#source: infamous second son

[emmikay]

Mustang: Stay here and do not touch anything.

Ed: Yeah, yeah.

Mustang: (leaves)

Ed: I’m gonna touch everything.

[jesse-wilder]

Reggie: I can’t believe you would do something this stupid!

Delsin: I think we can all believe that we would do something this stupid.

[xdacted]

twenty seconds or twenty years?

Pairing: Reader x Max Verstappen

Warnings: fluff, Regency! Au, period-typical sexism

Word Count: 4,359

Status: Completed

Max was never one for balls or parties. 

The entirety of the social season felt bothersome, a chore. His mother, however, found his resistance to society a mere ‘bout’, a passing stinge, thinking he simply had yet to stumble across the right debutante. As such, she insisted upon his attendance at any and all gatherings, responding to invitations on his behalf. 

He was expected at nearly every event until June. 

Max was previously able to busy himself with the workings of business affairs, often called to distant corners of the nation just as the season neared, but his mother had enough of his excuses. When she stomped into his office, an invitation in hand, slamming it upon his desk, he was unable to escape. 

“You will attend,” She seethed, “If you are to take the title from your father, you must find a wife.”

Attend he did, rocking along in a carriage to the first ball of the season. A rather large event, or so Victoria had said, hosted by the Russel family. 

The estate grew closer, emerging from the darkness with twinkling lights. The strong structure sat surrounded by lush grass and proud trees, gently swaying in the evening wind. Max fought the growing knot of dread that formed in the pit of his stomach, twisting uncomfortably in his seat. He wished for nothing more than to pass the evening as a mere shadow, lost to the crowd, unnoticed. 

The carriage slowed to a stop and Max was slow to descend, gingerly stepping down and straightening his tailcoat. He dismissed his driver with a nod, suppressing the urge to clammer back within the confines of the carriage. He was met with the grandeur of the Russel estate, staggering pillars wrapped in foliage, imposing walls that dripped into magnificent window frames, and adorned with intricate moldings. 

It was a sight to beyond, but Max could hardly stand it. 

The sounds of others pulling onto the gravel behind him prompted him to slip through a lingering horde of guests and the entrance. The large doors opened to a spacious foyer, marble floors drenched in the warm chandelier light. 

Max expected nothing less from the Russels, an honorable family attached to an impeachable name and title. He attended school with the youngest son, George, and hoped to find him before he was lost to the throng of other partygoers. Finding his fellow bachelors was the only source of solace Max found at such events. Many were his past schoolmates or current business partners, but more so, they were his friends. 

If he were to suffer, he saw no reason why he needed to do so alone. 

As if hearing his plea, a tall figure entered his field of vision. 

“Verstappen!” A voice behind him exclaimed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

He turned, the tension easing in his shoulders, “Russel.”

George stared at him, an indiscernible look on his face, “I must admit, I was quite surprised to hear that you would be attending tonight. I thought you, of us all, a perpetual bachelor.”

The comment was made in jest, but Max could not deny the truth of his words. Though he did not hold as infamous a reputation as some, Max was regarded as Unmatchable,  unrelenting in his desire to never marry or sire children. 

As far as he was concerned, his father’s wicked bloodline would die with him. 

Max could only shrug, scooping a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “ I assure you, old friend, it was far from my idea.”

It was my mother's, the thought went unsaid, but Max was sure George knew well enough. His mother worried for him. She only wished to see him happy, Max wished she would drop the marriage matter entirely. 

“I see,” George muttered, running a hand across his chin, a moment of silence passed between them. 

Then, as chipper as ever, he exclaimed, “Well, here is to the rotten luck of some.”

With a snort, Max raised his glass before bringing it to his lips. Their banter was a long-established one, forged within the walls of preparatory academy and later enforced at university. 

Max opened his mouth to inquire about their fellow bachelors, but was interrupted by two ladies making their way to him, fans held up to their faces. He was locked into a conversation before he could plan his escape. Though Max was grateful for George’s company, the sight of two of the ton’s most eligible bachelors detached from a group of their own welcomed the yapping hordes of women and mothers. They were soon drowning in a sea of fabrics and sparkling jewels, unable to do more than listen as accomplishments were rattled off and dance cards were shoved in their faces. 

Max wished they would attach themselves to truly interested bachelors, of which there were plenty, but he suspected it was not so much them as it was their lineage. The other had always been incredibly popular, but Max, well, he knew of the rumors. 

Max Verstappen, heir to the Duke of Hasselt, is a great beast - a monster, like his father. Though his stormy demeanor deterred many, the alluring promise of a dukedom attracted far more than his attitude could ward off. 

Just as the voices began to melt into one, George nudged Max with his shoulder, “Thank you, ladies, but we must take our leave. We are required elsewhere.”

Their protests were almost immediate, pushing themselves closer to the bachelors, fluttering eyes and pouted lips directed towards them. 

Truly, Max would have more sympathy if he would be given more space. 

“Thank you,” He said, voice coming out far firmer than he meant, “But we should be going now.”

They were quick to silence, shuffling apart to clear a small opening, and Max was quicker to take it. He could hardly breathe amongst the clouds of perfume, nose burning with the assaulting scents, and was grateful for their escape. 

“You looked as if you might die,” George muttered, guiding them to a small clearing by the dancefloor, “Were they truly so appalling?”

Max opened his mouth to answer, but no words found themselves tumbling out. It was not as if he were repulsed by the idea of a woman, or even of marriage, but the unhappiness he witnessed with his parents’ marriage was something he was unable to shake. His mother had been miserable, chained to a Verstappen man with no option but to provide him with the children he demanded. 

Max could never, in good consciousness, reward that with the succession of the Verstappen line. 

They arrived at the clearing before he could gather his thoughts. There, nursing glasses and wearing knowing smiles, stood Viscount Riccardo, son of Viscount Norris, and the Earl of Monte-Carlo. 

A few of his oldest friends. 

“Gentlemen!”

The men tipped their heads in respect but maintained their smirks. 

“Never thought I would live to see the day,” Daniel began, “Max Verstappen at a party.”

“I rather think it was not his idea, was it?” Charles laughed, looking over at Lando who watched on with an ill-concealed smile. 

“No,” Max sighed with a roll of his eyes, “It was not.”

Laughter erupted from the bachelors, George clapping another hand down upon Max’s shoulder. Their voices were hidden from passersby by the constant flow of music. 

“Regardless,” Lando said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Perhaps a wife could be best.”

“How so?”

“Well,” He gestured to the room, clusters of women craning their necks to gaze at them, “If you were married, there would be no reason to attend these parties. You would have your solitude.”

“It is not solitude I desire,” Max muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He could hardly imagine a worse fate, but it was one he was willing to fall into. 

“Then what do you desire, dear friend?” Daniel quipped, casting him a sideways glance. 

Max could give no response, the words a thick ball in his throat, he could only push his nose into his glass. The topic was quickly dropped and conversation floated between them easily, even as they were picked off to catch a dance or two. Still, they were left to relative peace. Approaching a pair or lone bachelor was simple, it was encouraged. But, to find yourself in front of a group, was seen as distasteful, and desperate. 

Regardless, the room only continued to fill, guests spilling into other parts of the estate, but with it, so did the knot in Max’s stomach. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, fingers nervously tapping upon a nearby table. 

Parties presented the unknown, and Max had tried desperately to stay far from it - the thought frightened him more than he would ever admit aloud. Within the unknown, was love. 

Love felt completely foreign, a thing of fiction or myth, a sentiment that filled the pages of novels and fairy tales. Max was told that his mother and father did love each other, once. To present, however, that affection had long been lost. 

Max had more than one idea as to why. 

His father was a petulant man, looking to command others through fear, not respect. He was well regarded in the eyes of His Majesty, but ill in the eyes of the Ton. He was cold and selfish and, despite his prayers, Max’s father. Though Max had made every attempt to differ himself, it seemed that he was his father’s son. 

And he always would be. 

“-stappen…Verstappen…Max!”

The sound of his name yanked him from his thoughts. 

“...yes?”

Charles looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed with worry, “Is something the matter? I called your name, but…”

Max shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “I am quite alright, I apologize. I was merely lost in the lights.”

Still, the look remained. 

“Honestly, Charles,” He placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, “I am fine.”

Max turned away from him before he could utter anything else, bringing his hand back to his side. His eyes swept over the dance floor, hoping to calm his nerves in the senselessness of the evening. Both Lando and Daniel had taken to the floor, pulling themselves towards their partners. They stepped to the music, the quartet hidden away in the balcony. A few paces over, was George. Accompanying his mother on a round of the room, and receiving praise for a successful opening to the season no doubt. 

The room was lively, couples turning in time and chatting coyly. Though it was not his preferred evening, he could see the appeal of such parties. 

He felt rather foolish. 

His eyes moved over the entrance, the trickle of people slowing, most finding themselves huddled around the dancefloor. Then, just as he was about to pull his gaze from the doors, something - or rather someone - caught his eye. 

A woman, drenched in the candlelight, moving through the crowd of people. Her entrance was met with no fanfare or buzz, but he was entranced. If no one had taken notice of her yet, how foolish they must be. 

She was the most gorgeous creature to exist. 

A gentle smile on perfect lips, a tendril of hair curling over her forehead, the softest hint of rouge dusted across her cheeks - Max was caught. He was caught within the lace of her dress, within the glimmer of her jewelry, within the silk of her gloves. He was caught and never wished to be released from her grasp. 

She was beautiful, extraordinarily so - blindingly so. 

She was unlike any other woman he had ever seen, working her way through greetings, and rounding the room with her chaperone. 

“Do you -” He forced himself to swallow, throat suddenly tight, “Do you know who that is?”

Charles nodded, relaying to Max her name and family, “I believe this is her first season. She was, according to my mother, a great success at the presentation to the queen.”

Max could see exactly why, a hand curled around the arm of her chaperone, dance card dangling from her wrist - each step was taken with purpose, with conviction. She was no simpering debutante, she was a lady commanding the attention of the room. Her strength was in her grace. 

He watched as George and his mother approached her, she dropped into a low curtsy, rising again with her gentle smile. They were too far to make out the words they spoke, but Max yearned to know. He yearned to hear her voice, to be near her, to breathe her air.

“Has she caught your eye, old friend?”

For the first time, Max broke his start, turning to glare at Charles. 

“Do not bother denying it,” He laughed, patting Max’s arm, “Ask her to dance.”

Perhaps, he dared, just for tonight. 

He glanced back over to her, her eyes moving across the room before finding him. He was sure he forgot to breathe, her gaze piercing through him. 

The thought crossed his mind. He could take her to dance, it would hardly mean a thing, but he was unsure if he would survive it. If he could withstand the heat of her gaze, the feeling of her hands within his own. 

Max never thought himself a weak man. 

He pulled himself away, “No,” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, “I - I - it would be best if I refrain.”

Perhaps, he was. 

He hadn’t the slightest clue what was wrong with him, but he could not possibly give himself the chance to find out, most definitely not with her. Granted, he hadn’t attended as many parties as Charles or Daniel, but he was no neophyte. Such a reaction was ridiculous, he had only learned her name, and he could not dismantle his entire life’s purpose for a woman he had only just met. 

Could he?

A look of curiosity crawled across Charles’ face once more, and this time Max feared he would be forced to hear the question that awaited him, but, as if by magic, George reappeared before them. 

“Whatever is the matter with him?” He teased, sipping from his champagne glass. 

“I think our dear friend is -”

“I am not.” 

“Oh,” George smiled, an evil thing, “I think you are.”

Max felt his face flush, a dreadful heat racing down his spine. He reached over, snatching a lute of champagne from a passing tray, his mouth felt incredibly dry. 

“I suggest you make haste, friend,” George muttered, turning to take in the dancefloor. It was filled with bodies, but Max was only concerned with one. 

She stood alongside other ladies, chatting idly before a gentleman approached. Max recognized him as a second son with little to offer, the gentleman bowed deeply offering his hand to her. She seemed to draw the same conclusion, the smallest lapse of hesitation passing over her before placing her hand in his. He turned them onto the dancefloor. 

Max was unable to answer, attention locked onto her as she danced, the music beginning behind him. Her movement was graceful and perfect, lines straight and steady. 

“You may have found your bride yet,” Charles sighed, resting his hands upon his hips, “But you will lose her if you do not take action.”

“She is not mine to have,” Max said, placing his glass down harsher than necessary, “Perhaps it is time I take my leave.”

“I did not mean -”

“No,” George stepped forward, “You never come out to these parties, stay.”

“I really should -”

“Stay.”

He looked towards his friend, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t ever revealed his reasoning behind his continued bachelorhood, but he knew his friends recognized it as something far deeper. It was simply not in their nature to divulge such feelings. 

Wordlessly, he plucked another glass from a tray and downed its contents. Quite boorish, but the slight burn helped soothe the pounding of his heart. It was far from his favorite alcohol, but it was all accepted for such parties. The stronger brandy was hidden away in the smoking lounges, and Max hardly entered those. 

“Excellent!” George cheered. 

Eventually, Lando and Daniel returned, with George departing to greet more guests. 

Despite not being the heir, George made himself ever-useful. He was often a source of great knowledge or companionship - a dutiful host too. 

“I cannot believe it…” Lando mumbled, fixing a crease in his coat, with a scowl. 

“What?”

“Lord Ambrose,” He nearly sneered, “He insists on filling up dance cards before other gentlemen can, believing it to be a ‘claim’ upon the ladies.”

Charles shuddered, “He is a brute.”

“He is a cheat,” Lando pressed, “There are open bookings at the club with no sight of a check.”

“He is an Earl,” Daniel reminded, placing his glass between Charles and Max, “To be his wife is to have security.”

“But what of love?” Charles questioned indignantly, “What of proper courtship? Of a love match?”

“What of it?” Max’s words left him before he was able to keep them back. 

“Well,” Charles turned to the dance floor, gesturing with his glass to her, “Would you court her? Or would you wish that she marry a man like Ambrose for security?” He nearly spat the word. 

“It is much more complex than that,” Max said, finding her once more in the crowd. 

She returned his gaze in an instant as if she could sense him, offering him a small smile. His heart began to pound once more. 

“Women are forced to rely on the security of a name,” He tried to busy himself with his words, “A name that can only come from marriage, a name only a man can provide. They are not left with much choice.”

Charles seemed to think. He would never truly understand, as he had no sisters, but Max did. He remembers Victoria’s first season with burning clarity, how terribly nervous she had been. Her entire life and personality were boiled down to a singular match. And once she did marry, she was removed from their family, excised, and replanted. 

Max hated it. 

“Yes,” Charles whispered, his voice nearly lost to the swell of the music, “I - I suppose you are right…”

A bubble of pleasant silence grew over them, shrouded by the music as it drew to a close. Max watched as the gentleman returned her to the other ladies, offering another deep bow before stepping away. The ladies curled around her in an instant, their eyes alight with wonder. There was a soft flush to her cheeks, but she still looked breathtaking, fanning herself gently with a hand. 

Something grew within his stomach, only it was not dread, it was something light.

“Oh, bother,” Lando hissed, eyes squirting just beyond the group of ladies. 

“What is it?”

“There he is,” He jerked his head, something quite unlike him, “And dare I say he is -”

He was approaching her, coming upon the smallest break within the ladies’ bodies and greeting them with a hungry smile. Max’s legs were moving before he could will himself to stay put. Lord Ambrose was looking around the ladies, leaning far closer to them than necessary. 

Max was cutting through the crowd, sidestepping other partygoers and ignoring the calls of his name. Anger flared within him, perhaps it was more disgust, at Amrbose’s blatant disregard for their honor. 

Of all the bachelors, he had the most notorious of reputations. Countless mistresses and bastards littered his name, but the depth of his pockets made it a mere speck upon his title. She was well within her rights to select any man she pleased, and Max could never tell her any different, but he would not allow her honor to tarnish - any other gentlemen, just not him. 

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Max interjected, inserting himself between her and Lord Ambrose, “But I was wished to ask if,” He turned to face her, heart pounding, “I may have your next dance?”

“You are interrupting, Verstappen, as I was about -”

Her eyes went aglow with something akin to relief and she placed her hand in his, tightening around him, “Of course, I would be honored.”

The murmurs from the surrounding ladies were immediate, covering their mouths with dazzling fans, but there was nothing to hide their amazement. The beast out to dance, how unlikely. He held his arm out for her, rounding the expanse of the dance floor as they awaited the music.

“I must apologize if - if I overstepped,” He sighed as they settled away from earshot, “I did not mean to make it seem as if you needed my saving.”

“Your apology is accepted,” She smiled up at him, placing a gloved hand upon his shoulder, and the other resting gently within his grasp, “But, regardless of how unnecessary it may have been, I am quite grateful.”

“Though I must admit, Mr. Verstappen,” The music queued up behind them, a gentle melody of strings, “I was under the impression you had no interest in dancing.”

Her words were a double-edged sword and Max could not deny. 

“I, typically, do not,” He swallowed thickly, unable to withhold the truth with her before him, “But for you, I suspect there are many exceptions to be had yet.”

Her blush burned through her cheeks and to the tips of her ears, Max suppressed a chuckle. She was quick to recover, moving away from him with the first steps of the dance. It was a simple one, filled with a series of spins and skips. Despite his reluctance, he was still a member of high society. His education had included such social niceties, though he never thought he would put them to use. 

“You are a far better dancer than the rumors allow you credit for.”

“Are you one to listen to rumors?”

“Only when they make such a man to be a beast,” She looked at him through her eyelashes, though it was not coy. There was nothing demure about her gaze, it was striking. 

It was as if she wished to see into the very depths of his soul, to know all of his secrets and deepest desires. 

And Max, the great fool he is, would gladly allow her. 

He spun her in time with the music, guiding her by the waist, before pulling her near him once more. This close, he was able to see her more clearly. The shape of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the roundness of her face - her beauty knew no bounds. The very dress she wore, a mere cloth of elaborate stitching, seemed to be one with her body, made for her. 

He supposes it was, but so many debutants attempted to hide their nervousness behind frilly clothing and blinding jewels. She, however, seemed to command the very fabric on her skin. 

“Is there something the matter, My lord?”

Her voice shook him from his thoughts, but there was a knowing look in her eye. 

“No, no, I apologize,” He stepped behind her, reaching for her hand, “And I am not Lord, not - not yet.”

“Many men would jump at the chance to claim a title that is not theirs,” She huffed, unable to hide the roll of her eyes. 

“Well,” Max found both her hands, lifting them above their heads before tracing a hand down her spine to the small of her back, “I am not most men.”

She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch, and when he went to remove his hand, she leaned into it, “No, I suppose you are not.”

The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken desire. There was much to say, much to do, but Max only planned to keep her from Ambrose, not the entirety of the marriage mart. 

He straightened once more, clearing his throat, “My - my mother was incredibly involved in our upbringing. I learned a myriad of things my fellow bachelors did not.”

She seemed to think for a moment, cocking her head to the side, “Like…sewing?”

“...Yes,” He sighed, spinning them around, “But she said it was more with my unruly desire to be the best at…well, everything.”

His words pulled a laugh from her lips. It was not gentle nor polite, her laughter was bright and loud, pulling the attention of a few other dancers, but Max could not bring himself to care. He adored it. 

He adored her. 

“I am quite the same,” She mused, “I cannot stand to lose.”

Max smiled before he could stop himself, “Neither can I.”

He walked himself around her, holding his right hand to her waist and the other to her opposite hand. They locked eyes, Max’s blood rushing to his ears. The shy smile she offered him from across the room melted into a genuine smile, larger than the former. 

Far more beautiful. 

The music ended with a soft chord, the floor breaking apart to clap. Max slowly moved from her, unable to fight the need any longer, his eyes still trained on hers. They clapped, but the moment the applause died down, he took her hand in his. The walk back to the group was nearly a crawl. 

He did not wish to leave her side. 

They arrived sooner than he wished, but the words came just as quickly. 

“May -” He nearly forgot himself, “May I call upon you? Perhaps…tomorrow?”

“Yes,” She breathed, still holding onto his hand, “I would like that very much.”

He looked down at their hands and waited for her to pull back from him. She did with a blush moving across her cheeks, and Max was unable to do anything but return it. 

He felt like a boy, with his heart thundering within his chest, but - they locked eyes once more, the infinite land of understanding between them, surrounding them - nothing could ever feel more right. 

_____________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

also, yes, there are geographical inaccuracies, but let's all just have fun and ignore them kay??? and if you guys like this and want me to continue this with the rest of the drivers, let me know

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

could you write a enoch o’connor x reader or enoch x olive fluff? movie ver 🙏

Strange Trails

Pairing: Enoch O’Connor x fem!Portman!reader.

Warnings: Not beta read. Use of Y/n. Movie adaptation. No scenes with Enoch (he comes along in the next chapter).

Summary: Your Jacob’s sister and have come along with him to uncover Abe’s tales and held secrets, though you didn’t expect that the cute boy from your favourite childhood stories would become the source of your affections — and you definitely didn’t think that boy would begin to quote the music album you’d discreetly slipped him.

Format: Series — Part One.

Word count: 6.3k

request guidelines | Following Strange Trails

The death of Abe hit you in a different manner than it hit anyone else. The grief held off for the few weeks it took to arrange his funeral and wake, only a pit in the bottom section of your stomach that flared whenever you caught a glimpse of his smiling picture.

Jacob had reserved himself from you for the second time in your lives — the first being when he stopped trusting in the law that was grandpa Abe’s tales and you continued to live on in the weary dreamworld of childhood that it was for years to come. You’d repaired your relationship years ago, into something not quite the same but just as close, even this closeness didn’t stop the fragments of past hurt and fresh grief from seeping through the cracks.

Abe and Jacob were always close. A bond between boys that bound them into a more understanding relationship, a more loving one, and you couldn’t imagine what hell your brother bore with him after having found the eyeless corpse of someone so dear. Except you and Abe were close too, and it was hard for you too, yet you refused to fall into the pits that were holding him hostage.

You invested all your time into the planning of his burial, the built-up summer homework and ignoring the breakdown Jacob was suffering. You disregarded your sorrow and felt the disrespect curl at your gut when your father, Abe’s son, acted like Abe’s death was nothing more than an inconvenience to his mundane, dead-end life of watching birds. You looked down your nose whenever your brother chose you as his target for lashing words and cutting accusations of not caring, when all you felt like you were doing was caring so much.

You festered in the thick, murky depths of woe, mourning in the ringing silence of it and going through the motions of life with a certain robotic unfeeling.

You kept it up for a good while, all polite smiles and brief embraces for anyone with an ounce of sympathy to spare; then the funeral happened. Abe’s picture sat on a large splintered easel, an easel you’d picked out knowing he’d have picked that very one for all its rough edges should he have had the choice, and he’s smiling that crooked smile you only ever saw once in a blue moon.

Beside that, Abe’s sleek coffin is entrapped in bars ready to lower him into the higher floor level of Earth's layers and it’s then, when the casket is left all them feet down and the first shovel of dirt is flicked over it, that your resolve shatters.

Your chest pangs with an oddened palpation filled with anguish and loss and it travels quickly through to your stomach and churns it more viciously than anything before. Your throat lumps and clenches, the sadness awaiting to manifest into loud, uncontrollable sobs that would no doubt rack through your entire body; you try to swallow it down, try to save yourself and your family some dignity, gulping harshly. You fail.

The cry fields across the graveyard with piercing suddenness. You're the first to cry, or at least the first to let it be known, even Jacob stood beside you stays stoic — blank-faced and numb. He glances at you, the infamous trademark blues that only a handful of Portman’s carried flickering with their first kind emotion he’d had for you in weeks, all sympathetic and soft-centred.

