat. That’s why they called him Whiskers.) Per the American beer writer Jeff Alworth in his reference tome, The Beer Bible (Workman, 2015), the Westvleteren beers brewed at Saint Sixtus remain undoubtedly the most coveted in the world. This is because they refuse to scale their operation to meet demand. There are only two places to get Westvleteren beer — by the glass at the lovely monastery cafe, or by the crate on the loading dock. (Limit one per customer for the latter. No telling if you’ll see a monk driving a forklift. Flowing robes and open-toed shoes would constitute an OSHA double whammy.) Saint Bernardus beers are also quite well renowned in their own right, but they’re distributed all over the world. Not that they’re necessarily easy to find. If you’re curious, best bet for copping is if your town has one of them wine and spirits warehouse superstores, where you get a full-on shopping cart, like you’re doing the supermarket sweep with plastic handles of hard liquor. They might could have Christmas Ale or Abt 12 stocked in the Imports aisle. That, or if there’s a fancy liquor store in the rich neighborhood with the good schools, where the guy behind the register has a goatee and knows about what natural wines pair best with which gamey meats. Just ask him. Never mind. He’ll come out an tell you. Unsolicited. There he is behind you. 

Those bougie-ass Bottle Shops, as they’re so called, were always Hank’s bread and butter. Bar accounts were always the harder nut to crack. (First rule of beer distribution: there’s a lot more shelf space than there are bar taps. Allocate your time accordingly.) He’d ride all over with a handheld cooler that he rigged up with a miniature tap, pouring little sampler glasses in tiny red plastic cups abot the size of shot glasses. If they liked the merchandise and the price was right, Skip would step in to fulfill the order. Used to be when the limited edition SKUs would come out, such as Home Invasion Holiday Ale, the most hopeless of the beer dorks — we’re talking the real sickos here — would call ahead to those fancy liquor stores to see who was getting what and when. Then word would get out on the message boards or however else those life forms communicate. Fucking, nerd telepathy. Then they’d all set up camp there, in a strip mall out front of some mom-and-pop wine and spirits store in the middle of the damn afternoon on a workday. Could be dead of winter. Didn’t matter. Was it a bit like a scavenger hunt for grown-ups? (Pokemon Go … to the polls!) Skip would see them sitting there on the curb, Indian style, and think well isn’t that the damnedest thing. They would gawk at him as he rolled the dolly by, mouths even more agape than usual. Did it make him proud to be delivering something so coveted after? No, not really. To reiterate, he wasn’t a prideful man, apart for when he was awarded that gold medal for driving that millionth mile. Fucking a, that was something. Otherwise, he’d deliver horse shit and do it happily. Just so long as it was honest work, as in the shit came direct from the horse’s ass. That, the check cleared and the truck had an AM/FM radio. 

#novls of tumblr

[allthefoolmine]

Happy young royals season 3 to all who celebrate.

(It’s me I continue to celebrate.)

Episode 3 tonight, yay!

Under the cut for spoilers.

Amusing myself with some predictions before I get started:

1) August will try to corner Sara when she comes back to Hillerska to say he “misses her” or something equally mature and unselfish (snerk).

[the fool, responding to these predictions post-watch: CALLED THAT, and oh gawd I started howling in *outrage* when he showed up at her father’s apartment. How did he even know where it is? Not cool, not cool at all!]

2) Wilhelm and Simon will continue to talk past each other about issues of privacy, privilege, and freedom of choice. Which is sad, but a very good generator of tension in the plot. And I think they’re both right—Simon can’t see that the privileges of being a royal come with real downsides, Wille has no clue what it’s like to need to get a job. Simon, I think, is more *in the right* when he calls Wille out on saying his life is similar to Rosh’s, but I really don’t see Wilhelm coming around to that point of view any time soon.

[I…kind of called this and kind of didn’t? They’re definitely still talking past each other about social media, but I also don’t think that Wilhelm knows or appreciates how bad things have gotten for Simon. Maybe because this is how it always is for him? The fact that they’re not telling each other things seems to be becoming a bigger and bigger *problem*]

[*the fool clutches his hair and also the edge of his seat* TALK TO EACH OTHER YOU MUPPETS]

3) there will be many and varied displays of impulse control issues. This is, after all, a show about teenagers.

[I give myself maybe 50% here? I really meant impulse control issues in the sense of season 1’s substance abuse but there’s been none of that so far. The impulse control issues in this episode have been…really cute! Simon and Wilhelm sneaking away to make out in the music room made me laugh aloud, and the tryst during Valborg was genuinely sweet. Good for them!]

4) something will come out about Erik’s love life. I hope it’s something nice but I suspect it won’t be.

[GOT THAT ONE WRONG. Very little Erik in this episode!]

5) Vincent is going to saying something boorish about the Great Initiation Mystery. We the viewers will continue to remain oblivious as to who exactly the person talking to the media is. My money is now on August, for the record.

[partial credit. Vincent *was* boorish, just not about initiation. Will need to look up the YouTube channel of Kevin, the lovely Swedish English teacher who made some great reaction videos to season 1 and 2, in a few weeks, and see if he has anything to say about this! I want to learn more about Valborg, and the way Simon and his friends celebrate 1 May. It sounds fun and interesting. Love the idea of taking a day off for community service and also pro-labor protests!]

6) So far I have managed to avoid spoilers by the heroic effort of not engaging with any content on the young royals tag. Except that I know Something Bad happens at the end of Episode 5. Fingers crossed I can continue remain blissfully unaware what that is until I actually watch it…

[read the episode summaries on Netflix, oops. Even more nervous about episode 5 now…]

Final post episode thoughts…

It’s getting harder not to just watch all the available episodes at once, particular since they keep ending on such dramatic notes. Really wrenching to see Simon go from a positive experience with his new life and social media—at least until he talked to Wilhelm—to a fucking rock through the window.

Where do we go from here? Are there more spring or summer holidays the boys can celebrate by sneaking off together? How will Sara handle being back at school? Will August finally get his outing, stalking arse handed to him like he deserves?

Will find out tomorrow! Fijne avond verder!

#a fool watches young royals #young royals #young royals s3 ep3 #young royals spoilers #young royals s3 #young royals season 3

[purplehoodiesimon]

hiiii i wanted to ask more about your thoughts on the scene in ep6 where wille hangs up on kristina, and his reaction after. every time kristina shoots down wille’s pleas to help him, his face’s a mixture of resignation and disappointment, but also despair, like this has happened multiple times, and i feel like him hanging up on her is him finally realizing that her approval doesn’t mean anything anymore; she doesn’t care about him as a person, and their relationship was just not good for him.

Kristina and Wilhelm have a fascinating relationship, honestly. You can clearly see she doesn't realize what she's doing is hurting him. She knew her entire life that she was going to take over the country, she was prepared for that her entire life, and I somewhat wonder if she was an only child. August is a very close family member, even though he's Wilhelm and Erik's second cousin. You'd think an aunt/uncle or first cousin would be at least mentioned if they existed, but I don't think they do. If she did have siblings she was the oldest, "ever since I was born, I knew I would inherit the crown from my father" but I think Kristina was raised an only child, and is literally unable to conceive of a monarch being raised without the pressure of leading the country someday.

The home life experiences a person had growing up often shine through in their own parenting style years later. Any sort of trauma, any sort of expectations they were raised with. Unless they've sought the help to sort through, process, and move past those issues, it'll come out in their parenting. It doesn't have to be therapy, it can be talking to a friend or the family members that hurt them, or hell even journaling their thoughts and leaving it at that. The point is that if they haven't looked back on their childhood and said 'yea that thing was fucked up', they won't be able to recognize when it may be affecting them later on, and potentially getting passed on to their child. The way Kristina repeats that, "being a prince is a privilege, not a punishment" line when Wilhelm is aching to be free of the monarchy, her line that "no one ever asks for this" in the car, the way her main priority in life is to protect the monarchy. All that shit's learned behavior, and I would bet my life that it comes from her father.

Kristina is able to relate to Erik easier. She knows what it's like to grow up with the weight of the Crown on her shoulders from the moment she was born. Erik can also understand her easier, he's known his entire life that he's destined to take over as King someday, and he can understand her actions more than Wilhelm can. Wilhelm is the second child, the second prince, the sibling that may be needed but in theory is just another member of the royal family. He's been raised that way, the spare heir to the Crown, and that freedom of not having those same expectations Erik is under allows him to see the world differently than Erik and Kristina. He's not going to inherit the throne, he should be like any other normal teenager.

Kristina cannot understand this, and Wilhelm cannot understand the pressure she's putting on him after Erik's death. He's had 16 years to accept that he's not going to lead the country, Kristina has had 16 years to cement that same 'you were born to lead the country' parenting style she got from her father with Erik, and the two do not mesh at all. And as fucked up as her methods and driving forces are, she truly believes she's protecting Wilhelm. She probably had her moment of rebellious freedom when she was a kid, "When I was your age, I too had an unfortunate romance. That was before I met your father", but no matter how much she may have wanted to break free when she was a kid as well, she always had that weight hanging over her. She couldn't just run away from it all, like Wilhelm wants to. Like he could have if Erik hadn't died.

And now Wilhelm is the Crown Prince. He's in the same shoes as her and Erik, he should be walking the same path as them, right? Except he wasn't born into that position.

I think, anon, what you're seeing is years and years of Kristina sticking to that one learned parenting style, raising a child to take over the country. Prioritizing Erik's development as a child, unable to understand where Wilhelm is coming from his entire life. There's this disconnect between them, years of clashing life experiences setting up for that moment on the phone call. It's not him realizing that she doesn't care about him, it's him realizing that she is never going to understand him. Fundamentally, she will never know what it's like to grow up without the crown already on her head. And he's realizing the same in reverse. No matter how hard she tries, no matter how many times she slaps his hand away from his mouth and tells him that being a prince is a privilege, he fundamentally will never understand what it's like to grow up as the heir to the throne. Wilhelm cannot understand putting their public image above all else, putting the Crown above all else. And Kristina cannot understand not doing that.

The phone call is the final break in that parenting cycle. Wilhelm knows when he hangs up on her that things won't change unless he changes them.

#i hope this answers your question lol #i just have so many thoughts about kristina and wille and erik and i hope im conveying them correctly #young royals #young royals netflix #wilhelm young royals #prince wilhelm #wilhelm yr #kristina young royals #young royals analysis #yr analysis #asks

[fruit-that-walks]

Both Kristina ("If you feel like the attention you've been getting is unacceptable, it's nothing compared to what you'll endure for the rest of you life" ) and Erik ("soon enough people will start having opinions and...") warn Wille of the public eye in the show, but it just occurred to me that we as an audience never see much of it. Hillerska, yes, but the public and Hillerska are such different settings, and of course the amount of attention that Wille is going to get would be vastly different as well.

What needs to be pointed out here is the amount of control Wille has in these settings. In terms of the actual public, paparazzi are free to do as the please for the most part, bringing up the need for the royal press team to dictate every word, every action that they do and say. What happens when Wille acts against that is shown at the very beginning of the series- "If we can't protect you from situations like this, we need to make sure they don't arise". More control over Wilhelm (although whether or not that was a success is debatable) is taken. His life is controlled to every last detail.

On the other hand, Hillerska is a vastly different setting. To start with, privacy is ensured. No paparazzi are getting in for obvious reasons, no one should be spying on a boarding school, but more importantly, the students and staff there won't dare leak anything to the press either. Their own social status would be in jeopardy as well if they did. They have a reputation to uphold, at least that's what they tell themselves, and getting on the monarchy's bad side is certainly not the way to go about it. 

The exceptions here would be the significantly low number of lower-class students, and August. The former is easy- for the most part, they couldn't care less. If you look at Simon and Sara before Wilmon got closer, they were pretty fed up with the way they were looked down on by the others, and as the perfect embodiment of that, the actual prince comes in. They want no association with the monarchy. 

August on the other hand is, well, in an interesting position. It really depends on the situation, but Wille is not always guaranteed an upper hand. They're pretty much equals, because as much power Wilhelm may have in being the (crown) prince, August seems to have the queen on his side as they seem pretty close. August is the only one close enough to the monarchy to be able to get away with being antagonized by Wille, because he knows of the greater powers above him and more importantly is close to these greater powers. 

What this means is that Wille is the sole person in control of his own life at Hillerska. Security is more lax because of the nature of the setting, and the people around him wouldn't for the most part go against him. The queen certainly has better things to do than spy on what Wille is doing at a school where every member of the monarchy has been going for ages, and Wille is in a position where he's, quite ironically, powerful.

But this raises the problem of having no actual people to talk to. The people at Hillerska are more enbodiments of society's expectations. Wille articulated it quite well in the football field, however high he was- "they're made out of metal". They're not actual people, not in his presence anyways. That's why Simon's presence comforted him so much. 

Hillerska is the one place where he's supposed to be happy, logistically speaking. This is where he gets the most freedom and yet, that can't be further from the truth in reality. Coming to Hillerska alleviated the problem of being constantly reminded of his status in his everyday life. The school turned out to be full of pricks who saw him for his status instead of who he was as a person, but that didn't matter because Simon was there. Hillerska is such a unique setting, and this is what makes the absence of Simon in the final scenes unbearable.

#not sure if im articulating this very well but #I was thinking about the unique setting that is a boarding school and then #as I wrote more thoughts came #so yeah #most likely this won't make much sense when I come back to it later #oh well #young royals analysis #yr #prince wilhelm #simon erikkson #august of arnas

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Chapter 139: Additional pages, additional thoughts

I’ve had a few Anons asking if I’ve seen the additional page leaks, I have, and I’ve also seen a lot of outraged yelling about them from certain parts of the fandom.  Everyone is entitled to feel angry, hurt or disappointed if they dislike the end of a series that they’ve invested so much time and emotional energy in. However expecting any piece of mass media to cater specifically to your whims, and to threaten violence to the creators if you don’t get your way, is just arrogant and childish beyond belief.  Honestly, it shouldn’t have to be said. Sheesh.

