#Tyrannical Musings

[acoldsovereign]

tag drop.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅺ▬ ⁽ 𝓋𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒⁾ ¹

part two

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₅˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : slightly edited, talk of past sexual assault ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : i had to split this into two parts! it’s giving very much manhwa vibes!

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : your elder half-sister is to be married to the mysterious and supposed tyrannical duke kallisto de ardelean, on word of the emperor. with your sister no longer having her chastity and being scared to lose his daughter, your father, marquis bastian, and your elder half-brother, tommen devise a plan to send you in her stead.

꒰m!vampire₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

 the sound of cutlery grating against one another makes anxiety coil taut within your belly, the emotion mischievously swimming its way upwards to form a burning mordant taste within the base of your throat; bile threatening to ascend and expel from your mouth. your nerves are strung tight like a bow, bending, pulling, hurting- waiting to be disentangled from its stretch; but to no avail. the persistent, uneasy ache pulsing through your veins causes your head to throb and pound uncomfortably - the onset of a migraine looming.

    the clinking of silverware becomes a symphony of discomfort, each scrape, and clatter adding to the cacophony that fills the room. it becomes increasingly difficult to focus on anything else, as the unease consumes your thoughts and senses. the atmosphere feels suffocating, as if the tension in the air is tangible.

  you find yourself longing for a moment of respite, a break from the relentless discomfort. but it eludes you, leaving you trapped in this sea of unease. the storm within you rages on, its intensity growing with each passing second.

      'when will this be over?' you muse sourly, stumbling to hold in a huff of frustration and discomfort; the stinging, scalding gazes of your siblings and attendants are alight with contempt and taunting humor- directed at you. the sensation sends a chill skittering down your backbone, a chill so frigid that goosebumps begin to blanket your skin like a fresh layer of december frost; intricate and icy.

  as you sit there, the weight of their judgment bears down on you, pressing against your chest and making it difficult to breathe. the room seemed to close around you, the walls closing in like a vise, trapping you in a suffocating bubble of scrutiny. the air is heavy with tension, each second ticking by like an eternity, as if time itself had slowed down to magnify your discomfort.

    and you find that removing your eyes from the bowl of lukewarm soup in front of you to meet their disdainful faces, was nigh impossible. unthinkable. so instead you remain fixated on the porcelain dish, undisturbed by the tiny grains of sand scattered at the bottom, swirling lazily in the stew.

 'this again?' you ponder silently, before being startled by the tinkling laughter that fills the room.

     for a fleeting moment, your gaze flickers upward to scan the dining hall at the soft, girlish snickering; finding the venomous eyes of your elder sister staring right back at you. your glossy eyes quickly find solace in the sandy, savory depths of the bowl of soup below you once more. your fingers weaving jointly underneath the table, nails turning pale as the vice grip of your extremities coil, trying to strangle one another. you felt like a rat trapped within a burning bucket with nowhere to go, fated to die-but how badly you wanted to gnaw your way out to freedom.

 "oh my, dear sister, you've hardly touched your food."

  your back molars clench against the tender flesh of your cheek at the attention, your body cowering back into the delicate velvet chair underneath you, praying to be devoured whole. with trembling hands, you nervously rub your dewy palms against the faded blue fabric of your dress, causing it to darken with the touch of moisture. it was as if your very nerves had been set ablaze as you could now feel the disconcerting stare of your father branding the side of your cheek.

your soft but prevalent ebbeton accent cuts through the tense atmosphere like a sharpened blade, the gazes of the room bleeding into your skin.

    "i find myself lacking an appetite this evening," you emit softly, offering a forced smile to your elder sister in an attempt to pacify her. you’re not surprised when aerith’s thin upper lip curls into a snarl, downturned eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. anything that you did; that defied her orders, usually triggered aerith to taunt and beat you. there was no winning when it came to the girl, you had figured that out when you were just a child.

     not expecting your reply, aerith’s narrow upper lip curls into a vexed snarl, downturned eyes tightening and eyebrows drawing near to each other. 'who the hell does she think she is?' a forced, cruel smile encases aerith’s mouth, golden spirals of silken hair dancing over her shoulders as she slants her head in an opposing manner. the blonde is only aggravated further at your curt, almost blank expression. "it'd be a waste for you to not at least take a bite, don't you think?"

  she leaned in closer, her eyes boring into yours, daring you to defy her. the room seemed to grow colder, the atmosphere heavy with tension. aerith knew that she had the upper hand, that she had the ability to make your already hellish life, worse. and she reveled in it. the power she possessed, the control she exerted over others, was intoxicating. she was not one to be underestimated, and she made sure you knew it.

    the intense thrumming of your fearful heart reverberates throughout your body, anxiety substituting the boiling blood surging through your veins. you swallow the orb of tension that's wedged its way into your throat and dig your almond-shaped nails into your thighs, a flimsy smile painted onto your lips. "i simply do not feel hungry tonight, sister," you reply calmly, though your heart pounds in your ears. "surely that is not a crime."

    your sister's eyes narrow, her fury evident in the furrowed lines on her forehead. you can almost taste the outrage, mingling with the metallic tang of fear on your tongue.

"(y/n)."

    you flinch back into your seat at the boisterous sound of your father's voice, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow, shakily you pick up the rickety spoon, a far cry from the elegant silverware adorning the table. with trembling hands, you cautiously dip the spoon into the soup, the loose pieces of sand giggling at your misery. slowly the spoon ascends to your lips- before three sharp knocks echo throughout the dining hall. every malicious, joyously cruel gaze, flits to the door. your father, never one to be unnerved, dabs at his lips with his napkin and clears his throat. "enter."

    the heavy oak doors are gradually pulled open by two knights who stand guard at opposing ends. the assailant quickly waltzes into the room, his face, pale and drawn, betrays the weight of his duty. beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, glistening like tiny diamonds in the candlelight. his disheveled attire, once pristine and regal, now hangs loosely on his frame, evidence of the tumultuous journey he has endured to reach this moment. settled upon his spindly hand is a slender silver tray, which carries a letter.

“-and what is the cause for you interrupting the household dinner, boy? "

  the man choked back a shuddering breath and with a graceful yet urgent stride, he approaches the grand mahogany table at the center of the room, halting just in front of your father, lowering into a ninety-degree bow and thrusting the salver forward.

     "a letter from the imperial palace..." the boy's tentative voice trails off for a moment, hesitant to declare the rest of the announcement. your father observed the scene with a stoic expression, his piercing gaze fixed upon the man before him, before he rolls his eyes, picking up his utensils once more. "well? out with it then.”

“- it's closed with the emperor's seal, my lord.”

    all respire within the room seemed to come to a standstill, the birds did not dare to chirp and the wind was not brave enough to howl. the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of your father's labored breaths. as the seconds ticked by, the room seems to hold its breath, waiting for marquis bastian to break the silence. finally, your father gently places his utensils aside and swiftly grasps the letter, his fingers trembling with a mixture of anticipation and unease. clearly, some things could unnerve marquis bastian, you thought, as you surreptitiously returned the spoon to its rightful place upon the table.

     popping the seal, your father glides the letter from the envelope delicately, unfurling the piece of paper to allow his eyes to glaze over the contents. yet, with each passing second his eyelids draw back to showcase the whites of his eyes, his fingers digging into the paper with a mix of shock, disbelief, or perhaps even anger. you can't quite discern his emotions. your father, marquis bastian, was a man known for his unwavering composure and unshakeable resolve. his presence alone commanded respect and admiration, and it was a rare sight indeed to witness him unsettled.

   his usually stoic face contorted with a myriad of emotions, his brows furrowing and his lips trembling ever so slightly. the room seemed to grow colder, as if the air itself was affected by his sudden unease. you watched in silence, your heart pounding in your chest, as your father's grip on the letter tightened, his knuckles turning white. the seconds stretched into minutes, and still, your father remained frozen in his chair, his eyes fixed on the damning words before him. 

   tommen, your eldest brother, swallows thickly at father's silence, the hairs on the back of his neck at attention and his leg bouncing nervously underneath the table. "father, what ails you?" marquis bastian was distraught, so much so in fact, that he ran a wrinkling hand down his face, head falling into his open palm. the patriarch of the house clears his throat and sets the paper back onto the tray.

"a-aerith. your engagement has been decided by the emperor."

    tommen's heart sinks at his father's words. your elder sister, forever the oblivious blonde; and incapable of reading the room, beams happily and clasps her hands together, head tilting to the side with a whimsical, distant gaze in her eyes. "oh! who is it, daddy? a duke? a marquis?—" the girl trails off with a gasp and places a soft, small hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning a rosy pink. "could it be the prince?! oh, daddy, say something! who is it?!"

tommen's eyes follow his father's every movement, his own anxiety growing with each passing second. he watches as his father clears his throat, a sign of his struggle to find the right words. your father, still in dismay, doesn't even attempt to soothe aerith as he breaks the news to her, his gaze empty, like a vast, swarthy sea of water without end.

"duke kallisto de ardelean."

 you watch in confusion as her smile slowly fades, her pretty, sparkling jade eyes seem to dull, the vibrant hue that once adorned her rosy cheeks now fades away, leaving behind a pallid complexion that betrays the absence of her usual vivacity.

   the blonde's daze is shattered in an instant as she forcefully pushes herself away from the table, her hands crashing down on the sturdy oak surface, her nails leaving marks. "no! i won't do it, you cannot make me!" your father's lips are set into a thin line and despite aerith looking to him for answers, for hope that only his words can bring, his expression is unreadable; and for a moment, something dark and enraged unfurls within the blonde's stomach, threatening to consume her.

"daddy? say something!"

tommen, always the mediator, attempts to smooth over the situation. "aerith, sit, let father think for a moment— hm?" your eldest brother can't help but add an encouraging whirr at the end of his demand after seeing his sister's frightened gaze; a sight that tugs at his heart agonizingly. aerith reluctantly tumbles into her chair, reddened cheeks cushioned by clammy palms; her nails digging into her scalp worriedly.  "brother, do something."

tommen's jaw ticked in annoyance- frustration. there was no way aerith would survive at duke ardelean's home, particularly because of her licentious behavior and absence of subordination. with aerith's lack of chastity, she was nothing but used, damaged goods— not even a puppet to be utilized. ( she would've been better off marrying a count, someone she could manipulate and break faith with. ) sending her off to kallisto would do nothing but insult the ardelean household and bring disgrace to their family for generations to come. 

    tommen's love for his sister was undeniable, and he couldn't bear to see her endure humiliation or worse. he refused to stand idly by and witness the downfall of his family, the destruction of everything they had worked so hard to build.

   slight motion from his peripheral causes tommen's head to turn slightly in its direction, catching sight of your dingy garments and absence of etiquette. ‘ah, the bastard.' he thought to himself. watching as your back straightens immediately when his viridian-colored gaze flits to your slouched figure. there is a bottomless sea of revulsion whirling like a hurricane within its depths and you grip your right arm tightly, nails digging into your flesh; scarring it with crescent moons, a desperate attempt to maintain composure, to keep yourself afloat in the face of his disdain.

    but despite your best efforts- you seemed to drown. the contempt in tommen's eyes remained unwavering. his judgment was etched into his features, a constant reminder of the vast chasm that separated you. in that moment, you were acutely aware of your place in his world, forever relegated to the outskirts, forever branded as the outsider.

"father, if I may?"

   marquis bastian looks toward his son, lips thinned and face weary. he was without a doubt, lost on what to do the thought of losing his little girl to such a man, made his stomach churn and ache.

tommen drags his gaze away from you and locks eyes with marquis bastian; he's tentative, uncertain if the solution that he's come to would assuage his father. but, he takes a deep breath and explains.

   "aerith has been out of high society for years now, after the incident with count aslan's daughter, and there were only a few witnesses at the happening.” tommen begins gradually, making sure that his father is mindful of every little detail. "truly-she's not even talked about within social circles anymore."

   your father grunts in agreement, shooting a scalding gaze at his immature (but loveable) daughter at the reminder of the mishap. the blonde's pout deepens and she crosses her arms over her chest in childish defiance.