You and Jacob were close growing up, you were each other's first friends, the first person the two of you would choose to share toys or snacks with, you’d shared a room for a while and you’d shared a womb once upon a time too; so even in the times you weren’t friends, Jacob would always be the first to remember that once you sobbed for the first time, it was end game. He wasn’t just some friend, he was your brother first, always.

His arm draped over your shoulder, pulling you into his side and letting you bury your face into the black of his suit despite knowing it’d stain with makeup. He stares forward with his eyes welling and you hear as he swallows thickly but the tears don’t fall. You continue to choke through your grief. And the two of you ignore the condescending pity the rest of your stoic-faced disconnected family convey at the emotional display.

“It hurts.” You gasp out silently, hand resting above the placement of your heart. “It hurts. I’m sorry, Jake. I’m so sorry that you- that we- he shouldn’t have- not like this. Never like this.”

“You don’t have to apologise to me, Y/n.” He whispers. “We both lost him. You lost him, too.” This is the sanest you’ve seen your brother since the accident, the sanest you’ve felt since, and you have a brief moment of hope that flushes through your grief and visualises into a happier future. A future where Abe Portman didn’t die from a brutal attack, where Jacob Portman didn’t close off when you most needed him not to, where you didn’t have to take on so much responsibility all the time.

But that is a future that can no longer have a chance to exist.

Abe Portman is gone. Jacob Portman closes off to cope. You were always going to be forced to pick up the slack.

That’s the natural order now. Not much change, you could deal with it. You had too. You always picked up the slack, Jacob always closed off; Abe wasn’t always dead.

When you and Jacob parted at the funeral the last of the comfort parted with it, clinging to your heart with a suchness that it almost ached. You’d tried to weasel your way into his time, hoping for even a semblance of connection and understanding that you knew only he could offer but Jacob’s grief was a wild, springy, spiral that sparked with a drive of madness and a hunger for answers. Yours better resembled a hazy daydream that clouded your reality and took away your normal sensitivity to life and its breathing tendrils, yours doesn’t spark alight so much as it sparks out.

You have no such madness. No such drive.

You’d prefer your brother's version, alive and reminiscent rather than your dead and grey but your brother’s had caught up to him, so at the very least you were left be for your drabness. Reminiscence for Jacob meant retelling and seemingly harbouring a certain belief into the tales Abe loved to tell you as children, and as much as you sympathised with him for the therapy he was forced into, you would do just about anything to recall the faces and the names and the peculiarities and the stories of the children at the orphanage like Jake seemed too. You would do anything to have your grandpa back like that.

Your parents worried too much about Jacob’s state of mind to really pay attention to your withdrawn one which really felt like both a blessing and a curse all at once. On one hand, you wanted some doting and comfort, you wanted some companionship in a world that suddenly seemed so big and lonely. On the other, you had much more free reign to garner a way to cope and much more time to laze and mope and actually use your newest coping mechanism. Music.

There was so much to music that it felt like a never ending learning curve that you could obsess and consume without ever running out of materiel. Your family were more well off than most and so you could afford the luxury of getting the things your mechanism beckoned for; the guitars, the keyboards, the vinyls, the Walkman tapes, the drums, the speakers — you had a growing collection that slowly began to overtake the span of your room in a comforting display.

You’d had some of it before Abe’s passing, gifted to you by him to sate his own love for music and share it with someone he knew could appreciate it. A modernised vinyl player had been assigned a seat on the surface of one of your chest of drawers long before with a box filled with records on the floor beside it and an electric guitar had hung on your wall since you were only twelve.

Your grandpa had been the one to teach you how to strum the strings and play the chords and he’d done so while learning alongside you; those were easier times filled with peals of laughter and burts of wisdom whose memories left a melancholic river of longing streaming through your blood and down your face. Still, you played and you listened and at first you had to force yourself to enjoy something so associated with him but eventually it became your solace. Eventually, it was everything you needed.

Eventually, the memories stopped clouding your heart and your eyes and music was something that kept Abe’s memory alive and unhindered by your grief. It was his, and it was yours, and you carried it everywhere you went.

••

Having to go through the house of a lost loved one was an experience you wouldn’t wish on anyone. To see the home where he had lived look so lifeless and unlived in was just another drive home of his loss — your loss.

It didn’t stir your heart and churn your stomach like his burial had, you didn’t give throaty cries and cling desperately to your brother like you wanted too. This fostered a sting, a finality and a reminder. Abe is gone and he’s not coming back.

Your grandpa was a hoarder. He didn’t collect in a way that gathered in the entrance of each room and was left to cake itself in layers of moulding gunk but every spare nook garnered papers and maps and trinkets that to an outsider seems pointless. That to your dad, seemed pointless.

You and Jacob fought restlessly for the possession of any items your father picked up, one thing that meant nothing to Jacob meant something to you and vice versa, but Franklin had no attachment to any of it and most of your fight was lost simply because of that. You knew most of the things you wanted to keep didn’t actually have any vital virtue but they were all things you knew Abe treasured and in extension, you did too.

There were black bags lying all around you, filled and fastened and ready to go into the skip. Your throat did that funny clench and clamp you’d become accustomed to whenever you thought about throwing them away, thought about how his entire life was bagged and going to be discarded like it was all nothing. Like his life meant nothing.

You had to keep reminding yourself that your grandfather wasn’t the things he kept, that throwing them away wasn’t tarnishing his memory, that parting with them wasn’t parting with him. Abe didn’t live on through the hoarding of his past keepings, he lived on through you, through Jacob, and through anyone else that remembered him.

The only thing that Franklin had no argument for was the pictures that had either you or your twin in them and the stashed money kept in the oddest of places. It was to your guys’ uncommon luck that you caught a glimpse of the familiar sleek dark leather that belonged to a box your childhood yearned to have back, after your father had left the room. You’d opened it with a tense jaw and a cautious glance over your shoulder, knowing if you were seen with it it would be snatched from your grasp without a gallon of sympathy.

The monochrome pictures inside were just as you remembered, aged and weathered and fading, they were of a proud woman and orphaned children doing absolutely impossible things that as a child had left you wondered. A woman with a pipe silhouetted before a tall window and angled so you couldn’t decipher a face to recognise; a boy no older than yourself now holding a young girl you briefly remembered to be his sister, with only one arm — the most baffling thing about that photo however, was that the girl held a ragged rotound boulder overhead with a dainty hand and both smiled at the camera like it was the easiest thing they could ever think to do.

A boy clad in shin length shorts and a striped shirt and a thin jacket and bees, hives of them making home up the left of his torso and trailing along the left of his face, he was perfectly calm — stoic even and looked into the camera seemingly fed up. There was one of a seemingly unremarkable boy, dressed in the sophistication of an ironed suit and the curl of a derby hat, one hand rest in a pocket and the other hung loose by his side and he smiled faintly with his head held high; the visual oddity of him was the circular metal of a projector slotted over the crevice of his eye that, when you looked close enough, had small dials that allowed a ‘zoom in, zoom out’ factor. You remember thinking as a child that he didn’t look peculiar at all and more like a character on the fast track to becoming some sort of evil genius with tech gadgets; Abe had had to explain to you time and time again that looks could be deceiving. That sometimes the most unpeculiar looking people were the most.

The next photo you picked up was another boy in a suit, this one was less pristine with a knitted vest warming atop his shirt and an open overcoat, he sat laxly back against the wood of an armed chair with his feet resting on the kicked up balls of his dress shoes; a tweed cap, pointed forward to face the mirror reflecting the front of him, hovered metres above his collar. His invisibility had made him one of your favourite children to hear of when you were younger, the tales Abe had of him going nude to frighten the other peculiars and the locals would have you in stitches for hours; the memory made you huff a melancholic breath.

You shuffled the pictures around, moving to pick up the next one before hearing the light pound of footsteps creaking along the floor. In a panic, you dropped the ones you held back into the box and latched it back closed with haste, shoving it into the opening of your backpack. The bag lay crumpled by your feet as you spun around, schooling your posture to a strait-laced force formation and feigning innocence through wide eyes.

Jacob stood before you, looking between yourself and your bag with a half smirk. “Found something good?” He whispered, nodding down at it curiously. You tensed, following his gaze, you stared in silence.

You knew you could tell him safely, Jacob wouldn’t tell your dad about anything you chose to keep, but these photos were different. These photos would cause a boundless battle between the two of you that would end with more lost love and ceaseless hostility than you could ever handle.

For a moment you looked at him; he’d want these so wholly if he saw them, maybe perhaps he’d treasure them more than you would, but you’d never been selfish, you never kept something for yourself, and this was something you don’t think you could give up.

Shrugging through your answer, you speak lowly, “Photos. Nothing too great, just thought that dad might start to think we’d gathered enough of ‘em.” Your brother seemed satiated by your answer, turning on his heel and hunching over another bland moving box with a hum, but that didn’t stop the twanging guilt from cramping its claws around your heart and throat. It didn’t stop the way your mouth stuttered open to spill the honesty behind the first lie you’d ever told him.

“Hey, Jacob?” You call, truth dancing its delicate waltz along the tip of your tongue, readying to spin its way out, but your mind flashes with all the consequences that could come hand in hand. He could run with it, drive himself madder quicker than he already was after you inevitably lose the fight for possession, or he could do something drastic — suggested by his therapist — like burn them for closure. Neither were worth the trouble you foresaw.

When Jacob called back in affirmative you scrambled for something else to say, routing through all the conversations you’d wanted to start with him since Abe. “He loved us, you know? Loved you.” It was a stretch because you knew he was more than aware that your grandfather had loved him, loved the both of you more than anything, some lousy and futile attempt at consolation that you’d thought up when you hadn’t had the time to truly feel it for yourself, but you’d have to roll with it now.

“I know.” He turned back to look at you, an eyebrow climbing high on his forehead as if to say it was obvious.

You blanked, a bubble of panic hazing your thoughts. There wasn’t anywhere you could really take this conversation, Abe had loved you, and that was that; you loved Jacob though, and the two of you hadn’t really said that since before you’d turned double digits, now seemed the perfect time to remind him.

“I love you.” Jake’s face contorted, looking at you with affronted confidence, you figured he’d found it frivolous that you’d spoken it because the two of you had sworn up and down as children that the other would always come first — no matter the situation. Neither of you ever broke promises. “I- I just mean that I- we haven’t said it in a long time and… I just thought now would be a good time to remind you. In case you forgot.”

“Forgot?” He asked. “I’d have to get hit in the head to forget, idiot.”

You smiled, “You sure? You were clearly dropped on your head loads as a baby, probably built up a resistance.”

Your brother scoffed, looking to the side into an open box and taking pick of a small plush before lobbing it at your head with a smirk. You dove to the side with a squeak, stepping over your bag with twisted steps and landed halfway down the wall with your hands curling into the plaster. Jacob guffawed, wheezing out breaths as he bent at the knee, open palms hitting his thighs in exasperation.

“Ass.” You snicker, separating yourself from the wall. The plush he’d thrown at you landed by your feet, having hit the wall when you did; it was a fluffy blue thing, discoloured with age and matted by years of use, the stuffing was worn down, it’s arms and stomach more deflated than full and one eye had undoubtedly been stitched messily back in.

There was a darkened stain by its nose, blood red and grossly crisping the curls by its snout. You faintly remember the moment that caused it, a small nosebleed you’d bled after a failed game of pirates that ended with Abe tucking you and your brother into bed, the bear nestled between you. It was well loved and another thing you and Jake had shared. Your throat clogged.

He watched as you bent down, wrapped your fingers around the strap of your bag and the teddy before straightening again with a grin. “Look,” Your thumb and index fingers imbed into either side of the bear's head, wiggling its face at Jacob’s. “It’s Bobby Bear!”

He rolled his eyes, feigning an itch on his nose to smother a smile behind a hand and turned back around to the boxes. You sat Bobby on top of the photo box in the backpack, adjusting him to look more comfortable before zipping it closed; the forming fondness zipped in there with it, ready to be reopened when you were back in the relief of your room.

“Y/n?” Jacob asked. You hummed, looking at the back of him. “I love you, too.” His words were tentatively uttered, a cautious chitter of the affection he’d earlier forgone. Your face softened, a warmth inflaming your chest; your brother was a recluse, even in his best of times and affectionately inept, him expressing verbal emotion was as rare as a cat befriending a bird, and just as heart stirring.

His shoulders tightened the longer you stared, squirming under the weight of your muteness. You bit down a teeth-baring grin, cruelly letting him stew in the anxiety for a few long moments before breaking it.

“I know.” You said and rucked your bag over your shoulder, planning to take place in your dad’s awaiting car. You brushed a hand along the blade of Jake’s shoulder when you walked by him, an action you’d both reciprocated since high school — a way to say “I love you” that put the two of you at ease. His shoulders fell.

••

You lay spread eagle across the span of your bed, staring blankly at the ivory pebbledash of the ceiling above you. Your shoes were by your door, still tied into double knots after having been toed off the second you’d walked through the frame and covered by the blue of your dropped jacket.

Today had been trying, a churning rollercoaster ride of emotions and oldened memories and fights for possessions — old wounds had been loosely stitched close and fresher ones torn savagely agape. Abe’s house would never again be easy to be in, a house that was once so full of floundering life was now haunted with the ghosts of love and loss and the weight followed you even now, far from the once home.

Heaving a shuddering breath, you looked to the closed sack beside you. The culprit to your fib lay within, awaiting your curious melancholy with a beckoning lure; you lugged yourself up to pull the bag closer, tugging the zip open and gently manoeuvring the box out.

The golden latch clicked lowly as you unlatched it, the metal glistening against the dim light of your bedside lamp invitingly, a siren song to your desires that you tug open gingerly. The photos you’d earlier shuffled through had been placed so hastily back into the coffer that they were flipped the right side down, revealing the looping calligraphy of your grandfather's handwriting you hadn’t previously known inked them.

Spreading the turned pictures along the fold of your comforter, you briefed over the dates and names.

Peregrine; 1940. Victor & Bronwyn; 1939. Hugh; 1939. Horace; 1938. Millard; 1940.

You paused with a staggering pulsation of shocked disbelief. These were their names — the names of the children you’d longed so desperately to recall, the names you’d spent weeks racking your brain for, smothering the throes of envy towards your brother for having the one obtainable thing you wanted.

Peregrine. Abe always spoke of her with a deference, eyes glinting through the rules she’d ingrained into him — the matron of the children’s home. He never referred to her by anything other than Miss or matron, aside from the one time he’d called her the bird before quickly deferring into an invisible tangent, so you were left with only that to refer to her by.

The longer you looked at the names, the more the tales refilled your head, stringing along in flash memories.

You didn’t have many for Victor and Bronwyn, only Abe’s descriptions of their brute strength; for Hugh, you recalled how often he’d use his bees to his advantage, eluding the others with a colony to bypass them; for Horace, you had a handful more — your grandfather having taken the time to fill your head with more of him whenever you expressed how unpeculiar he seemed in comparison — all about his interest in style and his gentlemanly nature and his dreams, now that you were older, the prophetic element to his peculiarity was much more intriguing. Millard’s tales were favoured between you and Jake, told on repeat to induce bellyaching laughter, Abe would laugh with you, choking over the words in breathless stutters — they were all of how Millard would go nude to startle the townspeople and the other children.

You huffed a watery chuckle. The photos still in the coffer beckoned when you looked at them, ageing corners yellowing and curling. The top seated one didn’t bring forth any recollection, only a chill that raised the hair on the back of your neck. Two children, dressed in extravagant all white, covering them down to even the tips of their fingers and the full shine of their eyes; the masks they wore run the full globe of their heads, leaving only two small slots for seeing and breathing, and looked to be made of thick paper mache. They were pressed side by side, one arm thrown over the other's shoulder with their heads tilted to face the taller photographer and when you flipped the monochrome the names there were nonexistent, replaced by only: The Twins; 1939.

Abe never showed you this photo. The longer you looked at it the more you understood why. Still now, at seventeen, it made you swallow and place it downwards. You were never good with faceless, masked, oldened pictures — the unknown lying beneath it always made your mind run rampant with images conjured from the darkest parts of your imagination, like a fear of monsters under beds. The fact that they were peculiar only fueled the fear; the twins could actually be something made of nightmares under their masks.

A blonde stood in the next picture, hair falling in perfect waves. Her dress hung loose, patterned with spaced flowers, collared with a Peter Pan style most popular in the 1920’s and lengthing down to her mid calf. In her hand hung a thick platform boot, buckled with just as thick metal clasps and patterned with swirls — it looked like it weighed a ton but she held it like a weightless overcoat, looped through a finger. The matching one rests a few feet behind her, just before a patch of fallen, autumn browned leaves. She floated above the ground, bare feet hovering in a cleared circle, arms hanging by her sides, and an even smaller circle of shade just under her.

The boot in her hand acted as an anchor, stopping her from floating up and up, through the tress of branching trees and into the abyss of the sky. Her peculiarity you remembered: aerokinetic, or at least, that’s what your grandfather had once called it. The back of her photo read: Emma; 1940.

You froze.

Surrounding her name wrote a plethora of heart-shapes, calligraphed in the same deep black ink as the other pictures, some were coloured where others lay empty but you imagined all were done with a certain absentmindedness. The same absentmindedness you brained when you’d fallen infatuated with a boy.

No other photo had them and you felt the piercing tendrils of something like distrust creep around you. Had Abe hid things from you and Jacob? Things that mattered, deeper things than a lost puppy love. Was she a lost puppy love? Your father and aunt always gave your grandfather sideway glances when he claimed to love your grandmother, scoffing under their breaths and whispering about “funny affairs”. You’d assumed they meant sketchy people at the time, peculiar people, your young mind naive to the bedtime stories. But now, the word “affairs” had a whole new meaning to you and you couldn’t help but wonder if Emma was “funny affairs”.

Was this why he never let you hold the pictures? So you didn’t glimpse the back and piece things together?

With a furrow between your brow, you collected the spread monochromes and placed them back into the box, lightly latching it closed and sliding it under the space between your bed and the floor, leaving the unseen for another day. Going through the motions of getting ready for bed with a robotic remembrance, your mind ran a mile a minute, all your thoughts clouded with everything he’d ever told you.

You’d always idealised him. Abe could never do wrong, if there was a man to make the sky, he hung the stars and lit the sun, if there was a word you followed without question, it was forever his. You knew it was childish, the type of endless trust you give to the instruction of your mothers words as a tot, but until now he’d never given you a reason not to take his word as law — biblical.

How many times had Abe evaded information?

When you lay down, under the comfort of your blankets and against the plush of your pillows, your body relaxed from a tense you hadn’t realised had taken you. Your eyes fluttered, forcing themselves closed, weary from the emotional turmoil that was your day but your mind wasn’t quite as ready to settle. You try to push the distrust down, hoping maybe it’ll flow out of you with sleep, but it has already paced its way through the previously impenetrable force of your idealisation of him, aflame with your fathers forever distrust.

How often did he lie to you, if he did at all?

The tendrils deepened, running murky red with betrayal and cutting its sharp knife-like point into the depths of your gut.

Did you ever truly know him or was he a man of well spun lies and secret lives?

••

Your birthday came quickly. The excitement that usually took home in your chest wasn’t there at all, rather diminished by a hazy cloud of something akin to sorrow.

The initial shock-horror of the accident had slowly been dwindling, evaporating in such a way you barely noticed, but in its place lay the wanting of Abe to be there for your milestones — and everything that came in between. This was your first birthday without him and the third time it sunk a hollow home into your chest.

Your parents had arranged a surprise party, more for Jacob than for you, that was turning out to be more of a family gathering. The living area was crowded with the subsections of your extended family — cousins you’d never met and aunts and uncle’s you could just barely remember. You’d been lucky enough to be able to slip off through the archway of the door closest to the party, falling just shy of an unfamiliar woman, who had been following you around all night and trying to start a conversation.

Jacob’s walls are lined with posters of things you’d never been able to take interest in and trinkets gathering dust atop his own chipped chest of drawers. He’d never been particularly messy, like Abe he had an organised clutter of things that seemed otherwise useless piling on the spare shelves of his open closet, but his floor was kept clear. The only thing that stood out amongst his space was the drawn blinds; Jacob was one for daylight when you were children, the curtains never stayed closed long enough for you to lay in and he’d go around all your house pulling the curtains aside and hooking them back, seeing a change as small as this reminded you just how hard the loss of Abe was for him.

Footsteps creaked along the floor outside the door, coming along in a rushed pattern. A fleet of panic took your breath. Surely the same lady from earlier wouldn’t go as far as to follow you in here, surely she wasn’t that desperate to talk with you. The doorknob twisted and clicked open in the same second. Jacob’s body slipped between the small gap of the frame, his hair and shirt dishevelled the same way yours had been. You let out a breath.

He hadn’t noticed you perched on the edge of his bed yet, head thrown back against the door and his eyes squoze tight, his grip on the handle didn’t loosen, twisting and turning it round and back again.

“Uncle Mayan?” You ask. He flings himself backwards, headbutting the door with a resounding thwack, and groans as his hand flies to cradle the crown of his head. Your eyes meet his, swarmed with mirth and Jacob’s face twists with irritation and relief.

“Yes.” He mithers, shuffling the distance to his bed and slouching to sit atop his crumpled duvet while still kneading his scalp. “What are you doing in my room? I know you're a lazy ass but surely not enough to not walk two doors down.”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, shoving his head forward with force. Jacob screeches and sends his elbow into your ribs. The hit tethers over your skin and pulses pain up your side, when your hand touches the area it’s already tender and you’re sure it’s already blooming with irate reds and blues. “Asshole,” You snarl. “That’s gonna bruise.”

“Don’t start what you can’t finish, Y/n.” He smiles sarcastically, still rubbing the back of his scalp.

“That’s it.” You sneer playfully. “You’ve waged war.”

Jacob raises his brows, “You already did that when you scared the crap out of me.”

You huff a shallow breath, narrowing your eyes at him, “I was only in here to get away from an aunt I don’t remember ever meeting before. She wouldn’t stop following me around and I already talked with her for twenty minutes. I don’t think she even told me her name.”

Jacob wheezes a laugh at your misfortune, falling back into his bed. “You deser-”

A knock resounds on his door, three light raps against the wood. He springs back up as your fathers sister enters without waiting for his say. When you look at him, he looks as enervated as you feel.

“It’s Aunt Susie.” She smiles, making her way over to you almost sheepishly. “I’m so glad you’re in here,” Her blue eyes reflect off the encroaching daylight, peaking through the shutter, when she looks at you. “Thought you guys might want to open this one.”

You shuffle closer to Jacob when she sits on the edge of the bed, giving her more space to settle. The small, book-shaped package she’d walked in with rustles its brown paper when she softly hands it over to you. You hold it with a frown, looking puzzled between the gift, Jacob and her. Susie’s grin softens as she fills in the pieces. “It’s from your grandpa. Found it while I was packing up.”

Jacob swallows lightly as he takes it from your hold, thumbing the curt edges when he looks to her, lips parted. “Thanks.” He says softly.

Susie huffs a small laugh, pushing up from the bed with her hands and making her way out the open door. Jacob looks to you when the soft click of the door sounds, his eyes round. You can only gesture to the gift in his hands.

The rip of the paper echoes louder than it should when he tugs it free, somehow thrumming louder through you than the thump thump of your soaring heartbeat.

As you suspected, when Jacob pulled the paper back a hardback book reveals itself. The cover isn’t much to marvel over, shades of blue and white forming a pretty picture on its front but its title folds your brows.