From my perspective, the additional pages don’t really change my opinion of the ending.  I’m still disappointed that there wasn’t stronger condemnation of Eren’s actions and I’m still disturbed that his friends were so willing to forgive him for slaughtering 80% of humanity.  Nothing in the new pages changes that.  However, I do appreciate the small glimpses of clarity these pages provide, particular with regard to Ymir and Mikasa.

It seems clear now that Mikasa’s headaches were a result of Ymir “peeking into her mind”, so that’s one mystery solved at least.  It also appears that by killing Eren, Mikasa enabled Ymir to rewrite her own story, so that she no longer felt compelled to sacrifice her own life to save the king, thus saving her daughters from the awful fate of having to consume her corpse, which is what originally caused the Titan curse to be passed on to the Children of Ymir.   I think it was the fact that Mikasa was able to kill someone she loved that enabled Ymir to make that choice, to realize that she had the power to free herself from the shackles of a love that was a never ending nightmare.

I know some readers have expressed disgust at Mikasa thanking Ymir for bringing her children into the world, when those children were born as a result of an abusive and coercive relationship. While that may be true, I don’t think that there’s any question that Ymir loved her children deeply and by freeing Ymir from her sacrifice, Mikasa ensured that these children did not loose their mother, as she herself had, and that they were saved from the appalling fate their father forced them to suffer.  I thought the fact the Ymir and her daughters appeared briefly in the fake preview as a normal mom and kids on their way to the cinema was a really nice touch.

I don’t have particularly strong feelings about Mikasa and her family.  Her partner could be Jean but it’s really not clear, so that’s a shrug from me.  I guess I’m happy that she did have a life and a family of her own, as family has always been so important to Mikasa.  It’s clear that she never forgot Eren though, which is honestly a lot more than he deserved, but it’s also to be expected.  Mikasa is an Ackerman after all.

I got an ask last week about what I thought the main themes of SnK were and I said the futility of hatred and war, the power of love, and the dichotomy of fate and freewill.  @tsuki-no-ura​ added freedom to that list.  Having seen these final pages, I think another important theme is family.  It really struck me that in the last few pages we see Ymir, Historia and Mikasa all portrayed living happily with their children.  I don’t think Isayama is suggesting that women can only be happy and fulfilled if they have children, at least I sincerely hope that’s not what he’s getting at.  If there’s a message there, I think it’s about the unconditional love that ideally exists between parents and children, a love that so many of the characters in this story have lost or been denied. I do think it’s interesting that all three fathers are “absent” in one way or another; the king is dead, Mikasa’s partner is unidentified, and farmer-kun remains a nameless enigma.  I know there has been reams and reams written about the figure of the absent father in literature, but I’m really not the right person to analyse what, if anything, this might mean in the context of SnK.

There’s been a lot of speculation about how much time has passed in the last four pages.  Some readers have pointed to the phenomenally rapid modernization of Japan over the last century as evidence that change of this nature can occur within a few generations. It’s impossible to put any kind of precise timeline on events, though I think it’s clear that the destruction of Paradis occurs at least a generation after the main cast’s lifetime.  Whether that destruction was caused by civil war or external conflict is unclear, but I’m pretty sure that a direct line can be traced back to Eren’s genocide.

The fact that the tree survived the razing of Paradis has raised a few eyebrows, however almost every city that has been destroyed by war seems to have a single building or monument that miraculously survives, whether it's the Genbaku Dome in Hiroshima or the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church in Berlin.  Though in this case, it does seem like there is more than chance protecting the tree.

One other thing I liked about the additional pages was the fact that Levi didn’t appear.  That might sound odd, but I thought his ending was pretty much perfect as it stood and I don’t want anything to change that.  Some people have interpreted the empty wheelchair at the end as being the one that belonged to Levi, but I’m pretty sure it’s Mikasa’s, as she is obviously very elderly by this stage. Knowing that Levi will have passed away long before these scenes take place is deeply poignant.

I also rather like the ambiguous open ended nature of the final panel.  It could be leaving the door open for a sequel, but I don’t think that’s it’s primary purpose.  I think Isayama’s intention is just to leave us with a question mark.

The fake preview also made me laugh.  Poor Isayama, he can’t win.  People will be arguing over his story until the cows come home.  I think this is the first and only time I’ve ever agreed with Eren though.  For me, the most important thing about this story has been sharing it with friends.

So thems my thoughts, I think I like the ending more with the additional pages than without them, but my original criticism still stands. Also the dog is still a very good boy. 

#snk 139 #snk spoilers #additional pages #snk #lostauses meta

[almighty-an2]

So, about young royals…

((Spoiler warning, if you didn’t watch it yet))

I just finished watching it. I don’t know how else to describe it, except that it’s such a beautiful story 😭 The pacing, the complexity of the plot, the casts even the cinematography 🤌🏻🤌🏻 Well, it’s netflix. That’s the least they could do.

Simon’s character is complex to me. He may looks rough, but he’s also pretty sensitive to those around him. Always try to help everybody even when it means sacrificing himself. And that also reflected in his relationship with wilhelm.

I could understand Wilhelm’s situation. And how his position would make it hard for him to have freedom. It’s nice that they actually communicated about things most of the time. But relationship can’t work that way. And I think Simon finally feel that way. As shown on the last episode. Where he said that he’s willing to wait for Wilhelm to figure everything out, but he doesn’t want to be a secret.

I honestly feel sad for Wilhelm. Simon at least have his friends (this is kind of like Best and Dew situation all over again, honestly), but Wille have nobody to talk to. I wish he got somebody to open up to, instead of an asshole August.

Netflix need to go ahead with season 2. I want to know if Wille finally got away from his mother manipulative minds, and decided to put himself first. My soft bois love can’t end like this 😭😭

#young royals #wilhelm x simon #edvin ryding #omar rudberg

[almost-jack]

Sex, Drugs,&Space Chaos Ch. 2 (A Smutty Handsome Jack Adventure)

FInd more chapters on my AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/27921886/chapters/68380147

P.S. I friggen love comments, indulge me y’all

Chapter 2: A Push, a Pull, and a Twist

Rei arrived at Jack’s office promptly at 5. The room was enormous, with Jack’s desk at the far end on a raised platform in front of three massive windows overlooking a vast expanse of black space speckled with shimmering stars. Rei couldn’t help but smile to herself upon seeing the room; of course Jack would rule Hyperion from a stage.

Jack was lounging, feet up on his desk and a cigarette dangling between his fingers. A pair of unfamiliar people, clearly not Hyperion employees, were seated in front of him, drinks in hand. Jack was talking animatedly to a tall, lanky young man with slicked back hair and a cybernetic arm who was hovering at his side. This looked like less of a company meeting and more of small soiree, but Rei wasn’t complaining. Jack called out to her as she approached.

“Ah, good!  Tiny cartel boss, meet the vault hunters. Vault hunters, tiny cartel boss,” he said cheerfully.

Rei decided to ignore the jab about her height and flashed him a crooked smile, relieved that he seemed to be in a very good mood.

“Is that my new title? I dig it,” she mused. Jack winked at her appreciatively.

“Have a seat. Rhys, pour our friend here a drink. What are you drinking, sweetheart?”

“Uhh whiskey neat, I guess,” she said, lowering herself into a chair. The tall man nodded and descended the steps of the platform to rummage around in Jack’s mini bar.

“This is your ace-in-the-hole, Jack? Really? She’s gonna get killed real quick down on Pandora,” growled a huge, muscular, bearded man with excessive cybernetics seated next to her. A tall, regal looking black woman dressed in a white fur lined coat leaned against his chair, eyeing Rei with equal skepticism.

“That’s why, Wilhelm, my dear, she’s not going down there to clean up that bandit filth. You are. You’re the brawn, she’s the brains. You clear the way and Rei will do the rest,” said Jack.

“You know, uh, I grew up on Pandora. I’ve held my own in more than a few fights,” Rei said with a hint of indignation in her voice. Her hand subconsciously drifted under her lab coat to the holster on her hip. She had decided not to take any chances and come armed with a pistol.

Jack’s eyebrows shot up.

“Hmm, is that so? There was nothing in your file about Pandora…”

“I’m sure you realize there’s a lot about me that’s not in Hyperion’s database. Besides, it’s not exactly something I advertise around Helios. People seem to have a lot of… misconceptions about Pandora. Thanks,” she said, taking the drink that Rhys handed her. “So what exactly is it that you want me to do for you?”

Jack grinned and took a drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in a crystal ashtray.

“So-ho-ho much, cupcake,” he said with a chuckle. “Let’s start with mining the hell out of that shithole planet Pandora. We’re going to gut it and pull out all the Eridium until it collapses in on it’s stupid little self, and you’re going to oversee it. Then you’re going to take all that sweet, sweet Eridium and figure out a way to charge me a vault key. And all those little bandits your lab buddies drugged and tortured until they became psychos? I want some of those, too. But obedient. I swear I’ll shoot them right between the friggin’ eyes if any of those little monsters so much as looks at me wrong. But that comes later.”

“And what about the moral implications of, you know, torture and destroying a planet and all that…?” asked Rei, peering at him over rim of her glass.

Jack looked at her blankly for a moment, then broke into peels of laughter.

“Really? Really? The ex-Pandoran drug lord is questioning my moral integrity? Or are you getting cold feet, here?” he said, cackling.

Rei wasn’t questioning Jack’s moral compass so much as trying to discern if he actually had one. She concluded that…well she still had no idea, not that it mattered much. Over the years Rei had learnt and re-learnt the same lesson; survival first, power second, morality…whenever it was convenient. It was how the Borderlands worked.

“So I’ll take that as permission to do whatever I need to do.”

“You’ve got a free pass, run wild! And kitten, I really can’t wait to what happens when I set you loose. All you have to do is sign-” he motioned towards Rhys, who pulled a piece of paper from a folder under his arm.  “Here,” said Jack, pointing to a blank line at the bottom of the page.

She liked the sound of that…complete freedom to do whatever questionable project her heart desired was all she had ever wanted. She took a sip of her drink feeling more at ease with Jack, optimistic that this situation might actually turn out well for her. Rei picked up the contract and began to skim it.

“Don’t bother reading it, cupcake. You either sign, or I give you a ten second head start before I start shooting,” said Jack, reaching for his own drink.

“Jack, darling, are you quite sure she’s trustworthy? Wilhelm and I have already proved our merit. Don’t you feel compelled to test our new comrade?” asked the expensive looking woman.

“Aurelia, your concern is adorable, really, it is,” Jack said, flashing her a charming, well-practiced smile. “But you don’t need to concern yourself with anything other than getting paid.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, frowning.

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Wilhelm.

“So,” said Jack, pushing a pen towards Rei, “what’s it gonna be, darlin’? Are we going to be buddies, or do I need to blow your brains out?”

Rei couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Oh wow, thanks for the ultimatum. I’ll need a minute to think about that one,” she said sarcastically, picking up the pen.

“Ooh, mouthy. Very, cute, kitten,” he said, sneering down at Rei as she signed the contract. “Ok kiddos, now that you’re all acquainted, you’ve got work to do. Off you go,” said Jack, waving a hand towards the door.  

Aurelia reached out and straightened Jack’s collar before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Do be careful, dear. I would hate for anything else to happen to that handsome face,” she cooed. She turned and followed Wilhelm out. Rei put her glass down and turned to leave as well.

“Ah-ah-ah. Not you, Rei. We’ve got a couple more things to discuss,” Jack said, eyeing her with a wolfish, almost hungry expression.

“Yes sir,” she said, taking a seat in Wilhelm’s recently vacated chair. She noticed that Rhys remained quietly behind Jack, watching her with a hint of concern.

“Rhysie, go get me a sandwich,” Jack said, without turning to look at him.

Rhys paused a moment, looking at Jack wonderingly, then shrugged and left.

As soon as the metal doors slid shut behind Rhys, Jack stood and rounded the desk. He perched on the edge directly in front of Rei, legs spread wide and arms folded over his puffed out chest, obviously trying to intimidate her.

“Aurelia’s got a point, kitten. How do I know you’re trustworthy?”

“Well I did just sign a binding contract under threat of death, so there’s that.”

“Is it really enough, though? Don’t think I didn’t notice that you showed up armed, today.”

“But sir, you’re always armed. Can you really blame me?”

Jack leaned in, his face less than a foot from her own.

“So what, you were going to shoot me if I scared ya? Nah. You wouldn’t dare,” he said, reaching out to cup her chin. He tilted her head up, exposing her neck to him. Rei didn’t resist, partially out of fear…but more so because something hot and dangerous was brewing deep in her stomach.

“No, sir. I wouldn’t shoot you. I don’t think that would be in my best interest,” she said softly.

“Good,” he said with a chuckle. Jack grabbed her by the lapels of her lab coat and pulled her out of her chair, forcing her to stand between his legs. He lowered his head to her neck and brushed his lips against her jaw, making her shiver slightly. Rei could have sworn he was inhaling her scent like some sort of animal.

“I like you, Rei. I don’t want to have to get rid of you. Don’t make me do that, ok?” he murmured in her ear.

“You like what I can do for you. You barely know me,” corrected Rei, putting a hand on his chest and trying to push gently away from his grasp, but Jack didn’t yield.

“Do you always get so hands-on with your employees, or am I just lucky?” she quipped sharply, pushing against his chest in earnest. Jack let go and sat back, leaning on his hands.

“Sorry pumpkin, did I misread the situation? I thought we had a fun little thing going. I’m attractive…you’re attractive…You seem kinda into me. Your little neck would fit so perfectly in my hand,” Jack extended a large hand towards her neck, but paused, letting it fall back onto the desk. He began to drum his fingers impatiently against the dark, polished wood, clearly displeased with being forced to practice some self control.