   “duke kallisto has never gone to any social gatherings before and he's been away at the northern border for about the same period, perhaps even longer, with his eldest son joining him only a couple of months ago. he would have no idea who aerith is." marquis bastian's eyebrows furrow deeply, producing wrinkles in-between his thick, graying brows.

    tommen watches as the cogs turns in his father's head. “'it's official only on paper and since duke kallisto has never come to any social setting and no one knows what he looks like, i doubt there will be a public wedding, especially since he's currently at the northern border leading the knights."

marquis bastian's eyes widen and he finds his son's viridian gaze. “are you saying—” tommen nods quickly, leaning back in his seat. “if we send the bastard, they'd be none the wiser."

all eyes narrow on you, calculating and cold, it raises goosebumps on your skin, hinders your breath, and makes you break out in a cold sweat. 

    a small voice inside you yearned to protest, to expose the sheer madness of their 'scheme', warning that it would only lead to the gruesome demise of the entire family for treason. but, what right did you have to speak? you were nothing but a bastard, a child conceived out of unwilling sex, brought into this world by a maid who was promptly cast aside the moment you took your first breath.

   you were raised in the shadows, hidden away from the prying eyes of society, forced to serve the family that had abandoned you. your existence was a constant reminder of their shame, a living testament to their sins. and yet, despite the cruelty and neglect you endured, a flicker of defiance burned within you. but fear held you back. fear of retribution, of being cast out into the cold, unforgiving world. fear of the unknown, of what lay beyond the walls of the only home you had ever known.

you were a mere puppet, a marionette manipulated by the hands of those who saw you as nothing more than a means to an end. your existence was reduced to a tool, easily discarded when it no longer served its purpose. it was a fitting fate, since commoner blood surged through your veins. you were forever destined to be overlooked and discarded.

     lips thinning you watch as your fathers face flushes with the color he lost while reading the letter, no longer tense as he nods his head in agreement with tommen. he lets out a deep hum before locking eyes with his son. “that might just work.” marquis bastian absently strokes his beard before giving a decisive nod. “we’ll have to start the process quickly. with how she is now…” he trails off prompting you to hastily blink back the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. 

 “hajorld, send a letter to madame kilsby.” 

  all eyes fix upon aerith as she emits a disbelieving whimper. “daddy! that’s not fair, you promised that madame kilsby would teach me! you swore,”  her voice, sharp and grating, causes marquis bastian’s face to pinch into one of anger. “had you not spread your legs like some common whore, aerith, i would not be forced to take this action."

  aerith's heart sank at her father's accusing words. she had been looking forward to learning from madame kilsby for months, only to have her hopes dashed in an instant. the disappointment was palpable in the air as she struggled to hold back tears, her rose-tinted lips pressing together as she slumps back in her seat. your father sighs deeply and picks back up his cutlery. “may the gods have mercy on us."

"chin up!"

    you wince softly at the abrupt pain that blooms bitterly across your calf, the skin puckering and swollen from the harsh, periodic whipping of madame kilsby. stiffly your chin lifts upwards. the heavy books that make a home on the top of your head for the time being, quiver- as if they are walking bare within the frigid december air; waiting to topple. 

     her aging hand presses deftly into your lower back, fixing your posture once more with a soft hum, assessing, watching. she observes as you prance forward, wobbly within your heels but nonetheless ideal, given the time frame in which your lessons had begun.

"to me."

   as gracefully as you can, you turn to face madame kilsby in all her beautiful glory and for the second time this lesson, your breath catches briefly in your throat. you gaze at her shamelessly, taking in her red tresses, which like a dancing flame, curl atop her head; her green eyes, the color of luscious green forests, are deep, enchanting, and dangerous.

    the smell of her perfume is sweet (but not too much so) and floral, with just a whiff of spice she is a woman to behold, and you do so often. with a barely-there breath, you walk back towards her, feet aching within the shoes given to you. if your form is off, it doesn't show on her face. you come to a stop in front of madame kilsby and she locks gazes with you, the corners of her mouth curl up, she's pleased— it makes her all the more inviting.

"good y/n, i'm impressed."

  an apprehensive smile caresses your lips, brightening your typical apathetic beauty, and madame kilsby, finds you charming even more so. the older woman clears her throat softly and gently removes the hefty books from the top of your head, setting them onto the table next to her with a thump.etiquette and most other teachings usually are taught to children at a young age; that way it evolves almost into a second nature for them. since you were born out of wedlock and worst of all to a maid, a woman of no noble origin- you had been cast aside, as there was no need for a bastard to learn anything.

     madame kilsby had been reluctant to teach you, the first couple of days you could perceive her ridicule, her apprehension. yet, just as quickly as it came, it went, the hostility, the backhanded compliments, every scornful thing she had done while teaching you the first three days, seemed irrelevant. 

  you, she concluded, are her most promising student. you heed her words, obey, and watch diligently. you emulate, take, and evolve her teachings to fit your technique. your unwavering, confident blank gaze and features add to the feminine, mysterious ambiance that seems to encompass you. seeing you take shape had been breathtaking for madame kilsby. 

     she had never seen such rapid progress in a student before, especially one who had been deemed unworthy of her teachings. your determination and quick wit impressed her, and she found herself looking forward to each lesson with you.

   "there is nothing left for me to teach you now. as you've soaked up every bit of knowledge that i could provide. and beautifully so." the curvature of your lips pull downward, and madame kilsby watches as your features return back to their typical apathetic look.

'i have two days left before being shipped off to duke ardelean's home.’ you think sourly,briefly escaping your anxious musings to offer a distracted smile towards madame kilsby. "thank you, truly."

     the woman inclines her head and gently rests a hand upon your cheek. "let me know if there's anything i can do for you, child, if it's within my power to do so, it will be done."

   'would it be wrong to ask her to stab me with a knife? probably.' and just like that, in two days, you would be shipped off to your death.

two days later

  the ride to the ardelean estate is hell on wheels, you believe. your body is sore from your unduly tense posture, and your bum aches continually at every hobble and wobble of the carriage, it doesn't help that the corset that you had been forced into (and not delicately either) makes it all the harder to draw breath. 

  the carriage had been riding all day to get to the estate on time, a staggering eleven-hour ride- where you most definitely couldn't get any rest even if you had tried. it feels like an eternity before the carriage pulls to a stop. 

"my lady, we're here." 

    your nerves are scorched, set ablaze with fear and unease and it engulfs your body in a flame so searing that you find yourself airing your face. the door opens slowly and you swallow down the squeal of dread that tries to claw its way out of your throat, you place your hands comfortably on your lap, back straightening despite the sting of pain it brings and face blanking.

    a large palm facing upwards comes into your peripheral and you place your own gloved hand into it, stepping out of the carriage door, on a stepping stool, and finally onto the gravel. your eyes adjust to the brightness of outside before the estate comes into focus, and it's enormous, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it. the structure is beautiful in its own haunted way.

   "welcome to the ardelean estate, lady fureio." 

    the monotonous chorus of voices surprises you, your body jolting softly, it leaves your heart to thump laboriously in your chest; eyes finally narrowing in on the attendants of the estate, the head maid and butler stand front and center, eyes cordial and seemingly all-knowing. 

   your smile is small, reluctant— yet warm nonetheless, you tip your head downwards in greeting, swallowing thickly, palms beginning to moisten and skin warming at your nervousness. "thank you." 

  a smile brightens the head maids face, her plump but sagging cheeks flushing a soft, lovely hue of red. "my name is esmerelda, i will escort you inside my lady, to get you settled in." she watches with rapt attention as you exhale shakily, nodding, "that would be great esmerelda, thank you."

   her countenance swiftly adopts a stern expression as she directs her attention to the two knights positioned behind her. if they have a problem with carrying your luggage, it remains imperceptible upon their visage. without hesitation, they proceed to retrieve your possessions from the rear of the carriage and carefully carry them into the grand estate ahead, their armor clanking softly with each step.

   you don't own many thing, only a few dresses (which weren't much to look at) a singular pair of worn shoes, and a couple of hairpieces that were fraying at their ends. while marquis bastian had paid for your etiquette lessons and other teachings— he was adamant about not spending much else after that. which was quite foolish of him now that you thought back to it.

    the woman watches them intently, her eyes sharp. as the knights disappear into the castle, the woman turns back to you with a slight nod of approval. "they will ensure your belongings are safely stored in your chambers," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. 

   you offer a gentle smile and a slight nod, gracefully aligning yourself with her stride as she beckons you to accompany her into the estate. she trails in front of you slightly, as you two walk past the maids stationed outside for your welcoming. 

 "where is the little lord?"

 "i couldn't find him this morning."

 "young master calix skipped sword training as well."

 esmerelda's stern gaze quickly has them hushed, their chins tucking against their chests pitifully, your lips purse softly as you comb through your head for lost details on the ardelean household, following slowly behind esmerelda.

    kallisto de ardelean is a father to three boys, the eldest son: azur, who recently turned seventeen, joined kallisto a couple of months back at the frontier to help with the north's demon subjugation. he, along with kallisto, wouldn't be home for a while.

   atreyu, kallisto's fifteen-year-old middle child is learning at the academy and finishing up his second year. and because winter is coming, atreyu's company would be expected in a couple of weeks from now.

    you pause momentarily in your thoughts. not much is known about kallosto's last son, as he is too young to participate in any social gatherings, and too young for the academy, not even his name is known, well, you supposed now that you knew it. 

calix de ardelean.

 "it's been a long ride has it not? shall i have a bath drawn for you?"

    you were exhausted, eyes laden, and breath slightly shallow from the ill-fitting corset that adorned your figure. you wanted to sleep, needed it even; yet the prospect of a warm bath followed by donning a comfortable nightgown seemed even more appealing.

   “that’d be perfect esmerelda, thank you.” you can hear the smile in her voice as she responds back to you. “of course, my lady.” 

     the two of you make your way through a corridor after a long trek up a flight of stairs, it’s adorned with paintings. they're eerie yet exquisite; gloomy and desolate. the paintings seem to come alive as you walk past them, their eyes following your every move. the brushstrokes are so vivid and lifelike that you can almost feel the emotions emanating from the canvas. it's as if the artists poured their souls into each piece, leaving a lingering presence that sends shivers down your spine. the colors are so vibrant and the details so intricate that it's hard to believe they were created by mere human hands. 

   however, one catches your gaze, steals your breath away even—  as if time stands still as you lock eyes with the portrait.

“who is he?” 

   your mouth opens before you can dissuade yourself and esmerelda turns to face you, watching as you shamelessly gaze deeply at the painting, lips parted and almost breathless. you're not sure how the painter is able to capture the aura that surrounds the man perfectly— but they do and it's monarchial... terrifying. 

    his tresses are long and ebony; framing his face delicately, his lips are ruby in color- inviting; and his skin is pale as porcelain. the man's eyes are the color of freshly spilled blood, they gleam with an all-knowingness that warms your skin and strips you bare. you find it almost impossible to drag your gaze away from the painting, he's quite literally the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

  "that is duke kallisto, my lady." 

   you whip around to face her, eyebrows furrowing and heart thumping desperately within your chest, nearly pounding out of your ribcage, your ebbeton accent thickens as you speak, a look of clear disbelief in your eyes. "truly?" when she nods in confirmation you step forward and touch the portraits golden frame, trailing your fingers lower to trace over the cursive letters of duke kallisto's name. realizing how peculiar you must look, you quickly pull your hand to your chest; face warming in embarrassment.

 “shall we get going?”

ardelean estate

        the next day

calix de ardelean was a curious child. 

 his transgressions usually got him into trouble with his father more times than headmaid esmerelda had been able to count on both hands— though, that never truthfully seemed to stop calix, not for long anyway, especially since kallisto is reminded often of his late wife whenever he sees that playful glint within calix's ruby-red eyes, and folds almost immediately.     

     sometimes calix's childlike antics were simply disregarded by kallisto because the boy was just a child. a child who had never gotten to meet his mother, a child who lacked the maternal love that his elder siblings grew up with. kallisto could not be irate with his baby boy, no matter what he did.

   so it’s not surprising that calix is currently skipping sword practice. not that he despised it in any way, truly it was his favorite thing as it helped past time as he waited for his father to come back from the northern borders. 

  he hadn't been told about the marriage, only deduced it after catching wind of the rumors from the maids. he was curious, perhaps even a bit scared, he didn't like change. he would chase her out no matter what, before his father could come home. 

  now, to search for the woman who infiltrated his h- 

"ahem, young master calix- enough of these childish games."

     the boy jumps, startled by sir. fjord's deep timbre. without a word, calix quickly takes off down the hallway with a bellowing, tinkering laugh. his cheeks are flushed the cutest shade of red and his obsidian hair is ruffled at the top of his head. 

     glancing over his shoulder to look for the man, calix rounds a corner and immediately bumps into a soft, thick fabric, that sends him crashing butt-first to the carpeted flooring, hands burning. the boy whines softly and pouts, gazing up and up until he locks eyes with a woman. 

pretty. 

   with a worried frown, the woman lowers down in front of him, she smells of honey sickle and sugared lavender and it has warmth unfurling languidly within his tummy, turning him to mush underneath her soft, amused gaze.      