The Complete Essays and Other Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Abe was a man of many interests. Sailing, history in most its forms, music, storytelling, geography, travelling; but through all of that never once had he expressed an interest in poetry, not to you.

Jacob parted the hard cover from its beginning page, the spine creaking lowly under the movement and you smothered the returning hollowness that wove your heart to scoot closer. Abe’s handwriting drew your eyes the moment you saw the yellowing page, calligraphed as beautifully as you always remembered it and addressed to your brother.

To Jake, and the worlds he has yet to discover. From Grandpa xx

Only your brother. Your heart sank.

Jake took no notice of the drop of your shoulders or the swallow you choked through, absorbed entirely in the final gift your grandfather ever gave him. He turns the next page to a photograph slotted between, one of a tall hill, buzzed green grass and mounted with darker trees. There’s a line of differently coloured brick buildings just below the slope and before what seems like a small beach of grainy sand or a white paved walkway leading into a clear-watered section of a larger bay.

Cairnholm. The word is written in clear letters in the lower left corner of the photo and you wonder briefly if that’s what this place was before Jacob flips the card over to more beautifully looped letters. The silence lingers thick in the air as you both read.

My dearest Abe,

Emma flashes through your mind like a peregrine falcon, quick and fleeting and dauntingly beguiling. You hope terribly that your grandfather hadn’t been stupid enough to leave evidence of an affair so cruelly for your brother to find; you bearing the burden was enough.

I hope this card finds you well. The children and I yearn to hear your news. I do hope you will visit us again soon. We should so love to you see you.

With admiration, Alma Peregrine.

Unmistakable relief floods you in waves. Peregrine. The matron.

Jacob doesn’t utter a word for the two minutes more you stay sat, only flips back and forth between the words of Abe marring the opening page and the loops of Alma’s postcard. You leave his room with a heavy heart, ignoring the calls of your name from the bustling living room behind you. No final gift to awe over, to mourn with.

You wonder if he hadn’t found one yet before his unfortunate demise or if it had been chucked with the rest of his things considered insignificant and frivolous.

The slam of your door does little to quench the unbridled rage tightening your mind.

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

Likes, comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated and very encouraging!

I do not give permission for my work to be reposted or translated (on this site or otherwise).

[mystxmomo]

Spent the morning grabbing all of the Drow Underdark cities I had easy access to knowing about (Aka, from Grabbing all the cities from this list here)

From edit one: Here's another archived list.

I have a grabbed a short blurb from the wikipage of the city, and linked the respective wikipage. This is all shorthand information, and I recommend going through and reading the pages and original source material for the cities in question if they interest you. But also, I wanted a quick reference for myself to be able to pull up and point to when needed.

If I missed one feel free to throw it at me, and I'll add it to The List.

Edit 1 (5.20.25) : Everyone thank @abracadav-r for finding and pulling up a TON of sources, both on towns not on the list and for information that wasn't easily accessible on the wiki. Added T'lindhet, Llurth Dreier, and Golothaer. Added the one line source for Nar'Vheen.

Buiyrandyn - Buiyrandyn was once famous for rejecting Lolth and the other evil drow deities. Besides that it was the birthplace of Qilué Veladorn, one of the Seven Sisters. A long time before the 15th century DR, mindflayers destroyed it and since then it was occupied by evil monsters, becoming the lair of a small clan of hook horrors.

Chaulssin - Chaulssin was largely unknown to most inhabitants of the Underdark, let alone the World Above. … By 1372 DR, the city was the headquarters of the infamous Jaezred Chaulssin, an organization of powerful assassins and worshipers of Vhaeraun.

Ched Nasad - Was a drow city in the Middle Northdark that was destroyed on Uktar 3, 1372 DR. Ched Nasad was founded in −3843 DR by exiles from Menzoberranzan who had sided with House Nasadra against House S'sril after the city was nearly destroyed by House Thaeyalla. Afterward, House Baenre encouraged House Nasadra to found another city honoring Lolth, the Spider Queen, while those who sided with House S'sril remained. An avatar of Lolth herself appeared and gave her blessing to this plan, decreeing that the two cities were to remain friendly with each other.

Eryndlyn - Was a drow city of more than sixty thousand in the Upper Underdark. The city's three plateaus were each dominated by one of three religious cults: Lolthites held the largest plateau, located on the western side of the city. Vhaeraunites dwelt on the northeastern plateau, and the southeastern plateau (which was often flooded) was home to followers of Ghaunadaur.

Golothaer - [Note: This is a dead city] Golothaer was a city of the drow in the Great Bhaerynden more than 5000 years ago. The city was part of the first drow realm in the Underdark but like most of them had two main fractions. One were the worshipers of Ghaunadaur and the other of Lolth. Both began a bloody civil war against each other, which ultimately destroyed Golothaer.

Guallidurth - Guallidurth was one of the oldest drow cities in the southern Underdark. During the 14th century DR, drow of Guallidurth worshiped Lolth, but each House did so in a different way, so many different sects existed throughout the city. Since building a temple to the Spider Queen was seen as the most devotional worship one could do, the city was riddled with different temples and shrines. This gave the city its nickname as the Temple City of Lolth. The second biggest faith was the one of Vhaeraun, Lolth’s son. The following of Kiaransalee was also growing but didn't pose a meaningful threat to the ruling order. Praying to another deity than Lolth was seen as worse than worshiping the Spider Queen in the wrong fashion by her matriarchy. They tried to unite together to hunt their enemies down without real success due to infighting in their own ranks.

Jhachalkhyn - Was a drow city in the Underdark. At some point around 1136 DR, Jhachalkhyn was infiltrated by the Jaezred Chaulssin, who posed as minor nobility. Some time around 1360 DR, Jhachalkhyn was destroyed by another drow city called Maeralyn. Its citizens were assumed to flee towards Menzoberranzan. Despite the destruction and defeat at an enemy's hand, Jhachalkhyn's political system and infrastructure proved to be rather resilient. It was still ruled by Lolth's matriarchy and had a functional merchant class. During the Silence of Lolth, Jhachalkhyn's matriarchy lost its spells. The loss of power was exploited by the Jaezred Chaulssin fosterage under Xorthaul Barriath in the form of a streak of assassinations. This caused a shift in political power from the matriarchy to the merchant class who then became the assassins' guild sponsors. After the Spellplague, the city was practically ruled by the Jaezred Chaulssin.

Karsoluthiyl - The war was sporadic until the Drow attacked in force in 34 DR, bypassing the dwarven defenses through magical disguise, levitating up Belkram's Shaft, and killing Melair IV, the last king of Melairbode. They proceeded to re-purpose the dwarven halls to their own needs, building up the outpost of Kyorlamshin, and even building a barracks and martial academy, the Citadel, and the Crystal Labyrinth. ... In 1136 DR the Jaezred Chaulssin returned from the Plane of Shadow to the Prime Material Plane and established a fosterage in Karsoluthiyl among other cities. ... Karsoluthiyl was one of the cities in which the Jaezred Chaulssin were able to weaken the power of the matriarchy during the Silence of Lolth ... During the Spellplague much of Skullport was destroyed, and described as being only home to houseless Drow, suggesting that much of the various Karsoluthiyl interests were no longer operating.

Llurth Dreier - [Note from Abra: "It's been referenced in passing up until 4e. The issue is this: in 4e they pretend the caving in of the great chasm took the city out with it, but there's no way it was there. I think someone got golothaer and llurth dreier confused"] Llurth Dreier (also spelled Llurth Dreir), known as the Accursed City and the City of Ooze, was a drow city in the Great Bhaerynden domain of the Underdark. After its destruction, it was called the Oozing Ruin

Maerimydra - Was a large drow city located below the Dalelands in the Deep Wastes. [The history of this city is actually pretty long, for more details click on the wiki link]

Mantol-Derith - Its exact location was not known by many. It was located on the shores of the Darklake, on the other side of which was the duergar city of Gracklstugh. The nearest drow settlement was Menzoberranzan, or Ched Nasad before that city's destruction.

Menzoberranzan - You don't need me to describe Menzo to you

Nar'Vheen - [Doesn't have a wiki page] [...] One of the primary targets is the city's Vhaeraunian drow that have migrated to the forest of Cormanthor via a gate once used to raid the rival drow city of Nar'Vheen.

Sschindylryn - Sschindylryn was a drow city in the Middledark of the Deep Wastes in the Underdark. It was a strong trading power in the Underdark but a minor military one, at best. The city was once very war-like, using their portals to raid other Underdark settlements and cities. At some point in its history, Sschindylryn lost a war against Menzoberranzan. The defeat caused an almost complete demilitarization of the city. What followed was a time of rebuilding the city as a mercantile power. ... Around 1136 DR, Sschindylryn was infiltrated by the Jaezred Chaulssin. They took over a minor noble house and installed a fosterage. The leader of this fosterage in 1372 DR was Patron Father Ilphtrin Imphraezl.

[I've been trying to keep these short blurbs that people can then chose to investigate on their own time if it interests them, but this next part made me laugh so hard that I had to just copy/paste the entire description of it here for you]

Sschindylryn enjoyed, for a Lolth-dominated city, rare political and social stability that resulted from the ruling priestesses' inability to follow Lolth's philosophy of strife. It also had economic stability and power that the male-dominated merchant class built through surprisingly peaceful means. However, Lolth was a goddess who enforced and enjoyed internal strife. Prior to the Silence of Lolth, the ruling priestesses started to fear that their city's stability would cost them Lolth's favor. Their solution was to start plotting and killing each other. The priestesses' inability to get their houses involved as well led to them murdering each other more less personally, thus preventing casualties from spilling outside of the priesthood. Due to the priesthood's near-self-destruction, the male merchants, mages, and soldiers moved into positions of power and leadership of the city, while the priestesses ruled in name only. After losing their effective power over the city, some priestesses converted to Kiaransalee and dead priestesses rose again as revenants to get vengeance on other priestesses, which escalated their conflict further. The ruling males did not love Kiaransalee's clergy but their efforts against them were lackluster.

Sshamath - Sshamath was established in −4973 DR by the Lolth-worshiping drow house Sshamath. It was a standard drow city for nearly 2000 years. Then, in −2867 DR, it was discovered that the city's local faerzress was fluctuating badly. Five years later it was gone and the city was gravely weakened. [ ... ] Around three centuries previously, the Matron Mothers of the city had given birth to an unusually large number of male children. This contributed to a large increase in the number of wizards, and a decrease in the number of priestesses. Thanks to the lack of nearby threats, the house wizards set about plundering the ruins of lost civilizations, such as Netheril and Oghrann. They took and duplicated every magical item that they could find, using them to instigate a very short civil war that killed all of the house matriarchs and replaced them with wizards. Thereafter, practitioners of the Art reigned supreme.

T'lindhet - T'lindhet was a small drow city-state in Great Bhaerynden. A lesser drow realm, it became best-known for its conquest of Dambrath, which it came to rule for five centuries. T'lindhet was controlled by Lolth-worshiping drow noble Houses ruled by Matron mothers, who at times struggled and warred with each other when not facing outside threats. In 1373 DR, fourteen drow noble houses controlled the city, while holding vast estates in the lands of Dambrath. By 1479 DR, sixteen noble houses competed with each other for control of the city, having lost control of their surface estates

Ullin'Tharnor - Another one on the list that doesn't have a wiki page, or much information on it.

Ultoksamrin - Ultoksamrin was one of the subkingdoms of Deep Shanatar. After the dwarven kingdom fell, it was taken over by non-dwarves. [...] The ones who were most successful at it were the drow. These drow were followers of the deity Vhaeraun and were escapees from Guallidurth, from where they fled religious persecution. They were situated in the Vault of Cloaked Midnight, the cathedral city. The temple of the city covered about half of the ruling cavern and the drow lived in former clanholds of the dwarves for protection.

[mezzy-1]

Radiant Recruit (Valorant x Reader)

Name: Y/N 

Class: Radiant

Callsign - Nomad

You had been at odds with Kingdom for causing your abilities, and saw Valorant as nothing more than another group trying to reign you in.  Your power store radiant energy and unleash it proved difficult to contain.  Even worse, you could turn to pure energy and phase away.  It was a trick you used to escape Valorant time and time again.  Where you came from was only for you to know, until you were captured.

(An idea of what Nomad can do // source: Infamous: Second Son)

Fade 

“Stop Y/N!  There’s no place you can run to that I won’t find you!”  Fade yelled down the hallway.  She had you cornered in Bind, inside the Kingdom refinery

“Leave me ALONE!” you screamed, unleashing a wave of radiant power at nearby pipes.  Steam filled the hall and you sprinted further away

A screech behind you caught your attention as one of Fade’s nightmares spotted you.  A terror trail led from your feet

Snarling prowlers rushed towards you and lunged.  You raised a hand and blasted them as they pinned you down

One sunk its teeth into your leg and darkness filled your vision.  Whispers surrounded you as memories of Kingdom spying on you resurfaced

Radiant power surged into your eyes before blasting through your body.  In your fear, you burnt through the last reserves of energy

Suddenly a voice cut through the chaos

“I have you now, ”

Weak sparks shot from your palm in an attempt to block the ball of tendrils Fade tossed at your feet

Seized by her power, unable to destroy the bindings, you found yourself resorting to struggling against the tethers

Fade took a Sheriff from its holster, the gunmetal gleaming in the red alarm lights.  She began to raise it upward towards you

Then turned and emptied the cylinder, catching the bullets and storing them in a pocket

“Valorant is not what you think, we are trying to do something important for the world!”

“So was Kingdom, I don’t care about what your cause is.”

“I was where you are right now, Y/N.  I was hunted by Valorant too.”  Fade’s tone softened

“What are you talking about?” You were slightly intrigued

“I…blackmailed them.  They sent a squad to catch me and could’ve killed me.  They gave me a home instead.  I trust them.”

“Prove it, how do I know you aren’t lying to get my guard down.”

“You can’t, but you have my word that we will let you go if you want to leave.” She reached a hand to you.  “Deal?”

Against your better judgment you decided to come along.  In an hour you were being flown to a remote island in the middle of nowhere

“So you know my name, but what’s yours?” 

“Hazal.  Memnun oldum.”

Hazal sat with you, either for security or reassurance, in the conference room with Brimstone

“Y/N, I apologize for the methods we used but Valorant doesn’t have time for delicate approaches.  Fade has first hand experience with that.”

“I didn’t offer you another choice Brimstone,” Hazal seemed to feel some regret 

“We wanted to get your help with Omega Earth,” he directed you to a hologram that showed all current information

It was unnerving, the doppelgangers and your personal clone trying to destroy the world.  The situation didn’t leave you feeling like you could run away

“So…are you in Y/N?”

“Count me in,” you went over to shake Brimstone’s hand.  He took it and handed you a keycard to your room

“You’re part of Valorant now Y/N.”  Brimstone nodded to Fade and you exited the room with her

“You’ll be assigned a callsign Y/N,”  Fade said as she led you to your quarters.  “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Uh, I guess we should figure it out while we have time.”  Your opened the door to your room and took a seat on the bed

Fade took a seat at your desk, looking around at the sparse interior before settling on you

“Y/N, what do you think about going by Nomad?  It would fit, don't you think?”

Iso

“Oh shi-” you were surprised by a bullet ricocheting past you and putting a hole in the elevator controls

“Nice try Y/N, but you aren’t getting out of here unless you come with me.”  Iso chambered another round.  “Or else.”

“Go to hell!” you triggered a maelstrom of energy inside your body.  Radiant pulses fired from you and Iso lept to cover

Shifting into energy, you charged straight at him, ready to plant your glowing fists directly into his face

Hexagons spilled out under your feet.  Violet light blinded you before placing you into a strange space made of similar shapes

“You’re all mine Y/N.” a familiar voice echoed.  Iso had somehow captured you 

The structures around you disappeared and a single shot rang out against the silence of the realm you were in

A bullet hit your chest, but the ballistic plate underneath stopped it.  It didn’t stop the force from slamming into you though

“Y/N, I admire your spirit but you lost this fight.  I won’t hurt you, I just want to show you what Valorant is trying to do.”

“And if I refuse?”  

“You won’t leave here.  Ever.”

He wasn’t bluffing, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to condemn you to that fate either.  His aim was steady but his eyes were more focused on your response

“I’ll go with you, but if you try anything you’ll regret it.”

Iso sighed something in Mandarin

Purple energy wrapped you and placed you back in the building.  Iso waited for you to get to your feet and led you at gunpoint 

The elevator controls were shot, so you and Iso took stairs to the roof.  When you arrived at the helipad, the VTOL was just landing

“Remember, I can trap you at anytime Y/N.  Don’t try to escape until we get to the island and we brief you.”  Iso was dead serious

He left you in the cargo hold of the VTOL while it took off.  He returned later on his phone and looked over at you

“Any requests for music?  I don’t like silence.”  Iso pointed at the phone

“(Your favorite artist).”

“I have a playlist for them, tell me what you think.”

The ride to the HQ was more pleasant than you expected

Subsequently, you were lead to a room with the leader of Valorant for more information

Brimstone finished explaining the situation.  Needless to say the Omega Earth version of you destroying city blocks was a frightening prospect

“Y/N, if you help us out you’ll be giving us the advantage.  We can let you go but we can’t guarantee your mirror won’t try to come after you.”

“I’ll join your protocol if it means I can protect people from my double.”

“Welcome to the fight Y/N.  Iso, take Y/N to the armory and get them fitted for their gear and run a basic shooting test.”  Brimstone shook you hand warmly

Iso and you walked down the hall, passing a few other agents that gave you a wave or raised an eye at your presence

Once you were in the armory, Iso went over ballistics and you did some basic target practice

“Y/N, have you given any thought to your callsign?”  Iso finished marking your grade in a tablet

“Not really, I do want something that sounds good and makes sense.”  you placed your rifle down and began a field strip test

“Since you were constantly on the run, how does Nomad work for you?”  He raised the tablet with the name entered in

“Sounds good.”

“I can’t wait to work with you, Nomad.” Iso nodded to you and handed you a magazine

Viper

“Oh Y/N it’s precious that you think you can hide from me, but I like games of cat and mouse.”  Viper purred as you crept around Icebox

The woman had managed to cut off every escape from you, a fact she reveled in

“I assume you’re thinking that if you attack me, you can shut the toxins off and leave.” she was trying to draw you out, so you continued to sneak around

Viper turned and left 

Green fog began to empty from the vents everywhere, catching you off guard.  It was then you realized she had been waiting for the toxins to get in the system

“Is it hard to breathe?  Try not to die before I find you, I don’t want to explain that to Brimstone.”

Coughing loudly, you attempted to crawl away as vertigo set in.  The toxins smelled like acetone mixed with acrid sweetness

Viper’s silhouette appeared as you lost consciousness.  Her figure towered above you as your eyes shut

“You’re awake, good.  I need you to listen to me Y/N, can you do that?”  Viper had unmasked and was now looking you directly in the eye

You nodded your head weakly while taking account of your surroundings.  Toxins had rendered your powers and muscles useless

“What do you want from me?” you hissed

“Join Valorant, we could use your-”

“NOBODY’S using me.” you spat back.  Viper glared at you 

She removed a vial of poison and opened it.  She tilted the glass over your head, letting a drop hang over your eye

“Don’t interrupt me,” Viper narrowed her gaze, “Understood?”

“I’d rather die than be some kind of weapon for a bunch of sociopaths.”

“You aren’t in a position to argue, but we are going to play nice and show you the protocol.”

“Easy to do when I’m your prisoner.”

“Exactly Y/N.”  

Minutes later you were being flown somewhere new, but had no idea what was waiting for you once you regained your motor functions

Viper and Brimstone sat with you, going over confidential files on Omega Earth and their agents.  It was shocking to your face among them as well

“We know they’ll end up using your mirror against us, so we need all the support we can get.”  Brimstone passed a keycard to you

You took it and shook his hand

“I’ll take Y/N to the medical wing and run biometrics so we can plan countermeasures against their double.”  Viper motioned for you to join her

The biometrics were mainly just scans and a blood test, but Viper took time to explain what each piece would be used for

“Y/N, you need a callsign for me to enter your information under.  Any ideas?”

“Not really.  I guess there’s the fact I was always escaping, that could be something.”

“Well you didn’t escape me,” Viper smugly raised an eyebrow.  “But I do like that idea, how about Nomad?”

“I like that, it sounds mysterious.”

“Perfect, now let's get you to your quarters and finish the tour so I can get back to my lab.”

“Can I see the lab?”

“No.”

Neon 

“I thought you were supposed to be fast!  So much for the protocol’s ‘Sprinter.” you taunted as you sped away down a street in your energy form

Neon trailed behind you, each pace pulsing with electricity.  She had almost caught you but a quick energy burst saved you

Now it was a matter of running, which was easy for you to do because you could move through obstacles

That was your thought until you ran out of radiant power in the middle of the street

“Slow huh?” Neon was on you quickly.  You decided to fight, unleashing what little energy you had left in missiles of force

She dodged and closed the distance, using her speed to shift her target faster than you could aim

In the blink of an eye Neon grabbed your arm.  Volts spasmed down your body, paralyzing you

“No more running Y/N.”  Neon dragged you to the side of the road and away from the public.  She hid you under a bridge, seating you on a bench 

“So Valorant sends you to catch me and then what?  Lock me in a cell until you need to destroy something?”  

“No, we want you to learn how to control the power before you hurt anyone.”  Neon trailed off, lost in thought

“Do you really control your power or is it just them letting you loose on anyone they want?”  You needled at her doubt

“So you must have lost control at some point then, did they show up and lock you away?  Just like what you want to do to me?”  Provoking her was the only thing you could do

“It wasn’t like that!  They found me…but after I had lost control,” 

“Don’t lie to me, they can’t help me and they can’t you either!”

“SHUT UP!”  Sparks scorched the ground near Neon’s legs

Neon’s anger turned to regret “They gave me training for it and helped me make the best of it.”

Neon began to smile a bit as an arc of electricity moved up her hand

“I’m sure we’ll do the same for you.”

Once you could move, you and her walked back to a extraction point 

“Do you really think they don’t want to use my power for themselves?  You were sent on this mission right?”

“I volunteered for this, Y/N.  You won’t have to fight unless you want to but we have Radiants that want to help you control your abilities.”

It wasn’t much reassurance without definitive proof, but it was good to hear as you stepped onto the VTOL

“Plus you’ll train with me Y/N.  So I’m hoping you decide to stay with us so we can have a rematch.”

Neon fidgeted in her chair at the conference with Brimstone and Sage.  Reyna stood in the back eying you over and occasionally muttering something in Spanish

“Y/N, your power is going to make the difference in the fight against Omega Earth.  We need you to back us up.”

“I- I want to but I’m not,” 

Neon looked over at you and her nervousness switched something in you

“I can get ready for the field.  I’m on board sir.”  Neon relaxed at your response

“Good Y/N, glad to have you here.  We’ll enter some information for your file, in the meantime Neon can show you to the gym for a physical assessment.”

He passed her a tablet 

Neon led you around the protocol and took you to the training area.  She took the tablet Brimstone gave her and had you start the tests

It wasn’t a great couple of hours, especially because Neon kept her eyes on you struggling the entire time 

Finally the running test came up, and Neon readied a stopwatch

“Y/N, do you want to race?” Neon tossed the stopwatch in the air towards you

“Sure,” you caught the watch and readied it.  “Go!”

She cleared the mile in under 7 minutes without her power before taking the watch

“Beat that Y/N.” 

Your mile was about 9 minutes, which was expected from someone who didn’t run often.  Neon did tone her taunting down during the run which was a welcome change

“So…Y/N what callsign do you want?  I have to put one here so what do you want?”