“But we can keep this strictly professional if you want,” he said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Hmm. Not sure, boss. First you don’t trust me, then you want to fuck me…I think you need to make up your mind,” Rei said, dropping her hand from Jack’s chest to his thigh. She slid her hand slowly up his leg, inching closer to the subtle bulge growing under his zipper.

“Since when are those two things mutually exclusive?” Jack purred, tucking her long, chestnut hair behind her ear to reveal a thick, silver cuff in her cartilage. He grinned and tugged gently on the loop of metal, leaning in so his face was inches from hers.

There was a sudden thunder of gunshots outside Jack’s door, followed by screams. Jack jerked back, looking around wildly, then reached for the intercom next to his computer, slamming his fist down on the call button.

“RHYS! What the goddamn hell was that?!” he growled.

“Jack, you better get out here…we’ve got a situation,” Rhys’ panicked voice crackled over the intercom.

“Wait here, kitten,” he said, standing and attempting to adjust himself to hide his growing erection. Rei took a step back to let him pass, snickering to herself.

“I promise this is going to be far less funny to you later,” Jack said menacingly, towering over her, nearly a foot taller.

“Sure. Go get ‘em tiger.”

Jack glared at her for a moment, then turned on his heel, sprinting across the enormous room and through the great metal doors. Rei waited a moment, then quietly followed, stopping at the doorframe to peer at the commotion outside. There, in the middle of the hallway, stood a burly man in a Hyperion guard uniform, an enormous machine gun in one hand and Rhys’ neck in the other.

Rei’s stomach sank; the shooter was one of her plugs, specifically Ian Lynch, who she had instructed to watch her back since discovering Jack’s intense interest in her. But what the hell had happened? Some of her distributers were thugs, sure, but they knew better than to get violent inside Hyperion headquarters.

Jack advanced on the man slowly, gun drawn, face twisted with rage.

“Don’t do anything stupid, asshole… That’s Hyperion property you’re screwing with.” he snarled.

“Hah! You’re not as ruthless as they say, Jackie boy, otherwise you would have just shot me already and let this twerp take a bullet to the head. You’re all talk, ain’t ya?” said the assailant.

Jack looked like he was seriously considering doing just that, gun aimed at the man’s head, but his finger was absent from the trigger.

Rei stepped out of the office, striding quickly down the hall.

“LYNCH. Drop him. Now,” she commanded, drawing her own gun from it’s holster.

“There you are, Barrett, you fucking weasel. I’ve been waiting for you,” he hissed.

“You know this guy? And Jesus fucking Christ kid, didn’t I say to wait in my office? You’re gonna get sh-“

“If it’s me you’re after, then what the fuck are you doing, Lynch?” asked Rei, cutting Jack off.

“I caught him eavesdropping, he was recording near your door” choked Rhys. Lynch gave him a hard shake.

“Shut up. Yeah, I was listening in on your little meeting. Sorry to interrupt just as you were about to let Handsome Jack bend you over his desk, bitch, but this little shit came along and blew my cover. Wasn’t gonna shoot anyone today, but he kinda gave me no choice. Little shit came at me with a stun baton.”

“So let him go and tell me what you fucking want already,” huffed Rei.

“I want the two of you,” he said, jerking his head toward Jack and Rei, “to stay the fuck away from Pandora. I don’t give a fuck what you do to your Hyperion lackeys- drug ‘em, torture ‘em, I don’t care- but you’re not getting anywhere near my people and you sure as hell aren’t taking over my planet. So I guess what I’m really saying is that I want you both dead.”

“A small time drug pusher with a hero complex. Cute,” said Rei smarmily. Jack stared at her, eyes wide with surprise.

“He’s one of yours?”

“Not my best and definitely not my brightest, but yeah. He seems to be forgetting that he agreed to sell some pretty dangerous shit to people on Helios just so I would get him off Pandora. Ease up on Rhys’ neck, or you’re gonna kill your only bargaining chip, Lynch,” Rei said, noticing Rhys squirming and struggling for breath as Lynch’s grip tightened in irritation.

“Alright, enough of this,” said Jack impatiently. He flipped on his cloaking device and vanished.

“STAY BACK! I’M FUCKING WARNING YOU, JACK!” Lynch shouted, looking around wildly. Rei took advantage of the distraction and hurled herself at Lynch, knocking both him and Rhys to the floor, just barely keeping her own footing by landing in a cat-like crouch. There was a sickening crack as an invisible force came smashing down on Lynch’s wrist, forcing him to release the gun. He howled in pain as Jack reappeared above him, kicking his gun across the hall. Jack aimed his own weapon at Lynch’s groin, a manic gleam in his eye.

“That’s better. Now let Rhysie go or I’ll shoot your fucking dick off.”

Lynch stared venomously at Jack for a moment, then loosened his grip on Rhys, allowing him to pull away and scramble to his feet.

“Good. Hand over that recording and I won’t torture you to death. I don’t really care if your little bandit friends know we’re coming for them, but I’m not ready to make that announcement just yet. I wanted it to be special,” Jack said with a mock pout.

“Why the fuck would I do that? Let’s be honest, Jack, you’re just going to kill me anyway,” spat Lynch, attempting to sit up on his elbows.

“You’re wrong,” said Rei, planting a boot on either side of his hips and crouching down so their faces were level. She placed the muzzle of her pistol gently between his eyes and leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

“I am going to kill you.” Rei pulled the trigger. The crack of gunfire resonated through the empty hall and a spray of crimson droplets spattered Rei’s face and lab coat. Lynch slumped back in a pool of his own blood and brain matter.

Jack stood motionless, mouth slightly agape, staring at Rei.

“That was…oh my god…so fuckin’ hot, I mean, I can’t even-“

“He’s wearing a wire. It’s still transmitting to somewhere…somewhere nearby,” interrupted Rhys.

He had pressed himself as flat as possible against a nearby wall, as if trying to make his lanky form disappear into the metal. He took a shaky step forward, gingerly rubbing a blossoming bruise around his neck.

“I picked it up with my Echo eye. Couldn’t figure out why that guy was lurking around Jack’s door, so I gave him a scan. Where are you going?” Rhys said, noticing Rei slowly backing away.

His Echo eye sparked to life and raked over her, his mouth falling open in surprise. The receiver for the wire was nestled in Rei’s pocket.

“Oh. Oh shit. You? Why?”

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” snarled Jack, stomping over to her so he could make the vast difference in their sizes all the more evident as he loomed over her. She looked up at him wearily, realizing the jig was up.

“I…gave it to him. I told him to tail you and try to get something… to blackmail you with… in case I didn’t like the terms of your deal,” she mumbled sheepishly.

“So why was he here now? Couldn’t you just record me yourself?” asked Jack in a low, dangerous hiss, his eyes narrowed to slits.

“I asked him to watch my back. Like I said before, it really wouldn’t be in my best interest to shoot you. But…Lynch could have easily done it and left Helios for a while, if need be.”

“You really are a fuckin’ weasel, you know that? Give me one good reason not to shoot you right now.”

“Jack, she just helped you save my life…” muttered Rhys.

“She’s also the one who almost got you killed.”

“Look, I’m not sorry for protecting myself, but I honestly didn’t mean for Lynch to do a damn thing at all unless- SHIT, OW!”

Rei cried out as he roughly grabbed both of her wrists with one large hand, hoisting her arms above her head, forcing her to drop her gun. He pulled her up until the steel toes of her boots barely brushed the floor and gently placed the barrel of his gun under her chin, tipping her head up to look at him, all the while crushing her wrists in his powerful grip.

“JACK! Knock it off! Come on, you need her, remember?” Rhys protested, loudly and firmly this time.

“Yeah, you need me,” Rei hissed.

Jack glared at her furiously as he gave her wrists a twist that made her whimper, then lowered her slowly.

“Congrats, sweetheart, that’s strike three. First you use my company to run your little drug ring, then you try to blackmail me, then you try to kill me? Looks like you just earned yourself an early ticket to Pandora. Normally I’d toss you in a holding cell and let you rot there until I need ya, but I don’t trust that you’ll be a good girl if I let you out of my sight. So you’re taking Rhysie’s place and coming with me to help take care of some business. So glad you’re not shy about murder. Hopefully you don’t have to kill anyone you know, but… I wouldn’t count on it,” he purred, his voice dripping with honey and poison as he gave her wrists another twist.

Rei shoved a knee into his groin, not hard enough to hurt him, but with enough force to serve as a warning. Much to her surprise, she felt him half hard inside his jeans. He was clearly enjoying menacing her. Rei pressed a little harder and his cock gave an interested twitch under her knee, sparking a twisted pang of lust in her stomach.

“You want a mountain of dead bandits? You got it boss. Nice rage boner, by the way,” she snickered. Jack released her and stepped back, adjusting himself once again to hide the bulge in his pants.

“Don’t push me, cupcake, I think it’s evident how much I want to break you right now. You’re on the next shuttle with me to Pandora, pack your shit and be at the departure terminal in two hours. Rhys, you keep an eye on her, I’ve got shit to do. Oh, and give me that,” he snarled, thrusting a large hand roughly into the pocket of her lab coat and rifling through it. He pulled out the receiver and a small joint, inspecting them both, then dropped the receiver and smashed it under the heel of his shoe.

“What’s this?” he said, waving the joint in Rei’s face.

“Just plain old weed. Take it, on the house. I can’t think of anyone who needs to chill the fuck out more than you, right now,” she said brazenly.

“So help me god, I am going to…”  Jack mimed strangling the air in front of him.

“My point exactly.”

He made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat and stomped back down the hall, leaving Rei eyeing Rhys suspiciously while he uncomfortably shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Sorry about him. It’s really hard to calm him down when he gets like that,” Rhys said with a weary sigh.

“Nah, I would be pissed, too, if I were him. I would have kept monitoring him if I hadn’t been caught, and maybe not entirely for safety’s sake. If I have to destroy my home planet, I want to make sure I’m getting my fair share of the reward,” she said shrewdly.

“Well he shouldn’t have put his hands on you, at least. He can really do some damage if he’s not careful.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” said Rei, examining the angry red fingerprints around her wrists. “You seem to know him pretty well. What exactly are you to Jack? Personal assistant? Babysitter?”

Rhys laughed weakly. “Technically I was a middle management coder, but Jack took a special interest in me because…well, not to brag, but I’m a pretty great hacker,” he said with a hint of smugness. “So now I’m kind of…his protégé, I guess? But lately he’s been using me as an assistant because he freaking killed so many that no one wants the job anymore. He’s such a big, murderous baby sometimes.”

“Volatile psychopath is more like it.”

“Hah, yeah. You know…and don’t quote me on this because he’s pretty hard to read… but I think Jack was really disappointed about the whole blackmail thing. He seemed to really like you, kept talking about plans for his promising new “lab nerd”, and uh… something about bending you over his desk and uh…Well he was pretty excited that you weren’t a dude. And that you’re one of us,” Rhys said with a wink.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, attractive. In the 8 and up club. Grade A, Hyperion made.”

“God, you really are his protégé,” Rei said, picking up her gun and returning it to her holster.

“Hey, those are his words, not mine. You got a little something right here,” Rhys said, pointing to his cheek. Rei dragged her already bloodstained sleeve across her face, adding more crimson to it.

“Better?”

“You kinda just smeared it around…here.” Rhys wiped her cheek with the back of his hand, pausing just a moment too long before breaking contact. Rei raised an eyebrow and he blushed slightly.

“So, uh, we better get going,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“Yep. Clearly I need a shower. Come on, Jack junior, let’s roll,” she said, taking off down the hall, Rhys hurrying after her.

#handsome jack #borderlands #borderlands 2 #fanfic #fan fiction #ao3 #ao3 writer #rhys #smut #adventure #video games #writing #rhys strongfork #handsome jack x oc #handsome jack x rhys #rhack #hyperion #sex drugs & space chaos

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (39)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

Here we are. This is the big day. A day that no one will forget and cannot forget. Today is the day of the Roseville Festival. Exactly 32 years ago, this small town was still just a gathering of houses where each one helped the other. Then little by little it developed and it became the small town that everyone knows today. And Mayor Tallis leads it with trust and respect. And you are there, among all these people, while you have only been living there for a short time, who almost considered you as a member of this great family. Just thinking about it, you have a tear in your eye.

The stands were all in place. It was sunny but a little cool which was a good thing for your cake which unfortunately, compared to the little ones who were in refrigerated windows, was going to be exposed to the open air. Speaking of the cake, it was out of sight in a fridge big enough to keep it cool while the mayor made his speech. As soon as it is finished, you can take it out, show it to the whole city and cut it to distribute it to those who want it. As the mayor you said, there were a total of 8 stands, yours included, 4 on each side of the desk where the mayor will make his annual speech. Yours being, as expected also, to the right of the desk.

“I can't believe that other journalists will attend this and taste your pastry! you imagine the ad you will have if they ever love it?? You will be known throughout the region!” said Corey enthusiastic.

“Throughout the region... it's scary anyway... can you imagine people from all over the region coming to Roseville just to eat a cake or drink a coffee? We're going to be overloaded.... and it may even be necessary to refuse customers...” said Amy worried.

“Don't get too excited too fast both... It's just a small local festival. There's very, very little chance I'll become a famous one just with that. It's going to take a long, LONG time for that day to arrive. If it happens one day.” you respond a little embarrassed.  

“Hey! Don't say that! You’re the best in the town and one day you’ll be the best in all Ohio! stop underestimating yourself! There are people who deserve less popularity than you and yet they are successful!” replied Corey.  

“He’s right! You're the best coffee shop and the best boss we’ve ever met and have!” said Amy.