     "you must be calix." he nods slowly, unable to look away from her observant- filled eyes, she smiles brightly, it's welcoming and genuine. "my name is aerith fureio." 

    her fuller lips pull downward as she notices the redness that envelopes calix's hand, she reaches forward to grasp his wrist softly, angling it so that his palm faces upwards to her gaze, a nervous gasp expels from calix's lips, he's surprised to feel that ‘aerith's’ hands are slightly calloused. though from azur's teachings, a woman of noble birth never does domestic work, that's what maids are for. 

    it was difficult for women to comprehend how to wield a sword and so they weren't taught to do so. instead, they lived a life where they needn't lift a pinky. 

  so why were such warm and delicate hands, bruised as if she'd been working? 

    "you'll need some ointment for your palms." aerith glances over her shoulder to a maid who stands nearby with widened eyes. "lily, could you please?" 

    calix glances at the maid whom he hadn't noticed, too caught up in the woman in front of him. he glared at her viciously, watching as she scampered away with a small squeal. "yes, my lady!" 

   calix quickly snatches his hand from the woman and clutches it to his chest, round eyes scowling at her. 'aerith' chuckles soft and low, resting her elbow against her thigh and laying her cheek on her palm— gazing at the boy. he shuffles backwards away from her.

     "you're that lady that moved in yesterday, huh?" his gaze is sharp and unwelcoming but the woman in front of him seems to brighten at the sound of his sweet voice. she inclines her head in affirmation, it's surprisingly elegant in calix's eyes. "i am."

   it's a simple answer, not one he's expecting but it makes his heart beat fiercely. 

  the boy finds that the ire he once held for this unknown woman slowly starts to fade away, no matter how hard he wills it to remain. her eyes are like pools of warmth that beckon him to swim within them and her smile is small, but genuine- and calix swears that it's the first one that he's seen outside of his family.

    he opens his mouth to say something but there is nothing. 'aerith', seeing him struggle, cocks her head to the right and lets out a soft hum. 

  “say, i've had a hard time figuring out these halls, i just keep getting lost no matter what i do." she trails off in faux hesitancy and watches as his face lights up slowly but surely. the boy clears his throat and toots his nose up in a haughty manner, a smug smirk hugging his lips, calix finds that though her accent is unfamiliar and slightly heavy, it's not unpleasant to hear.

    "i suppose i'll give you a tour, no need to beg." calix scrambles to his feet, fixing his clothing. “i'll visit you early tomorrow morning, be ready!" before she can say anything else, the boy is off, running through the halls once more. 

"my lady? where has the little lord gone?" 

  smiling, you stand from your crouched position and turn to face your personal maid. "it seems he's run off. have the balm sent to his quarters when you have the chance."    

     lily nods and follows dutifully after you. "shall i show you around tomorrow then my lady?" you place a hand over your mouth to stifle your small laughter. "worry not lily, it seems i've reserved a guide." 

[tea-cup-tyrant]

Tagged by @tyrannical-sea-prince on another blog but I'm doing it here

My muse as a teddy bear

Source

Tagging anyone

[automaticmercy]

Anyways something I’ve been musing for a while is ES Megatron being accidentally extremely charming. When he’s not his usual angry, tyrannical self, he’s so well spoken, and as of recent he’s been trying harder to be nicer, more patient, with the ones around him.

He’s even learning to be nice ! It’s a start.

It’s a rough idea where the former Decepticon prisoners and the Autobots call a temporary truce , and room together at the former Ghost headquarters - cue ridiculous harem-trope scenes ofc ofc.

Megatron , completely by accident , feeding into exactly what everyone needs - whether they know they need it or not.

Shockwave who is struggling with his feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty in, well, everything, vs Megatron who has been practicing giving out praise where it’s due.

“You made this? It’s brilliant, Shockwave.”

And Megatron doesn’t say it in that sappy, kiss-up tone, he means it when he says it , and Shockwave just kind of. Stares at him. Expressionless as he is , you wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance , but he is just SO pleased. And confused. He tries to ignore it and push the feelings down, but Megatron just /keeps/ complimenting him and praising him + Shockwave just slowly getting used to it and even seeking out his praise. Megatron is the first to see any new scientific discoveries he makes , and showers him with well earned praise. All the while Megatron just thinks he’s making up for old wounds, and being a good friend, meanwhile Shockwave is experiencing what the organics call ‘butterflies’ in his midsection.

Soundwave , all bitter and angry and doing his best to be detached vs Megatron who’s very patient and attentive etc. One time , Soundwave couldn’t find Ravage. He looked all over HQ and she was still nowhere to be found. Only for Megatron to appear with her in tow, explaining they were both eager to stretch their legs , and had gone for a walk. Soundwave who only glares and walks away with Ravage, not even sparing a word to his former leader.

But Megatron doesn’t take this as a deliberate insult - Soundwave has always been a less-than-talkative mech anyway. Anyways, he keeps going for walks with Ravage , and sometimes even Frenzy and Laserbeak join them . Soundwave who gets all possessive because who the hell is Megatron to be attending to /his/ cassette’s needs ?

Soundwave eventually joining them on their walks and finding he actually really enjoys them. For the first two outings, none of them say a word. The third time though, Megatron is the first to break the silence, and eventually Soundwave warms up to one word responses. Megatron, who is thrilled to have his former TIC talking to him again, begins to talk… a lot. And Soundwave just listens. Sometimes even offering up not one, not two, but three word responses ! Eventually their outings become a routine, and at some point, the little cassettes stop attending and it’s just Megatron and Soundwave, walking along a cement path as the sun sets in the distance. Megatron making some half-thought out comment that Soundwave is a lot like the moon, gleaming and silent - its usefulness and beauty often underappreciated. Etc. and Megatron spewing out an apology for underappreciating Soundwave in the past - being all sincere and genuinely sympathetic. Though, most of his words are unheard, seeing as Soundwave is short circuiting because Megatron just insinuated that he was beautiful.

And Starscream, too, will fall victim to these silly harem tropes. I’ve been thinking he takes way longer to even look Megatron in the optics - watching from afar as he ‘shamelessly flirts’ with the rest of the former Decepticons , insisting that he himself won’t fall for such obvious tricks and lies.

Anyways, Starscream who still gets all nervous in Megatron’s presence, though he swallows this all down and hides it with his impressive anger. Vs Megatron who just sighs and relents, keen to leave the little seeker to his lonesome etc. lest he invoke his wrath and ruin what little semblance of peace they harbored

Hashtag, just wanting to help ofc ofc , keeps setting up moments for Megatron and Starscream to meet ‘accidentally’. She’d seen it in a movie , when two friends are fighting and yet keep accidentally meeting, eventually learning to their reconciliation.

It doesn’t end so well the first few times, ofc, but they’re slowly getting somewhere!

One of the times, they end up in an elevator alone, and Starscream is glaring holes into the floor buttons. Hashtag had synced into the HQ’s WiFi and activated every button. Damn this place for having so many floors.

“So…” Megatron begins and Starscream holds up his servo in a ‘stop’ motion. Telling him not to even start. That he wont fall victim to his lies too, that he isn’t as much a fool as everyone else is.

“They may believe you’ve changed, but I know you - I know you haven’t changed a single thing, besides the insignia you bear.” And Megatron just stands there stupidly for a while, mulling over a thousand responses. His first instinct is to argue and defend himself but Starscream clearly doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to listen to that. When the elevator dings it’s on the second to last stop, Megatron sighs. “I’m sorry, Starscream.”

It’s a shitty apology, yeah, but it’s a start. “Save it.” Starscream would snap , and as soon as the doors slid open, he’d storm out of the elevator.

And from that moment on , every time Megatron runs into Starscream, he already has a speech of an apology ready. Starscream, at first, just gets angrier and angrier every time he hears that pathetic word drip from his former leader’s vocalizer. As if ‘sorry’ would fix anything !

But eventually , ofc , it starts to work. Starscream who lingers just long enough to hear the end of Megatron’s speech of atonement, but leaves without a word.

Around the fifth apology though, Starscream asks “how many times are you going to try and trick me with this ‘apology’?” And grumbles something about never, ever forgiving Megatron. That no mere apology would ever atone for everything. And Megatron just hums. “I dont seek your forgiveness, Starscream. I will apologize as many times as you like, for the rest of my life cycle if you’d like, and you dont ever have to forgive me even a little bit.”

Starscream just cant understand why his former leader would sink so low, this was a humiliating performance, and yet… it was charming in its own way.

Anyways, I have not fully fleshed it out but some stupid, cheesy scene where Starscream trips and falls next to Megatron but before he can kiss the floor with his pretty face, Megatron catches him - by the waist. And when he resettles Starscream on his pedes, his touch lingers, and Starscream's processor seems to fizzle out of coherency.

Agh, big, dumb, charming Megatron is my weakness I tell you. I want nice Earth spark Megatron. Someday, I'll get around to writing this hehe.

[ser3nityst4r]

Twelfth Repentance

Cater groaned, the prospect of re-landscaping the entire Heartslabyul garden after Riddle's overblot hanging over him like a bad filter. Trey offered a supportive hand, but Cater, ever the picture of sunshine, waved him off. 'Go check on Riddle, yeah? Crowley's orders, remember? Plus, someone needs to make sure the tyrant doesn't wake up and collar more students,' he said, punctuating the sentence with a wink.

Yuu, Adeuce, and Grim remained, conscripted into gardening duty. Grim, ever the embodiment of his namesake, grumbled about depleted magic reserves and an equally empty stomach. 'At least let me eat some fertilizer!' he moaned, pawing dramatically at the ground. It was then he unearthed it - a jagged black gem, winking in the sunlight. 'Whoa! Another one of those black magestones! Just like in the mine!'

Before Cater could process this new information, Grim, driven by some primal instinct, popped the gem into his mouth. Ace, ever so helpful, intervened a few seconds too late. 'No way. After how great that last one tasted, I can't get that thing in my mouth fast enough!' 

Cater could only watch, mortified, as Grim crunched down on the magestone with gusto. 'Ahhhhh! Rich and sweet, but with a complex hint of bitterness in the aftertaste. Equally delicious, but with quite a different mouthfeel from that last one I ate,' Grim declared, oblivious to the horrified silence. 

Yuu could only pray Grim wouldn't sprout crystals or, worse, combust.

Thankfully, the next few days were mercifully uneventful. Riddle's recovery progressed smoothly, the lingering effects of the overblot replaced with a surprising mellowness. The tyrannical edge had softened, replaced by an almost...dare they say it... *reasonable* young man.

The upcoming unbirthday party was approached with cautious optimism. Gone were the draconian rules and punishments, replaced with a more relaxed, albeit still very Heartslabyul, atmosphere. 

'Hm. The garden roses are red, the tablecloths are white... This seems a proper unbirthday indeed,' Riddle mused, a contemplative air about him. 'Is there a dormouse asleep in the teapo- Er, well, I suppose it's fine either way.'

Trey smiled, relief washing over him like a warm wave. 'Not everything has to change completely, you know. Like, maybe spread the jam on your scones, instead of on the dormouse this time? Let's try to set the bar at 'it's great if it's this way,' not 'it absolutely has to be this way,'' he suggested gently.

Their peaceful haven was shattered by a shriek. 'Wait a minute! There’s a white rose!' Riddle's voice, though devoid of its former fury, still held a sharp edge. 

Panic rippled through the group. Yuu, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward, hands raised placatingly. 'Riddle! P-Please try to understand!'