“I don’t really have anything.  I would pick something about running or escaping-” Neon looked up disapprovingly “-but I guess that’s your thing right.”

“Well you aren’t fast, just hard to keep in the same place.  Like a nomad. Oh that could work!”

Neon put down Nomad in name entry

“We even sort of match too.  I like Nomad, enter it in!”  You nodded to her and got ready for the next step in becoming an agent

Reyna

“Tienes miedo?  I love a good chase Y/N.”  Reyna’s voice barely held her sadistic excitement back 

Carefully, you hid behind cover while Reyna stalked through the courtyard of Sunset.  Loading your pistol, you sprang from the cover and opened fire

A glaring eye filled your vision, and you shot blindly at the space.  The bullets dissipated the eye, but Reyna was gone

“I’ve heard so much about you, your power.  Don’t disappoint me.”  Reyna’s skin turned to shadows and glowed with unnatural energy

“I WON’T!” you bellowed.  Particles of radiant energy spiraled around your body and blasted straight through Reyna

She made no effort to dodge your most powerful blast as it corkscrewed into her.  At first you thought she was going to die

It was much more terrifying than that

Reyna walked calmly through the beam toward you, her intangible state keeping her from damage.  The blast lost power and stopped

“Que fuerte, but not enough.”  Reyna grabbed your throat and slammed you to the ground

“If you struggle, I will continue to have fun with you.”  Her grip tightened to emphasize the point

“I’m not joining your damn organization.  You and Kingdom are all the same, just preying on Radiants.”

“QUE DEMONIOS ME DIJISTE?”  Reyna yelled, she drove her nails into your neck.  “I- We are nothing like them.”

Her outrage was enough to quiet you down

“Kingdom is our enemy Y/N, we can bring them down together.  Join me and we will destroy them.”  Reyna reached a hand out

You took it

Reyna leaned in and whispered in your ear

“Somos unido, contra el mundo.  Do not forget they are terrified of us.”

Reyna sat at your side at the table in the conference room.  Brimstone and Sage went over the situation with Omega

“If Omega uses the mirror version of you, we would have a hell of a fight ahead of us without you to help us out.”  Brimstone gave a worried look to the holographic files

“Don’t worry, I’ll join the protocol if I can make a difference.”

“Come with me Y/N, we will see how useful you can be to us.”  Reyna took your arm and moved you to the training room

A few bots appeared and Reyna took a seat 

“Go on, end them Y/N.”

It took little effort to turn the bots into scrap metal and burnt plastic.  In your elation, you blasted a hole in the window near Reyna

“Que increible Y/N, you certainly have potential.”  She ran her fingers over the scorch marked bots

“The protocol requires a callsign,” she passed you a tablet with an input.  “I would put in my suggestions but I don’t want to speak for you.”

“Wait, what did you have in mind?” you looked over to Reyna while she leaned against the exit

“Pues, I was thinking something that felt unburdened.  Something freeing.  Viajero, no como se dice,” she paused feeling for the English word, “Nomad.”

“It means someone on the run or that moves around.  That does sound like me.” 

“Claro, I think it suits you perfectly Y/N.  Now, let's begin your training and sharpen your strength.”

She sauntered across the room and started up more bots

“Mataremos, Nomad.”  You and Reyna tore into them together

Sage

“Do not make me pursue you further Y/N, I wish no harm on you.”  Sage cried to you

“Then let me leave,” you readied an energy bolt, “I doubt you could even hurt me!”  You shot, directly into her chest

“So be it.” Sage muttered

Jade, tougher than steel, coated her hands and began to work into her skin.  Life energy flowed in and she rose up

Her skin healed as she charged you.  You burnt through your power to launch a vortex of radiant energy

The sphere engulfed her, but when it passed she was completely gone to your surprise.  A hand landed on your shoulder, then a chop connected to your temple

Sage had catapulted herself over the vortex using her wall, and gotten directly behind you

As a monk, she was adept in martial arts.  It didn’t help that the barrage of fists, palms, and kicks was hard as iron

You tried to swing back, but couldn’t move.  Sage coated you in jade, effectively restraining you with every blow

“Do you doubt I could hurt you now Y/N?”  Sage’s tone was retributive but took satisfaction in her position over you

“I don’t care what you try, you can’t force me to work with Valorant.  You chased me down like an animal, just like Kingdom.”  

“We did pursue you Y/N, but we aren’t like Kingdom.  We want to help you, not use you.”

“I’m not interested in what you have to say, I’ll break free eventually.”

“No you won’t, it is unmoving and you are too.  I want you to see what Valorant truly is, not what you think it is.”

“I don’t give a shit what Valorant is, you tracked me and trapped me in this.”  

“We tried to bring you in but you refused because you thought we were Kingdom.  I want to prove we’re better than them.”

“By encasing me in rock and hauling me somewhere against my will?  Just like Kingdom tried before?”

“You’d run away otherwise, and I went easy on you.  I could have broken your legs and healed them later, but I wanted you to see we aren’t cruel.”

It was true, she had held back enough not to render you unconscious or cripple you.  Plus she didn’t sound like she was lying, her tone was honest

“I don’t know if I can fully trust you, but if you want to show me Valorant I don’t really have a choice do I?”

“Not particularly, but I promise you are safe while under my watch.”

She had your petrified body loaded onto a VTOL and flown to the HQ

Once you had been briefed, and Sage released you, she passed you a keycard.  Brimstone finished his report on Omega

“Y/N, please lend us your aid.”  Sage pleaded

“I’m in, don’t worry.  I was wrong about you all, I’m happy to join.”  

“Sage, take Y/N to the clinic and give them a check up.  I’ll finish Y/N’s file and send word to the agents that we have a new member.”

You and her went over to the clinic and she sat you down on the table before taking a few instruments out

“Y/N, please remove your clothes.” she took a tablet and started marking things as you cautiously took your clothing off.  You blushed the entire time

Sage moved quickly, giving you questions while she looked you over.  She finished her check up and had you dress back up

“Y/N, do not worry I have seen the entire protocol naked.  I am just doing my job.”

“I know, it’s just strange because I don’t know you that well.”

“Then I hope we become close,” Sage smiled at you, “I must ask you about what you want to use for a callsign.”

“I didn’t think about that.  Do you have any ideas?”  

Sage responded with a long pause

“I suppose something that suggests your strengths.  You are flexible and spirited.”

“Do you have anything that sounds like either of those?”

“Would you accept Nomad?  It is the word for people that have no single place they call home.”

“Nomad…” you thought about it for a second.

“I love it!”

“Wonderful, now let’s finish your recruitment Nomad.”

Jett

“I’m not gonna work with the woman that destroyed Venice!” you screamed as you launched a volley of energy at Jett 

The backstreets of Split had turned into a storm of bullets and radiant explosions, Jett was lurking in the rafters while you stuck to the ground

She nimbly dashed from cover to avoid the bursts of plasma, then took aim with her Vandal

“Shut up!  You don’t know what you’re talking about!”  Jett’s serious tone cut through the chaos.  Her gun ran dry and she began to reload

“You can’t lie to me!  I’m never joining Valorant!”  A gathering of particles rushed through your hands, charging a pulse of energy that blasted Jett from cover

Her body flew through the air from the force, and you watched with satisfaction.  Then she suspended herself in midair, turning to you

“I’m done with your shit, Y/N.” Jett summoned her knives, and sent them for you

Acting quickly, you used the rest of your energy to blast the knives from their paths.  Each failed to connect as the knives moved on their own, weaving around 

Blades sped past you, then sinking into your clothes and pinning you to the ground.  Jett drifted down and knelt next to you, a smug grin painted on her face

“So,” a blade twirled over her finger, “care to correct what you said about me and Venice?”

“I saw the footage, it was you.  I won’t work for people who shelter a monster.”

“IT WASN’T ME!”  Jett’s control slipped and the knife embedded itself next to your neck

“She took everything from me,” a few tears fell down from Jett’s cheek.  “You of all people should know what being slandered feels like!”

It was true Kingdom had done their best to scare the public after they lost track of you, and wasted no time showing how dangerous you were

“You want me to feel bad for you when you’re hunting me like them?  They took so much from me and you’re no different.” 

“Y/N, you don’t have anywhere to go.  Valorant stood with me against the world, I stay with them because they know I’m not the enemy.”

Silence gave you time to digest how genuine she was being.  You could see how wounded she was and what Valorant meant to her

“I want them to help you Y/N.  We both had our lives ruined but Valorant is our second chance.”

“I’m not against it, but even if I was you’ve already caught me.”

Jett rolled her eyes and helped you up

“Valorant will help you, it’s like a second family to me.  I hope it becomes that for you too.”

The fact Jett’s double had ruined her life was made clear to you once you were in the care of Valorant

Her anger flared whenever the photo would appear in the report Brimstone gave you.  Wind would pick up in the room, moving papers about

You signed on immediately when you realized that you could make a difference and stop the mirrors from unleashing more Spikes

“Jett, I’m sure Y/N is going to need some help navigating the protocol.  Do you mind giving them a tour of the premises?”

“Yeah, let’s go Y/N.  This place is huge so we should start now.”

You and Jett took a walk through the corridors of Valorant.  Jett took you first to the training room and showed you the scoresheet

“As you can see, I have some high marks but no big deal.”  Jett gloated, making sure a nearby Phoenix could hear here

She took you next to the living quarters and introduced you to Killjoy and Raze, both of whom greeted you excitedly

Jett next took you to the cafeteria, mainly to flex the fact she cooked last night

“I bet you’re hungry after everything, we can probably take a minute here and have some of the chap chae I made.”

You and her reheated the noodles and added some onions and carrots to it

“So Y/N,” Jett practically inhaled her food, “what were you thinking for a codename?”

You finished a bit of food, “I don’t really know what I’d go with.”  

“How about Nomad?  I mean it makes sense ‘cause you’re hard to catch.  Plus it sounds cool.”

“It does, we should use that!” you agreed

You and her finished up and cleaned your plates, then finished the tour 

“Y/N, Nomad, tomorrow Phoenix, Neon, and I are gonna get together for movie night.  You should totally join us!”

“I’ll be there!”  

Deadlock

“Don’t try and run Y/N, you can’t escape me.”  Deadlock’s eyes trained on you, watching for any movement

She had you at gunpoint, pointing a Phantom at your chest ready to fire.  Her finger was slightly above the trigger

“Nobody is taking me prisoner!” you shouted before leaping out of the way and phasing into energy

Deadlock fired through you, the bullets disintegrating as they passed through you.  You sprinted through a wall and detransformed

That wasn’t so bad you thought to yourself as you began to make your way across the room you had entered

A beeping noise caught your attention as you exited, you searched for its source.  Then you looked to your left and saw the Sound Sensor

It concussed you and sent you reeling into the main room of the Kingdom outpost.  You spotted the exit on the second floor and dashed up the stairs

“YOU’RE NOT LEAVING MY TERRITORY Y/N!” a yell caught you off guard.  A blue string floated in front of your face for a single second

Then an onslaught of fibres wrapped your arms and legs, restraining you.  You did everything you could to escape but it was too late

The cocoon floated somewhere, but a brief minute later you felt yourself being picked up and carried outside

Bitter cold crept in through the gaps in the nanowire, causing you to shiver.  Then you felt yourself being rested on snow 

A knife cut through the web, a centimeter from your face.  It opened your face up to the chilling weather and Deadlock’s stoic expression

“Are you cold?  You keep moving like you’re shivering.”  Her voice was flat, unbothered by the freezing winds

“I-I’m f-f-fine, I don’t, n-need any he-help.” you did your best not to let her notice your teeth chattering

“You are an awful liar, we’re going back to the station.” Deadlock began a march back and threw you over her shoulder

“Put me down!” 

“You’ll freeze Y/N, I don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“Why?  You opened fire at me why does it matter if I get cold?”

“I know you don’t deserve to suffer out here, and I didn’t shoot to kill.  Valorant sent me to collect you but we won’t mistreat you.”  

“You’re part of Kingdom, I know you are.”

“I’m not, when our extraction arrives we’ll take you to our headquarters and you can see that we have your best interests at heart.”

You went silent, confused at the fact she was taking you back to the outpost instead of directly to her allies.  It wasn’t something a typical mercenary or Kingdom would do

“How long until they arrive?”

“A few minutes from now.”  Deadlock shut the door and laid you against a wall near a heating vent

“Rest Y/N, I don’t want you to freeze.”

Hours later, you were in the tropics at the Valorant HQ

You exited Brimstone’s office with a newfound appreciation for Valorant.  Your Mirror concerned both you and the agents around you

Brimstone had finished signing you up with the protocol, and you agreed to go to the armory to get an idea of what you would be training with 

Deadlock led you through the headquarters, giving you a brief tour of the base before stopping at the weapon room

“Y/N, we are going to go over weaponry while the others finish notifying the protocol about you and readying your quarters.”  Deadlock handed you a Guardian

“Take it and see how it feels.”  She watched you explore the rifle and attempt to take it apart.  Field stripping was not your strength

Deadlock began to help you, as well as go over the rest of the armory’s collection.  You learned how to clean the guns which seemed to be enough for Deadlock

“I’ll have a kit sent to your room, but I have to ask what were you thinking for a code name?”

“Codename?”

“Every agent gets one, so we have to assign you one.”  She referred to her own ID card and took a seat at the firing range 

“Come on, I don’t have the slightest idea of what to put for one.  What would you put?”

Looking upwards in thought, Deadlock paused for a second before meeting your gaze

“They gave me my name because I can stall the enemy.  You specialize in moving and being unpredictable.”

You nodded in agreement

“Perhaps, Nomad?” Deadlock shrugged her shoulders

“You know that sounds good.  Put Nomad as my codename please.”  You felt the name around a bit before settling into the callsign

“Hey Deadlock,”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for the name and for not letting me freeze.”

“It was no trouble at all.” 

(This might be the first of many -X Reader things, so follow me if you're interested. Comment your favorite parts so I know what people like to see!)

[whereisdoriangray]

visenya targaryen (i.)

I. THE SECOND PRINCESS

second daughter of viserys i and aemma targaryen, seven years younger than rhaenyra

after the death of her mother king viserys sent her to live at dragonstone, persuaded that the red keep was not the best place for the young princess

however, this didn't spare visenya from the theatrics of its court

she and rhaenyra had a good relationship and frequently exchanged ravens

rhaenyra was the only family young visenya held love for.

II. DRAGONSTONE

visenya spent her entire childhood and teenage years at dragonstone, leaving her home only rarely

the first time she left dragonstone was for king's landing - her older sister was to be named heir to the iron throne

whilst rhaenyra, the realm's delight, embraced the duties of the king's heir, visenya thrived at dragonstone

she mastered high valyrian and the history of her house through ancient valyrian texts

she also learnt, albeit in secret, the art of swordsmanship and alchemy

young visenya liked to explore the secrets of dragonstone, often stumbling upon its hidden passages

soon, she knew not only the castle, but also the island like the back of her hand

at nine years old, visenya claimed vermithor, the bronze fury

it has been said that on that day, the dragonpit basked in fire and when the princess emerged on the back of the bronze fury, she was covered in nothing but ash

this led many people to believe she was immune to dragonfire

the news travelled fast and soon reached king's landing where it was met with both shock and confusion

that was the first but far from the last time that visenya's name echoed through the halls of the red keep since her birth

when her eleventh nameday came about, so did the first offers of marriage

visenya was said to have greeted the suitors graciously and amicably, as was expected of a princess

after politely and patiently talking to every one of the lords, she led her guests to the dragonpit

"my lords, you have all had a chance to speak. now, allow me to let someone else speak..."

"naejot māzīs, vermithos," her voice, calm and unfaltering, echoed through the dragonpit terrifyingly, but visenya didn't move an inch, still facing her suitors

soon, a dragon emerged, roaring and displeased at seeing their guests, making all men flee at once

visenya laughed softly, persuaded that she would not have to deal with such things for quite some time and she was right

the talk of the bronze fury's protectiveness spread like a wildfire and quickly ruined any prospects of marriage for visenya

what no sources mention, however, is that one of the lords, in fact, didn't flee - it was perhaps due to the young lord's thick skin, or the fact that that only a year prior, he had to endure worse

he was cregan stark, a fourteen-year-old lord of winterfell

in contrast, visenya's sister, rhaenyra, was wed to laenor velaryon only a year after her sister's departure - this wedding visenya infamously didn't attend

instead, the young princess and heir received a raven in the middle of the feast

the letter contained no words, and yet it sent a message

on the piece of parchment was painted a targaryen sigil.

III. SHE, THE PROTECTOR

when jacaerys was born, twelve-year-old visenya was said to have mounted her dragon vermithor and flown over the king's landing immediately upon hearing the news

though she didn't set foot in the red keep, smallfolk and royalty alike recognized her mount as it roared and spat fire, painting the sky in red and orange hues

many marvelled at the display of targaryen power, but all got the message - rhaenyra had her future heir now and there was no one that could measure up to her claim - not even alicent's firstborn son, a one-year-old prince aegon

in one of the letters to her sister, rhaenyra mentioned that her former guardian, ser criston cole, had become alicent's sworn shield

visenya's reply came quick, plain and cold;

"those who turn against you shall burn."

after lucerys' birth, rhaenyra received a pin made of valyrian steel, in the shape of a three-headed dragon along with a note;

"for prince lucerys of house targaryen, to wear proudly, sends his aunt visenya."

it was a clear hint at the recently raised question of parentage of rhaenyra's sons and her stance towards it - like visenya wrote in one of her many letters to her sister;

"looks be damned! they are your sons and heirs. they are targaryens."

despite her remaining at dragonstone, the young princess secured many friends far beyond her home island - so much so, in fact, that by the birth of her third nephew, she would have her own spy network which included also of king's landing and dragonstone

when she heard of what alicent had done to her sister, visenya's reaction was one of fury

"the insolence!" her blood boiled as she threw away the note, "this is an insult to the heir of the iron throne!" the messenger, a boy around her age, flinched, but she paid no mind to it

storming out of the room, straight to the dragonpit, she called her dragon

visenya cared little about having no saddle on vermithor nor not being in her dragonrider attire — the only thing on her mind was the bitch of a queen who humiliated her sister

as they soared towards king’s landing, the princess was sure in but one thing,

she would not let this insult go unanswered

“sōvēs!”

her arrival at king's landing was nothing short of spectacular

vermithor’s roar announced her presence long before she even landed, causing panic and awe among everyone in the courtyard

as she dismounted her dragon, people greeted her with deference, bowing low

visenya wasted no time, marching straight into the red keep, determined to find her sister

she knew that she stank of dragon, her red and black gown torn apart and a mess of what used to be an intricate web of braids, but she noticed her threatening aura and furious stride overshadowed it all

her every step echoed in the castle’s silent corridors as she made her way to rhaenyra’s chambers, opening the door with such force that she startled everyone inside

at her stared three people: rhaenyra, her husband laenor and ser harwin strong

“visenya,” whispered the older princess with disbelief, as her sister, still standing by the door, tried to catch her breath

“leave us.” no pleasantries, no greetings. visenya offered nothing, just these two words.

the two men swiftly left the room and once they were gone, visenya quickly embraced her sister

on that day, she suggested that rhaenyra and her family leave king's landing behind and move to dragonstone

when joffrey was born, visenya swore an oath to always protect him and his brothers as long as she lived.

[aceandurmom]

Older Brother Luffy!

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ONLY ON TUMBLR UNDER ACEANDURMOM///////////////////

Warning! Canon typical violence

WORD COUNT: 3,310

Luffy was 16. 

He was only 14 when Ace was thrown at him by his beloved grandfather. 

A few months later Ace had finally felt comfortable enough to introduce his friend to him. 

Who promptly became Luffy’s second kid. 

There was nothing in the world that Monkey D. Luffy wouldn’t do for either of them. He had told them both stories of Shanks and their time together. 

So when both of his kids hadn’t come back in after an afternoon of exploration, Luffy was tense. He only grew more anxious when he went out to look for them. It wasn’t often that the teen left them alone, he had only gone in to make supper. Wasn’t gone for longer than 15 minutes.to break down a boar. So where had they gone, they were only 10, there was no way they had gone too far. 

“Ace! Sabo!”

Luffy cupped his mouth, desperately shouting out the boys’ names to call them back home. The cabin was deep in the Jungle, and no one could have found them….right?

Continuously calling them, Luffy was left lost when there was no reply. No padding of small feet to indicate that they were coming back. So, like any terrified parent, Luffy ran to his closest friend- Makino.

The teen scrambled through the door to Party’s Bar, slamming the door open in a flurry of movements. Tears falling from his eyes, Luffy slipped and ended up on the floor in front of the counter. The green haired woman yelped, worried for the boy. 

“Luffy!?”

She scrambled to her friend, gently pulling him to stand before checking on him. He was in shambles, tears and snot making up the majority of his face. She frowned, hands trying to clear away the tears. The boy rambled, voice shaking. 

“Ace and-and Sabo. I had-had gone to make f-food and..!”

Sobs pouring from the poor kid, Makino sat him down on the barstool. 

Unknowingly to the boy, a group of pirates he was rather fond of had made their way while he was distracted. Shanks was perturbed at the sight that met him. 

He really should have just taken the boy with him, especially after seeing the broken down teen in front of him now. He was crying his little heart out, but the sobbing wasn’t of a child. It was a gut wrenching wail that penetrated even a Yonko such as himself. Casting a look to Benn, he tried to gauge the situation before interjecting himself. But the concern was too great, after all, Shanks was a father too. 

Steps had finally captured Makino’s attention. Eyes darting to the source, she finally turned to see who had entered her establishment, already starting to tell them to leave. Until she saw the ginger hair of the infamous man she had missed so dearly. 

“Shanks! You have great timing-”

Luffy whipped his head faster than Makino could track. He had escaped from her embrace and thrown himself into the man. Shanks blinked, trying to discern what he should do. Before Luffy had started to explain the reason behind such sorrow. 

“My kids, Shanks-!”

His eyes hardened, trying to question Makino before he was pulled back down.

“Ace and Sabo are gone!”

A wail.

“I just stepped away to make food and when I came back–”

Shanks was lost. First off, his son just said he had kids, not one but two. Second, he was distressed to the point that there was no childish wonder left in his little body. 

Benn had been the one to step in, gently taking Luffy from his Captain. 

“Hey, Anchor, how old are your kids, huh?”

“They’re both 10, twins.”

“And how did you manage to have two kids?”

Luffy knew he should be panicking, but just talking to Benn was already calming him down. 

“Ace was given to me by Jiji, and Sabo was Ace’s friend. They’re good kids, Benn.”

The man held to the back of his head, smoothing down the stray hairs in the process. 

“I bet they are. Now, where did they go?”

“I don’t know. They weren’t anywhere near the cabin when I came back. I’m such a bad-”

“No, no, no, Anchor.”

Shanks butt in, kneeling down to meet the poor boy’s eyes. Thumb raising to wipe away the rising tears 

Yassop was leaning to the side, listening intently. 

“Show us where they were last. We’ll help, love.”

Luffy nodded, hands aggressively rubbing over his eyes. Face still flushed, he broke away from the two before facing the rest of the crew. 

Giggling, embarrassed, Luffy had shyly waved with a smile. 

“Hey guys…!”

They responded in kind, all of them eager to see the kid again. It had been years since they had seen him last. Only a child himself when they had departed last. Shanks had crowned him with his Strawhat after losing an arm for him. Shanks had decided to come check up on Dawn based off of a feeling. And when was Shanks ever wrong about a gut feeling?

Luffy exchanged a few pleasantries before rushing out of the bar. 