You smile at Corey and Amy. They are really adorable. They went for a tour of the different stands that are still in preparation, just like yours. You never imagined being there today, at least not in such a short time in Roseville. You said that in 2 or 3 years this would be the case, but not in a few months. Lindsey installed her most beautiful floral composition on her stand, smiling and greeting you. Poor of her, these last days weren’t easy for her because of the attack on her shop, but thanks to the kindness of the inhabitants, she was able to quickly start again on a good basis. You install the last signs with the products and prices indicated on each of them. Plus, a special sign for the festival cake with a reasonable price compared to the quality, when two hands that you know only too well, because of their sweetness, hid your eyes. And the voice that followed, even in a crowd of 10000 people, you would be able to hear it.

“So? Ready to expose your creation to the whole city? Everyone in town is waiting to see that.” asks Jed with his angelic smile.  

“Yes... I'm ready. And no matter what happens, the key thing is that you're there. Do you have a lot to do?” you said, smiling at him.  

“Take pictures.... write stuff... the normal job of a journalist in fact. But don't worry, I plan to go see you... and taste your delicious cakes.”

“Leave it for everyone big foodie... Don't worry, I would put some aside for you. And for the others.”

“I take everyone's share. They find that I have to eat a little and get a little fat...”

“But of course... you will have your shares and not one more, little thief. I did just enough to feed the whole city. The other journalists are there?” you replied, looking in all directions.  

“Yes, they're out there... they are preparing for Mayor Tallis' speech. You can imagine... Roseville has been around for 32 years, and he has been running it for 20 years. It's amazing to have so much motivation, courage and willpower to start from a few houses to a small peaceful town... well, almost.” respond Jed with smile.  

“Any news about Ghostface? As you took quite a while with Hoggins...”

“Murders, still murders and more murders. But I must admit that Hoggins takes so much time from me... That Ghostface is in the background right now. Which in itself benefits him. He takes advantage of the situation to quietly kill poor victims without defences... I can't tell you how many poor citizens of this city he killed while we focus on Hoggins.

And you don't even dare to imagine it. How many throats does he have to cut while everyone is looking at Hoggins? Even to you he didn't tell you anything. Yet, and involuntarily, you are his partner! But he is far from crazy, he is not going to tell you everything in exchange for your silence and cooperation. At least not now.

You dread that day. And yet you know you'll have to deal with it. All your actions will be decisive and, while you were focusing on the festival, you have passed multiple scenarios in your head. Only one misstep and you are dead. that's a certainty. But you can't accept all this without trying anything... or maybe... From the beginning he could have killed you. And he never did. He fell in love with you. And you fell in love with Jed. Funny love triangle. But not so bad in the end.

Live a double life... is that really a good idea? Sooner or later, one will eventually discover the other. In itself they already know each other, Ghostface leaves Jed alive so that he writes his articles and builds a reputation for him. And it’s thanks to Ghostface that Jed is an emeritus and excellent journalist. You wonder inwardly if they have already seen each other in real life... face to face. We will have to ask our dear murderer... Even if between us... we know who our nocturnal murderer is. Mayor Tallis settled at his desk, tested the microphone and signalled everyone to approach. You, Corey and Amy go at your stand, both ears attentive to the mayor's speech.

“My dear fellow citizens, today is a special day, a day that I hope will remain etched in your hearts and memories for years to come. Today, Roseville was born 32 years ago. At first, it was just a pile of houses where people helped each other. Then other people came and little by little a village was built. And today a city. And it is with pride that I lead it and that I will continue to lead it until my time has come.” he starts cheerfully.  

People applauded, while journalists took notes and photos. Among them you could see Jed taking a few pictures before looking at you, his angel smile on his lips.

“I wanted to thank you all for contributing to the evolution of the city into a prosperous and beautiful city. I would also like to thank the police forces who, at the risk of their lives and knowing perfectly well the risks of their jobs, dedicate their hearts and souls to the protection of this city. Especially inspector Wilhelm who takes his work very much to heart. He is a faithful friend in whom I place all my trust.”

The inhabitants turned to Inspector Wilhelm, who smiled, visibly embarrassed to be in the centre of attention. Poor of him, it mustn’t be easy for him.

“I also wanted to thank Miss (y/n) who warmly agreed to make the cake of the city that I will unveil to you in a moment. She has only been there for a very short time but... for me she is part of our big family. May this day bring you joy and good mood, and may it remain in your hearts and minds forever. Let the festivities begin!”

Members of the town hall brought your cake, hidden under a veil, and when the mayor removed the veil, everyone was amazed. It was as big as a wedding cake, decorated with trees, cars and some shops of the city and at the very top of the cake, the town hall with Mayor Tallis in front. All in sugar dough. It would almost hurt to cut it out and eat it but it is the first and only function of a cake, to be eaten.

The festivities began and it could be said that people were enthusiastic. Children ran everywhere to the great displeasure of their parents who had trouble containing them, it was very funny to see. Older people walked through the different stands, always starting with Lyndsey's buying flowers or plants before heading to the other stands.

Journalists from other cities came to congratulate you on cake and asked you some questions about you and your family. You explain that it comes from your grandmother, a great chef who passed on her love of cooking to your father and then to you. That you do not plan to change until your retirement... that kind of thing. Your gaze occasionally derived on Jed chatting quietly with Melina and Mattew, while occasionally taking pictures of the festival. The day took place in joy and good mood. People laughed, talked, children played together, ran everywhere, escaping the supervision of their parents. But their freedoms were short-lived when the police brought them back to their parents.

While serving customers, you suddenly see Hoggins at the opposite of you, arms crossed, sitting against a lamppost, watching you. He made you smile to freeze your blood, but you give it back to him, showing that he doesn’t scare you and that he will never scare you. You can't wait for Ghostface to kill him... Oh, yes. But that doesn't mean you want to attend. Knowing him, you trust him enough to offer him a slow, painful and unbearable death. And after... you will be free. You will be able to resume your life quietly. At least that's what you think. If you knew what you got yourself into...

“Hey (Y/N)!” said suddenly a man voice.

You turn your head to see Mattew coming towards you happily followed by Melina and Jed. You knew why... what a little glutton. You chat for a little while serving customers with Amy and Corey. Towards the beginning of the evening, you warn them that they can enjoy the festival before everything stops, to which they answered thank you and asked you if you will manage on your own.

“Yes, go for it! there are not many people anymore so enjoy a little! You too have the right to have fun!” you said with smile.  

The two looked at each other before smiling and hugging you, which made you laugh. They took off their aprons before leaving the stand and visiting the other stands that were scattered all over the central square of the city. You watch them leave, with a smile on their faces, they're really adorable these two. The rest of the evening went quietly, you serve the last customers before closing your stand. You set aside some cake for yourself and Jed and give more to Melina and Mattew, as well as Amy and Corey. Everyone left little by little, and in the meantime the mayor came to congratulate you on your cake and your success. The journalists who had come to cover the event, had talked about you to the mayor, full of praise.

You feel proud, and reassured. You breathe a sigh of relief when you hear all this. Jed was waiting for you against his van. When he saw you arrive, he took you in his arms, kissing you, get you into the vehicle to get back to the apartment. Once inside, you collapse on the couch, completely exhausted by this day.

“Poor of you... you are completely exhausted.” said Jed, holding you a cup of coffee.

“Thanks Honey. You can tell... I didn't think it would be as exhausting. And yet I have a coffee and I do the same thing every day...” you respond, sipping a little. “Did you manage to take pictures?

“Oh yes, don't worry about it... and there are plenty of them that I'm going to keep to myself... you are so beautiful when you are focused on your work...”

“What a charmer you are...”

“That’s why you love me right?”

You laugh before drinking the rest of your coffee and yawning. Jed smiled before gently taking you in his arms to carry you to your room. He put you on the bed, informing you that he was coming back right away, going to put the pictures he had taken in his computer. You take the opportunity to change and lie on the bed. Jed arrived a few minutes later, changed quickly, and joined you in bed, gently taking you in his arms.

“He was there you know... Hoggins. He looked at me as if he was going to kill me.” you said worried.

“Don't worry my love. Soon he will no longer be able to harm anyone. I promise you.” responds Jed.  

Oh, yes... he won't be able to hurt anyone soon... But it is not in prison that he will end up. But in a grave.  

And you can't wait to hear it from your... “partner.”

***

(I am EXHAUSTED. This little weekend will do me a lot of good! I think we're getting closer little by little to the end of DSS, count around.... 21 chapters. After, it may take less or it may take more... it will depend on the progress and the state of my brain XD After I think I would take a small break of 2 or 3 weeks before starting RE8! but don't worry! I will take the opportunity to develop everything! and find a title. XD, I hope you’ll like this chapter like the others ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all!  See ya!)

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

[junie-bugg]

The Heartrender - Chapter Three: Flickers

Hello all!

Here’s chapter three of my Everlark fic ‘The Heartrender’, in which I inadvertently utilized the “only one bed trope” 😏💕

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3 (I suggest reading on AO3 because I add a poem at the beginning of each chapter that I feel fits nicely with the story.)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Chapter Three: Flickers

Night had fallen, and with it, the temperature. Peeta allowed the witch to hold his arm so she could keep his blood warm. When she retracted her hand every once in a while to readjust the pelt around her shoulders, his jaw clenched. 

He shouldn’t miss her touch. 

“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked. 

“Near the northern border of the Permafrost. Though I don’t know how far from the capital we were before the ship sank.” 

“We’re walking to Fjordhingă then?” 

“Yes,” he replied. Fjordhingă was the trading capital of the north. It was to be the last stopping point of The Bloody Rose’s voyage before they headed west to Sjorkden. If he and the witch could make it there by foot, perhaps Peeta could talk their way onto a ship. But how would he get the witch on board? What if she ran away? The thought had been nagging him like a fly on his brow.

Even with the witch there to keep his blood pumping, he felt his limbs freezing up as the temperature continued dropping. He desperately scanned the darkening horizon, hoping to find an outcropping of rocks they could huddle under, or maybe another whaling camp. Instead, he spotted a gabled roof. 

“Oh, thank god,” he breathed and started tugging the witch along. 

“Lieutenant…” she said apprehensively. 

It wasn’t just some stray shack. It was a fishing village, with squat houses and a trading outpost, all perched on the cliffside and overlooking the ocean. One circular dirt road cleared of rock and vegetation lay at its center and clusters of small stone buildings had been constructed around it. The houses had wavy glass panes in the windows and soot-blackened chimneys, though no light shone onto the street and no smoke rose into the sky. 

An abandoned village then. 

Even better. 

Peeta hastened his pace. 

“Lieutenant, stop!” the witch yelled, tugging him back behind the village’s low border wall. “Look at the flagpole!”

Peeta’s heart sank when he saw an ominous black flag waving high above the rooftops. 

Black was for plague. No wonder the place seemed abandoned. 

Everyone had died. 

He thought they were going to move on, but the witch set her shoulders back. Her face took on a quiet focus.

“We need to be careful. We can’t just barge in. There may be corpses.” She dropped his arm and moved around him. He watched her walk to the door of the closest house and lay a palm to its wind-weathered surface before he could stop her. 

He sucked in a breath. 

She was too close. 

“Don’t!” he barked and pulled her away. 

She whipped her head around, a scowl pulling her brows together. “You’d rather we die of plague then allow me to use my god-given powers?” 

“Don’t drag god into this.”

“Oh don’t worry. I doubt we have the same one,” she retorted. “Now get out of my way.” 

He didn’t want her touching that door, but he knew what she was doing. He’d read about the practice of purification in class, but he hadn’t imagined it would smell so good. 

Pure white light emanated from within the building, flooding out in bright streams from the windows, the minuscule cracks in the stone walls, the deep hollow of the chimney. Long shadows crept along the ground, shifting in oblong patterns as the light in the house moved. The witch’s hair and clothing snapped in some enchanted breeze, pulling ebony locks and fur upwards in a cascading arc until the light faded and gravity pulled her hair back down in a glossy curtain. 

The air tingled with the sharp scent of mint. 

“I thought you could only manipulate bodies,” Peeta got out. 

“I can do a great many things you wouldn’t understand, lieutenant.” 

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered. Lieutenant was his title from the Order. It felt wrong to hear her speak it here. 

“Would you rather I call you by your name?” she asked. 

Peeta didn’t respond. 

“Didn’t think so.” She turned the brass knob and the door swung in on itself. “Welcome home, lieutenant.” 

X

By noon the next day, she had purified the entire village. 

It was a spell, an easy one, that burned away rot and disease. Each time she pressed a hand to a doorway, the windows filled with that bright celestial light, her hair rose above her head as a flame rises above a candlewick, and she burned away any trace of plague inside. Scraps of cloth that had been coughed into, drops of dried blood on the floor, corpses that had been left behind. Each house was spotless when she was done. 

They had slept in the house farthest from the others, on the far side of the village. It was small, with only a kitchen, sitting area, and one bedroom. There was a sizable stone hearth in the kitchen, plenty of split logs in a wicker basket by the back door, even some strips of salted caribou meat in the pantry. First, they had scarfed down the meat, and only after, with the salted flesh chewed and swallowed, did they think of their thirst. Peeta made a fire while the witch lugged a burnished pot outside to gather snow. They drank the warm melted water and then collapsed into bed with their clothes still on. 

It was a real bed, with a canopied frame and pillows and soft, quilted blankets. Peeta was too tired to object when the witch curled in against his chest, and once more he spent the night with his nose buried deep in her hair. 

As exhausted as he was, Peeta was a soldier. He woke early, as he always did, and found that he couldn’t fall back asleep. The pale morning light of dawn bled through the curtains. Anyone else would have rolled over and tried to catch a few more hours of shut-eye, but Peeta couldn’t. The witch’s heat against his chest was too much, like a beating, throbbing wound that refused to heal. He untangled his arm from around her and then hurried to the door, grabbing a spear in the pretense of hunting. 