To everyone's surprise, Riddle simply let out a small sigh, the fire in his eyes replaced by something akin to amusement. 'Well, I suppose I can overlook one or two mistakes.' He gestured to a paintbrush and pot of red paint, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jaws dropped. Was this…leniency? They had stumbled into an alternate dimension, surely. Grim’s ears and fur stood still in pure disbelief and shock.

Riddle, having painted the offending rose with a flourish, proud ruby. He presented his latest culinary masterpiece - a strawberry tart, glistening enticingly. Ace, relieved by the lack of impending doom, eyed the dessert with unconcealed hunger. Trey, ever the supportive friend, was already showering Riddle with compliments.

Then, they tasted it.

'Why is this....' Ace choked, his face contorting in disgust. 'salty!?'

Riddle, his face paling, stammered, 'But I followed the rules exactly, and measured everything precisely! Unless... Oh!' He gasped dramatically. 'Could it be... from the oyster sauce?'

Deuce choked on his own laughter. 'Wait... did you actually use that Walrus-brand oyster sauce Trey jokes about?'

Riddle's face was a picture of horrified realization. 'But Trey said that oyster sauce is an unlisted secret ingredient in all tarts! He said all the finest bakers use it...'

Ace burst out laughing. 'And you actually believed him?! How could you not tell he was joking?!' He doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Yuu, unable to help herself, smacked him upside the head. 'Dumbass, you fell for it too.'

Trey could only stare, flabbergasted. His simple prank had somehow ensnared both Riddle *and* Ace? The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to bear.

Cater, however, surprised everyone by taking another bite, a thoughtful expression on his face. 'It's not *that* bad,' he ventured. 'Salty sweet can be good, you know?'

Grim, who had already devoured half the tart, nodded enthusiastically. 'Yeah, kinda like those weird dishes that taste oddly great!'

Trey, noticing Cater's nonchalance, raised an eyebrow. 'You like it because it’s not sweet, right? You casually bring up my 'Paint the Roses' spell every time we're eating sweets. You hide it pretty well, but that was a giveaway.'

Cater slumped, defeated. 'Ack! My secret is out! This is so so embarrassing! Especially after what happened to you and Riddle. I should have learned by now that keeping your feelings on the DL is not a great idea..' 

Trey chuckled, patting Cater's shoulder. 'Don't worry about it. How about this - next unbirthday, I'll make you a quiche. Savory, delicious, and magicam-worthy, just like you.'

Cater's face lit up. 'Deal! Make sure to get a good shot of the smoke!' 

And so, the unbirthday party continued, a strange blend of chaos and newfound understanding. The storm had passed, leaving behind a sense of fragile peace, and the lingering taste of salty strawberry tart. Similar to the calm before a storm, there might just be another one.

[venndaai]

if breq decided she was going to be evil seivarden would be right there brushing off the ol jackboots and designing an especially intimidating leather outfit for breq complete with ominous pins that complimented the ordinary officer black leather uniforms. not that seivarden would enjoy being evil just that if breq has no one by her side it means that someone or something is keeping seivarden from it

I really love this scenario you’ve posed here because it brings up some questions I love pondering about Radchaai ethics and morality. Like I think you are 100% right and I love the picture you’ve painted but I want to take this opportunity to muse about what “Evil Breq” would even look like, to Seivarden. 

In AJ, Seivarden witnesses Breq attempt to shoot the God-Emperor of Seivarden's civilization and kickstart a civil war, and her response is "uhhh idk what's going on here but I don't care." In AS, Seivarden believes that Breq is tormenting an innocent teenager to relieve her anger at Anaander, and Seivarden clearly thinks that this is Bad, but her response is "well this is my fault for not making her feel better."

Radchaai morality is obviously all about Justice, Propriety, and Benefit, and when Seivarden praises Breq she says she’s “fucking capable, and willing to risk everything to do right,” and she  "doesn't toss people aside when they’re suddenly inconvenient, or to profit herself”. I think for Seivarden, morality is very much centered on Not Letting People Down. Anaander can conquer as many planets as she likes, but killing citizens is breaking the social contract and betraying her duty. Shooting military personnel for insubordination is expected, but shooting civilian security is again, breaking the contract. 

Which is all to say, I think if Breq decided she wanted to be a mass murdering conqueror again, Seivarden wouldn’t necessarily see that as Evil Breq. If Breq decided to be a mass murdering conqueror who sacrificed her subordinates as pawns in her plan, or ran her ship tyrannically, Seivarden would… probably think it was her fault for not satisfying the Fleet Captain sexually and try whatever she thought might fix the situation, while still backing Breq up 100% against all other critics. 

[soloavengers]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE Arisen & Pawn(s) Edition

tagged by: @sangre, @lesbianbreastmilk, @bearlytolerant, @bees-tes-blog <333

the whole gang under the cut…

name: sylvas nicknames: syl (chopper, goblin as a boy) age: 20-21 race: human (quarter elven) gender: cis male orientation: bisexual zodiac: i’m not good at this, skipping sorry </3 moral alignment: chaotic good class/subclass: trained in use of daggers, bow and arrows, swords, regular spears by a professional (his pa). mystic spearhand or a warfarer. background: what he can remember of his childhood is living in a secluded cabin in one of northern vermund’s forest with his father, a former soldier who left town out of grief, for a ranging job. he raised syl to inherit the job and he did, though after his father’s death syl likewise left that life out of grief. he’d act a soldier in melve, for a couple of reasons, only a few were healthy. interests/hobbies: exploring, adventuring, treasure / monster hunting, etc.. languages: the common tongue, and a little elvish. height: 178 colors: shades of green, dark reds & brown. fruits: anything but pineapples. alcoholic beverages: not the biggest fan but neither is he picky. smokes: nope. drugs: no. drivers oxcart license: how hard can it be? ever been arrested: once or twice… (four times.)

name: winterheart nicknames: winnie, winter age: ??? race: half-elf in appearance gender: cis female orientation: lesbian moral alignment: lawful neutral class/subclass: warrior! background: summoned for the first time a long time past by a respected sorceress. she had wished her pawn to get a second chance upon her death. an unknown number of years later she was summoned by sylvas. he reckless, and she over-cautious, both grieving — such they were a perfect match. interests/hobbies: sightseeing, painting, collecting flowers, reading. languages: the common tongue, remembers a little bit of the language of her old world. height: 175 colors: purples. fruits: berries. alcoholic beverages: she acts as if allergic. smokes: nope. drugs: no. drivers oxcart license: she can get one? ever been arrested: never.

name: thorne nicknames: don’t you dare age: ??? race: human gender: cis male orientation: gay moral alignment: neutral good class/subclass: once a warrior, now a fighter, sometimes sorcerer. background: summoned by a tyrannical arisen from a drastically different world full of wars. thorne was replacement for the arisen’s brother, he wasn’t only given the late prince’s appearance, but his duty and status as well. thorne acted more a general than a pawn, conquering lands for his arisen until the dragonsplague his deep buried resentment changed something. a different arisen would summon him an unknown time later. interests/hobbies: keeping things clean and orderly. fighting!! languages: the common tongue, very little of his former world’s language. height: 200 colors: red, silver & gold. fruits: apples. alcoholic beverages: don’t tempt him. smokes: nope. drugs: no. drivers oxcart license: ? he can ride horses, he misses his steed. ever been arrested: no.

name: eidolyn nicknames: lyn age: ??? race: human (quarter elven, inherited features) gender: male, his concept of gender is pretty fluid. orientation: aromantic bisexual moral alignment: lawful good class/subclass: thief, mage. background: no background. though he is both aforementioned pawns, and possibly more (and a part of syl’s big brother) interests/hobbies: cooking! languages: the common tongue. height: 185 (might be wrong shit) colors: blues. fruits: grapes. alcoholic beverages: none. smokes: nope. drugs: no. drivers oxcart license: no…? ever been arrested: and never will

i’m so sleepy now - swear everyone who comes to mind has already been tagged, but please just tag me if you do this too bc i’ll not want to miss it ✋🏼

[y-rhywbeth2]

Was musing on what Bioware's original BG3 ('the Hounds of Iyachtu Xvim,' or something along those lines iirc), where the main character is Charname's kid, would've been like, aside from Bane-centric, and had an absolutely cursed Durge thought.

Brain: 'Hey, how can I make the deranged incest crap in BG3 worse while tying it to BG2 and the og concept for BG3? I KNOW!'

PC of BG3 is Charname's kid + the fucked up family shenanigans of Larian's BG3 where Bhaal has no fucking standards...

So Charname becomes reigning God of Death/Murder. Xvim seemingly successfully replaced his dad as god of hate and tyranny just like you did to your daddy, but oops! It's 1372 DR and Bane just fucking hijacked the kid's ascension to be reborn.

Time to make your own 'backup plan' and drop by a certain rock floating in the Astral Sea to cut a deal with daddy dearest, mayhaps. Failing that 5e Bhaal isn't OG Bhaal it's just Charname using his name and face to cash in on his reputation, but I like to keep some of canon for the weight.

Since we've gone to the pits of no return, let's go full gothic: we could even install the Sarevok romance mod to enhance the state of the family in BG3! Have hate sex with your half-brother who you hate for killing your adopted father, who hates you because you stole your shared birth-right and condemned him to hell, but who is the closest to being able to understand you and the position you are in. Work out a horrible dysfunctional relationship between you. Become goddess of death, appoint him your chosen. Later become your own father as well due to sharing the office with Bhaal as aspects of each other (either Angharradh or Mystra style). Use brother-son-husband, child-sibling and grandchildren-children-sibling-nephew/nieces for murder plans!

The downside of this is that I'm probably going to have to make an elf charname or something just to make Vel fit, because unfortunately I am attached to him being an elf for some reason... she'll just have to be a very short elf so that I can keep my tiny tyrannical librarian concept.

I can throw in the Xan romance! Young woman develops fascination with the first member of her culture she's ever met. Turns out to be an abomination which simultaneously repulses yet fascinates him because the dude is obsessed with doom and nihilism and how we're all marching to our inevitable miserable deaths. A year down the line, once all the youthful optimism has been crushed she has embraced the divinity and lost interest in you. She fucking leaves you for her brother who tried to kill you both.

Everybody needs therapy, but only Durge and Orin will be going (dragged kicking and screaming). There's a post-game adventure somewhere down the line where Vel goes to Gehenna and drags Orin back and they don't really ever get 'fixed' nor good, but they do get slightly better and some degree of happy.

[searsage]

"Listen Robinson… you've been working hard, harder then most. I think you've earned yourself a nice long vacation."

"What?! how am I supposed to enjoy a day off when that thing is still haunting the woods?! We don't even know what it is! What if it attacks the locals or hikers?!"

"…a day off isn't a vacation, and are you certain what you think you witnessed was real Ranger Robinson…?"

"What! Of fucking course it was real, it was like a fawn but covered in fancy bells.."

"Robinson…"

"And it was glowing colors! And dragging a Christmas tree!"

"Two weeks."

"Pardon..?"

"Your holiday vacation starts now, I don't want to see you in this office for the next two weeks."

"Wait no! We need to laun-"

"Good night ranger Robinson."

"No No No come on wait, don't hang up just yet! Hello..? FUCK!"

[8 hours prior]

"Robin..is this human ritual truley nesscessary? Al-an sighed softly, testily betting at the many hands poking and prodding at his vessel.

"Nope! But your going to wear them anyway, and trust me it could be worse!" Robin yelled over the festive country rock blasting throughout the cabin.

"…I can assure you it will not happen again.."

"You said that last year, right before you scanned everyone's presents spoiled their surprises and proceeded to tear into yours early!" Robin pointed out nonplussed as the resercher placed another silver bell around the dismayed architect's horns

"Oh so we're not going to talk about what that colourful basterd did to our christmas tree, remind him what he did to it Robin!." Sam scoffed, unapologetically wrapping several more lines adorned with fancy silver bells around the poor precursor's throax.

Al-an hissed petulantly, rearing his head out of the tyrannical older sibling's reach lest she place more on his horns.

"Can you not remind me of that, I woke up thinking I was in a bed of snakes! HEY STOP LAUGHING!" Robin groaned trying not to recall that absolute mess of a past christmas eve.

"I'm sorry I can't, I just can't!" Sam wheezed recalling just how long it took to untangle the lights from the precursor's makeshift nest.