“Come on! I’ll show you our house!”

And that was when the horror of what Luffy had been living through finally started to settle in. The crew knew their little Anchor was tough, but to see the state of the Jungle he resided in was incredible. The paths deteriorated to where it was pretty much invisible, the teen in front of them only knowing the way based off of muscle memory alone. Not even the beasts that lived there were brave enough to cross his path. 

Finally, the small and decrepit cabin came into view. And Shanks’ stomach dropped at the sight of it. 

It could barely even be called a cabin, much less a house that was meant for three kids. It was falling apart, the wood molded and sinking in on itself. The look Benn shot him was enough for Shanks to know that something was going to be done. Hongo not too much happier. The health conditions these kids were probably experiencing was already stressing him out. 

Luffy had grabbed ahold of Monster’s arm, showing him the clothing that the two wore the most. They watched on as Monster sniffed at the clothes, seeming to catch the scent without need for too much time. The monkey understood the time crunch they were under, already sensing the panic Luffy was beginning to undergo once again. Not a sight anyone wanted to see. 

So, the Yonko’s crew and Luffy followed after a lone monkey on a mission. 

And to Luffy's absolut horror, they ended up off the side of Grey Terminal. A small shack teetering on its last legs. And a jolly roger Luffy knew all too well. 

Limejuie reeled back at the snarl that escaped the boy. Not at all characteristic of the joyful young one that he had become familiar with. This was anger at its finest, the raw rage emanating from him had caused shivers to run down his spine. Reminiscent of Shanks when his Conqueror’s Haki ran rampant, and wasn’t that an uncomfortable thought. 

Monster had pointed at the building, giving a nod to Rockstar to confirm that the scent ended here. There was nowhere else that the smell led to. 

Shanks had gone to tell Luffy as such, but the glare he was pointing to the painted insignia was telling enough. 

“You know them, Anchor?”

Scoffing, the teen crossed his arms. 

“Bluejam. Ace and Sabo have bad experiences with them. And they’re not a pirate crew deserving of any kind of respect.”

Picking his nose, Luffy growled just thinking about them. 

“And Bluejam isn’t even the worst of them, despite being the awful ass captain he is. Porchemy is the one you have to look out for, bastard is loyal to a fault.”

Sending one last look to Monster for final confirmation, Luffy received his answer. 

Leaving Shanks behind him, Luffy bursted through the door, no stealth at all. Granted, the anger radiating from him could be felt from miles away if Benn had to say. His Observation wasn’t as good as his captain’s, but even he could feel how much Luffy weighed down those around him. 

Shanks watched as Luffy very nearly collapsed the building. Following behind him just in case, he was caught off guard at the horrible sight that met him there.

Luffy tried not to vomit. 

Dangling from the ceiling tied in raggedy ass rope, were his kids. The blonde was almost completely black and blue, not an inch of skin left his original skin tone. His poor eyes weren’t left alone either, both of them bruised. The hand print decorating his neck had caused Luffy to come back to. Only to glance over to where Ace was.

Blood soaked his clothing through, his beloved hat discarded and thrown to the side. His freckled could hardly be seen due to the state of his face. Cheek swollen, the poor brat was trying not to cry at finally seeing Luffy after everything they had been through. Sabo was out cold, had been for a while now. It was starting to scare Ace. 

“Luffy!”

Ace cried out, sobs crawling up his throat. But he forced them down, not wanting to be weak in front of the new people he saw behind his brother. Willing away the tears, Ace tried to look angry, but there was nothing that could hide the already dried tear stains.

Luffy stepped forward, reaching out to take them down-

“You have to leave! Porchemy will be back any moment now-!”

“Like I give a damn about that man. In fact, I hope he comes so I kill the bastard myself. Putting his hands on my kids, I’ll fucking kill him.”

“L-Luffy..?”

Ace was taken aback. The pure frustration and anger coming from him was nothing he was familiar with. Never had Luffy ever even yelled at them, so why was he so threatening right now? Why was Ace becoming more and more anxious the longer he stared at the glare on his face?

One of the guys from behind Luffy had reached out, hand making contact with his bare shoulder. 

“Anchor, you’re scaring him, love.”

Blinking hard, Luffy tried to calm down. He was Monkey D. Luffy for fuck’s sake, he didn’t do angry! Forcing a bright smile, Luffy tried again. 

Untying Sabo and Ace, Luffy held them close to his chest. Sucking in a breath, Ace bit his lip hard, trying not to break down. 

But this was Luffy, and Luffy knew him more than anyone else had. 

And Ace snuggled further, letting himself cry now that he was safe. 

Turning on his heel, Luffy left the shack. In turn, the entire crew followed. 

–

They all managed to get back to the cabin before any of the offending pirates found them. Ace was still crying quietly against Luffy, not a sound heard from the kid. Sabo was still unconscious, not waking up even when Luffy almost tripped on a branch that had recently fallen. 

When they got through the door, the Red Haired Pirates watched as Luffy frantically set up their cots. Ace was gently placed on his own, pillow immediately grasped to his front and he turned to his side. Stuffing his face into the dusty fabric, he allowed himself to openly cry, trying to muffle the sounds he made from his own lips. 

Shanks’ heart broke at the sight. The poor lad was sobbing so quietly the entire time was enough to prove he had done this time and time again. The ginger’s heart broke at the thought. 

Luffy had arranged his own cot right beside Ace’s, dropping to the floor and crossing his legs. Laying Sabo down, he continued to hold him as if he were a baby. Cradling him to his chest as if he could shield him from any other evil in the world. 

Gently rocking the two of them, Luffy faced the pirates. 

“Thank you.”

He was tired. So tired.

Benn knew. 

Benn saw.

And Benn decided. 

“Come with us.”

Luffy whipped up, staring through him. Shanks was also caught off guard, eyes wide before he contemplated the response. 

It made sense. 

They couldn’t let these three boys live their lives like this. Miserable, lonely, and always on the verge of a breakdown. There was no telling what might happen to them in the future. And who knows how long Luffy would last before he lost it, or when he would hurt someone in front of the younger ones. 

“I…”

Luffy paused. This was everything he had ever wanted, what he had dreamed of. But…

“If we do. I want you to promise me something.”

Serious. Luffy couldn’t afford to be hasty in this. He noticed Ace had stopped openly sobbing, forcing himself to be quiet so that he could hear what was being said. Reaching out a hand, Luffy smoothed his palm over his back. Ace relaxed, popping his head out of the pillow and leaning against his older brother. 

“What is it, Anchor?”

Shanks had answered, already showing his approval of the decision before Benn had to ask. Of course he would agree, he loved this teen like his own son. 

“You assure their safety. I cannot board them on a ship and-”

Ace cut in. 

“I’ll do it!”

Luffy shot a glance to Ace, but when had he ever really listened?

“We’ll join you on your boat! But you have to take care of Luffy and Sabo!”

“And what of you, Firecracker?”

Shanks teased. 

The boy grew flustered, blush flashing across his freckled cheeks.

“I’ll work so Luffy doesn’t have to anymore!”

That had shut Shanks up. The blush from Ace seemed to transfer to Luffy. A shy smile growing on his face. 

Luffy pinched Ace’s cheek, not sure how to respond to such a statement. He grew soft, voice bordering on a whisper. 

“Nonsense. We’ll all work together, just like we always do, vagalume.”

Benn leaned in, curious to the word Luffy had uttered. The meaning wasn’t lost on the younger one, hands covering his face. But the soft look Luffy donned was hard to ignore, a motherly love seeping into his tone. 

Sabo’s eyelids fluttered, evidence of his eyes moving behind them. 

“Ace.”

Luffy ignored the questions from those in front of him, intently staring at the little blonde in his arms. Ace leaned in too, not one to be left out of the loop. Not at all due to the fear of potentially losing Sabo….of course not. 

The little blonde’s eyes blinked open. 

Blue eyes met brown, and Sabo almost sobbed in relief. He was no longer tied up to the roof, no longer being hit, and no longer scared for his safety. He was in Luffy’s arms, and he was safe. 

Looking back to the men in front of the trio, Luffy made a decision. 

–

It had been a few months. 

Sabo had healed, slower than Luffy had desired, but better than not. 

And Ace had become even more attached to the two he called his family. Not once has Benn seen the little firecracker farther than a few feet from either Sabo or Luffy. He wasn’t overbearing, just always in the vicinity they were in. If the blonde or the elder were separated, he was always seen next to the blonde instead. It appeared as if his injuries had affected jim more than he let on. 

And Luffy.

Luffy fit in perfectly on the Red Force. 

After years of dreaming of being part of her crew, Luffy had taken to the Red Force like a fish to water. There was not a nook or cranny he was unaware of, nor was there a secret she could keep. Luffy knew all of her.

And the crew adored him. Their little Anchor was never alone, one nakama conversing or teaching him every second of the day. If it wasn’t Shanks or Benn, then it was Yassop or the others. Granted, no one else loved him quite like they did. 

Though Shanks had conveniently forgotten to inform Luffy and his brothers of one small little minuscule detail. 

“SHANKS! THERE’S A SHIP NEARING THE BOW!”

Limejuice had been the one to holler, voice traveling all the way to Shanks’s office. Stretching, Shanks popped his back before heading to the door. After making it to the deck, he was met with  Luffy launching himself tight into his front. Grunting, Shanks caught him, already accustomed to the boy’s antics. 

“Excited?”

“Who are they, good, bad?”

Blinking, Shanks turned to look at the sails of the nearing boat. It was one he knew well, intimately even. 

He had been the one to curate it, after all. 

Patting Luffy’s head, and avoiding the blessed strawhat, Shanks set him down to approach. 

“Friends, Anchor.”

And all the tension drained from his shoulders. Nodding, Luffy grinned wide and followed. A little puppy following its beloved owner. 

A blue head popped up over the side of the hull. A bright red nose soon following. 

“Hey, idiot! What the hell are you doing in the East Blue!?”

Shanks laughed, rushing to pull them over and onto the ship. 

“Blue.”

Shanks sighed out, eyes taking in the man after it felt like years since seeing them. 

Buggy rolled their eyes, not at all missing the loving stare from the man. 

Luffy watched, trying to comprehend what exactly was happening. He was confused, never before seeing two people interact in such a way. 

“Shanks, who is this?”

Coming to, Shanks’ head popped back up. Buggy assessed the new crewmate of Shanks, not at all missing how young he looked. \

Casting a harsh glare, before Shanks could explain, two more heads popped up. Right behind Luffy’s legs were a blonde and ravenette. 

Buggy gaped, not happy at the age of the new additions. 

“Shanks!”

“Ah, ah, ah, my dear. This is Monkey D. Luffy and his two kids, Sabo and Ace. The oldest is the one I bet on.”

Understanding crossed his face. Until he wanted to know why they were there. A story Shanks silently promised for another time. 

Luffy waved, smile wide. 

Sabo and Ace blushed, not expecting their titles. 

Shanks dipped Buggy, trying to disperse the frustration still lying underneath his skin. Huffing in pretend annoyance, Buggy accepted the distraction. The ginger pressed his nose into the Clown's neck, eager to be as close as possible. 

Cocking his head, Luffy watched the interaction. 

“Who are you two to each other.”

He wanted to know. Curiosity washing over his entire being, a need. 

Shanks heard the barely concealed desperation. And decided to respond before it grew further. 

“My lover.”

“Lover.”

“My partner, someone I love and want to be with for the rest of my life.”

“Oh!”

Fist hitting his open palm, Luffy understood. Looking to the boys behind him, Luffy pushed them forward. 

“Shanks’ partner, this is Sabo-”

Caressing his hair, Luffy signaled who he was talking about.

“And this is Ace.”

Other hand resting on Ace’s head. 

Buggy looked, observing the two flushed under Luffy’s hands. 

They were a lot younger than the teen. Both had a hat decorating their heads that Luffy had pushed away to introduce them. The blonde had scars littered across his body, noble clothing decorating his form. The other had an orange cowboy hat, matching cargo shorts on his lower body. Cute little leather cowboy boots protecting his feet. 

“I’m Buggy. Captain of the Buggy Pirates. A pleasure.”

Luffy blinked, pushing back the hats on their little heads. 

Buggy watched, the love in such a small gesture proof that the three would be fine on the Seas. Not to mention that Shanks was the one they were under. 

They would be just fine.

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

Baghra Morozova is one of the most selfish fictional characters ever written. Not only she possesses no empathy, she has never had an aspiration or an ambition in her life. This is probably LB's fault because she didn't give her a personality except being a bitter nihilistic pessimist, but let's discuss the harmful ideology she lived by and tried to install into his son and Alina. And how Aleksander refused to learn that lesson from her.

Wanting doesn't make someone weak, nor it is a problem.

Darkling's infamous words "The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak" is purely an echo of his mother's teachings. Because Darkling's whole source of strength and motivation since he was thirteen was the want to make a better world for Grisha. Or at least a world where they wouldn't be hunted and shamed for existing. After centuries of loyal servitude to awful rulers he managed to create a safe haven for Grisha, but even there, they were serfs.

There is no denying that Baghra was an intelligent, ruthless, powerful, cunning and unfeeling woman. Unlike her son, who was prone to sentiment even though she did her best to weed it out of him, Baghra was not particularly emotional even when she was young. I don't know if she had some sort of mental condition or she was just that kind of person, but she lived for centuries and never had a dream to become anything. Creation of her son Aleksander served only one purpose to her - so she would have someone like herself. Someone she could share loneliness with. Because I cannot call Baghra's and Aleksander's relationship companionship. She made that decision when she was young, and after raising him, she often left him to his own devices, but never actually let him out of her clutches. She abandoned her other children because they weren't Darklings. She did not want a family, she wanted a reflection of herself who she could have a conversation with. Aleksander should have just brought her the mirror from "When water sang fire" which could create an illusion of a person's reflection being sentient.

Anyway, back to the point. Baghra was a part of a prosecuted minority for centuries and never tried to make a difference. Nor did she support her son when he tried. I can understand how at first she was solely focused on survival and that mindset stayed with her, but after both of them were centuries old, why didn't she do something? She clearly didn't fear death. She is content to sit in her hut, stroke fire and spit venom for eternity. Which is funny, because she's supposed to be inspired by Baba Yaga from Slavic fairytales, but she reminds me more of Nacarqeqia, a stereotype of a lazybones layabout lit ash-raker from fairytales, who has capacity to do heroic things by outwitting the opponents, but chooses to sit by the dwindling fire and complain and daydream instead.

When your kind has been subjected to genocide for centuries, it's not "greedy" and "corrupt" to take drastic action.

Tolkien pushed the narrative I agree with, that war is always horrible and it's not something to be glorified, which lots of works in fantasy tend to overlook. I agree with Baghra that power corrupts. But like @aleksanderscult and @stromuprisahat have already discussed in their analysis posts (check out their work), Aleksander did not want power for himself or to lift Grisha above other people. He wanted his kind to have basic human rights. I don't understand what LB was trying to say. That fighting for freedom of your people is bad? And Baghra is convinced it's best to do nothing, because humanity is already too messed up and there's no point in trying. Some wise ancient advisor she is.

What actual humanitarians think about not taking action to help your people survive

Nobleman Ilia Chavchavadze was a Georgian public figure, journalist, publisher, writer and poet who spearheaded the revival of Georgian nationalism during the second half of the 19th century and ensured the survival of the Georgian language, literature, and culture during the last decades of Tsarist rule. (A.k.a "Saint Ilia the Righteous". Ironic, I know. Like Baghra's father, Ilya Morozova in Shadow and Bone. But I wouldn't compare them.)

In his publication "Letters of a traveler", Chavchavadze writes his inner monologue, where he worries about his country and contemplates what to do, as he returns from Russia to his homeland. He writes:

"I went out from my room and looked over at Mqinvari, which they call Mount Kazbek. There is something noble about Mqinvari. Truly can it say: the heavens are my head-dress and the earth my slippers. It rose in the azure sky, white and serene. Great is it, calm and peaceful, but it is cold and white. Its appearance makes me wonder but doesn't move me, it chills me and does not warm me — in a word it is Mqinvari /frozen/. Mqinvari with all its grandeur is to be admired but not to be loved. And what do I want with its greatness. The world's hum, the world's whirlwind and breezes, the world's ill or weal makes not even a nerve in his lofty brow twitch. Although his base stands on mother earth his head rests: in heaven; it is isolated; inaccessible. I do not like such height nor such isolation nor such inaccessibility." This is Baghra's life in a nutshell. Not bothering to engage, standing still, isolated for centuries. Her connection to making at the heart of the world, her gift, her life, wasted.

Aleksander is different. He's constantly in danger, he is dangerous but in a different way, he stumbles, crashes, redefines himself, pushes forward no matter what to achieve his goal. -

"Thank God for the desperate, mad, furious, obstinate, disobedient muddy river Terek! Leaping from the black rock's heart he goes roaring and shouting on his way. I love his noisy murmur, its hurried struggle, grumbling and lamentation. The river is the image of human awakened life, it is a face mobile and worth knowing.

Stand still but a little while and dost thou not turn into a stinking pool and does not this fearsome roar of thine change to the croaking of frogs! It is movement and only movement, my Terek, which gives to the world its might and life."

I hope we can all understand this metaphor and what it stands for, I believe I have explained enough.

[farshootergotme]

Can I just say thank you thank you. 👏👏👏

I grew up with the 2004 Batman cartoon and I have thought Dick and Bruce had a parental relationship whether it be father/son or Big brother/little brother it depends on the adaption.

I have just recently got back into Batman and into comics in general and I was honestly a bit shell shocked to see so much well adopted family incest which is just wow but I’m just numb to the internet at this point so nothing surprises me anymore.

What I can’t stand is liars, I swear these people who ship dick and Bruce together are just straight up in denial in some places just accept you’re shipping something taboo. Don’t lie to me about how much they hold a place in queer history which is greatly exaggerated given how it happen based on a lie by a quack and his horrible book note the beds were separate I checked the infamous comic panel it’s just draw really badly but given how tight the deadlines for comic back in the day were I will forgive that poor artist. Also another book they source from the 2000s book written about the queer coding of Batman and Robin seems to really like to leave out the fact that Dick is a child and is written as one. No matter what gen he was written as young lad with hobbies similar to that generation and time period mostly.

Like yes at the time it was done because homophobia but don’t pretend there wasn’t another issue aka it would be the grooming of a minor like for context homosexuality was see as connected to pedophilia. Like seriously when I was looking into this topic, it honestly felt like telephone because how much the original context of the panel was lost like seriously does no one check sources anymore.

Another thing they don’t bring up is how in the 1940s adopting was very uncommon and seen as weird to many it wasn’t as accepted back then which is why ward was used because that was more acceptable back then. It’s also the reason why Jason was adopted by Bruce because it was more acceptable when he was created. Also it was such a non issue to the writers at the time that even though technically Dick wasn’t adopted by Bruce on panel he still treated as one by the writers mostly before Marv Wolfman decided it make for interesting story to have Bruce not adopted Dick and have Dick have a whole hang up on it and is confused by why Bruce didn’t at that time.

Like literally I am tired of people claiming Dick doesn’t want to be adopted by Bruce or that he never wanted him to his father to him it’s simply just not true although it is complicated. Like Dick won’t call Bruce dad but in his eyes as he got older he saw Bruce as a father figure as well as his second dad and Bruce has always seen Dick as like a son and to his actual son blood or no blood for crying out loud he bloody raised him along with Alfred for over ten years like how could Dick not develop a parental bond with him and Alfred ahh. He may not be father of the year but he still cared and look after him all those years like no wonder Dick felt hurt in the original Marv wolfmen story when he wasn’t adopted.

Now, I will say in the early adaption of Batman and Robin and even the silver age to an extent. Did betray them as brothers because well the age gap was closer in 1966 version and late 70s cartoons of them so I can see why older fans can see it that way and the silver age mostly do a big brother little brother dynamic with them. While golden age seems to flip flop and if they were father/son or Big brother/little brother and the Bronze Age they went to father/son by the end because that was probably more interesting to write. Like a son repelling against his overly critical and overprotective father figure was probably relatable to lot of teens and young adults reading Dick stories at that time. Then the rest of eras after that just settled with them being Father/son duo mostly. We don’t talk about Devin weird ass takes in their relationship I swear she is just inserting herself in some characters just to be creepy towards Richard and well she nearly destroyed Oliver character by writing him being weird about Richard when he was Robin which was just yikes.

I also just find it so gross how she took a very reserved and very ace coded character like Dick Grayson and sexualised him, like making his exotic and making him overly sexual is just huge yikes to me and making him Romani because circus is such a huge stereotype and quite harmful. I have such mix feelings about Richard being romani because of how it was done and Tom Tyler has done a poor job in my opinion as well. Like originally Dick was just pure American then his mother became european notable french in one of them which makes more sense to me. I don’t know, I will eat my socks when it’s done well which would be wonderful but right now it’s just no to me. Also, why Richard like what just because he’s sexy Devin and he is romani because circus. Like my ass is as white as snow but even I know that is a weird ass take and honestly fetishy in nature I feel.

Which leads to me being so weary of people who do use it because like yes some people do it so well take notes writers at DC. But others well… I feel just sexualise him for the sake of it and I get very suspicious of people who make draw Dick overly feminine or straight up make him the wife in the relationship. It just makes my trans man heart nervous because usually they also ship Richard with older man (Bruce with him as well probably…) which in Canon he has called creeps and acts super uncomfortable around them. Like whatever ship your taboo ships just keep a safe distance from me okay. It just sadden how Richard is written as overly sexual and slutty like that is not my boy. 😭

I think the reason it also upset me so much is Bruce in a lot of ways is like my dad when he is written as a well meaning father figure. I relate to Dick being the eldest of many siblings and also my Dad is my stepdad but he has raised since I was nearly one. I know it’s not the same but to me he is my father and nothing will change that. It’s why I can’t stop people who act like Bruce and Dick aren’t father/son because well he’s not adopted by law so it’s doesn’t count but to Bruce already is and honestly I just wish in modern adaption just get adopted as a early teen at this point. Like even modern DC doesn’t hide or exclude Dick Grayson is Bruce Wayne eldest son and I’m so happy for that. (Even though he has been adopted by law but as an adult but I digress.)

I will shot myself mentally if I see another person claim it is DC heteronormative doing their relationship like shut up. You who says this bs you clearly don’t care about queer history or adoption history in general and it’s so harmful how people try to undermine adopted families like that. Like seriously ship what you like just don’t pretend it isn’t taboo as all hell. 😤 Also, anyone who claims this don’t you dare call young queers homophobia because they’re saying how it is. You don’t see people defending pedophilia and incest in Greek mythology do ya.

(Then I think in my head how strange it always the ace coded characters that get sexualised or made the secretly horny seductress/playboy type food for thought.) 🤔

Oh apologies for the kinda rant there but this honestly this has been bothering me about the bat fandom. I will say I’m still a noob when it comes to comic book history and I haven’t read most of Dick and Bruce books but I have done my best to do my homework on them and the rest of Batman history and it members. I have honestly only read modern books like world finest and short teen titans spin off book. I’m currently pre order Mark Waid latest book Batman and Robin year one which I am so excited for truly he is saving me given me some good Father/son moments with Dick and Bruce. Also maybe the new Nightwing which I hope will be good, I read TT run online free because I’m poor :p and it was so boring, Richard just feels so bland in that book. Like I will give TT credit their some good panels and moments but that’s just it. My inner Dick Grayson fanboy is showing ha ha. 😅

Anyway, sorry my rambling but honestly this fandom baffles me sometimes.