Winter burned his nostrils as he took in deep lungfuls of air. He was a boy raised in the fjords of southern Sjorkden, and a man of the northern academy. He’d thought he’d seen the bitterest winters the world had to offer when ice would form between the stones of his tower dormitory and he and Yasser would have to sleep on the floor by the black iron furnace for warmth. They would go to breakfast with blue nail beds and teeth that chattered so violently sometimes it was hard to chew. But he realized those nights were nothing compared to this, a winter’s chill so sharp that it cut out a spot for you into the very landscape, made you feel as if your skin was crafted of snow, your bones pressed from ice. 

He secured the fur around his shoulders and tried to replace thoughts of piercing silver eyes with thoughts of breakfast. 

But the winds of the north were unforgiving, and the frigid bite of the air only reminded Peeta of how warm he had been with the witch. By the time he had finished hunting, having speared only one measly hare, his limbs were frozen, joints locked as if welded, lips numb under his teeth as he tried to bite the life back into them. 

He found himself anticipating coming back to the village, wanting what he so desperately fled only hours before; to tangle in bed with the witch once more, a merry fire crackling in the hearth, the warm press of her body cradled against his own, his nose buried in the hollow beneath her ear, soaking up the heady scents of jasmine and fresh rain and sunlight until he was drunk on her. 

His thoughts were peaceful until he remembered the sin of what he had been considering. 

Laying with the witch was practical. The use of her magic against the cold was necessary. There was nothing charming or romantic about having to rely on an enemy for survival. He should despise his needing her. 

She wasn’t human. She was dangerous. 

It was foolish to forget that.

X

Yasser collapsed into the seat across from Peeta, his dinner tray laden with a bowl of brown grits, boiled sausages, some mushy looking turnips, and a small cup of water. 

“Did you hear what happened to Larone?” he asked, his urgent tone cutting under the loud din of the dining compartment. 

“No,” Peeta replied, unsure if he wanted news of how Wilhelm was handling his first witcher voyage. The antics of newbies were fun to hear about at the start, but when tales of seasickness and fatigue reached the ears of experienced witchers, especially witchers on the cusp of earning their freedom, the stories were more annoying than entertaining. 

Yasser greedily stuffed a spoonful of grits into his mouth and swallowed before continuing. “Well, I’m telling you anyway. If I have to know, you have to know.” 

“Can I finish eating first?”

“No. Now eat your sausages, growing boy!” Yasser mimicked the garbled, high-pitched accent of one of the servants from the academy, Mrs. Jengon, who had doled out food in the great hall. Each and every student was a “growing boy” in her eyes. Even the ones who had finished their battle with puberty. 

Peeta frowned and took a tentative bite of sausage. 

“Alright, I’m going to try and say this with as much grace as possible,” Yasser said solemnly but then burst into peals of laughter, slamming a fist against the table so forcefully the plates rattled. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t think I can. Larone gave the Heartrender a little too much to chew if you know what I’m saying.” 

Peeta stilled. “He didn’t.”

Yasser cocked a thick eyebrow, his mouth crinkling around the corners. With his flaming red hair and bright green eyes gleaming under the oil lamps he looked like some kind of buff leprechaun. “He did. And now half his pisser is being packed in ice.” 

Peeta’s stomach rolled, his body instinctually clenching in phantom pain as he imagined it. He set down his fork with the sausage impaled on the end and pushed the plate away. 

“God…”

“But don’t tell anyone I told you,” Yasser added. “The commander wants to keep it under wraps. Doesn’t shine very well on him, does it? If his recruits are dumb enough to stick their cocks between witch jaws?”

Peeta didn’t tell a soul but the news still spread through the ranks like a wildfire during drought season. Yasser updated him at breakfast. Larone was in the infirmary being tended to by Dutch, the crew’s one doctor, and wouldn’t be out of recovery until the ship reached Sjorkden. Peeta felt bad for the boy, but it was his own foolishness that had gotten him into trouble, and now he’d never bed a wife or sire heirs. Larone’s power crawl was over before it had even really started. 

Peeta relieved Hans Gerholt from guarding duty that night, disgusted when he saw no one had bothered to clean the Heartrender up. Larone’s blood had splattered her face, dried, and then cracked. She looked absolutely monstrous with a red dipped chin. 

“You here for a good time too?” she said, picking up on Peeta’s discomfort. He didn’t respond, just sat down stiffly in the guard’s chair and listened to the creaking of the boat, the squeaking of rats in the walls, the soft clinking of the witch’s chains when she shifted across the cell floor. “Your little friend showed me his even littler friend. I barely bit him and it was half off.”

“Stop talking,” Peeta growled, angry at himself that he had risen to her bait. He knew she just wanted to get a rise out of him. The weeping girl was gone, replaced with one who had accepted she had nothing to lose. 

“Now your commander…” she drawled, eyes flashing in the partial darkness. “His would have taken more gnawing.” 

Peeta didn’t much care for the commander. He was old and cruel, but it was the principal of honor and his loyalties to the Order that made him rise so sharply from his chair that it tipped over. He lunged at her through the bars, pulling her up against the cold metal by her collar. “Hold your tongue, witch, or I’ll cut it out.”

She tsked quietly, hanging limply in his grip. “Did your commander ever tell you where he found me?” She saw the confusion in his eyes and clung to it. “Of course he didn’t. No pious soldier of Sjorkden would ever reveal he had been cavorting in a pleasure house.”

“You’re a whore,” Peeta whispered, almost disbelievingly, the pieces clicking into place. He released her and she fell to the ground in a weakened heap. 

On the surface, she looked the same. Wrinkled red dress, oily black hair, sunken cheeks. But now there was something alight inside of her. Heat smoldered like molten silver in her eyes. 

“You and your kind have called me many things, lieutenant. Witch. Slum scum. Unholy daughter of Krell. But I’m afraid ‘whore’ is where I draw the line. I did not choose that life, it was thrust upon me, and here I am now. Free of it.”

Peeta looked down at her. He thought the commander had put her in those iron hand caps to keep her from unleashing her powers. She could not kill if she could not curl her fingers. But now he suspected they had come from her time in Ellsworth. How long had she been wearing them? From the rust on the padlocks, he suspected a long time. “How ironic that you speak of freedom while you lounge in chains.”

“Freedom is a fickle thing, lieutenant. I may be stuck here in this cage, but I suspect you carry one wherever you go.” 

Peeta’s nostrils flared. That familiar rush of rage he experienced during combat surged through his limbs, but with nowhere to go, his head soon swam with it. “Do not pretend to know me. You’re repulsive. A perversion against nature.” 

“I am nature. You are just too brainwashed to see it.”

“Nature does not defile the earth. Or slaughter the innocent by the thousands.” 

“My people have committed no such crimes. We were healers before you forced our hands to bloodshed. I suggest you try looking upon yourselves before you go blindly doling out sentences.”  

Peeta was at a loss for words. The nerve of this girl, injuring Larone and then preaching about who the real enemy was. Coaxing out his anger and frustration when he was normally so good at hiding it. Ever since he ran away from home, he had learned the hard way that emotion in the face of an enemy was weakness. He could not afford to let her under his skin, no matter how hard she clawed away at him. He was ashamed to admit it, but he had found himself thinking about her on nights when he wasn’t on guard duty.

That stopped now. 

“Rot in hell,” he spat as he righted his chair.

“You will,” she growled.

X

The witch burned the red dress in the kitchen fireplace. The fabric steamed and curled into blackened strips, sending dark plumes of smoke up the chimney like released ghouls. Peeta didn’t have to ask her why she did it. He knew she burned the dress to try and burn away the memories of her capture, and perhaps the memories that came before. If he thought about it, the dress must have been from her time in Ellsworth. He could only imagine how a girl of her beauty would fare in the clutches of a pleasure house, the horrors unleashed upon her when the rights to her body were not her own. He wondered how she could even bear touching him. 

A man. 

A stranger. 

If burning the dress had worked, he couldn’t tell. She came to bed in a fur-lined nightgown and quietly rested her cheek on his breastbone. His cheeks burned, shame lacing itself into his stomach lining when he didn’t push her away. 

“I’ve never heard a heart song so gentle,” she murmured admiringly. She sounded surprised. 

Peeta’s chest ached. He was suddenly self-conscious of how fast he was breathing and in his fight to slow down, hadn’t asked her what she meant. 

They raided each house one by one. The people of the village were either dead or had moved on when the plague hit. They left behind dressers full of clothing, shoes, pots and pans, utensils, pottery, carving knives, firewood, axes, the occasional sword, hunting supplies, wax candles, furniture, toys, paintings, family heirlooms. All the trappings of domesticity. 

The pair took a pan here and a pair of shoes there. Peeta had found two large packs with which to stuff items in. His pack would contain a small assortment of kitchenware, food, some firewood, and the water sacks. She would carry extra clothing and furs. They planned on spending a couple of nights in the village before restarting their journey north to Fjordhingă. 

In the days they spent stocking up on provisions, the witch took over hunting duty. She didn’t hunt with spear or snare as Peeta had learned. She used her powers to crush windpipes and burst hearts. Wild dogs stopped dead in their tracks, keening over like sacks of potatoes. Birds plummeted from the sky, cold before they hit the ground. He enjoyed the bounty, feasting on a new roast every night and salting the leftovers, but with every meal, he grew warier. He had heard the stories of course, of the deathly potential that Heartrenders possessed, but seeing her in action was completely different from hearing some old tale around a campfire. Just how powerful was she? And when she determined he was no longer useful as a means of body heat or when their little truce no longer suited her, how easy would it be to kill him? A curl of her fingers or a flick of her wrist and he’d be dead. 

Maybe he’d made a mistake by letting her live. 

Every night when he watched her sleep, the voices of the masters pressed into his head, willing his fingers to close around her throat, to witness the light drain from her bulging, terror-filled eyes and have her know that he had bested her. 

Him. The seed of a pathetic, weak-willed baker. Wielder of no arcane power and with no legacy to help carve the way. Just him and his own two hands against the world. As it had always been. 

But no matter what his common sense was telling him, of how dangerous he knew her kind to be, he couldn’t do it. He would reach for her neck and then freeze, afraid to go any further. If she didn’t stir he’d stay his hand, running feather-light fingers across her pulse point, quietly admiring the way her angled features softened in sleep. But if her eyelids fluttered or her breathing changed he would retreat as if she had burned him. 

“Where were you sired?” Peeta asked one night as they ate a bird the witch had caught. The bones were small and Peeta had to be careful not to break them with his teeth. He gnawed on a piece of cartilage as he waited for her reply. 

“Excuse me?”

“I mean-” Krellian was not Peeta’s first language. He had picked it up between his boyhood and his blood christening into the Order, but he had limited knowledge of words. He learned Krellian and Narubi and Hannako from old, leather-bound textbooks and even older professors. For years he had studied all the archaic tongues they hoped he would someday snuff out, but he did not know slang or turn of phrase, and his accent was rounded in his mouth compared to the crisp consonants of a native Krellian speaker. 

She spoke as if she were tiptoeing through a flower field. 

He spoke as if he were crashing through it. 

“Where did you… grow?”

“Grow up?”

Grow up. Peeta slotted the term into his memory for future use. “Yes. Where in Krell did you grow up?”

The witch narrowed her eyes, those silvery irises glowing like moonlight from behind a cloud’s ragged border. “Why? Are you planning your next raid?”

“No, I-” He ducked his head, his cheeks burning furiously. “I’m just curious.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t tell you, lieutenant,” she snarled. She threw down her uneaten bird’s wing, splattering congealed blood everywhere. “Besides, you don’t deserve to know.” Her anger was eager, ready to be unleashed upon him even in quiet, semi-companionable moments such as mealtime. She confused him. Why was she flirty and seductive when they lay in bed together but bitter and closed off when he tried having a casual conversation?

Although to be fair, he hadn’t been very open with her either. And not particularly kind.

“It was just a question.”

“A dangerous one. Go ahead and ask another. See if I’ll talk.” Her eyes glittered as if they were playing a game she knew she would win. 

Just another thing he didn’t like about the witch. How ashamed he felt when talking to her. Minor slip-ups, cracks in his armor of indifference. She had a talent for coaxing them out of him as if she were pulling secrets from a drunk man.

But he was in too deep now. Might as well try to get something out of her. 

He lowered his gaze to the fire and asked, “Then what’s your favorite color?” 

The witch blinked. She hadn’t been expecting such a mundane inquiry. She was silent for a moment, probably contemplating if giving away this piece of information would in any way compromise her. She decided a favorite color was harmless. 

“Green.” 

He pictured it. The verdant green of a forest. Lush and deep and full of secrets. 

Just like her. 

“Mine is orange,” he offered. “Soft. Like a sunset.”

She cocked a dark brow. “Not red for the blood of your enemies?”

Peeta raised the drumstick back up to his mouth, suppressing a smile. “That comes in a close second.” 

She had laughed then, a sound so joyful and clear that Peeta’s heart clenched and he stopped chewing just to hear her better. 

X

She awoke screaming one night, flailing about under the sheets and shoving him away as if he were stabbing her. He had been awake when it started, unable to quiet a storm of racing thoughts. If he hadn’t been so alert, perhaps he wouldn’t have sprung to her aid so quickly. 

“What is it?” he demanded, suspecting there was something biting her under the covers. He threw the blankets back, but there was nothing. “Huh?” he asked when he couldn’t make out her quaking mumbles. 

“Just a dream, it was just a dream,” she whispered to herself, and then she dissolved into tears. Her face glistened wetly in the moonlight and she shrank away when he reached to pull the covers back over her. 