"…I assumed you had appreciated the courting gesture…"

"Al-an you striped the christmas tree and put them all in my bed!"

"And yet if I recall correctly it still worked…very well" Her architect pointed out unapologetically.

The smug purr filling to room had her sister raising an eyebrow at her.

"Robin you sure know how to pick em." Sam snorted trying and failing again to reach to stubborn architect's horns, the jackass never made anything easy for his in-laws!

"He's just being pissy because now he can't raid the presents without waking the whole damn town, not unless actually he wants to test Marguerite's claim on that drunken bullseye, isn't that right mr silver bells?" Robin snorted reaching her hands up towards her architect's face, a silent beckoning her mate was too eager to resist.

Unfortunately while his rediness for affection does secure him a brisk kiss, Sam also took the oppertunity drape the last three loops of silver bells over the precursor's horns.

Much to Al-an's irritation.

"Oh my god! He looks like a fancy reindeer! And actually cute for once!" Dani exlaimed when she walked in to spot the two sister's handiwork, Al-an looked so festive decorated with noisy ornaments, the silently fuming precursor only made the spectacle more entertaining.

Still Robin didn't appreciate her in-law's word choice.

"Excuse you..?" Robin Challenged, arching an eyebrow.

"Errr..I just mean not like a autobot picked up a drunk fawn in a bar.." Dani clarified not that her explaination helped her case.

"You know what I might just let him have his way with your presents.." Robin mused warningly.

"No wait I didn't me-" Dani begins but her rebuttal is quickly drowned out by the now intrigued architect.

"Really?"

"No Al-an, your job is to prance about and jinggle those bells and look pretty." Robin laughed watching her architect flare an irritated red.

"Are you certain we can't tie holly on him..? it would really bring the look home.." Sam pleaded eyeing the box of christmas decorations.

At this point Al-an had reached the peak of his tolerance for their bullying and flash stepped into the safety of the the living room, fleeing to the solace of his couch, the silver bells ringing obnoxiously as he attempted to right his large vessel on on the smaller couch.

He couldn't however stop his attention from drifting towards the colourful lights donning the large false spruce, it intrigued the poor architect in a way he himself did not understand entirely.

The bell covered precursor brooded, how could they blame him for humoring such a vescreal impulse, had he not apologized..?

In his opinion their response to his creative exploration was irrational, they simply did not understand the instinct to indulge in hoarding colourful beacons..

"Hey big guy! eyes off the tree!" Robin warned earning herself an irritated hiss from her testy architect.

He was only admiring it from afar, there was no harm in that, Al-an had no intentions of raiding the tree again..or it's presents at least not while they were awake and in close enough proximity to stop him.

[sihtricswife]

Prologue

Warnings: mentions of murder, violence, corruption, injuries and sort of imprisonment.

This was no place to perform surgery, it was unsterile, and dusty, and stained with red-brown patches of dried up blood from previous surgeries. Surgeries you had done under the watchful eyes and readied hands of Dr. Strong. And she was dead. Her daughter had found her, apparently it was a heart attack.

You didn’t believe it for a second. What you were doing crossed so many lines, but this was necessary, at least that’s what you told yourself. But if you were right about this…God, you hoped you were wrong. If you were right, that would mean you were in danger too.

You looked down at the corpse on the table in front of you, your eyes burning with tears. She’d been your mentor for over three years. She had taught you everything you know about medicine. She had always been there, ready to step in any moment, but never hovering.

You pulled yourself together and got to work, there had to be something. You inspected every inch of her body looking for signs of what you did not know. Finally you got to her head, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore her dead eyes staring back at you, you looked around her face, her neck, and then you saw it, just behind her ear. A small, miniscule puncture wound, one you often see after an injection.

Dr. Strong didn’t just die, she was murdered. And you didn’t need to guess who had done it.

•••

“Doc, Lawrence wants to speak with you.”

You didn’t move, staring at the smoke ribbons crawling into the sky. The smoke coming from Dr. Strong’s body. There was no ground to bury the dead anymore, so burning them was pretty much the only option.

“Doc,” Micheal repeated.

“I’m not a doctor yet,” you said softly, voice scratchy.

Micheal sighed, “You are now, Kid, you’re all we have left when it comes to doctors, get used to the title. Now come on, Lawrence says it’s important.”

“It’s always important with him,” you took one last look at the smoke before turning around and following Micheal down the dark halls of the base.

When Micheal stopped in front of Lawrence’s office he announced that you were there before stepping aside to let you in. The room Lawrence had chosen when he became leader in the resistance had been a good choice, the lighting was perfect, the only room in the base where there was enough natural light to make everything visible.

“Micheal said you wanted to speak with me,” you said after he kept quiet.

“Yes,” Lawrence mused in his usual mysterious drawl. He turned to fully face you, his rotting face no longer startling you, but never becoming less disgusting. You were glad you were standing a good few feet away from him. “As you know, you are now our only doctor. And we, as a military resistance, an army, need a doctor. And as you also know now, being a doctor for us is not exactly safe.” He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, almost like he was waiting for your reaction.

“We’re a resistance against a tyrannic organization that’s willing to sacrifice children for a possible cure to a virus that has already destroyed us, with thousands of soldiers and weapons that outnumber ours by percentages I don’t even want to know, no one is safe,” you answered calmly, wanting him to get to the point.

He chuckled, “I suppose you’re right, but you, as a doctor-”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“And who is supposed to finish training you?” He said it coldly, it was a low blow and he knew it, but he was right. Dr. Strong was dead and the only other doctors within a 100 mile radius worked for WCKD.

When you didn’t answer he continued, “Like I was saying, you, as a doctor, are on WCKD’s recruitment list, or their hit list, you choose whatever makes you feel better. This means you’re going to need to be very careful. You’re going to have a guard assigned to you at all times, you will not go into the city anymore, you will not go outside without consulting me. In other words-”

“I’m being imprisoned,” you deadpanned, glaring at him.

“That’s a harsh way of saying it, but yes, in a way.”

You nodded, quietly fuming. Tapping your foot impatiently while crossing your arms, you huffed out a breath of disbelief. You didn’t say anything, you just didn’t go against Lawrence, while you might not like him, you liked the people he led, they were your friends, and if something were to happen to them, you were the only one that could help. There were other people with medical training, but that stopped at simple bandaging.

“We can’t afford to lose another doctor,” Lawrence said, so that was final.

You were officially a prisoner.

…

Anxiety rushed through your body like an upcoming sandstorm. There had been word of a rescue group bringing in an immune that needed surgery. You had never done surgery without Dr. Strong present. You had done procedures completely by yourself but never without her there. She was always there, ready to step in, to answer questions, to guide you through the steps, to make sure you didn’t kill anyone.

Your safety net was gone, dead, soon to be forgotten by everyone because that’s what happened to the dead these days. You die, people get rid of your body and your name is never heard again.

While scrubbing your hands the best you could you saw that there was only one nurse in the room with you. You frowned, then you realized what had happened to Eliza a few days ago. God, you were no better than the rest. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts and dried your hands before walking towards the young nurse, Becca, who gloved and gowned you.

Your hands shook when you held them loosely in the air above the sterile field. Your breaths were quick and shallow and didn’t provide you with enough oxygen to keep your head clear, your brain fuzzed and your eyes blurred, ears ringing and mouth dry you felt panic crawl to you like a rising tide to the shore.

“Dr, breath, you’ve done this before,” kind brown eyes looked into yours, soft hands grasped the sides of your face, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I’m not supposed to be a doctor yet,” was all you could whisper, your voice shaky and eyes watery.

“No you’re not,” Becca whispered back. “But you are, and you are going to save this boy, we are going to save him, together.”

Together.

It was all you needed to hear, you were not alone, Becca was here, and Dr.Strong was with you, her voice still ringing in your head. You knew what she knew, she made sure of that.

The door slammed open and the patient was wheeled in, spear protruding from his chest.

Your brain cleared, eyes sharpened and hands steadied. You were okay, and soon this boy would be too.

[holycompendium]

Ascendants OC Masterlist ⛊ Pt. 1

⚔︎ quick context : ascendants is my upcoming descendants fic series centered around merlin academy. you can catch the first chapter of the first installment right here!

ADAM ST. ROSE

Fate : Become cursed to live as a beast & marry Belle. Face Claim : Maxwell Jenkins

ANA CRESTA

Legacy : Daughter of a Neverlandian mermaid. Face Claim : Daniela Avanzini

ARTHUR "ART" PENDRAGON II

Legacy : Son of King Arthur of Camelot. Face Claim : Joshua Bassett

ASTERIA CHARIS

Legacy : Adopted daughter of Erato, muse of lyrical poetry. Face Claim : Bailey Bass

AZRIEL INDIRA

Legacy : Son of the Blue Fairy. Face Claim : Omar Rudberg

BELLE BAPTISTE

Fate : Marry the beast king Adam & establish the United States of Auradon. Face Claim : Zoe Colletti

CASPIAN DELMAR

Legacy : Son of Arista, nephew to Ariel & Eric. Face Claim : Reece King

LYNN ORELLA

Fate : Become the all-powerful enchantress who curses Prince Adam. Face Claim : Choi Yunjin

CLAUDE FROLLO

Fate : Become the villainous archdeacon of Notre-Dame. Face Claim : Case Walker

CRUELLA DE VIL

Fate : Descend into madness and become a tyrannical heiress. Face Claim : Riele Downs

ELI LA BOUFF

Fate : Inherit his family's business and become a wealthy sugar baron. Face Claim : Maxwell Acee Donovan

EUGENE "FITZ" FITZHERBERT

Fate : Abandon his royal heritage and become the thief Flynn Rider. Face Claim : Aryan Simhadri

FINCH

Legacy : Illegitimate son of Robin Hood. Face Claim : Brandon Severs

GASTON LEGUME

Fate : Become an arrogant and selfish game hunter. Face Claim : Belmont Cameli

GRIMHILDE

Fate : Become the Evil Queen & stepmother to Snow White. Face Claim : Ariana Greenblatt

JAFAR

Fate : Become the scheming royal vizier of Agrabah. Face Claim : Jahed

KIRSTI LINDT

Legacy : Daughter of Anna & Kristoff, niece to Elsa. Face Claim : Shay Rudolph

LEAH ROSE

Fate : Marry King Stefan and give birth to Aurora. Face Claim : Dior GoodJohn

LOUIS FACILIER

Fate : Sell his own soul in exchange for the power of a Hodou bokor. Face Claim : Niles Fitch

MIMINA "MIMI" MIM

Legacy : Granddaughter of Mad Madam Mim. Face Claim : Avantika Vandanapu

MAI TREMAINE

Fate : Become the head of the house of Tremaine & become Cinderella's stepmother. Face Claim : Kang Haerin

MULAN FA

Fate : Defeat the Hun army and save the Imperial Kingdom. Face Claim : Zhou Xinyu

ODILE "ODIE" ARNAUD-CHRISTOPHE

Fate : Become an eccentric & benevolent Houdou priestess. Face Claim : Whitney Peak

SAM "SMEE" SMIEGEL

Fate : Serve as Captain Smith's boatswain and first loyal mate. Face Claim : Owen Joyner

STEFAN MOREAU

Fate : Marry Queen Leah & father Aurora. Face Claim : Kahlil Beth

URSULA

Fate : Become a fearsome sea witch. Face Claim : Chandler Kinney

ZEVON

Legacy : Son of Yzma. Face Claim : Charlie Bushnell

[ranahan]

Mandalorian clans & government

Headcanons ahead! You have been warned. Approximately 1% of what I’m about to write is canon. But I’ve been thinking a lot about how a clan based space-age society would function (how do you pay taxes? what’s the government like?), and I thought others might get a kick out of my musings too so I finally put them down and here we are.

I want to star by saying that what I describe here is far from a utopia. I wanted to explore a Mandalorian society that would be functional (no, their government is not only based on a magic sword). But I also wanted to explore where all these conflicts within the Mandalorian society come from. In my experience, some conflicts do stem from ideological differences, but most of them actually go a bit deeper and are questions about who has the money and power? Who wins and loses economically? Whose accustomed rights are being infringed on? So I wanted to explore what kind of legitimate grievances the different factions of Mandalorians might have against each other. Because that’s where stories would get interesting, organic conflicts from. I’m not interested in reading or writing perfect, can-do-no-wrong characters or sides. Give me people who have legitimate wrongs they want to fix, and other, sympathetic wrongs they want to commit. Give me people who want to do the right thing, only their right is in conflict with another people’s right. When it comes to stories, interesting is so much better than morally pure.