I have nothing to add—you said it all. Loved the rant and I agree with all of it! Thanks anon!

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 5

Pairing: Chris Redfield x FEM!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 (You are here) | Part 6

Summary: The more hours that pass, the closer he is to finding you.

Content: Canon typical violence/swearing, descriptions of blood, more reader lore drops, references to RE5, brief mentions of vomiting from seasickness, mostly next chapter setup but there's some juiciness in here, brief description of banging a head against a wall. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead?) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

a/n: That took longer than I thought but here it is. Once again, I appreciate you and thank you for reading!

w/c: 9.4k

It felt like you were running for an eternity after you witnessed Albert breaking out of his experimental confines. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t even think on where to go next. Your only goal was to get as far away from Albert as physically possible.

Years of suppressed trauma from the day Albert died rears its ugly head and everything floods back to you in one overwhelming emotional wave that feeds your adrenaline and keeps your feet moving one in front of the other. Fear. Confusion. Anger. Devastation. Fear. You keep having to wipe away the tears that won’t stop leaking out of your eyes, trying in vain to keep your vision clear as you blindly wind your way through the facility.

But adrenaline highs eventually run out even if paralyzing fear is still present.

Your legs cramp. Your lungs scream for something more than just short puffs of air. Your heart works overtime from the strain of the situation and beats so fast it hurts and black dots the edges of your vision. Blood pumps through your veins so quickly that you can hear it in your ears so you can’t focus on anything else.

The moment you need to place your hand on the wall to keep yourself from collapsing is the second you decide to open whatever door is closest and hide out in whatever room is on the other side of it.

You’ve managed to run from the inner sanctum of the new lab all the way to an older, non-refurbished part. Is this the old lab? What used to be part of the military base? You can’t tell and you don’t care. You push open the door and sink to the floor as soon as you shut it again, trying to gulp some air into your lungs so you don’t keel over and pass out. As you try to slow down your breathing and collect yourself, only one thought is going through your mind.

This isn’t fucking happening he’s supposed to be dead.

There’s a sound that makes you jolt upright and whip your head to the edge of the room.

Whoever was here previously left in a hurry. There are loose DVD’s, clear DVD cases, and cases with DVD’s still in them scattered all over the desk in the back while a projector idly flickers against a white screen against the adjacent wall. The noise is coming from behind the projector.

You cautiously get up from the floor and make your way over to it, still wobbly on your feet but able to keep yourself from toppling over and discover the source of the whirring: a DVD player. The disk holder is trying to retract into the machine, but the machine is askew and miscellaneous office junk is preventing it from closing properly. There’s a date written in Sharpie on the disk: March 19, 2006. The day Albert died.

A note with an official looking letterhead sits next to the machine, partially crumpled up. You pick it up, unfold it, and read its contents.

RE: Wesker Collection: Africa Tanker July 2002 – March 2006.

To Our Most Esteemed Client,

We thank you for entrusting us with this extensive recovery project involving the late Albert Wesker and his surviving wife. It has truly been an honor to observe the infamous scientist in his private life while carrying out these services.

We are happy to report that 93% of the recovered footage provided from the Africa tanker was able to be upgraded to your UHD specifications, as well as remove the most glaring audio anomalies for improved sound quality. Please see the attached inventory sheet for a full breakdown. The full transcripts will become available in the coming weeks as previously discussed.

I would humbly encourage you to reconsider my suggestion regarding upgrading the remaining footage archive. There is much to be learned from his methods in creating the Uroboros virus as well as advancing the gestation of the Plaga parasite. Should you change your mind, we would be elated to welcome you back as a client.

You feel a gentle numbness come over you as you read the note. The DVD player whirs again. Your eyes flick over to it. You absentmindedly put down the paper, reposition the DVD player so it sits properly, and move the junk that’s preventing the disk compartment from closing. The little door finally closes with a soft tapping noise, and the DVD inside it whirs until it emits a soft hum.

The image flickers to life on the projector and you feel a lump in your throat. You recognize the room. It’s CCTV footage a captain’s quarters space with a metal chair in the center with straps to constrain an unlucky subject to it at the wrists, arms, and chest. On the screen, two distant voices outside the room are arguing: a man and a woman. As the voices get closer to the room, you recognize the sound of your own voice even before Albert kicks the door open and drags you into the room by your forearm while you struggle in vain against his grip.

“I’m not like you!” You retort defiantly.

“But you are my dear, in more ways than you care to admit.” Albert replies, clearly getting impatient with how you’re acting.

“Like hell I am! Statistically, I’m gonna end up like any other one of your test subjects!”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to those weaklings!” Albert spits, incensed at your response and abruptly forcing you in front of him so his angered expression is up close to your nervous one. Albert breathes heavily for a moment, then speaks in a colder, more pragmatic tone that is expected of him.

“You will evolve beyond your limits, and you will thank me for it.”

You watch Albert force you into the chair despite your continued protests. You watch as he straps your wrists to the arms of the chair and your torso to the back of it so quickly that the video appears to buffer on Albert’s main movements while you fail to struggle against him. You know it’s not the video. He was just that fast. You continue to struggle even after Albert takes a step back with an angered look.

“I have a rendezvous with an old colleague that I can’t afford to miss, but when I return-” You watch Albert roughly grasp your chin and turn your face to look up at him and you freeze. Albert’s voice turns into a deadly, low tone.

“I want a satisfactory answer out of you.”

After staring you down for a moment, he releases your chin and walks to the door, intending to close it. You watch him go with a defeated look.

“Please don’t do this.” You beg with a small voice.

You see Albert pause at the door and sigh with his back to the camera. He doesn’t turn to look at you. “It’s happening with or without your participation my dear. I suggest you be in good company when my New World emerges from the embers of humanity.”

Albert slams the door and you jump in your seat. A lock engages, then heavy footsteps quickly get further and further away. Once it’s quiet again, you immediately resume your attempts to wiggle out of the chair.

With no warning, the footage erupts into pixelated static, a slideshow of random frames you can barely make out, then it finally cuts to you later, still strapped to the chair in that room, and screaming at the top of your lungs.

“HELLO? I’M IN HERE! GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS THING!” Your voice is strained from shouting and thick from crying. You remember the ship rocking from side to side so precariously that you thought it was going to flip over and you’d drown in that room. There’s methodical, forceful banging on the door and you can see it straining from the force of your rescuers on the other side of it.

In the real world, you hear heavy footsteps stomping towards the room you’re in and you’re suddenly very aware of how loud the projector is. Whoever heard already knows you’re here, so you just grab the closest thing to a weapon you see, which happens to be a stapler, and crawl under the desk and pull your knees to your chest. All the while, you hear yourself keep screaming for help on the projector.

A moment later, the door to the projector room flies open with so much force that you hear it slam against the wall followed by quick and heavy footsteps rushing into the room.

At the same time on the screen, you hear the door to that room finally break open, and Chris’ words trying to comfort you as Sheva and him undo your binds. Their chorus of ‘It’s okay’s’ and ‘you’re alright’s’ are ignored by you, and you get straight to business as usual, albeit with a rattled voice.

“What was that? Why was everything shaking?”

You can’t see the screen, but you know Sheva and Chris are looking at each other. Sheva finally answers.

“Excella was rejected by Uroboros.”

You’re silent for a moment on the projector. “… I tried to warn her.”

You hear yourself struggling to get to your feet, your seasickness coming back at full force as you struggle to walk in a straight line and you hear Chris grab your arm to steady you.

“Careful!” Chris says with a worried tone.

“Forget about me! We have to hurry we’re running out of time!” Your voice is strained like you’re about to vomit and you hear yourself quickly stumble out of the room while Chris and Sheva hurry after you.

The three sets of voices retreat from the room on the screen and the projector grows silent.

In the newfound silence of the room, you realize your breathing is much too loud so you cover your mouth to silence yourself.

But it’s too late for that.

You hear the footsteps stealthily approach closer.

And closer.

And closer.

You sense the presence stop right outside of your range of vision under the desk.

Albert found you. This is the end.

You yelp in surprise and raise the stapler to bludgeon whatever just discovered your hiding spot, but you freeze like a deer in headlights when you see Jake with his pistol raised.

For a moment, he just stares at you while you try in vain to steady your staccato breathing. You know you look like a mess. Tears streak your terrified face, hair sticks out in every direction, and most notably, there are blood splatters that stain your clothes.

“Doc? Jesus what happened to you?”

Jake holsters his gun and brushes your arms out of the way. He looks closely at your clothes, looking for entry points for injuries.

“It okay it’s… it’s not mine. I-I just can’t get a grip.” Your voice is hoarse and strained. No matter how hard you try you can’t seem to slow your breathing enough to even think about calming down.

Jake stops looking for injuries and directs his icy gaze to your tearful expression. “What happened?”

“He’s-” You take in a deep and shaky breath, “-he’s alive b-but he’s… he’s not himself and I… I don’t know if that’s better or worse-”

“Doc. Take a breath. Who’s alive?” Jake is trying to be the voice of reason in your panicked state, but his tone has an edge of seriousness to it.

“Wesker! These people excavated his fucking corpse and decided it was a genius idea to reanimate him. That director guy took me to the chamber, then he woke up and there was carnage when he heard my voice and… and…I can’t… I can’t do this again Jake!”

You slam down the stapler onto the ground and you put your head in your hands trying to get some sense of comfort. You mumble in your hands, still not wanting to believe your new set of circumstances.

“Why do people keep doing this? This kind of shit never ends well. You’d think people would learn but they just don’t.”

It never ends. People will always think they’re smarter than their predecessors.

Your head is pounding behind your eyes so you move a few fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose for some relief.

“What do you mean?”

You blink. Your hands retreat from your face and your eyes slowly move to Jake’s. “What?”

“You said you couldn’t do this again, what do you mean?”

Right. You did say that. You take a deep breath and finally muster up enough composure to answer.

“I… it’s a long story but to make it brief, I was the one who blew the whistle on the Uroboros project.”

Jake’s serious expression doesn’t change. You look at your hands.

“I finally realized how apocalyptic the project really was and I needed to tell someone. By a stroke of dumb luck I managed to get a B.S.A.A. radio and alert the African division.”

You feel your eyes growing hot again and you blink away the heat.

“Two agents were able to get to me about two weeks later and I told them how to kill him.”

You take another deep breath and continue.

“I told you earlier he needed regular doses of the virus to keep it stable. I knew that giving him too much would cause adverse effects. Or at least slow him down enough so the B.S.A.A. could put him down.”

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I showed them where he kept the extra doses. And then I showed them where the virus warheads were.”

You close your eyes and lean your head back against the underside of the desk. Jake doesn’t need to know the rest. He doesn’t need to know that Chris noticed how sickly and scared you were and put his hand on your shoulder to comfort you. He doesn’t need to know that Albert saw his nemesis touching his wife and was seething with barely contained rage because of it. He doesn’t need to know how your heart got caught in your throat when you felt Albert’s inhumanly strong arms wrap around your waist, your body move dizzyingly fast, and before you realized what had even happened, he had your back to his chest and his hand wrapped menacingly tight around your throat as he growled in your ear.

“It’s in your best interest to listen to me dearheart. We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen in front of our guests, would we?”

Jake doesn’t need to know that everything in your body betrayed you at that moment. You should have screamed, you should have thrashed, you should have done quite literally anything to try to escape his grip as futile as it would have been. But you didn’t. Jake doesn’t need to know that you’d seen Albert angry a handful of times but this was the first time you felt that he could actually kill you for going against his wishes. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he knew it was a thinly veiled threat at best, but it was more than enough to rob you of your voice, freeze in place, and cause tears to prick at the corners of your eyes, just like today.

You don’t tell Jake any of this, but he seems to understand the subtext of your words perfectly anyway. When you feel confident you’re not going to burst into tears again, you look back at Jake.

“Albert saw. He knows what I did. He’s going to kill me for betraying him.”

Silence weighs over the two of you like a thick fog, choking any semblance of hope in the haze of reality.  You sit there wallowing in the harsh reality of your words. You knew in your soul that it was the truth, but it feels so much more real when you hypothesize Albert’s intentions with you out loud. Jake is silent, the wheels turning in his head on what he should say.

“That was a long time ago you can’t know that for sure.”

“He’s not the forgiving type, Jake. He never was.”

You hear a distant clang, and something you could have sworn was a monstrous roar from the direction of where you last saw Albert outside of the room. You freeze. Jake glances outside of your hiding place, then back to you, now aware of how distressed you actually are. Jake holds out his hand to you. He gestures you to come out.

“C’mon. I found someplace safe we can hide out for a while.” He whispers in a confident tone.

You don’t look at him. Your eyes are trained on the open door to the room.

Would Albert inject you with a virus first? Terrorize you? Gloat? Kill you outright?

“Doc, we have to go. You can’t stay here, it’s not secure.”

The ‘not secure’ comment breaks through to you, and you turn your head away from the hallway to nod up at Jake. You let him help you to your feet.

It takes much longer than you would have liked to get to the safe place even though it’s only a few hallways past the room you ran into. You freeze at nearly every distant noise, but Jake is surprisingly patient with you. He gives you incentivizing but firm words to keep your feet moving, occasionally putting his hand on your back to encourage you to keep going.

The ‘safe room’ ends up being a hybrid communications room. One part is dedicated to running the security cameras with over a dozen different monitors flickering to different parts of the facility with an intercom system attached to it. Another computer system close by it has a complex-looking computer system with a microphone attached to it. Yet another part is made up of a large console for computers and a hodgepodge conglomerate of tech for listening to and watching different sorts of media, some storage boxes, as well as a professional assortment of radio equipment. Jake sees your eyes light up upon seeing the radio setup, then shakes his head with a serious expression.

“Don’t get your hopes up yet. It’s busted.”

Your shoulders slump.

“… great.” You utter quietly. You drag your feet over to a table overflowing with scattered papers, a pair of headphones and a personal computer on it, and slump into a chair.

“Hey, we’re not out of options yet. We’ve still got this thing.” Jake says optimistically, lightly smacking his hand on the control panel of the large computer system with the microphone. “All it needs is a key card with enough clearance.”

You sigh, wanting the computer route to work out but also trying not to get too invested in the idea if it doesn’t. “Try this.” You mutter, pulling out Youju’s white keycard and holding it out to Jake. The blood on it has dried to a sickly brown color and has a faint coppery smell. Jake takes it with an eyebrow raised.

You shrug. “It was Youju’s. He won’t miss it.”

“…. I’m sure he won’t. Give me a couple minutes.”

Jake heads over to the computer and you hold your head in your hands, leaning over the table on your elbows trying to process everything that’s just happened.

Albert’s alive.

You destroyed the only Uroboros sample on this godforsaken island.

You’re willing to bet the military part of the facility isn’t stocked up on a convenient rocket launcher to get you out of this mess.

You aren’t one to wallow in self-pity but given the unthinkable circumstances, you can’t help but feel like you’ve already been backed into a corner that you have no hope of escaping.

You take another deep breath and stare absentmindedly at the papers on the table. You weren’t particularly looking for anything, but you can’t help but notice the format of the documents in front of you. All of them are audio transcripts. One of them catches your eye with its title in bold letters at the top of the page. The heading reads WESKER/GIONNE UROBOROS MEETING– JANUARY 18, 2006. A few inches below it, there’s a handwritten note in the right margin: No good. Audio too distorted and she doesn’t say anything we can use. Positive depictions of the wife only.

Positive depictions of you only? That piques your interest.

You think back to what Youju said before you woke Albert up. We’ve tried recordings of your voice and they’ve yielded positive results but not the ones we’re looking for.

You turn your attention to the computer, then eye the headphones. You dig for the mouse under the mountain of papers and wiggle it when you finally find it. The computer monitor hums to life, already logged in. On the screen, there’s a video file already pulled up of the meeting.

Out of curiosity, you put on the headphones and hit play. As the audio recording runs, you alternate between looking at the transcript and watching the footage.

The footage plays and you see a board room with a presentation on a projector. The angle is from above the projector so you can’t see what’s on the screen, but you have a good view of you and Albert sitting on opposite sides of a conference table with a cloaked figure standing not too far from you.

Jill. She deserved a better chance than you to rescue her from hell.

You recognize Excella’s thick Italian accent before you can even see her come into view. You can’t really hear everything Excella is saying due to her being in such close proximity to the camera microphone, but you recognize choice words throughout her presentation.

Tanker.

Uroboros.

Transport.

Warheads.

You remember this presentation. Excella was talking about transport protocols for Uroboros leading up to the actual virus release. Albert insisted on your attendance. While you never gave verbal feedback on his experiments at this time, you eventually figured out that Albert would carefully watch your facial expressions and body language to get your thoughts instead. You perfected your stone-faced expression out of necessity in not accidentally contributing to his plans. You watch yourself paying rapt attention. You have to give yourself credit, your poker face looks good here even though you know you were scared out of your mind. It was finally sinking into your head that the world would end if you didn’t do something to intervene.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Excella finally finishes her speech and sultrily saunters behind Albert’s chair. Now that Excella is farther away from the microphone, it’s picking up the rest of the audio in the room much better. Even so, the audio still sounds grainy.

“Albert?” Excella croons, putting her hands on Albert’s shoulders and lightly rubbing them. She leans down close to his ear.

“Do you have any contributing thoughts?”

Albert doesn’t even look at Excella. Instead, his sunglasses adorned face turns to you sitting across the table. “I’d like to hear what my wife thinks of this contingency plan of yours.”

Excella’s mouth morphs into a thin line and she straightens her posture, not happy about that request but not saying anything to refute it. She puts on a fake smile but doesn’t take her hands off of Albert’s shoulders. “Of course.”

You don’t look at him. You only stare blankly at the presentation on the projector. You can’t tell from your body language, but you know that in this moment you were already thinking of ways to combat the Uroboros plan. But you also knew that voicing your honest thoughts would throw a wrench in any plan you would make in the future.

“Excella has already outlined the important details and caveats. I have nothing else to add.” You reply politely. Even through the slight graininess of the footage, your stiff posture and unwillingness to look in Albert and Excella’s direction are very noticeable.

Albert grunts with a nearly imperceptible frown, not satisfied with the answer. Or with the fact that you’re refusing to look in his direction. “Very well, but I still want your thoughts on the project.”

“You already have the project in good hands. End of thought.” You finally turn your head away from the screen and gesture to Excella with a neutral expression.

You knew that Excella wanted Albert, but you were almost certain that he didn’t want her. He only mentioned her in passing in whatever limited conversation he had with you, but there was always an underlying message in his choice of words that he thought she was beneath him. A pretty face with brains, a bankroll and resources behind it, but too caught up in wanting to be recognized as a legitimate member of her prestigious family and not having enough self-awareness to know she was in partnership with a viper in the grass that would discard her when it became convenient. You were almost certain because even though you knew this, he never pushed her off or rejected her advances in front of you.

“I feel tired. I’m turning in early.” You get up from your seat and briskly walk to the door.

It would have been easy to miss if you didn’t know Albert’s mannerisms so well, but you see him let out a sharp breath through his nose. He’s miffed by your response. He knew you were growing more distant by the day. He knew you didn’t like his plan. He knew you were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand that he methodically kept trying to contain by constricting his grip even more heavy handedly than he did before.

Any other interaction like this behind closed doors would have progressed to him subtly forcing his proximity to you; following you out like a suffocating shadow and pulling your attention to any mundane conversation that would ultimately lead to him explaining himself with yet another angle that didn’t justify his end goals in the slightest with the intention of you at least understanding why he thought this was the only viable course of action. Saving the known world is an admirable adventure in a number of epics old and new. But saving the world by starting anew? A new world with superhumans could never be justified by sacrificing billions of lives.

On any other day he would have followed you.

Instead, Albert is forced to save face in front of his suffocating business partner.

“Escort her to the suite.” Albert orders the cloaked figure, which follows you right on your heels. His tone is short. Controlled.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, Albert raises from his seat and shrugs off Excella’s wandering hands. Excella has an annoyed look on her face for a moment, but quickly covers it up with an alluring smile.

“You hear that, Albert? The project is in good hands.”

Albert doesn’t even bother to look at her. He only prowls to the front of the projector clasps his hands behind his back. A map of South Africa is reflected in his sunglasses. “Then ensure it stays that way. I won’t tolerate any further delays or incompetence,” Albert replies in a cold tone.

The video ends.

You pull off the headphones with a scowl on your face. The son of a bitch was trying to make you jealous on purpose.

Despite your annoyance, your eyes keep drifting back to the note in the margin. Positive depictions only.

If this one was rejected, then what do the accepted ones have you saying?

You begin looking more closely at the scattered papers.

It appears that Neo Umbrella was only working from security footage that was obtained from the Africa tanker. It’s not surprising they weren’t able to find a lot of usable audio from you. You were falling out of love and didn’t have a lot of sweet things to say to your husband. Even with that in mind, you’re surprised at how little they were able to scrape together with the gargantuan amount of media they had to work with. You knew Albert liked his cameras, but you didn’t know he kept footage of you that was this extensive.

From what you can see from the transcripts, the only ‘useful’ audio was you calling Albert one of the few pet names he liked hearing; dear, darling and love, sometimes with a ‘my’ thrown in there. Albert insisted that other terms of endearment sounded too casual, although in the early days of your marriage you’d call him increasingly ridiculous nicknames until he’d put you in your place in a way that left you both shaking and satisfied. There was a time where he liked it when you challenged him. Not just on the domestic front, but in the Umbrella labs. You weren’t afraid to tell him he was wrong or that there were more efficient methods of doing things. Sometimes you were right. Other times, Albert proved you wrong. Even with the latter, Albert would always at least listen to your input since he saw you as someone who was worth listening to.

Among the other transcripts, strangely enough, there was a fifteen page document of you reading plaga laboratory results to Albert. This was a routine occurrence. It wasn’t uncommon for Albert to ask you to read things like that aloud to help him think or as a way to review previously explored experiments before diving into new ones. It was a small ask in your eyes and it was a good way to stay informed on what Albert was doing, so you didn’t object unless you felt too seasick. What surprised you was how positive the margin notes were: Yes! She sounds interested and engaged. Find more of this to put in the rotation.

Talk about desperate for something other than curt politeness and apathy when talking to your husband. Nearly every other transcript has less satisfactory notes:

Wife too combative. Exclude from rotation.

She sounds too demanding. Discard.

This one has Gionne talking over the wife. EXCLUDE the audio if Gionne is present in future selections.

Too disinterested, but keep on file just in case.

They’re fighting again in this one. Do not use.

Can’t you read? Wesker clearly didn’t respect Gionne stop giving the lab team audio of her flirting with him.

“Doc, we’re in business!” Jake’s victorious exclamation pulls you out of your investigation.

You whip your head over to the monitor Jake was working on and to your delighted surprise, instead of the Neo Umbrella logo, you see a landing page with a number pad.

“What does it need? Radio frequency? Phone number?” You ask intensely, shooting up from your chair and standing behind his to look at the screen.

“Phone number unfortunately. The radio stuff is out as well.”

You blink, unsure why he made that sound like a problem. “Do you not have number you can call in your phone? Like your captain?”

Jake’s facial expression turns something close to sheepish.

“I lost it. Let’s keep it at that.”

You look at him blankly. Do people these days not memorize important numbers like that?

“… I know who we can call.” You mutter, shooing Jake out of the seat so you can type it in and speak easily into the microphone. You’re not sure if he’ll pick up, but he’s your best bet.

For a moment, you hold your breath hearing the dial tone come in over the speakers. Is he on a mission? Asleep halfway around the world? Stuck in a never-ending cycle of training exercises?