The next night, he took some furs and slept by the fire in the kitchen, afraid she wouldn’t want him in bed with her. But when he was about to doze off, she padded through the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Sleeping.”

“On the floor?”

“But… you… last night… ” he stammered. 

Her face hardened as she crossed her arms self-consciously. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but I’d feel better if you stayed in the room with me.” 

“You kicked me,” he argued.

“Not on purpose,” she hissed. 

The two glared at each other, and then the tension broke. The witch softened, her shoulders sagging like a loose bowstring. “Please.”

He should have told her no. Instead, he said: “Alright.”

X

She dreamed of clients. Harsh hands and sour breath. Shackles looped around a bed frame. 

He wasn’t allowed to touch her after those dreams. Not for a long while at least, and when they would eventually come together again, he let her choose when to climb back into his arms. 

“What makes me different?” he asked quietly one night as she clutched his shirt, her tears drying over his heart.

She raised her head to meet his eyes. “Can you feel your own heartbeat?” 

He could if he focused. If he held his breath and silenced his thoughts. He nodded. 

She sounded sad, as if she were quoting somebody when she said, “If you listen close enough, you can hear that all heartbeats are different.”

It sounded like Krellian nonsense. Heartbeats sounded like heartbeats, but it was out before he thought to stop himself. “What is mine like?”

She laid her head back down and inhaled slowly through her nose, listening. “It’s gentle and steady. Like the lapping of the ocean. Ever present and soothing. I’ve never heard one quite like it.” She inhaled again, steeling herself. “It makes me feel safe. Which is ironic because it belongs to you.” 

He smiled but she couldn’t see it. Then he asked, “And what does yours sound like?” 

There was a long pause and then she said, “You can listen if you want.” She sat up in bed, pulling him along with her, and with gentle hands twined through his hair, tipped his ear to her breast. 

It was hard to concentrate. The heels of her hand on his cheeks and her fingers laced across his scalp made him feel as if she were touching him everywhere. But then he forced himself to lean into her chest, the shell of his ear pressing against her sternum, searching for the sounds of her very being. 

At first, he heard nothing, just felt the rise and fall of her breaths, but then, as if cotton had been removed from his ears, he heard the heavy beat of life. The first thud was loud like a cannon shot, but the second was quiet, like the dull closing of a door. Her heart sounded like it was limping on stilts. Hobbling along unevenly. Long step, short step. Over and over. Cautious. Afraid. So unlike the girl he’d come to know. But it was all there, hidden away deep inside of her. 

“See?” she whispered. “We’re different.” 

But they weren’t. Not really.

When she fell asleep and Peeta remained awake, he tried reaching within himself to feel his own heart again. It was like the constant beating of waves as she said, but he didn’t find it soothing. Every beat felt achingly blunt, as if his heart was slowly ripping itself apart to make more room. 

It terrified him that he didn’t know what that meant.

X

On the morning of their departure, he rose, dressed in a black tunic and pants, clasped a heavy fur cloak around his shoulders, and then sheathed a sword at his hip. He stepped outside to swing it around, getting the feel for its weight. 

The sword was heavy, made of polished steel that glinted in the cloudy morning light. Compared to the swords he had grown up with, the blade was plain. There were no holy etchings in its metal face, no onyx embedded into the hilt, and no divine blessings had been uttered over it, but he felt a fierce rush of strength all the same. Peeta was used to heavy swords and the leather-wrapped pommel felt right in his hands, as if he’d been missing a part of himself without a weapon. 

“Is that really necessary?” the witch asked, her voice carrying from inside the house and over the frostbitten yard. When he laid eyes on her, a hot jolt flooded his body as if he’d just caught himself from falling off a roof. 

She leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, but he could tell from the way she warily focused on the blade that she was on high alert. A caribou hide nightdress brushed the tops of her dusky knees and her hair was loose and mussed on one side. The side she had pressed against his body in the night, Peeta realized. 

“What else would you have me use?” Peeta asked darkly, unsure why the witch got to use her powers whenever she wanted, but when it came to Peeta’s talents they were disapproved of. 

“You have a Heartrender with you,” she said arrogantly, pointing at herself. “You’re just going to be lugging around a sword for show and no offense but I’d rather you carry extra food.” 

“It’s not for show. This sword is to protect myself against you,” he said angrily, pointing the blade in her direction. 

She took a hurried step back as if she expected him to advance. There was a heavy, quiet moment as Peeta watched her from behind the sword’s edge. 

And then she sharply twisted her wrist. 

Peeta’s heart rate skyrocketed. 

Her voice was low, dangerous as she said: “I don’t know what your superiors told you, but a sword is no match for a Heartrender.” She began squeezing her fingers together and Peeta’s heart stuttered, his chest clenching painfully as if he were having a heart attack. Stabbing heat pulsing through every vein in his body as if his blood had turned to molten lava. He fell to his knees, dropping the sword into the hard-packed dirt with a hollow clang. 

“Stop,” he begged, clutching at his chest. His breaths came in ragged pants. He was falling apart under the pressure. “Please.” 

She tensed her hand, unsure whether or not to let up. Her eyes were frightened, but there was resolve there too, as if she had imagined this situation before and had already decided the outcome. This was her chance. She had a pack full of food and supplies. She had her enemy in her clutches. She was going to do it. He was going to die, right here, in an abandoned village where no one would think to come looking for him. Where no one would know his name. All who wandered would stay away from the black flag, and he’d be the feast for wild animals and the decay of time. 

He should have killed her when he had the chance but he had been weak and now his chances were spent. 

She squeezed tighter, her fingertips almost touching her palm. And then all of a sudden, her face crumpled. With a strangled gasp of breath, she released him. He fell to the ground in a quivering heap as his heart rate plummeted and then righted itself. 

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, trying to stem the flow of tears with her hands. She disappeared back inside the house and Peeta was left to stare shamefully at his own tears pooling in the dirt.

#The Heartrender #everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #witch!Katniss #witch-hunter!Peeta #enemies to lovers #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

[savage-rhi]

HEY WAIT- GENE? WHAT- WHO IS THIS BADASS SWEETHEART? I GUESS IT'S YOUR OC, I LOVE HER, CAN I LEARN MORE PLEASE? 🥺💕 waiting i'm gonna read anything i can with her-

Art by: @senka-mesecine

@onl-you  I’m glad you asked! Gene is my Death Stranding OC. I came up with her around the time I was conceptualizing my fanfic Sky of Atoms. I’ll give you all ze facts you want, and if you have more questions you’re always welcome to hit me up with more. 

Name: Gene Chromos Dawkins

Occupation: Porter for BRISK Harpy--an independent delivery company that primarily works with folks West of the UCA. Has a co-partnership with Bridges. 

Age: Late 20s or 30s--I’ve left her age and appearances up to interpretation for readers. I have my own version of how I see her, but I love giving creative freedom to readers to build up the character themselves. 

Life Story: Gene was born to parents Linne’ (lynn-ay) and Robert Dawkins in Middle Knot City. Gene’s parents were scientists. Lenne’ focused on botany and plant applications while Robert studied DOOMs, but eventually resorted to working on botany projects with Linne’.

Gene had a good upbringing as a child. She would help her parents out with their plant projects and was taught biology and other sciences, but as she grew older, Gene became different from her parents in both personality and interests. Gene was more into physical work and never stayed in one place for too long. Growing up in a colony, Gene wanted to see the world even with the BTs and other dangers. Being an explorer was her dream job. 

As soon as Gene discovered what porters were and found out they got to go outside and see everything, she made it her life goal to become one. During her youth, Gene trained hard physically so she could get her foot in the door to the porter industry. She studied up too on requirements, what sorts of dangers she’d have to look out for, and tests to get a certification. 

Gene butted heads with her mother, who wanted Gene to grow up and have a career in a science field because it was a guarantee to have a good life post-Death Stranding. Her father Robert was indecisive, wanting to encourage Gene’s diversity and interests but he too thought Gene would be safer going into a career similar to his and his wife’s.

When Gene had the financial means and hit the requirements, she applied to BRISK Harpy out West. Upon being hired, Gene had a falling out with both her parents. The result ended in a brutal argument where neither party wanted to speak to each other. Sadly, after some time, Homo Demens had obliterated Middle Knot. Robert and Linne’ Dawkins were among the casualties. The loss hurt Gene significantly, and for a while, she felt lost on what to do with her life; thinking of her own mortality, her parent’s lives, and what she truly wanted.

Gene finds out through the grapevine at work about a new UCA project called the Pioneer Program. The program which is part of the Far North Expedition selects strong porters to go up into the region that was once Canada. Upon arrival, they are to catalog if there any survivors and how much the environment has changed after the Death Stranding. It was hoped that after a couple of years, the Chiral Network and UCA can expand up North. Gene decided to make this her goal, figuring it was a compromise between her dreams of being an explorer and doing the science research her parents loved. 

In the present and before Sky of Atoms starts, Gene is working on saving up her finances to get a Pioneer Pass to go up North and join the Expedition. 

If you want to read up on what happens to Gene and how she gets involved with Higgs, you can read Sky of Atoms here.  

Then there is the story Death Stranding: Rewind which is an alternative take on how Gene meets Higgs (based on Higgs saying in SOA how he wishes they could have met in better circumstances)--and the plot of this fic follows Higgs when he was a porter and leads into how he got ensnared into joining Amelie. 

Random facts!

I came up with Gene’s name based on, genetics, chromosomes, and Richard Dawkins. 

The term gene was introduced by Danish botanist, plant physiologist, and geneticist Wilhelm Johannsen in 1909. This ties in with Gene’s parents being botanists and studying plants. 

Linne’--Gene’s mother, was named after Carl Linnaeus. He a Swedish botanist, zoologist, and physician who formalized binomial nomenclature, the modern system of naming organisms.

I originally wasn’t going to have Gene and Higgs end up together in Sky of Atoms, but it kind of evolved on its own. 

Gene knows how to draw in good detail because her folks had her sketch and diagram plants as a kid. 

Despite being brought up by scientists, Gene doesn’t know too much about anything in the subject. She only held onto key things that would help out in survival situations for when she’d become a porter. Example: learning about wild plants that help heal, cure headaches etc. from her mother. 

Gene is quite physically strong, but prefers to outsmart her opponents versus brawl it out, but she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty. 

Gene has killed before on the job, and doesn’t like doing it. She especially has a tough time too when it comes to kids. 

Gene is indifferent towards kids. She likes them, enjoys their personalities, but being a parent isn’t her goal in life. 

Gene can be a bit of a smart ass. It has either helped her out of situations or made them worse. 

Below the belt (lolz) is my artwork of Gene. 

DS: Rewind appearance in later chapters

Concept Art I did of her

#gene chromos dawkins #gene dawkins #death stranding oc #death stranding #death stranding fandom #thank you for asking about her hon #hope this helps #love ya! #onl-you

[chicagocityfclanspromoblog]

Maya ‘Flower’ Hanes → Nicole Peltz → Witch

→ Basic Information

Age: 253

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

Powers: Chlorokinesis

Birthday: January 31st

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Religion: Jewish

Mark: Wilhelm

Generation: 5th

→ Her Personality

(one to two paragraphs)

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Mentee and Owner of Hanes Florist

Scars: None

Tattoos: Up to Player

Two Likes: Being Vegan and Charmed Jewelry

Two Dislikes: False Advertising and Gray Days

Two Fears: Having her freedom taken and the Wilhelm Family

Two Hobbies: Floral Design and Sun Bathing

Three Positive Traits: Innovative, Individualistic, Humanistic

Three Negative Traits: Selfish, Unpunctual, Contrary

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Gustav Hanes (Father): Flower adored Gustav. They shared the same power, and he was her main mentor throughout her beginning level. She regrets the loss of their relationship the most. He’s now begun to call on her birthday, but she is aware whatever relationship they may have, will not be the same as it was when she was young.

Pearl Hanes (Mother): Pearl and Maya were never very close. Maya resented most of the dog-and-pony show her mother made them go through in order to meet and socialize with the other European witches and warlocks. Their relationship did not improve after Maya came out to her.

Sibling Names:

Oliver Hanes (Brother): Oliver lives 5 blocks from Maya. She hasn’t spoken to him in 10 years.

Cornelia Wilhelm nee Hanes (Sister): Cornelia and Maya used to be very close. When she came out, her sister no longer wished to speak to her. She married her betrothed in 2010, and Maya was not invited.

Beatriz Hanes (Sister): Beatriz is her most accepting sibling. Unfortunately, they disagree about almost everything else and don’t speak frequently.

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

Audo Wilhelm (Former Betrothed): Audo and Flower were betrothed to one another at the beginning of the 20th century. Neither one particularly likes the other and more crucially Flower was a lesbian. They dodged getting married for almost 50 years, and it was only put to a stop when she finally confessed that she was gay. It took a lot of finagling on Audo, Flower, and Emmett’s parts to get them out of the arrangement. They’re still friendly with one another, and she likes to poke fun at him and his disaster of a love life. She’s judging him a bit for dating someone so young, but is playing it cool until she finds out more about their relationship.

Belle Cunningham (Girlfriend): Belle and Flower had to overcome a lot at the beginning of their relationship, between both of them being closeted, Flower being engaged and terrified of commitment, and the ever evolving issues with Belle’s powers. Flower truthfully didn’t think everything would work out for her and Belle. She’s always had wild dreams and expectations, but even they couldn’t compare to coming home and having a happy, public relationship with Belle. She cherishes that feeling every time she’s with her, especially since she’s not sure it won’t end. Flower has some issues regarding abandonment, especially with what happened with her family, but is willing to fight through those feelings to be with Belle.

Platonic Connections:

Chai Gates (Best Friend): Flower and Chai have been best friends for centuries. Though they initially got into many fights, the two eventually became inseparable. Chai is the person whom Flower tells everything to, and she was the first person whom Flower came out to. Chai let her crash with her in Chicago, when she first arrived, and eventually introduced her to Belle. They see each other daily still and Chai has keys to her apartment and green house.