The origins of the Mandalorian clans

I imagine that the Taung, the original Mandalorian race, either was a clan-based society or developed into one during their wandering days after leaving Coruscant and before settling Manda’yaim. For a nomadic people, their clan would be their safety net and their basic social unit.

I also like to think that the archaic Mando’a word for a clan derives from a word for a ship: the Taung were not just nomads, they were space faring nomads. In those early times of space travel, it would have actually been the ship that was the basic social unit and the ship crew would have been the origin of the clan. And that’s why the words belly and home are related: they both derive from archaic words for a ship or a ship part. Aliit is a Modern Mando’a word that derives from a ’command group’, and was coined by Neo-Crusader recruits.

When the Taung settled on Manda’yaim, they had to adapt to a more sedentary lifestyle with permanent bases and sharing space with other ships’ crews. But when a nomadic culture adopts a sedentary lifestyle, they don’t just abandon their culture. And that’s the origin of clans—the Taung built up their organisation and government on top of the existing command structures. Ship captains became clan chieftains, ship crews became clan members. Very traditional old clans might have kept still some other positions.

And they also kept certain social attitudes: a crew is not based just on family ties (although in the early days of space travel, the crew would certainly have had their families on board). Additionally, when the Taung settled a new planet, they began as resource-rich and people-poor. So the basic social dynamic developed into one where clans compete for skilled workers and strong warriors, who in turn are free to choose which clan they want to belong to. If a particular clan has a tyrannical leader, they would start haemorrhaging workers to other clans with better leadership and/or better perks. That leads to the clan losing income and resources. Eventually the remaining members would overthrow their old leader and choose a better one. That dynamic only got reinforced when Mandalorians started conquering the nearby regions of space: war requires a lot of bodies.

In the modern days, an adult person may choose which clan they wish to belong to. Usually that’s the clan of one of their parents; sometimes though, they come to a better agreement with another clan. When you marry, you and your spouse typically decide which of your clans you want to belong to. Sometimes spouses decide to stay belonging to their clans of origin, but that’s fairly rare. Children belong to their parents clan until adulthood, at which time they may decide which of their parents clans they want to belong to. Poaching young adults for another clan is highly frowned upon, although it might be technically legal in some circumstances (it used to be completely legal, but then some assholes abused the system and now there are some additional laws and agreements in place).

Administration, bureaucracy and taxes

Administration and bureaucracy got built over top of the existing Taung command structures too. The Mand’alor is effectively the commander of the entire fleet of ships (=clans), but expects the ships (=clans) to largely function independently. The clans would pay a tithe to the Mand’alor which would finance larger public works like space ports, but a lot of local infrastructure and works would either be completely financed by local clans or at least supplemented by them. Many large endeavours would also require the Mand’alor to get additional financial backing from the clans, because the Mand’alor doesn’t directly tax their subjects.

That’s right: the basic taxation unit is the clan. In the modern days, most people choose to file their taxes under their clan (and let the numbers guy in their clan worry about it), and work out their fair contribution and tax rate with their own clan leaders. This is a fairly flexible system: when you are down on your luck, you can rely on your clan for welfare; when you prosper, so does your clan. The clan then uses a certain amount of funds to e.g. provide medical care and schooling for its members, and to pay their tithe to the Mand’alor. Originally, the tithe was based on the number of able-bodied and armoured warriors the clan could muster; today, it’s in practice based on the number of adult members in a clan.

Taxes might sound boring, but I cannot stress this enough: without taxation base and tax records, the Mand’alor cannot govern. (Did you know that the first thing most historical peasant rebellions on Earth did, was to burn the tax records?) The Mand’alor rules only with the support of the clans. The Mandalorian government is not a democracy, but it’s not a dictatorship either. In effect, an aspiring Mand’alor needs to get the backing of the clans: most critically, the big houses, but they would also receive a steady trickle of smaller independent clans and even individual people swearing to them.

Guilds and Houses

Guilds would have started out as co-operative organisations for people who either come from very small clans or don’t want to financially associate with their clan. A guild would generally provide a similar package of benefits for its members as a clan: medical care, life insurance, filing income taxes, etc. The House system is another adaptation to this dynamic. Smaller clans can band together or under the protection of a larger clan. Effectively most Mandalorians either belong to a fairly big clan, a House, or a guild. In the modern days, there is an option to file your taxes independently, but few people choose to do it—its easier and more flexible to work things out within your own House. It’s more popular in Sundari and other areas with more centralised governance (that typically hails from the caretaker government post-Dral’Han) and more public services. Belonging to any of these organisations is in no way mandatory—pretty much the only one you need to declare for any official purpose is your clan—but belonging to none is a pretty precarious way of life.

Oh and the schools and hospitals and other such institutions? Most are private, fairly affordable due to being subsidised by donations from local rich clans and big companies (Mandos have a strong tradition of contributing to the community) and operate on a sliding scale of payment. Some (e.g. small local schools) are wholesale owned by local Houses. If you belong to a clan, its most likely your tuition was (at least partly) paid by the clan instead of your parents. Ditto for your medical bills. There’s also a healthy competition in the market: if you don’t like or cannot afford a school or a hospital, you go somewhere else. Sundari and the other domed cities have more publicly funded services, since a tightly packed city inside a biodome requires centralised administration to function.

tl;dr: The clan, the House, or the guild is the basic unit that provides welfare services for an individual. Usually, the school/hospital/etc. is a private enterprise or a foundation, with ties or contracts with local clans or Houses.

Mining and land rights

The land and its mining rights belong to a clan. The ancestral clan lands go all the way back to the original settlement of the Mandalorian worlds. Since the discovery of beskar, land- and mining rights have been hotly contested and have been the source of many civil wars and inter-clan conflicts.

That means that technically beskar belongs to a clan. Indeed, it is the clan’s duty to arm its warriors. In practice, beskar’gam is partly earned by the individual and partly given by the clan. Beskar is sufficiently rare that only the richest and oldest clans can afford to clad their warriors entirely in pure beskar. Most make do with beskar alloys of various quality (the beskar content of many plates has gone down over the years and their many reforgings). Many wear partly or all durasteel or even composite. However, because of the cultural significance, usually at least the kar’ta beskar is actual beskar (or beskar alloy), even if the rest of the plates are not.

In the olden times, clan tithes could actually be paid in beskar, and often were by clans with good beskar mines. And thus the Mand’alor could then gift (or sell) the beskar to other deserving clans or warriors.

Since the land belongs to the clans, most farmers are either clan members or tenant farmers, although the tenancies are generally given to families (=family lines), not individuals, and the tenant farmers receive many of the benefits of the members of the house if they’re not members themselves (which they often are). The clan that owns the land would usually pay for infrastructure projects and the like, often with manpower provided by the communities living on their lands.

Fishing and hunting rights and other natural resources similarly generally belong to the clan who owns the land.

As an aside, this system unintendedly contributed to the Ba’slan shev'la after Dral’Han. Many clans had their lands and livelihoods obliterated, and faced a choice to seek refuge in one of the less-affected areas of Mandalorian space (which were crawling with other refugees who had recently lost everything in their name), or leave and try their luck elsewhere in the Galaxy. Many chose to leave not because of some grand strategy or masterplan, but to find work, make a living, and raise their children somewhere that was not a radioactive desert.

Disasters like the Dral’Han have left many Houses land-rich and people-poor: it’s not unusual for them to grant lands for smaller clans and families swearing to them. It’s in everybody’s best interests that the land and its resources gets managed—preferably of course by a loyal vassal clan, who pays tithes to you.

Government and law

I like to think the Mandalorians have a split system of law, kind of like common law vs. statute law. There would be the military law and the military tribunal—or in Mandalorian terms, the Mand’alor’s law, with the Mand’alor acting as the supreme commander of the armed forces. And the other branch would be the other powerhouse in Mandalorian society: clans.

I imagine there’s a Mandalorian equivalent of the House of Lords, or what might be called a Moot: a body that consists of all the Mandalorian clan chieftains. When they vote about anything, the votes are probably weighted based on the number of warriors (historically) or adults (in modern times) in their clan. In practice, a lot of the smaller clans belong to a House which would also act as a voting block—almost like a political party. This is another dynamic that makes Houses compete for clans and warriors declaring for them.

The original function of this body would have been to decide matters that are beyond any one clan—and furthermore, to arbitrate matters between clans or intra-clan grievances that cannot be solved within the clan. And this could lead to them developing into a body that handles a lot of the high-level civilian matters—or appoints civilian administrators and judges to handle them. There’s probably some wiggle room and a lot of power plays about which matters belong to the Moot and which to the Mand’alor and which perhaps are decided by the Moot, but require the Mand’alor’s agreement. On Earth, that has historically been the case between monarchs and their Houses of Lords too.

The clan law is effectively a huge pile of historical precedents upon historical precedents. So it’s a customary law in character. It’s the Mand’alor’s law that’s the more flexible one: they can just give executive commands, effective immediately. But then the next Mand’alor might countermand all of their orders. In practice though, the military law is again a pile of previous Mand’alore’s executive orders building on top of each other—that’s a part of why Jaster’s Codex was 700 pages or whatever. In this way, the Mand’alor’s position could be compared to the president or the prime minister of some democracies: they’re the highest executive power, but they don’t make the civilian laws and don’t control the courts. I do think the Mand’alor has more power than Western presidents/prime ministers though, and that they e.g. name their own cabinet. Although politically savvy Mand’alores would in practice fill their cabinet with members of powerful clans to keep them happy.

Oh, and the magic sword as the basis of government? It’s a cool prop, but it’s hardly the whole story. The right by combat sounds to me like a very old tradition preceding the Darksabre. The Darksabre just got caught up in the old tradition, and became a visible symbol of having won a duel against the old Mand’alor. However—and it’s a pretty big however—like I said previously, no one rules Mandalore without the support of the clans. There are probably many stories of some hotshot young warrior thinking to make themselves into the next Mand’alor. And they might actually manage it—for about five minutes, until the old Mand’alor’s warriors line up to challenge them. You might win one duel, but no-one will win a hundred duels in a row. Even if they would manage to keep the Darksabre, if the clans didn’t support them, they would shortly go bankrupt, and find their armies going home when they stop being paid.

So there are probably some five-minute-wonders in the history, who are quickly succeeded by the previous Mand’alor’s second or third in command. I’d also like to point out that there’s an incentive to leave the previous Mand’alor alive: they are still (often) the clan head or at least the commander of a significant number of troops present in the capital, and if they’re alive, they can order those troops to stand down. If they’re dead, those troops may choose to fight instead and hope to make the challenger’s reign very short indeed.

The New Mandalorian government

Now on this stage comes the Republic, who in 738 BBY bombs key Mandalorian worlds and leaves large swaths of them inhabitable. They also installsa caretaker government to make sure that the Mandalorian threat would not rise again. And I imagine that from the get go, this Republic oversight would have been universally loathed. But it also split Mandalorians between those who on principle refused to recognise the Republic’s puppet government, and those who saw that Mandalore was in no position to evict them militarily, and needed to do everything to ensure the Republic navy didn’t have a reason to come back and finish the job. So they chose to work within the system to fight tooth and nail for an independent, Mandalorian government.

And, well, that itself is a huge source of friction. Mandalore essentially has two governments, which don’t recognise each other: the post-excision government that grew from the Republic’s caretaker government and the Mand’alor. The clan Moot would probably be something of a grey area: perhaps it was recognised but reorganised by the post-Dral’Han government; or perhaps it was not, but traditions are not so easily killed and it still holds a lot of power in practice. Individual Houses operate in between all of these separate systems of power, striking a deal here and giving a nod there.

But I also think that a lot of the Core-inspired laws installed by this post-Excision government, and the laws that are needed to make the tightly packed domed cities run, come into conflict with the traditional Mandalorian laws. So now you have what is effectively a tripartite system of law. And there’s certain friction between all of these parts, and lots of arguments about which law applies in which case and who has jurisdiction.