A gruff, annoyed voice that makes you weak at the knees finally answers on the last ring. A crowd of voices can be heard in the background. “Hello? You’ve reached Captain Redfield.”

“Chris, it’s Doc.” You breathe a sigh of relief. Even though it’s just Chris’ voice, you already feel a little better knowing rescue will imminently be on its way.

“Doc?” Chris’ tone immediately shifts to a relieved one as sounds of rummaging erupt on his end of the call. “Are you alright? Do you know where you are?”

“Well… debatable considering the circumstances and somewhere in the Pacific. Jake Muller has more info on that.”

The rummaging abruptly stops. “Wait, Jake’s with you?”

“Right here Redfield.” Jake says nonchalantly. However, you notice a sliver of something in his tone but you can’t place what it is. You have a feeling Jake isn’t on the best terms with Chris considering his role in Wesker’s death at the mansion. Second death at the Spencer Estate? Third death in the volcano? Does the third one even count at this point?

“Yep. We’ve already been introduced. He’s got an interesting history with the B.S.A.A. I’m shocked we weren’t introduced sooner since we’re both consulting.” There’s an underlying message of I know who Jake is and you’ve got some damn explaining to do in your words, but now is not the time to read Chris the riot act.

You hear Chris sigh on the other end of the line. “Well Doc I tried calling, but you’re a hard woman to reach.” Chris doesn’t sound accusatory. Just… stung. You feel your face heat up at that. You had been dodging his calls ever since that intimate moment in your kitchen a year ago. However, any guilt you feel is overshadowed by frustration in not being informed about Jake until today.

“You could have given me a little context and I would have made the time.” You reply through your teeth. Jake gives you a weird look as you’re leading this exchange. He silently points between the microphone and you, then holds his hand up in a ‘what’s that about’ gesture. You mouth back ‘long story’ as Chris ignores your comment starts addressing Jake. “Jake, your orders were to find the location of the G-sample.”

“I’ve done that boyscout.”

You hear Chris huff in annoyance. “Your orders were to find the location of the sample and not leave the mainland.”

“Well… when opportunity arises, I take it.”

“Do you have it?”

“… still workin’ on that.” Jake replies with a sour expression. You jump in.

“Chris, we’ve got bigger problems than the sample. Albert’s alive.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you have to let any personnel know what danger is waiting for them.

Silence. Even the hum of the people in the background grows quiet. For a moment, you’re worried the call may have dropped from the old machinery.

“Did you hear me? Say something.”

“Heard you loud and clear. What’s his status compared to when we saw him last?” Besides sounding more serious, Chris doesn’t even seem phased. He’s in soldier mode: Know the enemy. Come up with a plan. Rescue the hostages.

“Physically, very similar to your encounter with him in the volcano. Mentally… he’s different I don’t really know how to explain it.” You try to put on a brave face, but even without seeing you Chris picks up on your current vulnerability.

“That’s alright. The important thing is that you’re safe and you stay safe. Are you two able to hole up somewhere until we arrive?”

“Well… we have a safe place for now. And how long’s that gonna be?”

“Depends on your location. Jake, do you have any coordinates?”

Jake responds with a latitude and a longitude. You hear talking on the other end of the line, then you hear something that has to be a curse from Chris before he finally gives you an answer.

“Seven hours, give or take.”

You sigh. That’s too long but you can’t shorten the length of the ocean, so you accept it. “Okay. Just operate off the assumption that he’s going to be hard to put down. Use flame-based ammunition, magnums, rocket launchers, and anything else you got that packs a punch.”

“I’ll pass that along. Keep this line open, I’ll be back. Don’t hang up.”

“Roger that. We’ll be here.”

You mute the microphone and lean back in your chair with a tired sigh. Jake gives you a pointed look.

“You have Golden Boy’s number memorized, but you talk to each other like that?”

You give Jake an annoyed look. “Not important right now! We have bigger problems.”

You get up from your seat to pace the room. You need to come up with a plan. “As of right now, we have absolutely nothing in terms of defense.”

Jake leans against the computer system with his arms crossed and watches you. “Not exactly. There’s too many gas masked bozos walking around here for there not to be an armory somewhere.”

You look at Jake, exasperated. “Machine guns and pistols aren’t going to make a big enough dent. There were five guards unloading everything they had on Albert in the chamber, and it didn’t even phase him. You’d need something stronger. A lot stronger.”

“Well maybe they have some heavy-duty stuff stashed away for emergencies. Point is, we won’t know unless I go out and look.” Jake pushes himself away from the monitor and starts to walk towards the door but you stand in front of him before he can get too far.

“You’ll be a sitting duck out there!” You chastise, ready to put what remains of your fighting spirit to convince Jake not to walk straight into the maw of the beast, but your facial expression shifts to a haunted look when something on the security system catches your eye.

One the center console, a hulking figure that makes your blood turn to ice comes into view. You see the black, elongated, tendril engulfed arm grasp the corner of a hallway before the rest of Albert’s body comes into view. The blood of all the unfortunate scientists is splattered across his face and chest. His red eyes are very clearly dilated, and he has an uncharacteristically wide grin on his face.

Jake notices your expression and looks behind him. Jakes expression and tone turn cold and serious.

“That him?”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes from the screen. You walk toward the console as if you’re in a trance and sit in the chair in front of it. Like driving by a car accident, can’t take your eyes off of the disaster that Youju insisted on causing. You see Albert’s lips move, but nothing is heard.

“Does this thing have audio?” You mutter the question to yourself more than anything, but Jake is quick to come to your side and flip on a switch on the control panel. Albert’s voice, somewhat morphed from the audio system, is heard loud and clear.

“My looooove? Where did you go lovely? We have so much time to make up for…”

Albert speaks in that same ‘off’ tone from before; direct and garbled. However, now it has a… singsong quality to it? Your fear is momentarily replaced with confusion. Jake glances at you, then back to the screen just as confused as you are. This is his infamous father?

“Did he… talk like that?” Jake asks, watching the screen along with you.

You keep watching the screen with a befuddled look on your face. “Absolutely not. The lava, or whatever Youju’s team tried to do to wake him up before today fried his brain or something. It’s a complete personality shift.”

You and Jake continue to watch Albert on the screen as he leans against the wall walking down the length of the hallway, leaving a trail of black gunk dripping down the pristine paneling along where he’s touched in his wake. When Albert’s in the center of the hallway, his posture grows rigid and he stops walking. His unengulfed arm attempts to reach behind him in the center of his shoulder blades in jagged movements. After a couple seconds, Albert’s body twitches again and the free arm drops back down to his side and he keeps calling out to you and continues his journey down the hallway.

You lean forward closer to the monitor that Albert was on.

“Wait… he was clawing at something on his back.”

Jake nods and pauses the footage. Then rewinds. As you saw before, Albert stops sauntering down the hallway and jerkily tries to reach behind his shoulder to something on his back. It’s easy to miss with all the black Uroboros tendrils overtaking his upper body, but there’s clearly a circular device between his shoulder blades.

“You’re right. What is that thing?”

You tilt your head and squint, recognizing the shape but confused as to why it’s there. “It’s hard to tell from the angle, but it looks like a regulator.”

“Regulator? For what?”

You shake your head, still confused. “Nothing Uroboros related.”

“Then why is it there?”

You don’t have an answer. You sit back in the chair and keep looking at the regulator in the center of the screen. “Before Albert woke up… Youju said all avenues of breaking his comatose state had been exhausted,” you think out loud.

The gears in your head are turning. Once solitary threads of thought gradually intertwine to form a loose weave until they tighten into a tapestry revealing the answer. The sample room. The audio recordings of your voice. His comatose state. Him acting much gentler with you than he ever was when you knew him. The regulator.

You sit up in your chair so quickly that it startles Jake, but you’re too caught up in your revelation to care. “Neo Umbrella gave him a parasite!” You exclaim excitedly, turning towards Jake. “We can use that.” You don’t wait for Jake to reply, you’re already up and out of the chair looking for some kind of map.

Jake looks at you blankly, not following your thinking. “A parasite? And that’s a good thing?”

“I think I know what Youju meant! There is no reason for them to have that extensive of a virus collection unless they were using it for something. I bet they tried injecting Albert with a bunch of viruses to see if they could wake him up. When that didn’t work they turned to parasites.”

A map of this floor of the facility hangs on the wall from haphazardly placed yellow tape next to the door. Your smile grows bigger and movements more animated the longer you explain your thought process as you grab the map off the wall. You turn back to Jake.

“But not just any parasite. The Nemesis parasite.”

Jake is still confused, not knowing what that means so you continue, walking back to the announcement system and putting the map on the console.

“Back when Umbrella was making Tyrants, big beefy bioweapons that were designed to be soldiers, they were impressive physically, but had limited brain function as a result of the T-Virus so they could only follow simple commands and they couldn’t talk. ‘Kill everyone you see,’ ‘guard this thing,’ you get the idea. They were trying to find a way to make them a bit smarter. They’d hit a dead end with viruses, so they added engineered parasites to Tyrants.”

You pause to make sure Jake is still paying attention. He is, but he still has a look that says, ‘how is this relevant?’ so you keep going, taking a pen from the table and trying to find the locations of the cameras to mark them on the map.

“The Nemesis still had limited brain function, but he could say a few words and it could carry out detailed commands and use weapons. ‘Kill these specific people, use this rocket launcher’ etcetera etcetera. But there was still a high risk of over mutation when the parasite was inserted, so they smacked on a regulator to help mitigate that.”

Jake blinks, still not understanding. “So?”

“So if they gave Albert the parasite, that means he’s going to be much more susceptible to taking orders from me.”

“From you? Weren’t you worried about him killing you earlier? Why would he take orders from you?”

“Like… the parasite has been told for however long it’s been in there to wake up because its wife is here. It’s only been given carefully curated audio snippets of my voice, so it’s forced to view me as a positive… figurehead in Albert’s life.” You point to the transcripts on the table, trying to make Jake see your point before turning your attention back to him.

“He told me he missed me, Jake. I’m willing to bet if I use that announcement system, I can lead him anywhere the system is-”

“-and give me a window to slip in and get the sample and some supplies.” Jake finishes with a serious expression.

“And if everything goes right, we just might hold out until reinforcements get here.” You’re smiling, still riding the adrenaline high from finally figuring out the bigger picture of what’s going on.

Jake crosses his arms and stares at the monitor with Albert still on it. “It’s a crazy plan Doc.”

Your face falls and you’re about to try and plead your case, but Jake smirks before you can answer.

“I’m in.”

_____________________________________________________

“Albert? Where are you darling? I can’t find you.”

You croon into the microphone and watch Albert, yet again, jerk his head towards the hallway you just projected your voice to and use his Uroboros arm to drag himself along the wall in the direction of your voice.

On the walkie talkie Jake scrounged up from the storage boxes that were by the broken radio equipment before he left, Jake provides an update on his search for better weapons plus the G-Sample.

“216 through 245 are bust. It’s just storage.”

“Copy that.”

You respond on your walkie talkie, marking off and labeling the relevant rooms on your map and watching Jake continue to navigate through the labyrinthine facility on the cameras.

Considering the circumstances, everything has been going well in the half hour Jake has been gone. Albert, in his limited mental capacity, hasn’t caught on to the fact you’re talking to him through the announcement system. Plus, Jake is making good time going through each hallway in the facility thanks to Youju’s white keycard.

 Chris’ professional voice from the computer system breaks your concentration.

“Doc? Jake? You there?”

You close your eyes and take a breath. You were hoping that the universe would be merciful, and the connection would drop so you’d have a valid reason not to talk to Chris.

You weren’t so lucky, so you check the cameras one more time to ensure that Albert and Jake aren’t going to cross paths, then roll your chair over to the microphone on the other module. You flick off the mute button.

“You’ve got Doc. Any updates?”

“We’ve got an army of guys on their way to your location. Time of arrival is estimated at seven hours.”

You feel your shoulders visibly relax. Rescue is on the way.

“That’s great news.” You mutter.

“Is Jake around?”

For a second, you think about lying so he doesn’t know you’re alone. Nothing convincing comes to mind. “No. He stepped out to get supplies. I can pass along a message on his walkie though?”

“That’s alright.”

Awkward silence.

“How’s working in Germany?” Chris sounds less professional this time.

You sigh and close your eyes. “I don’t think this is the best time for small talk.”

“Just making conversation. We’ve got time. I want to know how you’re liking it.” Chris says. You can hear the slight smile in his voice. The genuine nature of his words.

You always had a weakness for his kindness. He had a way of worming himself into your good graces without even trying.

“It’s good. The people are great. I miss having reliable air conditioning though.” You joke.

You hear Chris chuckle. “Yeah, the Europeans aren’t big on that kind of thing.”

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. As much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you missed his laugh. How easy it is to talk to him.

“What about you? How’s Claire doing?” You ask.

“She’s still helping the world in her own way with TerraSave. She’s also been breathing down my neck about cutting back on smoking.”

“I’m sure you don’t mind that. If she’s breathing down your neck, that means she’s visiting.”

Another chuckle that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach sounds over the speaker. “If she were doing it in person, I don’t think I’d mind so much.”

Both of you sit in comfortable silence.

“I’ve missed seeing you around, but I’m glad you’re doing alright.” Chris says, vulnerability underlying his words.

Your throat gets tight, and you bite back the words before you can say them.

Don’t tell him you miss him too. It will make him feel worse.

Luck is on your side this time. Jake’s voice emanates from the walkie talkie in your lap.

“Doc? I need eyes on something.”

You let out a sigh of relief, then speak to Chris through the microphone. “Jake’s calling. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

You mute yourself on the microphone and wheel yourself back over to the security system.

“I’m here. What do you need?”

“Can I get your professional opinion on what’s happening in front of 250?”

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, but you pull up the necessary camera to see what Jake is talking about. All you can do is stare for a moment at the grim sight. Most of the lens is obstructed by a black substance, but even with the limited visibility you know it’s the personnel and guards that were unlucky enough to be in Albert’s way when he escaped containment. Black gunk saturates the walls and ground that you’re able to see.

You force yourself to respond.

“Part of the lens is blocked, but those are casualties of Albert. Just step around them. The dead don’t come back naturally with Uroboros. It just makes them harder to kill.”

“Not talkin’ about that Doc. Give me a second.”

You’re about to ask what Jake means by that, but before you can, you see something wiping the lens of the security camera you’re looking through. After a few seconds you see an uncomfortably close view of Jake’s nose as he wipes away the gunk from the lens.

How the hell did he scale the 12 foot height to wipe that gunk off?

You use one of the other screens to pull up an angle of the hallway Jake just cleared, and you can see that he scaled the wall by somehow using his balance and strength to tuck himself into the corner where the two hallways meet.

“Were you raised in the fucking circus? Where did you learn that?” You say into the walkie in disbelief.

“By being a teenage shithead, now look!” Jake replies, exasperated and moving out of the way of the camera and revealing a body almost completely overtaken by worms of Uroboros. Your disbelief quickly shifts into grim realization.

That needs to be burned.

Your voice comes out eerily calm.

“Don’t touch it. Don’t shoot it. Don’t interact with it. Uroboros needs to be burned for proper disposal.”

You see Jake crouch to look at the body from a different angle. You see him bring the walkie to his lips.

“Will touching it infect me?”

“No, but it might eat you since you’re organic material!! Just don’t ingest it, keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”  You spit through your teeth, not liking Jake’s series of questions or what it could mean for his future actions.

Jake looks at the body for a moment longer then stands up with the walkie to his lips, looking at you through the camera.

“Don’t lick the weird black stuff. Seems simple enough.”

You groan. “Let’s just hope these Neo Umbrella guys had the foresight to keep a flamethrower on hand.” You tiredly respond.

On one of the other monitors, you see Albert meandering in the direction of Jake’s current location. You speak into the walkie.

“Hey sit tight for a minute, I need to redirect Albert.”

You see Jake give you a thumbs up on the camera and you flit your attention to one of the other monitors. While Albert isn’t alarmingly close to Jake’s location, it’s still too close for comfort. You set the microphone to make an announcement in the opposite direction.

“I’m over here love! Come find me!”

You see Albert’s face light up on the screen and turn to follow your voice, but he freezes mid-turn. You tap the screen, thinking that the old equipment froze up on you. But then you see Albert’s face twitching.

It’s mild at first; only one of his red snake eyes twitch. But then it’s his whole face. The uncharacteristically wide grin twitches downward, a scowl gradually etches itself into his visage, and his blown-out eyes undulate like a heartbeat smaller and smaller until they’re thin slits.

You hear a guttural groan of something akin to agony escape Albert’s lips as he attempts to reach behind him towards the regulator in between his shoulder blades.

“I will not be subdued!” Albert seethes through his teeth, arm, body and face twitching from an invisible battle for control. It’s a losing battle, and Albert isn’t on the winning side, but he realizes it too late. The second his eyes start to dilate and his arm stops grasping for the regulator, he throws his body against the wall in a vain attempt to remain coherent by bashing his head into the smooth white plaster. He shrieks in a heart wrenching combination of frustration and agony. You recognize it with dreaded clarity from the day he died in the volcano. The plaster is marred with a watercolor painting of red, pink and black splotches. Then, as quickly as it started, Albert freezes in place, his face twitches back to what it was before, then he meanders towards the direction he last heard your voice, not bothering to wipe off the blood or black substance from his face.

“Dearheart? Where’s my little wife?” Albert asks with an uncanny grin, leaving a trail of black liquid in his wake.

All you can do is sit and try to process what you just saw with a haunted look on your face. Albert hasn’t changed. It only appears like he has.

You slowly bring the walkie to your lips.

“Jake there’s been a development.” You speak into the walkie lowly.

“I’m guessing it isn’t the good kind.” Jake quips.

You don’t acknowledge his attempt at humor. “It looks like Albert’s fighting with himself.”

Jake is silent for a moment. “And what does that mean?”

You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “This is only a theory, but I think because Albert has a natural immunity to a lot of viruses and parasites, his subconscious is buried but mostly intact.”

“So… the parasite’s driving the car but Wesker’s in the backseat trying to take the wheel.”

“Exactly. And I don’t want to find out what happens if he succeeds.”

You glance back at the monitor where you last saw Albert. From a surface level perspective, he’s back to how he was when he broke out of the chamber. It’s apparent that the Nemesis parasite currently has the upper hand. But what happens when it doesn’t?

You shake away the thought and keep talking to Jake through the walkie.

“Look, try to find Youju’s office and try to figure out exactly what they did to try and wake him up. I can give a much more accurate game plan on how to handle this.”

“What’s the theory without it?”

“If he overpowers the parasite, we’re fucked.”

“Find the papers. Got it. Just keep the old man busy.”

“Will do. You keep laying low.”

You set the walkie on the security panel, already feeling exhausted. You watch Jake continue his methodical room check on the monitor, then drag your attention over to where Albert is heading, his sudden clarity sending a chill down your spine. Then you look over to the computer system where Chris is still waiting to hear your voice.

You groan and let your head hit the back of your rolling chair.

This is going to be a long night.

Tag List: @killerwendigo @appreciativemediaconsumer @kaymarnun @chucklefak

a/n 2: Thanks again for reading! I've got an AO3 account now so I'm cross posting this series on there if that's where you prefer to read your fics. Based on my outline, it looks like this thing is gonna be a 10ish parter so stick around!

Also I'm on AO3 now at wil_o_wispy if you like reading your fics on there!

AO3 link for this part.

[wendelsae]

Lankiveil

The name Lankiveil is generally believed to be a derivative of Llanc IV Il, apparently named for a young dead machine-prince of the Old Empire whose ferown-tomb still stands on an isolated isle. Shunning this paynim etymology, the Lankiveilis themselves commonly claim Lankiveil to have been the name of the deva that led St. Soobbesm, the bastard son of Maometh's brother's half-wife's concubine's sister, to the planet. The synthetic exegesis makes the angelic Lankiveil be the celestial rebirth of the prince after being freed from jahannam by Soobbesm's prayers.

The planet is noted for its heavy water cover and relatively cold temperature for a biospheric world. Native lifeforms are mostly at a rare Ordovician level of development. Despite this plethora of advanced alien creatures, the most famous animal of Lankiveil, the Vair or so-called Fur Whale, was until recently of Terranic origin.

---

Lankiveil had a long history of political & marital entanglement with House Harkonnen, owing to the latter's homeworld of Giedi Prime being mainly of Lankiveili Buddhislamic faith after being swordily converted (from the Sikunic sect) by the infamous usurper-baron Maragir. After the kanly-extermination of House Lankiveil proper in 9997 by Philippos XV Atreides, the Landsraad elevated the native House Minor Rabban to the Amiralhaj County, under condition of feudal duty to their more prestigious kinsmen House Harkonnen.

One will note at once that the Comital title of the Rabbans would normally outrank the Baronial title of the Harkonnens. The Count Glossu, resenting the overlordship of his uncle, was often bothered by this. After the deposition of Leto I Atreides, Vladimir was eligible to claim the title of Duke of Arrakis by right of conquest and so regularize the ranking issue; he refused, on grounds of kanly-honor not to take a title filthied by his foe. Glossu apparently took this as a personal insult, and it is noted that in his last years he arrogated himself the quasi-title of Acting Duke of Arrakis, though never in communications with his uncle.

---

There were two main industries on Lankiveil. The first & elder was the lucrative field of religious tourism, for Lankiveil was the great Fifth Kaaba of the largest branch of Orthodox Buddhislam in the known universe. Most of the northeastern archipelago was Sanghamosque land, with the great Ilamamates conventionally passed down to second sons of the House Minor families. The ruler of the planet held the prestigious title of Amiralhaj as secular guardian (and beneficiary) of the pilgrimages. Contrariwise, the Sanghamosque also took an important role in arming House Harkonnen. As an act of pious charity, the Ilamams would purchase enslaved soldiers from the interstellar markets, and free them in exchange for their conversion & renunciation. Naturally, the soldiers were expected to become not common renunciates, but continue their secular profession in a more spiritual tune as members of the Order of Black Chenrezig, the elite crusaders whom the Atreides contemptuously called the "Gwanyin Ghazis". It is said that Gurney Halleck's rejection of such an offer was the beginning of his personal vendetta with Glossu Rabban.

---

The other great industry of Lankiveil was of course whale fur. Originally the peltes were merely one of the many products of the traditional whaling of the antarctic archipelago, and it was worn scarcely by even the secular magnates of the northern hemisphere. Buddhislamic teaching regarded the bloody industry as impure & sinful, and this impractical disgust at the livelihood of the southern isles was one contributor to the lack of progress made in catechizing them. And the Siridars, who were almost parasitic on the clergy who were their sole source of profit, did not dare dispute them.

This changed during the reign of Countess Falia Lankiveil-Harkonnen. Her predecessor & elder sister Irina, exposed in a scandalous relation with an Ilamam's designated heir, was found stabbed to death; chaukmurky had been poured into each of her wounds. Falia had spent much of her youth offworld on Kaitain, and when she arrived in Lankiveil's orbit she stopped there, did not descend, and had herself crowned there by a Noukker of the Sardaukar. For the next nine years she remained stationed in orbit while she opened the monasteries & mosques to the pillage of her offworld mercenaries. (Her descendant Muad'Dib, who made Countess Falia a saint of the Golden Elixir, once remarked that while his strategies were learned from hers, even the fury of his Fremen against the heretical homeworld of their oppressors had not matched the ferocity of the sack which she had worked on her own planet.) When she finally deigned descend to the planet to be welcomed by the condottieri she had enfeoffed, she wore a whale fur dress to signal that she was inaugurating a new Lankiveil; she wore the same a two months later on Kaitain for her wedding.