Sid Velancia (Friend): Sid is always fun to hang around. He never takes himself too seriously and is always willing to go out. Belle very quickly felt comfortable around him, and she’s glad that he’s there for her when Chai, Sada, and Flower want to go off for a bit.

Sada Warren (Friend): Flower and Sada used to hook up several decades ago, before she was out to many people. Sada and Sid have an arrangement, and despite Flower’s initial concerns, it has always been very normal between the three of them. Sada and Flower both have more aggressive personalities and are definitely the loudest in their immediate friend group.

Jace Cicero (Mentor): Flower likes Jace. He pushes her enough to allow her to keep progressing with her powers, but leaves her alone after that. Which she appreciates; she had enough babying as a child and certainly doesn’t need it in her 200s. He expects them to meet them a certain amount of time per week and afterwards they’re free. She can’t imagine having an overbearing mentor like Eric, and has mentioned it multiple times to Chai.

Ashley Malone (Acquaintance): Ashley is a fellow mentee to both Chai and Belle. She’s come with them to the Undergrounds a few times, but hasn’t really become a member of their group. She’s a little snobbish (which says a lot coming from Flower) and is way too into her college and human stuff.

Eric Lasiter (Acquaintance): Flower would suffocate under Eric’s teaching style, but she knows he’s a great mentor. Chai and Belle both really like him and trust him entirely. She thinks he may be a little wary of her, but he’s never said anything directly.

Emmett Wilhelm (Friendly): Emmett is Flower’s cousin, some amount of times removed. He’d always been willing to step in between her and any Wilhelms that came to inquire about Flower and Audo’s “betrothment”. She knows he did it for Audo, but is appreciative of it regardless.

Bryce Holt (Customer): Bryce Holt came in looking for an almost obscene amount of flowers on rush notice. She was able to deliver in time and impressed Bryce and her boss. She’s had a regular contract with them for events and weekly arrangements to place around the hotel ever since then. Recently, Bryce asked if she would be willing to teach her how to arrange flowers herself, and Flower has been teaching her every Saturday for a few months now.

Fallon Draga (Fellow Mentee/Friend): Much to Flower’s surprise, she hit it off well with Fallon. They hang out after practices with Jace, and have even been sent to train against one another during combat days. Flower hates using her Chloro-weaponry powers, so they typically blow off practice and hang out.

Skylar Beckham (Fellow Mentee): They haven’t had much time to train with one another, but Flower is shocked at how fast she seemed to move with Audo. She got a bit of the dirt from Lyla, and overall hopes that Skylar knows what she’s getting herself involved in. She hasn’t mentioned anything about their past betrothal to her yet.

Amberlynn Chase (Fellow Mentee): Amber will occasionally come hang around with her, Belle, and Chai in the Underground. They used to train more frequently before Jace took on Fallon, but their friendship from that time remains strong. She’s always been really friendly towards Belle, and they all go to Lollapalooza together.

Nathan Cleirigh (Possible Therapist): Flower is considering going to Nathan’s practice. She knows Ashley is his receptionist and has asked if he is taking new patients. Flower knows she is avoiding unpleasant memories and feelings and wants to move past them.

Hostile Connections:

Catherine Barr (Dislike): Cat’s an asshole.

Pets:

Prue (Flemish Giant Rabbit): Prue, Piper and Phoebe are a group of three flemish rabbits that Flower got to live in her greenhouse. They nibble on the plants frequently, but Flower enjoys seeing them hopping around and can fix any damage done to the plants.

Piper (Flemish Giant Rabbit): Prue, Piper and Phoebe are a group of three flemish rabbits that Flower got to live in her greenhouse. They nibble on the plants frequently, but Flower enjoys seeing them hopping around and can fix any damage done to the plants.

Phoebe (Flemish Giant Rabbit): Prue, Piper and Phoebe are a group of three flemish rabbits that Flower got to live in her greenhouse. They nibble on the plants frequently, but Flower enjoys seeing them hopping around and can fix any damage done to the plants.

→ History (paragraph(s) on background) → The Present (paragraph(s) on how the character connects to the plot)

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Nicola Peltz [1][2][3]

#nicola peltz #witch rpg #warlock rp #magic rpg #supernatural rpg

[chicagocityofclans]

Lyla Wilhelm → Blake Lively → Witch

→ Basic Information 

Age: 510

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight 

Powers: Heliokinesis

Birthday: September 27th

Zodiac Sign: Libra

Religion: Agnostic

Mark: Wilhelm 

Generation: 7th

→ Her Personality Lyla is a sweet-natured witch who is upbeat and eternally optimistic but surprisingly tough. She is generous and kind hearted, embracing the potential of nearly every individual or opportunity she comes across. A lot of people underestimate Lyla because of her sunny and friendly personality. However, these people are often those who are ignorant to her tough past, where she learned to hide her strengths, keep her affairs private and to be resourceful and inventive. Those who do not know her are often caught off guard with her frankness which is contrasted from her colorful personality. Her straightforwardness has gotten Lyla in a lot of trouble and she has never been afraid to use her powers, spells, and curses to send someone flying across the room. 

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Owner and Reiki Master/Practitioner at Wilhelm Reiki Healing Solutions

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Date Nights and Herbalism 

Two Dislikes: Jilly Juice and Scammers

Two Fears: Overloading and Loneliness

Two Hobbies: Cultural Anthropology and Reiki 

Three Positive Traits: Colorful, Light-Hearted, Selfless

Three Negative Traits: Private, Candid, Possessive

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Percy Wilhelm (Father): Lyla has always been daddy’s little girl. Percy was a strong role model growing up and has had a large impact on Lyla’s life. 

Jade Wilhelm (Mother): Lyla has always been close to her mom. They talk nearly everyday on the phone and are constantly texting each other. Jade had just announced that Lyla should be expecting a brother or sister soon and Lyla couldn’t be any happier for her parents. 

Sibling Names:

None - Possibly changing soon

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

Emmett Wilhelm (Husband): Lyla and Emmett have been married for 302 years. They mentored together under the same person and their relationship continued on afterwards. Their relationship wasn’t arranged which many people believe because he is also a Wilhelm and Wilhelms often try to keep their line pure.

Platonic Connections:

Audo Wilhelm (Best Friend): Audo is the little brother that Lyla never had. She has loved every moment of Audo being a part of her and Emmett’s lives. 

Margo Wilhelm (Cuteness): Margo has sparked baby fever in Lyla much to Emmett and Audo’s cringe. Lyla enjoys babysitting Margo and teaching her the baby basics of magic whenever she has free time or when Judson isn’t hogging Margo. 

Rhiannon Draga (Former Mentor): Rhiannon had mentored Lyla for over a century. The two of them have become friends outside of Lyla’s previous mentorship and Lyla hopes to keep connections to Rhiannon no matter what.

Judson Cleirigh (Old Friend): Judson is an amusing character with a striking personality. He can always put a smile on Lyla’s face and is great with Margo.

Maya ‘Flower’ Hanes (Old Friend): Lyla was aware of the Hanes family but had never met one until Flower. They have grown to become friends despite their rocky beginning. Lyla just hopes that shit does not hit the fan when Skylar finds out that Audo used to be betrothed to Flower years ago. 

Fallon Draga (Good Friend): Fallon is Rhiannon's daughter and Lyla thinks she is as cute as an angry kitten. Rhiannon had Fallon and Alacurd while Lyla was still her mentee, and Lyla was always the first to volunteer to babysit while Rhiannon left for Council meetings. They remained attached at the hip as Fallon grew older. Lyla is wondering if Fallon would want to mentor with her in the future. 

Alacurd Draga (Friend): Alacurd is Rhiannon’s son and Lyla used to babysit him while Rhiannon attended Council meetings. Lyla has no idea why she and Alcuard aren’t closer now that Alcuard is older but that doesn’t phase Lyla at all. 

Nathaniel Clarke (Friend): Nathaniel and Lyla mentee under Rhiannon together. They easily became friends and still keep in touch now that Lyla is finished with her mentorship. Lyla wants to get him out of his shy shell more in the future.

Raul Santiago (Friend): Raul and Lyla mentee under Rhiannon together. While they do not talk like they used to, Lyla still attends Raul’s bowling tournaments.

Skylar Beckham (New Friend): Sky’s story is both sad and inspiring. It is clear to Lyla that Sky is slow to trust and is grateful that Sky is trusting her enough to let her in. Their friendship is still new and a little rocky but Lyla can see them becoming best friends. Lyla also approves of Sky and Audo's relationship.

Amber Chase (Unsure): Lyla’s parents knew Amber’s parents and a majority of the Chase-Wilhelm family. Jade, Lyla’s mom, thinks they may have linked great great great great great grandparents. Lyla has been pushing Emmett to make proper introductions but may approach Amber on her own.

Lawrence Cocci (Friendly): Lawrence is one of Emmett’s good friends and is consistently over at their place. They are friendly but Lyla is unsure about Lawrence's childish way and the trouble Emmett gets in because of it. 

Hostile Connections:

None

Pets:

Whiskers (Cat): Lyla got Whiskers as an emotional support animal for her store. Emmett ‘rescued’ little Whiskey and brought him to their apartment instead.

Syrup (Dog): Syrup was a gift. Apparently, Syrup kept following Judson around and they just so happened to be visiting when Judson was on his last straw.

→ History Coming Soon

→ The Present Lyla finished her mentorship just a few years ago and has been living each day to the fullest. Her business has picked up a lot of speed and Lyla is enjoying the independence of constantly having someone hovering nearby or having to schedule her hours around mentoring. This sense of freedom has also expanded to her personal life. Lyla and Judson have been working together to help Audo care for Margo. Margo helped Lyla notice she had a heck for teaching and the patiences of a saint. Lyla has been considering picking up charms and potions again. She hasn’t dabbled in a craft for nearly a century because she chose to focus on combining Solar Healing with her Riki work. Mastering charms and/or potions could help cut down cost between herself and Emmett purchasing charmed bracelets, rings and potions that aid in controlling the damage they do. She plans on speaking to Judson and Rhiannon to see what they think.

The Wilhelm family based out of Germany have been forcing Emmetts’ hand to become a local council member now that he has mastered all of his powers. They have also started pestering Lyla about taking more of a stand within the supernatural community and possibly becoming a local mentor. Lyla is unsure what her next step will be but she has been talking to Emmett about taking more time off and possibly starting a family. Lyla has reinforced her efforts in letting him know it's not because of pressure from their family and she is ready for the next step in their marriage. She has been considering becoming a mother for some time and now that she is finished mentoring, there has not been a better time. Emmett has been avoiding having that conversation with her but Lyla isn’t ready to give up just yet.

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Blake Lively [1][2][3]

#blake lively #Lyla Wilhelm #Open #OF #OFWI #OWI

[writtingsparxx]

Chapter 5 is finally up!

Title: Sunlight Feels Good Pairing: Reinhardt/Reader Rating: Teen Notes: I wish this was better, but it’s just fluff tbh

Also available on Ao3

The last time that you met Reinhardt was back in Germany. It was a cold autumn day, nearly four years after that first meeting. Most of the trees didn’t have their leaves any more and the normally bright oranges, reds, and yellows were giving way to the greys of winter once again. You were afraid that it might snow soon, and you were hoping that it would at least hold off on this day so that you could get through the event without having to have the guests leave. You knew that most of Overwatch had taken the time off to be here. You were grateful for them all being here. Now more than ever you needed the support of your family. 

For about half an hour leading up to the event you had removed yourself from everyone, sitting in a room by yourself, trying to get your thoughts together. You knew that in a matter of minutes all eyes would be on you. Never one for the spotlight, the mere thought of having to get up in front of a group of not only your friends and family, but also in front of a series of reporters, was making you a little sick to your stomach. But now, in the quiet by yourself as you read the two letters you had over and over again, it made sense. The first letter was one that you wrote, and was more of a speech than anything. The second was the last letter you received from Reinhardt. 

The letter had been read over and over again by now. It had been crumpled and stained as you carried it around base the last month or so. Nearly all of your friends had read part of the letter after seeing the kind of reaction it gave you. Now, sitting by a window in the sunlight streaming in, you read his letter one last time:

Liebling- 

I hope that this letter finds you well. I know my mission has taken me too far away from base. Being in the United States to track down this arms deal has been difficult, especially without you here. Either way, the team and I are positive that we should be done with this soon. 

I have heard rumors that an old acquaintance of mine, Jesse McCree, might be here. I wish you could have met him while he was on our side. He was snarky and didn’t listen to anything anyone said. I think the only reason why McCree stayed or listened at all was because he had a sense of freedom that being in a gang didn’t give him. He was fun to be around. What people would call a “life of the party.” I know that a lot of people enjoyed being around him. I think you would have too.

I sometimes worry that you’re going to leave me. I know this is not something to talk about in a letter, but I worry about it. I worry that one day, Liebling, you will wake up and realize that you can do so much better than this old man who tricked you into loving him. I do not want you to stay with me because of obligation after all these years. But I also do not want to lose you to anyone. So Liebling, and I will ask this again when I return home, marry me. Marry me and stay with me for the rest of our time. I am afraid I am nearing the end of my time on the field, but if I stay with Overwatch I can become a leader. I can settle down a little more and hopefully make a life for you. Maybe even have a family, if that was something you were interested in. I have often thought about having a family of my own, and I cannot think of anyone better to share that dream with than you.