This is also how the Mand’alor can be a rather hands-off position (depending on the Mand’alor) after the Dral’Han—there are two other forms of government to keep things running.

Citizenship

Let’s start with a couple of basic assumptions. First, the basic unit of Mandalorian society is the clan. Aliit is also a part of the Resol’nare. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that one cannot be a Mandalorian without a clan. I mean, in a religious sense, you have to be adopted into a Mandalorian clan to become a Mandalorian and share in the Manda. That’s why the adoption vow is literally ”name and soul”. Well, that’s the orthodox, religious view anyway. I imagine modern attitudes are laxer, but older views are probably reflected in many laws still.

Secondly, a lot of the Mandalorian space was originally conquered by the Taung. The conquered peoples could become Mandalorians, but I always got the vibe that it was an individual choice (both of the adoptee to want to become a Mandalorian and of the clan to accept them)—conversely, there must have been many people who decided not to convert. I doubt they were all put to sword either, especially after Mand’alor the Ultimate’s reforms.

So this creates a situation where there are both people who are Mandalorians by creed and by clan, and people who live on Mandalorian worlds and are not one or the other or neither.

And I like to think that Mandalore, by the accident of history, effectively has two kinds of citizenships: ”full” citizenship for members of Mandalorian clans, and ”civil” citizenships for residents of Mandalorian worlds who are not considered Mandalorians. And that these two kinds of citizenships come with different rights and responsibilities. For one, only the Mandalorians have representation in their House of Lords. Conversely, only Mandalorians are expected to answer the Mand’alor’s call and to serve in the military. Yes, this came about because I wanted to explore that whole are Jaster and Jango Mandalorians or not, and who even is a Mandalorian debates. Where do they come from? Could there be some reasonable explanation that gets garbled in the translation to Basic? In my version, there’s both a religious/creed aspect to being a Mandalorian, and a legal citizenship aspect, that overlap. So perhaps Jango was born on a Mandalorian world, but not as a Mandalorian. Just a thought.

Now the people who aren’t born Mandalorians but wish to become one by creed, they have an easy precedent available to them. They either get themselves accepted into a clan (the most common way); or I like to think there’s some kind of a provision for people who for one reason or another don’t want to be adopted. Perhaps they need to have a sponsor who’s a citizen of good standing (this would be the adopter for those who are adopted into clans, or perhaps the spouse or the spouse’s clan head for those who marry in), and let’s say two witnesses who testify they have completed their verd’goten or an equivalent trial. A clan can’t really be just one person, so I imagine that if a clan shrinks to just one member, they keep their lands etc., but lose some other e.g. political privileges until they became a clan (of more than one) again, and conversely, newly minted mandos who don’t have clans don’t get all the benefits and representation either.

Then we have people who are neither. Now these people could have legitimate grievances against how the political system operates, because it disadvantages them. And I think that’s an interesting point and an interesting conflict. Which is what stories are all about.

And then we have New Mandalorians, at least some of who are Mandalorians by clan—but they refuse some duties that come with that, and which probably actually are codified into traditional Mandalorian law. So that’s a legitimate grievance on the part of the old guard against the New Mandalorians: they want all the benefits, but dodge the draft and other legal duties. But it’s also a legitimate grievance of the New Mandalorians (mandatory military service is a violation of individual rights as their government defines them & answering to a Mand’alor who is not recognised by their laws). And what else would they define citizenship by, if not birth and residence on the Mandalorian worlds?

And I imagine that New Mandalorian government either defines or wants to define citizenship in a new way that’s not based on creed and being a member of a clan. And this is also a source of grievances and conflict. The traditionalists feel that being a Mandalorian is a creed, a choice; and that choosing to walk the way of the Mandalore has been a foundational right since the time of the Mandalorian Wars. After all, all of the modern day Mandalorians are descended of people who made that choice.

[iinsomnium-art]

#IINSOMNIUM  a  selective  &  mutuals  only  BILL    CIPHER  from  the  series  GRAVITY FALLS   as  written  by  ren,  he  /  him,  29,  gmt  -7, sporadic  activity.   read  rules  &  DASH  ONLY.  mature  themes    may  be    present  and  studied,  mentions  of  gore  &  body  horror.  minors  dni.  this  is  a  canon  divergent  portrayal  of  bill,    ruling  on  own  headcanons.

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I. my activity is going to be medium to low for as i am busy working ridiculous hours outside of tumblr. please keep in mind my time zone is [ GMT-8 ]. my free days will change but as of now im free Wednesdays and Sundays. and just because im free it doesnt guarantee a immediate reply to threads. or there are times im not mentally there to write for my muse. please give me time. if you lose interest let me know so i wont reply or if you want to start a new thread. feel free to send any prompts from ask memes i reblog at any time. asks are okay to make into threads. multiple threads im okay with as well.

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III. pairings - i absolutely love it. the possible character development, chemistry and compatibility. i am open to pairings whether its with ocs or canon characters. -though would love to talk it through with muns to see if muses have chemistry. crackships and rarepairs are included. ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS

IV. NSFW \\ dark themes will be present on this blog and tagged accordingly using assigned trigger tags. please let me know if i didnt tag. im very smooth brain . but due to such content if you are under the age of 18, do not fucking follow me. im blocking on sight.

[mask131]

Hi! So I heard that there is a version of when, Poseidon, Zeus and Hades drew lots for the world, it was actually rigged by Hades so that he could get the Underworld…

I only know Homer’s version that it was by Pure Luck, but I can’t find any evidence of the version that it was rigged.

Yeah no that's definitively a modern idea. The very idea that the "game was rigged" is modern.

I think that the Ancient Greek texts only go by variations of either "It was split up with a game of chance" (as you said above), or "Zeus, as the king of the gods, gave to each god the function that was more fit for them" - with maybe sometimes a "The gods simply had their domains on their own accord, as some sort of natural process/as they were fated to".

But the idea of the game being rigged? While I do understand where it comes from since in the Ancient Greek mindset the Underworld was the worst lot of the three domains, I never saw or heard any text saying this, and it would have posed a really big theological problem since the whole point is that the three brothers have their domain by law, and fate, and are bound to them in an honorable and true way.

One of the whole points of the Greek legends surrounding what happened right after the Titans were defeated is that we have the beginning of a new world - a new, civilized world based on things such as law, justice, balance. The Titan world was a primitive world of brutality and chaos - Zeus's new order was... well a form of order. In Hesiod's Theogony we know that one of Zeus' first job as a "king" was to literaly conceive the very principles on which civilization would stand: the law of the Moirai, the ideals of the Charites, the arts of the Muses... The Homeric legend of the splitting of the domains works with a similar idea: it was a fair game which at the beginning of time separated the three domains. It was not a tyrannical decision: all the brothers were equal in front of the force of hasard and chance, and thus each got their lot. Of course there is also a whole idea of the gods being predetermined for their respective domains: after all we know that the three weapons the Cyclops offered the young gods during the Titanomachy literaly announced or foreshadowed which part of the world they would rule onto - Zeus had a burning, aerial lightning, Hades had a helmet that hid things and made them unseen like the dead, Poseidon had a trident that shook the earth... In fact if I am not incorrect I believe several Ancient Greek texts went by the logic of "The gods got their domains just because it was so and it was what was most natural."

If you ask me, my favorite fictional depiction of the "splitting of lots" is within the novel "The God Beneath the Sea". I am spoiling a tiny bit - but trust me this book is so good at recreating the feeling and characterization of Greek mythology while reimagining the plotlines slightly enough to feel unique and different - but the authors made the game with even more possibilities by including the earth as the fourth possible domain the gods could get, and once the lots are drawn, all the Olympians look at the earth with a certain desire and Zeus declares it a neutral ground for all the gods where they would be equal - explaining hence why there is no obvious "king of the earth" in Greek mythology but also explaining why the gods keep having petty fights over specific cities and regions of Ancient Greece. If you ask me, I prefer this version of the splitting rather than Zeus having both "the sky and the earth" as his dominions. But I am a sucker for balance in storytelling so...

[cocogrrrl]

drifters

you're willing to put yourself through hell for him, but a freak accident causes the situation to make him the one near death's row instead.

Kenny McCormick x gn!reader (Killjoys AU) cw: injury, mentions of drugs, usage of alcohol, themes of war wc: 4228 (minus the references in the beginning)

an: although its relatively easy to infer the lore and slang, I've provided a glossary n a bit of lore for those unfamiliar :D hope u enjoy this cause i sure did!

After the Fire Wars of 2012, California has been under a tyrannical rule lead by the quasi-governmental corporation named Better Living Industries. The company promises eternal happiness through "the sanctity of monocromaticism." Better Living Industries subjects the people of Battery City to brainwashing, heavily through the use of drugs to negate all emotions and possibly even memories. They keep an eye on every single one of the people under their control, prohibiting them from anything that can make them experience sort of feelings Killjoys are the people who live in the zones outside of Battery City. They oppose the ways of Better Living Industries and work to survive outside of their rule as well as to take them down. KN - Killjoy Name (Separate from YN) Zones - Area outside Battery City. Cordial - Slang for moonshine. BLi - Better Living Industries, can be abbreviated to BL/ind as well Dracs - (Short for Draculoids) Members of BLi’s SCARECROW unit that are ordered to kill (Usually anything that hold emotional attachment, such as relationships). Cloud - A group, and sometimes encampment, of dracs. Pangea - Culmination of three or more groups. Dusted - To die/be dead. Ghosted - See dusted Route Guano - The main road through the zones. Drifting - A relationship that is not platonic, romantic or sexual, but a combination or something outside of it. Often usually portrayed as go-with-the-flow thing. Ray gun - Shoots lasers! Pew, pew, pew! Used by killjoys and draculoids Phoenix Witch - A mystical creature that resides in the zones, guiding departed souls of killjoys. Ember Bridge - To abandon your team. Clap - A fight (not limited to, but usually) between a killjoy and a drac. Costa Rica - to go downhill. ** Very well aware they are from Colorado 😨 It’s just that the setting is in California. ** Tommy Chow Mein is a major supplier of a multitude of products in the zones. I changed it to Timmy Chow Mein in reference to Timmy Burch from South Park. ** The Trans AM is the car that the fab four killjoys drive.

—————

(I refer to the main four here by their hero names, since creating Killjoy names for them would cause a hell lot of confusion.)

“KN,” you heard Mysterion mumble your name with a slurred tongue against your hair, bodies flush against each other. You only hummed in reply. “So fuckin’ pretty. My eyes are only for you.”

“You’re absolutely shitfaced right now, aren’t you?” You laughed, turning your body to look at him and caress his face.

“I didn’t even have that much.” He rolled his eyes, playfully pouting. “Even if I wasn’t jacked on cordial right now, I’d still tell you that.”

“You’re funny.” You hummed, brushing a hair off his face to lean in and kiss him. Kissing him gently and savoring the quiet you two had together.

“Hell yeah, I am.” He started giggling, giddiness radiating from the smile on his face because of your show of affection.

“You ever think this is gonna end? Like, one day, BLI’s finally overthrown, and we’re left to build a new society?” You mused, playing with the flyaway hair spread all over the pillows.

“God, I hope so.” He sighed, his happy smile turning into one of a melancholic grin.

“Yeah? Do you think you’ll be excited if it happens?”

“When it happens, sugar,” he corrected, bringing a finger up to your face. ”But, I think so. I’m not sure what I’ll do after. I’ll definitely be with my family, but I don’t know what comes next.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, burying your face into the warm flesh of his chest. “It seems like war is all we know at this point.”

“I’m gonna have to unlearn it at some point once this is all over.” He murmured, a hand of his finding itself brushing your hair. ”As fun as it is sometimes, hell isn’t worth kicking ass. I’d rather be elderly on a porch than worry if I’ll live to see the next day.”

“You’ll get there one day.” You hummed.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”  You were just spewing bullshit out of your mouth. These were promises you knew damn well you couldn’t keep. Even if it was a mere stretch away from you, that reality was covered in thorns. Despite your unfaithful oath, it was your personal mission to keep him safe.

 You felt a kiss laid on the top of your head. “Such a darling, sugar.”

“I know.”

———

“Wait, wait, wait,” you sighed, shaking your head in confusion. “There’s a cloud nearby, and we’re gonna storm them?”