Having created demand and impatient to build up the industry, Falia opened up the planet to settlement from skilled seamen on very generous terms. Many came from many worlds, but the most numerous were the endonymous Astrapaistag- Nonconformist Vajrayana Christians from Yiretel. Their religion, preoccupied with the crucifixion, had little issue slaughtering the beasts that quickly became a symbol of their god.

---

While Falia's successors did not continue her ruthlessly anticlerical policy, they did carry on the business she had established. The Buddhislamic clergy in time quietly economized their condemnation of the industry- all except a few monastic hardliners no longer preached against the wearing of the Vair; they merely condemned the unclean paynims who produced it. The Fur Whale was adopted as a symbol of the planet & house, and Lankiveil's southern hemisphere itself became known as Whales. However, an obvious problem quickly faced House Lankiveil- with their efficient industrialization, the whales were being killed faster than they could be replaced.

The original Vair was a creature descended from the fur seals of Old Earth, mostly evolved without artificial intervention. Gestation took three years and twins were rare, to grow to mature size took 50. In favorable markets, to harvest the whales at 20 years of age more than broke even on the cost of the harvest, but this killed them before they had long been in sexual maturity. This system could not go on.

These facts were explained to the Bene Tleilax, who quickly set to work improving the stock. In the first iteration, sexual maturity and growth were accelerated and brood size increased, but at the cost of maternal health; this proved unworkable. The second iteration brought a breakthrough. With appropriate sedation (that of course could be grown in the whale's own body through an additional organ) & the inclusion of certain clotting genes modified from the Yirateli manta, the whales could be captured by a suspensor carrywhale, flayed, and then set back in the sea still alive. Regrowing a pelt was, after all, far quicker than regrowing an entire whale. To protect the harvest the Vairs' natural predators, the indigenous endocerids, were exterminated by a targeted virus.

This revolution in whaling pleased the siridars, but it did not please the whalers. By this time the immigrant Astrapaistag had intermarried & syncretized with the native South Islanders, and the harvest of the whole whale was sacred to them. The new system was like torturing Christ without killing him. There were riots, which were suppressed. Emigration followed. The Buddhislamists, long envious of the favorable exemptions to the Faufreluches that Falia had given the Vajrayana Christians, pushed the siridars to act against this risk to their profits.

A six-year moratorium on emigration was announced while foreign workers were sought. After thirty years the ban was still in place, and the whaling airships had been stuffed with slaves. The Astrapaistag, disappointed by their lords, were courted by Atreides agents. A plan was formed, whereby the main Atreides force would divert Harkonnen attention by the seizure of a space port on Giedi Prime (and dig in, making no further forrays), the Count Rautha would then be murdered by his Falianag bodyguards, and a smaller elite Atreides force would then assist in the Astrapaistag seizure of their planet.

When word came that Giedi Prime faced an unexpected raid by House Ginaz and the Atreides were making their move at once to coordinate, the Lankiveili side of the plot was immediately set in motion. Count Rautha was slain, though his brother Sirush quickly retook the holy city of Haj. The Astrapaistag regime who had seized the Southern Isles were offered relatively lenient terms (Sirush was not entirely displeased with his brother's death), but Alipticon Corippus, their contact with the Atreides, warned them not to trust Sirush and urged them to wait for their allies to arrive. So they waited, and waited, while one by one the islands fell. The leaders of the revolt settled in for a lengthy siege on their last stronghold- they were told the Atreides had been delayed by a counterraid to Caladan but were on their way. But they were instead destroyed almost at once by an orbital strike. Sirush saw little issue with annihilating a single island, and he could rely on the Tleilaxu to help deal with any environmental aftereffects.

The Falianag bodyguard were hanged, drawn, & quartered, while the other Vajrayana Christians were crushed down to the lowest level of the Faufreluches, legally bound to the planet and indeed to their isles of residence, forbidden to practice any other occupation than the filthy art of whaling that their religion now cried out against. Alipticon, who of course had been the traitor, converted to the state religion with Sirush's personal oversight, and was rewarded for his loyalty by being enfeoffed Lord of the Southern Isles, thus to be lamented forever by his former people as the man who had sold his soul for Whales. His House Minor maintained an impeccable record of Buddhislamic piety, and centuries later his direct descendant Zeng Corippus was the Count Glossu Rabban's bashar on Arrakis.

---

Free of the need to care about the Astrapaistag's scruples, House Lankiveil, and later House Rabban, gave the Tleilaxu a permanent contract to refine the Vair stock. Seeking greater efficiency, the serpentine vertebrate body plan was discarded in favor of skeletal-esophageal "windowpanes" linked by networks of furred skin. The introduction of this variety was detained only by the need to manufacture new forms of carrywhale to harvest with. Still iterations continued. Few of the high class consumers who bought & wore Vair knew that the original cuddly Fur Whale that seethed rampant on the House Rabban crest was extinct except in a few aquariums.

The Imperial Planetologist Timon Akat, whom Count Abulurd Rabban hired to examine the state of the oceans, reported that while the ecosystem seemed stable to support human life (or at least it was being altered so quickly that it couldn't destabilize), it seemed that almost all native or terranic macroscopic life apart from a few common fish species had been displaced by a trophic network of iterations, most of which bore only a very slant resemblance to the notions of fur or whale. He later wrote, "I'd had to deal with planets where religious dogma meant that there was widespread disbelief in evolution by natural selection, and Lankiveil was one of them, but it was only when speaking to the Bene Tleilax that I began to suspect that religions could exist that regarded evolution as very real, and also mortally sinful. I don't think the Harkonnens could restore their oceans even if they wanted to."

---

The natives of Lankiveil are noted for greyish skin, bluish hair, and craggy rectangular faces; these features are common even among the Astrapaistag, who had intermarried much with the old whalers. Renunciates or partial renunciates to Lankiveili Buddhislam have a red triskelion with three dots tattooed on their forehead and cheeks, a triple symbol of the Three Jewels and the Three Muhammads.

[jesse-wilder]

Paul & Alex Casey: Aren’t there other people you can choose to torture with your existences?

Delsin, Fetch, Eugene, Chloe & Alex: Yes, but we choose you two because we hate you!

[pruneunfair]

Manhwa characters X Henry VIII and the six wives crossover.

of course this isn't going to line up with the real history, they'll simply be put into the roles they suit best and alternations will be made based on source material and their personalities

Henry VIII-Ceasre de como

He was never meant to inherit the throne until his brother unexpectedly passed away. The infamous bastard son who was the true cause of prince Alfonsos death believed to be a tragic result of illness. He framed the crime of poisoning the king on his mistress Ariande de mare and marries his late brothers widow as his first wife Isabella de Mare who has only been able to have one child: a girl, Princess Giovanna. Over the course of his life, King Ceasre marries a total of 6 different women and has only had 3 legitimate heirs throughout his life. During his reign, he ignited the fear and hatred of his people through execution after execution, some of the most infamous being 2 of his 6 wives. It was said that on his death bed, all the women he betrayed had haunted him, with the ringleader being his first love, Ariande de Mare

Catherine of Aragon-Isabella de Mare

Ceasres first wife, Ariandes sister and widow to prince Alfonso. After marrying for a second time small problems erupt from the queen being known as "tainted" for being another kings wife. To mediate the anger, Isabella starts to take religion even more seriously then she did in the past making herself out as a saint who redeemed herself of her sins, the public is unaware she cares very little for the death of her sister. The queen is aware of her husband's concubines and doesn't mind as she knows he would grow bored of her... until Ceasre finds a woman he can't yet have.. so she schemes to stay on the throne. She didn't help orchestrate her sisters death just so Ceasre can go as far as to violate parliament to marry another woman.

She is not remembered so fondly though after her death.

Anne Boleyn- Aria Roscent:

a common woman adopted into the house of Roscent, despite that fact she has become the talk of the town for her beauty and sharp tongue. Aria was planning on marrying her true love Oscar Frederick until she met the king who wanted her as his mistress more than anything, she tried to turn him down the best she could without facing execution, ultimately coming up with a excuse that she'd only be with Ceasre if she became the queen. To which Ceasre happily does much to the anger of queen Isabella who never would've have guessed it would be a random noblewoman instead of Ceasres favorites. Isabella fights back with the pope on her side using the argument the remarriage is reserved only those who have been widowed, this proves to be Isabellas undoing however when Ceasre shoots back with the revelation that the queen had killed her little sister years back and she would do the same to Princess Giovanna if she stayed. The divorce also leads to Ceasre founding his own church and new rules of religion so no pesky pope will stop him in the future, he marries Aria for only 3 years, during those 3 years Aria gave birth to a girl and named her Arabella to spite the former queen but her happiness is shortlived once Ceasre gets tired of her and executes her on crimes of witchcraft and attempted poisoning of his sister in law, Mielle.

Jane Seymour-Jennette Margarita

The 3rd wife Ceasre married quickly after the execution of Queen Aria. Despite her gentle care and kind attitude, the populace despised Jennette for replacing Aria as queen. Jennette is more obedient than the last two queens, going by a motto of "bound to obey and serve." So it's not surprise that Ceasre chose her to be the lucky wife to bear San Carlos desired prince. The relationship with her step-sisters isn't great either. Giovanna wants nothing to do with anymore step-moms after what happened to her mother and Arabella is still too young to even comprehend what happend to her own mother, leaving Jennette alone with the hope of her unborn child being a boy that could save her from execution. Much to Ceasres joy, Jennette does give birth to a prince Leo, but unfortunately the 3rd queen passes away just 11 days later from child bed fever.

Anne of Cleves-Adelaide Kotrov

A foreign princess from a neighboring kingdom. With a male heir finally secured, Ceasre is encouraged to marry for a political alliance, most princesses reject the offer after knowing what happened to Queen Aria but with the forceful hand of her mother, Adelaide of Kotrov is sent to become Ceasres 4th wife. The introduction doesn't go as well as planned, with Adelaide being visibly uncomfortable and annoyed with her husband's attitude. Since Ceasre can't execute a foreign noble, he never consummated the marriage and divorced Adelaide in only 6 months. Instead of becoming enemies though, Adelaide and Ceasre managed to get along just enough during those 6 months to be considered friends and Adelaide stayed in San Carlo with the reputation of the kings beloved sister. She lives her days with her lover Lionel as her true love and becomes the richest woman in all of San Carlo after Ceasre dies.

Catherine Howard- Rashta Ishka.

Ceasres 5th and youngest wife. A former slave who was saved by another Emperor and worked as a secretary for the Empress Navier. Rashta was never given a proper education so when the work turned out to be more than she could chew, Ceasre took the opportunity to take her with him to enjoy the luxuries of regal life and gave Rashta a title of Viscountess so the nobles of San Carlo wouldn't learn of her true origins. By the time they got married Ceasre was already considerably aged, his daughters have grown and Prince Leo had been getting smarter by the day. Giovanna treated her step-mom with indifference but Arabella and Leo took to their new mother well, giving Rashta a chance to heal from past traumas but her attitude can make it difficult at times as she holds grudges and doesnt easily let things go. Problems would inevitably arise , with unchecked trauma of her past, Ceasre only wanting a spare from her, pushing everyone else that could help her away, yet with her desire to feel seen at the same time. The queen gets coerced and manipulated by another man: Duke Ergi and he takes the chance to screw her over once he got what he wanted from her. Rashta was only queen for a little over a year when she was discovered to have been assaulted by one of her masters leading to a pregnancy no one knew of, and a previous fling she had with Emperor Sovieshu, combined with the rumors that she had cheated on the king, Rashta is beheaded for her crimes. Before her execution she ran after Ceasre, pleading her innocence while being pulled away.

Catherine Parr-Claudine Von Brandt

Ceasres 6th and final wife. Claudine had initially been with a few other lovers but all have either died or left her before the marriages could even happen. When she is told that she has to marry the king, Claudine naturally freaks out knowing the fates of the previous 5 wives who got divorced at best and lost their heads at worst. She learns to live her life with her aging tyrannical husband and becomes a wonderful stepmother to the kids, even Giovanna was willing to give her a chance and accept Claudine as her stepmother and queen of San Carlo after Claudine convinced Ceasre to reinsert his daughtes back into succession. There were a few close calls but Claudine survived her marriage and outlived Ceasre, but only for a year longer...

Mary I-Princess Giovanna

(There's no cannon design for Giovanna yet so I used Athy as a substitute)

The first princess born of King Ceasre and Queen Isabella. Out of all her parents failed pregnancies, Giovanna survived as a healthy child despite being a girl. Her parents treated her well enough until her father had the hots for Aria and divorced her mother. Even after learning the truth, Giovanna still considered Isabella the rightful queen even if she was left with a permanent uneasiness of her mom. For most of her time as princess afterwords, Giovanna is demoted to a lady to make room for Arias baby but despite that, Giovanna is a good big sister and doesn't blame Arabella for her mother's fate especially after the second princess is demoted to lady after Aria is executed. After her father dies, Giovanna went through hell to ensure she'd remain a queen and bring back the influence of the pope even if it means the death of the cousin used as a political pawn and the execution of just under 300 people. She dies without an heir only 5 years later.

Elizabeth I- princess Arabella

Second princess and daughter of King Ceasre and Queen Aria. Poor Arabella was already made a bastard after her mother's execution and lived her life neglected by her father and raised by her older sister. She was named after the 1st queens youngest sister and it's often noted that the princess looks an awful lot like the girl she was named after, almost like she was the reincarnated soul of Arabella de Mare. Her family life is full of nothing but troubles, even after her tyrannical father dies, she's still left in the whims of her sister as their relationship deteriorates when they got older. For years princess Arabella dodged death at every corner until Queen Giovanna passed away, giving rise for the queen no one suspected, Arabella I. She becomes the virgin queen of San Carlo, ending her father's bloodline and granting the right of heir to a cousin when she passes away as the final monarch of the house of de Como.

Edward VI- Leo IV

(Again, Leo doesn't have a design since he's an OC so young Ceasre will be a substitute)

The long sought after male heir Ceasre had been waiting for and the son of Queen Jennette, he takes after his father in terms of appearance too! As such Leo was raised differently then his sisters and was pushed to the bone since he was the only shot they had for a future king of the de Como bloodline. When Leo became king at the young age of 9, he was easily influenced by the adults and advisors in his life to control the country how they wanted to. He's just a kid and already the people think he'll just turn out to be like his father. Despite how much he loves his sisters, they disagree on religion and in an attempt to keep Giovanna from bringing back influence of the pope, he selects a cousin as his heir just before he dies young, he can finally meet the mother he's never known...

Other characters below:

Prince Arthur- Alfonso de Carlo

Jane Boleyn- Mielle Roscent

George Boleyn- Cain Roscent

Mary Boleyn- Larissa De Balloa

Thomas Culpeper- Duke Ergi

[bigsissugi]

Analyzing the Prisoners' Fairytales Part 09: Fu

Info:

Contains spoilers for LOCKDOWN.

Grammar issues within the official material will be retained for informative purposes.

If you're a staff member, please don't give me any corrections or hints. It'll be much more fun for you if your audience is wrong.

Triggers: Mentions of and allusions to real-world political concepts.

His fairytale:

A story of a grieving set of parents… They'd lost their darling son far too young and were scared he would be lonely in the afterlife. They went to Death and begged and pleaded for their son to have company. Death obliged and reaped a soul to be his bride. The two of them had a gorgeous wedding. United in Death. The parents were overjoyed and showered Death in gold.

How does the fairytale apply to Fu?

Admittedly, assigning Death to Fu was based on a process of elimination. Although it makes sense for the Ultimate Businessman to have committed his crime for money (gold), the same could apply to any Ultimate. But while trying to figure out the significance of the dead son's marriage, I found another reason to identify Death as Fu.

Posthumous marriage is a real practice that's recognised in various countries for different reasons (China, Japan, India, France, South Sudan, etc.) But out of all of them, only China's culture practices posthumous marriage for the sake of alleviating a spirit's loneliness.

The Chinese variant of posthumous marriage, called "ghost marriage" or "spirit marriage", is a tradition in which a marriage is arranged between two dead people (or in some rarer cases, one dead person and one alive person). This tradition came to exist due to a widespread belief that if a spirit wasn't married off, their loneliness would cause them to haunt their family. Ghose marriage usually doesn't involve murder, but there have been reports of its occurence:

For years there has been evidence of this ritual mutating in certain parts of China. There have been cases where a living person has been "married" to a corpse in a secret ritual, but more alarmingly reports of grave robbery and even murder have also surfaced.

(Source: BBC)

Obviously Fu himself is Chinese, but not all people engage in their own cultural traditions. Luckily for us, the VA trailer hints at Fu having some awareness of and/or close connection to his own heritage:

Heh, I've got a special place on the guest list for Dìyù, that's for sure.

(Note: Dìyù is the Chinese equivalent of Hell.)

Symbolism Explanation

Fu is Death: Fu's assignment as the absolute personification of death rather than just any old character who gets themselves involved in a murder implies that murder is second nature to him; it plays a significant role in his career. Furthermore, as the Grim Reaper is often portrayed as targeting people at random and without emotional bias, the same can also be said for Fu. This idea will be explained further in the sections below.

His deity:

09- Zeus: King of the Gods, can avoid justice on account of being emblematic of justice in itself. Acts upon this indiscriminately and indulgently.

Parallels between Zeus and Death

As the God of law & order, Zeus is known to observe and punish the behaviour of mankind from above in the Heavens despite his own misconduct, the most infamous example of which being his frequent adultery. Despite this, he has gone unpunished simply because no other deity is powerful enough to serve justice the King of the Gods effectively, even when combined (e.g. Hera, Athena and Poseidon's failed attempt to overthrow him). Correspondingly, many portrayals of the Grim Reaper cannot die because it is the symbolic representation of death.

Zeus' constant cheating, as mentioned above, was driven entirely by impulsive desire. A parallel can be drawn between that and Death's reaping of random individuals. However, it should be noted that Zeus' approach towards justice was much more deliberate than his approach towards cheating.

(Side note: Is Zeus' cheating really the only corrupt action of his the summary focuses on 😭)

Parallels between Fu and Zeus

The summary for Hermes compared his status as an Olympian with Lyra's status as an Ultimate. The same can apply to Fu; he is the oldest prisoner, hence being a 'king' amongst them. It can be argued that he is also a king amongst Ultimates due to the nature of his talent. As a businessman, his job is entirely centered around taking on deals in exchange for money. In other words, his job is the embodiment of the capitalistic ideology the UTP enforces.

Similarly to the adulterous King of the Gods, Fu's occupation makes him emblematic of the UTP's corrupt idea of justice in which they use their wealth and influence to cover up the Ultimates' crimes. Zeus' uninhibited approach towards his infidelity has a likeness to what little the audience knows of Fu's personality so far — he is extremely, transparently self-centered and will accept any shady deal because it's "just business".

Symbolism Summary

Death: Fu Gold: Money

Retelling through the lens of Death Fu

A story about a Chinese businessman with very low moral standards. One day, he is recruited by a grieving couple who wish to arrange a ghost marriage for their dead son to prevent him from bringing them misfortune. The businessman goes above and beyond with his request by murdering a woman chosen at random. The businessman is paid well for his efforts.

What is his crime?

It couldn't be clearer that his crime is Contract Killing.

What will his verdict be?

As he's been driven by nothing more than money, Fu's actions are undeniably selfish. It looks as though his promise to take his shirt off won't be fulfilled any time soon because there is no possibility for his verdict other than Corrupt.

[marwyn]

For what it’s worth the oft-repeated statement that GRRM hates House of the Dragon is just untrue. In his infamous deleted blog post he criticized the choice to have Helaena point out which of her twins was the boy (which I agree was very silly) but he’s praised other adaptational changes and said that Helaena’s overall characterization in the show is “richer and more fascinating” than that of her book counterpart. From his July 5, 2024 blog post:

I also got a sneak peak at the first two episodes of season 2: “A Son for A Son” and “Rhaenyra the Cruel.”

What a great way to start the season. The directing was superb. GAME OF THRONES veteran Alan Taylor directed the first episode, and Clare Kilner the second. Both of them did a magnificent job. And I cannot say enough about the acting. Emma d’Arcy has only one line in “A Son for a Son,” but they do so much with their eyes and their face that they absolutely dominate the episode; her grief for her slain son is palpable. Tom Glynn-Carney brings Aegon alive in ways we have not seen before; he’s more than a villain here, he shows us the king’s rage, his pain, his fears and doubts. His humanity. Rhys Ifans has been splendid as Otto Hightower every time he has been on screen, but he exceeded himself in “Rhaenyra the Cruel.” His scene with King Aegon and Criston Cole after the ratcatchers are hanged just crackles with wit, tension, drama, a performance that cries out for awards attention. Matt Smith, Olivia Cooke, Fabien Frankel, Eve Best, and the other regulars were wonderful as well. The Tittensor twins were terrific as the Kingsuard twins, and their climactic swordfight is right up there with the Mountain and the Red Viper of Dorne, and Brienne’s fight with Jaime Lannister.

And Phia Saban gave a wrenching, powerful, heart-breaking performance as Helaena Targaryen, Aegon’s doomed, haunted queen and mother to his children.

Saban’s performance is especially noteworthy; very little of what she brings to the part was in my source material. Last season HOUSE OF THE DRAGON essentially recreated King Viserys, giving him a much different backstory and far more depth than the jolly party-loving king I created for FIRE & BLOOD. I talked about that last year, so I won’t repeat myself, save to say it was very well done, and DAMN but Paddy Considine was glorious in the role. (He should have won an Emmy).

The HotD team have done the same thing here with Helaena. In the book, she is a plump, pleasant, and happy young woman, cheerful and kindly, adored by the smallfolk. A dragonrider since the age of twelve, Helaena’s greatest joy in life is to take to the skies on the back of her dragon Dreamfyre. None of the strangeness she displays in the show was in evidence in the book, nor is her gift for prophecy. Those were born in the writers’ room… but once I met the show’s version of Helaena, I could hardly take issue. Phia Saban’s Helaena is a richer and more fascinating character than the one I created in FIRE & BLOOD, and in “Rhaenyra the Cruel” you can scarcely take your eyes off her.

The show added a brand new character as well. The dog.

I am… ahem… not usually a fan of screenwriters adding characters to the source material when adapting a story. Especially not when the source material is mine. But that dog was brilliant. I was prepared to hate Cheese, but I hated him even more when he kicked that dog. And later, when the dog say at his feet, gazing up… that damn near broke my heart. Such a little thing… such a little dog… but his presence, the few short moments he was on screen, gave the ratcatcher so much humanity. Human beings are such complex creatures. The silent presence of that dog reminded us that even the worst of men, the vile and the venal, can love and be loved.

I wish I’d thought of that dog. I didn’t, but someone else did. I am glad of that.

“Rhaenyra the Cruel” has been getting great reviews, for the most part. A lot of the fans are proclaiming it the best episode of HotD, and some are even ranking it higher than the best episodes of GAME OF THRONES. I can hardly be objective about these things, but I would certainly say it deserves to be in contention. The only part of the show that is drawing criticism is the conclusion of the Blood and Cheese storyline. Which ending was powerful, I thought… a gut punch, especially for viewers who had never read FIRE & BLOOD. For those who had read the book, however…

Well, there’s a lot [to] be said about that, but this is not the place for me to say it. The issues are too complicated. Somewhere down the line, I will do a separate post about all the issues raised by Blood and Cheese… and Maelor the Missing. There’s a lot to say.

For the nonce, I will just say that I really really liked “Rhaenyra the Cruel.” I liked it in London the first time I saw it, and I liked it even more on second watching. I hope you did as well. Maybe it even made you cry.