I understand if you don’t want to send an answer right away. I am not expecting one until later. But Liebling, you would make this old man the happiest he’s ever been. I know that our relationship has been spent longer apart than together, but every time I am sent on a mission, I know that I am more and more in love with you. The longer I am away the more I realize that I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you in my arms. I want nothing more than to find a quiet home in Germany to spend the rest of my days with you. When it rains, I want you to make tea (you always make it exactly how I like it) and drag a blanket to the couch and sit with me. I want to spend my days cooking the same four dishes that you enjoy and eat even though it’s all I know. 

Most of all Liebling, I want nothing more than to spend my days with you. When I am so old I can’t stand - which is sooner than we both like to believe - I want you there with me. 

I hope this letter finds you well, and you consider my offer. 

Love, Reinhardt 

The thought of Reinhardt taking time out of his busy mission schedule to write this had made you smile. The question itself had caused you to lay down the first time that you read it. You recalled running to Brigette, gushing about Reinhardt asking you to marry him. You both agreed that it was absolutely ridiculous that he asked you to marry him in a letter. But, to you it was typical Reinhardt, and it encapsulated your relationship perfectly. After all, most of your time with the man had been spent through letters and telephone calls. It seemed appropriate to continue that tradition now. 

You didn’t write back to him right away. Instead, you kept the letter close to you, thinking the question over and over again. There was nothing that you wanted more than to marry Reinhardt the first chance you got. Afterall, he would be returning back from his mission shortly, and then you could easily get married then. There were several people you knew who you were sure would be happy to officiate a wedding, afterall. But, you didn’t want to give him that answer until he was there in person with you. This was a big decision to make, and you wanted to talk to Reinhardt about your expectations going forward. There was one thing you knew for sure, and that was that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Reinhardt, and hearing him want the same thing made your heart flutter… 

Almost immediately when Reinhardt got back he proposed for real. As soon as everyone was off the drop ship, completely unharmed, he dropped to one knee, declaring his love for you in front of everyone. It was a little embarrassing, but you loved his enthusiasm. You couldn’t even form sentences, just nodding furiously, hoping to convey that there was nothing you wanted more than that. Reinhardt had even gotten you a ring. It was an antique, apparently belonging to his grandmother at one point. It was a simple silver band with blue sapphires and a single diamond in the middle of the band. It was absolutely gorgeous and unique, just like your soon to be husband. 

You wanted the wedding to be small: Something that was personal between Reinhardt, yourself and your closest friends. Reinhardt, being who he was wanted something extravagant. In the end, Winston and Reinhardt both convinced you not only to make the wedding much bigger than you wanted, but also to allow some press coverage. After all, Reinhardt was a hero of the people, and having his name plastered on the paper about getting married would not only be good press for him, but it would also boost Overwatch’s overall image as well. 

That’s how you ended up in the current situation you were in. The reporters and your own personal wedding photographer had been taking pictures all morning, and currently you just needed a moment or two by yourself. You were about to step out there and get married. To Reinhardt Wilhelm. You still couldn’t believe it. It was all so overwhelming to you. Not because you weren’t ready or wanted to be here, but you still couldn’t figure out why Reinhardt wanted to put up with you for the rest of his life. He could have nearly anyone he wanted, and somehow he had settled in on you. It still felt like a dream to you. That you were going to wake up in your hostel back in Germany the same night you met him all those years ago. You would wake up to the harsh reality that everything from that snowy night in Sweden to that tour in Spain would all have been an elaborate joke your brain played on you. 

          But the realization that this wasn't a joke was becoming more and more obvious. You were here, reading the letter that initially asked for your engagement. You were in the dress, with the white fabric and lace and everything. The wedding was about to start, and nothing could make you happier except to actually get to spend the rest of your life with Reinhardt. 

As you were trying to collect your thoughts, you heard a knock on the door. Turning, you saw Brigette sticking her head in through the door, smiling. Her hair was done up well and she was in a dark grey dress that complimented her skin tone perfectly. Seeing her made you smile. “Are you ready? I think everyone is waiting for you?” she asked with a smile, stepping into the room and indicating the rest of the party. 

You looked down at the letters in your hands, smiling a bit. You stood up, smoothing out your dress and stuffing Reinhardt’s letter into the top of your dress, the other letter clutched in your hand still. “Yeah. I think I’m ready,” you said with a smile, reaching out and taking Brigette’s hand. The two of you walked out to where the rest of the wedding party was waiting for you, all nervous smiles as you came out from the room with Brigette. You could hear the people in the other room, excited chatter and soft music playing. “Yeah. I’m ready,” you said with a smile, taking your bouquet from Lena.

Your heart was skipping beat after beat as you walked down the aisle, staring straight ahead. All you could focus on was Reinhardt at the altar; his white hair, now longer than ever, pulled back into a bun, his beard nicely trimmed. It was a lovely contrast to his dark grey suit. Your eyes locked with his, and it was like everything else melted away. All you had to do was focus on getting to the altar and everything would be fine. One step in front of the other. Calm your breathing. Just focus on the man that would be your husband in just a few moments. 

When you reached the altar you handed your bouquet off again before taking Reinhardt’s large hands. It was comical to you that he could easily hold both your hands in one of his, but you didn’t mind it anymore. It was a comfort. It made you feel safe and protected. It was a comfort that you missed way too much. But now, in this exact moment, it was the most comforting feeling you ever experienced. You were so wrapped up in feeling the callouses on Rein’s hands, the way that his thumb was running over your skin, the way that the light caught his hair - that you weren’t paying attention to anything else. It wasn’t until Reinhardt nudged you, whispering a soft “Liebling” that you even realized that it was time to read your vows. 

“Oh… I’m sorry,” you said, blushing bright pink. You finally pulled your hands away from Reinhardt’s. You reached into your dress, pulling out the second letter that you had written nearly three weeks prior. Slowly unfolding it, you glanced up at Reinhardt with a smile before looking back at your paper, still blushing. 

“Reinhardt-” you started, clearing your throat slightly. “I had never intended to fall in love with you the day I approached you in that bar. I never intended to see you again after that night. But, impulsivity drove me to give you my number, and I am so glad that I did. When I first heard from you after that night, I was excited to hear more stories about your time in the Crusaders and with Overwatch. I believed that we would stop talking at some point, and that you would tire of me just like everyone else in my life has before. But, for some reason you kept on writing and calling and wishing to see me again. I don’t know when I started to suspect that I might want something more from you, but I do remember the night I fell in love. It was in Sweden. The night you walked me back to my hotel room,” you paused, smiling softly, remembering the night. You looked up at Reinhardt, not wanting to spend too much time in your letter. 

“It was snowing,” Reinhardt said softly, making you smile. 

“It was snowing. And you had given me your coat. I remember the two of us standing there for a few minutes, just holding each other’s hand and watching the snow. There was a moment when I looked up, and I knew that I was in love. I don’t know when or how, but love is funny that way. It has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it,” you said softly. You crumbled up your letter, putting it back down the front of your dress as you just focused on Reinhardt. No matter what words you were trying to express in that letter it didn’t compare to what you were feeling right now.

“I can tell you all kinds of promises and tell you everything I know about love, but it doesn’t compare. Nothing compares to how I feel about you, Reinhardt. There are not enough words in the world that would let me express how I feel about you. But, I remember thinking to myself the first time I met you that you were like a ray of sunlight. Like walking out on a cold morning and feeling the warmth on your face. And sunlight feels good now.”

#reinhardt x reader #reinhardt wilhelm #reinhardt overwatch #reinhardt #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fanfiction #my writing

[dominushq]

❝ “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore. ❞

KANISHK WELLESLEY-MITTAL is a TWENTY-ONE year old MATERIALS SCIENCE student at TRINITY COLLEGE in the University of Oxford. HE is in his FOURTH YEAR of studies.

DESCRIPTION

You were born into gold. Your cot was lined with gold, and it is with gold that the shroud that will one day deliver you back to the Earth has already been woven. It is not gold that impresses you, but human hands, complex minds that shape senseless metallic lumps into intricate art. Gold is earthly and temporary, and you are carelessly derelict to the duties that by birth are assigned to you. Instead you gaze upon the sun, you gaze upon the stars, and behind all that exists is a question, a history, a mystery—and it is your destiny to deliver answers. Yet you only answer questions that others do not ask, and you perceive signs where others see nothing. This commitment to destiny has made you eccentric, myopic and superstitious in the eyes of others.

Two paths had lain in front of you: one carved for you by privilege, the other by merit. If there are those who strive to merge these two paths into one, but you are of the belief that they are innately irreconcilable. The other path innately requires agreement that bloodline and dynasty are the highest qualities one can hold, and the quest of knowledge has long been burdened by those who seek only connections and titles. Those who, in their entitlement, deprive others more deserving of opportunities, who contribute minimally in the effort they extend into the philosophy. You think yourself the greatest prosecutor of this rhetoric of reunification and you do not hesitate to make your disagreements known; it is poison and you will burn it at its roots.

CONNECTIONS

You, CAESAR, and JUSTINIAN were given the same choice between the two paths. CAESAR chose wealth and power over knowledge, and you did not fault him for it, but it didn’t mean you had to tolerate him either. His rhetorics of reunification disgusted you, and JUSTINIAN’s agreement provoked you to disgust someone who was once a peer. To your chagrin, the death of CAESAR has not killed his ideas. It is up to you, then, to commit this final murder of CAESAR.

The members of Sodalitas are little more than decorated shells, glimmering façades with little substance. MESSALINA seems to you the worst offender of them all. You have crossed numerous paths with them, your family inhabits the same social circles, and yet you do not know them well and you have no desire to know them further. They seem shallow to you, insubstantial. Maybe if you got to know them, you would change your mind, but for now they are the prime example to you as to why the two societies ought never to reunite.

There is no one who embodies all that Pandidakterion stands for as much as IRENE. Except sometimes you wonder if they do not take the ideology a little too radically. They purport that all of humanity has equal right to knowledge—that it must not be kept to a chosen few, whether these few are qualified by merit or bloodline. In truth, the world is unprepared for this knowledge, would not know what to do with it, would view those who partake in it with nothing but disgust. You keep a close eye on her, just in case.

FACECLAIM: Avan Jogia

This character’s tag can be found here.

BIOGRAPHY

One shoulder bore the weight of his mother’s legacy—the illustrious Lady Elizabeth Wellesley, a daughter of the notable Duke of Wellington and a Princess of Prussia, descended from Kaiser Wilhelm II, and, in turn, Queen Victoria. The other shoulder bore the weight of his father’s—not any more lacking in grandeur, Ashok Mittal, the heir of one of the wealthiest families in the United Kingdom, the son of the King of Steel, now a magnate in his own right, driving the chariot in his hands, president of the world’s largest steel manufacturing company. The weight pinned him down to the Earth and duty drew lashes on his skin as he fell to his knees. The paths that lay in front of him have always been illusions of freedom; interweaving paths that crawled to the same destination, and really, what use was resistance? What use was struggle?

And so he followed this path passively: he allowed his mother to shape him, to enter him into Eton and mold him as young men of his birth ought to be molded. She had no titles and neither would he inherit any, and so he would never stand among the House of Lords, but he could stand still with the House of Commons, could rise even to Prime Minister, she posited day through to night. His father, meanwhile, cajoled him towards a different direction. He honed and sharpened what he deemed to be acumen for business, a ruthlessness, an instinct for blood and power, the necessary skills to one day succeed him.

Kanishk took to business as he did politics—that is, he performed pallidly, limply, and disappointed his parents in every turn. He barely bothered to mingle with his peers in Eton, instead burying his nose in books of history and myth, fascinated by the rituals of old, twisted his tongue in Latin and Greek in order to invoke a muse before a daunting task, in order to submerge himself in Homer’s wine dark sea and kiln-fired earth. He cared little for spending time with the social circles of his mother, caring more for the time of the night when the Bengali woman tasked to care for him would recount him the epics of the old, the tales of the avatars as they appeared on Earth, and with her he contemplated the boundless universe as it existed all at once. In his trips with his father, he cared little for the sleek skyscrapers and the men in lush suits, instead begging for more time at the steel mills, to gaze upon the glowing orange of the forge, his shy exterior exploding into wondrous enthusiasm when it came time to ask the scientists questions.

Even as a worthier contender arose—his darling sister, Visakha, who untrained and unshaped had desired so deeply that which he cared so little for, displaying with great potency a proficiency and an affinity for the skills required to navigate both business and politics, the very same skills that Kanishk so weakly attempted to emulate out of obligation—it was he who they hailed their prince, he who they still expect to one day take the reins. It strains on their relations, but there is no other who understands Kanishk as well as Visakha, no other who he trusts or admires as ardently, and if there comes to be power in his hands, then the only good use for it would be to pave the path to allow Visakha to claim the empire that she deserves. What was once disinterest curled sourly into disdain. He grew to despise this same system which privileged him but denied his sister. Shyness and deference blossomed into anger, into passion in every pursuit.

Oxford was an easy choice for him. His study of Materials Science was acceptable to his parents, still under the spell that it might be to understand their industry better, still priming to take the position from his father one day—and they could believe what they wished to believe, but Kanishk studied materials science because the scientists at the mills had filled him with an insatiable curiosity, and together with his interest in an ancient world long gone he had found his niche in Trinity College, where there were tutors present who expressly dealt in this intersection of ancient materials. To the world outside it still seemed as though he was traveling these paths that led to one destination, but Kanishk knew now that he wanted nothing more than a life in pursuit of answers, of knowledge, a life submerged in the academic where since childhood he had exceeded, even stood out—affirmed when, one day, he was approached with an offer. His mother had told him of Sodalitas, even if in vague whispers. She was a member herself. He had received an offer, and this he met with disinterest. It was the invitation from Pandidakterion that filled him with glee, and with Pandidakterion he discovered a home unlike any other. Others to share this passion with, a society so deeply embedded into history itself.

#lsrpg #lsrp #university rp #original rp #rp #p #skel: constantine #link: messalina #link: irene #c