“Yeah,” The Coon, promptly replied.

“Just the five of us are going to attack them?”

“Mhm,” this time Toolshed nodded.

“Aren’t we gonna die?! Unless a Pangea’s gonna happen, it sounds like we’re actually asking to get dusted!” You burst, jaw agape in shock.

“KN, we have no other choice. It’s either that or we wait for them to ambush the diner.” Human Kite sighed, parking a little off Route Guano. You all could see the encampment the dracs had set up not too far away.

“I guess you have a point.”

You felt a hand place itself on top of yours. It was Mysterion’s. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It gonna be okay, KN.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“...Thanks, Mysterion.” You couldn’t help but smile at him, knowing his words were tainted in falsehood anyway. There was no way telling of how this was gonna end.

This lifestyle was not one for the romantics. This life was not for the optimist.

Hell sunk itself in the modern day and, as a result, many people of all ages, sizes, and hearts are left to fight for their life depended on it.

You took a deep breath as you five exited the vehicle, finding a few large stones to hide behind. You waited for Human Kite’s lead. At one, you’ll jump in and get in a clap with the dracs.

You could either end up living or be killed, yet both outcomes scared you fiercely. If you survive, then that means you’d have to relive this experience again. If you get ghosted, then it’s game over.

But those two were just mere bad thoughts to the grand nightmare that was losing Mysterion. 

You two weren’t together. You two were just drifters, existing outside of the space of platonic, romantic, and sexual desires. You joked with each other like best friends, kissed like lovers, and persevere like partners—although any sort of action you guys had were few and far between.

You cherished those moments, though. You cherished him. Every single goddamn inch of whatever he had to offer. His touch, his brightness, his smile, his kindness, his scars that littered his body, his heart full of gold that was fueled out of retribution. 

Losing him was your greatest fear, even if you knew he wasn’t yours to begin with.

However, there was no turning back now. You guys were here. For all you know, you could’ve been spotted already.

 Human Kite started to count down as soon as you knew it.

“Five,” he whispered.

“Four,” you held your breath, looking over to the group of unsuspecting Dracs.

“Three,” you tightened your grip on your ray gun you bought years ago at a vending machine—back when you still lived in the city.

“Two,” you swiftly glanced at Mysterion, savoring his beauty with the fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second you had left.

“One.” 

All five of you jumped into the scene and started to blast the Dracs—dust from the ground quickly flying everywhere and blinding everyone. Amidst the cloud of sand, you could make out faint, white silhouettes. That’s how you knew where to shoot.

Both hands tight on your ray gun, you shot every Drac you saw, inching closer towards the center of their camp—where it was most dangerous. You had to wipe the dracs out for the safety of not just your friends but even the other gangs that settled near here.

One of them came flying at you, and by the Phoenix Witch’s grace, you were briskly able to dodge it. They barely missed you and instead landed face-first into the sand. Putting one foot on their back to hold them down, you shot them in the head. One zap to kill him, and then another to rid your frustrations.

“KN! Be careful!” A name called out. It was Mysterion, signaling to look behind you. You could see him run towards you.

As you turned to face whatever he was warning you about, you were met with the burning sensation of a ray piercing itself through your arm. “Fuck!” You cursed, nearly tumbling over from the pain. You had to hold yourself up, though, and continue fighting.

The moment you were hunched over, Mysterion was right by your side to help you. As you seethed through the pain, rebuilding the strength to stand back up, he acted as your human shield.

Once you were alright, your injured arm held your ray gun up high, the other hoisting it up by the forearm. You two needed to get out of the center quick. Back to back with your ray guns out, you two made a beeline out of the heart of the camp shooting back at the dracs that sent a hail of lasers and bullets toward the two of you.

When you were merely out of their reach, you felt Mysterion lose balance and fall on you. Adrenaline kicked in and, despite the state of your arm, you were able to hold him up. This would all be great if it weren’t for the red you spotted soaking through the grey fabric of his clothes.

“Mysterion, are you okay?” You only got a groan in reply. “Answer me!” You yelled, shaking his body. He was limp, though. 

Only one thought had bore itself in your mind: you are not going to let him let go like this. He’d be ashamed of you, and you’d be ashamed of yourself.

You peeked from behind a rock you two were hiding behind, checking to see Toolshed, Coon, and Human Kite. They seemed alright, none of them sustaining any injury yet. You had to act fast right now.

It seemed like the adrenaline in your body was the only thing keeping you alive since you mustered up the will to grab Mysterion and quickly get into the Trans AM, setting him in the back.

You took off the jacket around you and wrapped it tight against his torso to apply pressure. You shrugged his jacket off to wrap it around his leg for the same reason as well. You lifted the signature helmet he wore, giving him more air to breathe.

“Mysterion. You stay there, okay? I’m gonna tell Human Kite and the others to go.” You said, doubtful that he could hear you. You shut the door, though, and ran back to the field to find the rest of your group.

You spotted Human Kite, cornered by a bunch of Dracs. He looked like he knew he was fucked. Luckily, since you were from a distance, you were able to shoot a few of the dracs from behind. An easiness was now settling on the redhead’s face. You helped him fend off the rest of the Dracs there. After which, you leaned in close to him to whisper something.

“Kite,” you said, pants breaking up your speech.

“Yeah?” 

“Mysterion’s in the Trans. He got shot in the chest, side, and thigh.”

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, worry evident in his eyes.

“We gotta either dust these guys right now or book it.”

“Well,” he scanned the area, checking how many more Dracs are left. “There’s not that much left. You think we can take them down?”

“If you wanna go through it, we have to do it as fast as we can, or else we got a dead body on our hands.”

“I know.” He nodded, running to Toolshed and Coon to give them the news, you following behind. In an instant, they all started to shoot, and you did too. It didn’t long before each and every single one of them was ghosted.

Human Kite was in the driver’s, the Coon called shotgun, and so you and Toolshed were left to take care of Mysterion as the Coon asked the Chef for places with medical supplies.

All you could hear was your own heartbeat. Coon’s incessant yelling on the phone, the sputtering engine of the Trans Am, worried back and forths between Toolshed and Human Kite, and the faint sound of the radio in the back were white noise to your ears. All you stop and think about right now was Mysterion.

​The sole reason why Mysterion continued to keep on going was his sister, Karen, who still lived in Battery City. The two were separated after the Fires a few years ago. Ever since then, it's been his sole mission to find her and protect her. God knows if she’s been drugged by Better Living Industries or not, but he was sure of one thing: he was not going to BL/ind make an orphan out of her.

What about you? Did you have any reason to fight? You were stripped of your freedom and innocence at a young age, sure, but so was everyone else. You had no one and nothing in particular to live for, so really you didn’t have any reason to truly fight at first. 

However, when you learned why Mysterion worked relentlessly hard to take down BLi, you couldn’t help but admire him. From the day when you learned about his motivations, you made it your sole duty to protect him. Though you had nothing distinctly notable enough to live for, Mysterion did, and so you found your new purpose. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize how your worries consumed you. Guilt was not a word big enough to describe the insurmountable feeling of responsibility you had bubbling in your gut. You were embarrassed, ashamed to your very core for your carelessness and stupidity. Had you kept a better eye on Mysterion, he wouldn’t be halfway through Death’s front garden by now.

Once you five had arrived in the diner, Toolshed and Coon immediately rushed Mysterion to a small booth to patch him up. Human Kite, on the other hand, assisted the hole in your arm in the comfort of your room.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” He mused, fixing up the burn hole that pierced your arm. You were lucky that it didn’t go through the bone, only piercing your skin, flesh, and muscle.

Human Kite knew about the two of you—or at least had an idea. Neither of you hadn’t told anyone about anything, but you were sure it would be easy to spot if they looked close enough.

Were you two open about your ‘relationship’? Yes. Were you two obvious about it? No, but you’re certain he would be if he could. You two were always preoccupied with taking down dracs and scheming ways to overthrow BL/ind, so you barely had the time for each other. 

You could only love him in unpredictable, small doses, even if you wanted more than that. That made loving difficult, especially when you desperately longed for any sense of stability in your life. 

“Oh, don’t small talk me like that.” You sighed, rolling your eyes.

“It’s true, though, right?” He hummed, tongue sticking out as he redirected his focus on your arm.

“Yeah.”

“Are you two together anyways?”

“No.” You answered hesitantly, a vague image of a pout on your lips.

“Drifters?”

“You know, you’re really chatty right now. Wonder where that came from.” Despite your rather harsh reply, you did appreciate the conversation you were having with Human Kite. It served as a good distraction for the burning cold sensation that was the after sting of the laser.

Human Kite didn’t seem to take your comment to heart, though. “You’re not denying it, though.” 

“So? I’m not confirming it either.”

“Tell him that you like him.” You sucked in a breath, partially out of your discontentment with the idea and partially because of the raw sensation of a needle and thread being woven into your flesh.

“Kite, he’s literally nearing his deathbed as we’re talking. I don’t think I can tell him that I like him currently.” You humorously replied, a dry look on your face as you spoke.

He shrugged. “If he makes it, then.” 

“When he makes it.” You corrected.

“You’re so confusing.” He sighed, shaking his head.

“Thank you. I pride myself on it.”

———

The next day passes by and Human Kite, Toolshed, and Coon had gone to the Kitchen, where Chef’s base resided, and also did his radio concerts. They went to report the outcome of yesterday’s mission and receive their next one. After that, they would pass by Timmy Chow Mein to grab some more power pups and extra supplies.

That meant you were left alone with the recovering body of Mysterion, which was resting on the booth where he was fixed up the previous day. All you had to do was check if he was breathing and alive—which he was.

However, he’s been unconscious since yesterday, so even if blood pumped through his veins, it still meant he was under unstable conditions. You watched over his rather frail and pale body, shirtless and bandages wrapped everywhere.

His poor state made you worried. It didn’t seem like you guys would be getting out of your current predicament any time soon. Hell, you’ve been going at it for years now, the term ‘soon’ just seemed like a hopeless promise to you.

The dead can be many things. The dead can win, find peace, and be freed from the chains that have held them down, but the one thing they’ll never be are survivors.

But, of course, eventually, most things will come to an end, which meant BL/ind would face its inevitable downfall. The question is if you’ll be able to watch and savor the souls (or lack thereof) crashing down.

Maybe Kyle was right. Maybe you should tell him about your feelings.

What do you have to lose? Definitely your god-knows-what of a relationship with Mysterion, but it’s not like you were going to ember bridge your gang. That would be reckless, and even then you were sure neither of you wanted to see the other leave the troupe and get themselves ghosted (or worse, drugged by BL/ind).

You sat on the seat across the booth, watching Mysterion's features shine from the sun that hit his face, adorning his features further. Mindlessly, you grazed your fingers on his exposed skin. You wondered just when he’ll wake up. 

The question of yours did not take too long to be answered.

You heard a groan spill out of his lips, words you couldn’t make out being mumbled by him. Like instinct, you bolted up from your hunch-over position and observed him with a deeper focus in your eyes. “...Mysterion? Are you awake?”

“KN…” He murmured, eyes slowly opening and meeting yours.

“Mysterion!” You called out, leaping across the table.

“Ugh, what happened?” His voice was beyond coarse because of his lack of use.

You stood up and headed to the dirty kitchen behind the counter to grab a glass of water for him. “Things went Costa Rica during the clap, and you almost died—that’s what happened!”

“Mmf, thank you.” He said, finishing the drink in an instant, setting the glass on the table with a light slam. A heave exited his lips as he collected his breaths.

You knew he just woke up but had he no regard for himself? You’ve just broken the news to him that he almost got ghosted, completely dusted. He seemed to not care at all.

“Of course.” You huffed, brushing off your thoughts and rolling your eyes. You’ll probably get back to that later—when he’s more clearheaded.

“How long was I out for?” 

“A whole day.” You sighed, looking at him as your head rested on your arm propped on the table. ”The gang is out to report the mission to Chef and grab some stuff at Timmy’s.”

“Alright.” He nodded.

“You shouldn’t have come back to save me.” You spoke out mindlessly, voice barely above a whisper. You meant it in a way that you regret what you’d caused because of your recklessness.

He might have taken that differently, though. “I shouldn’t have? KN, if I helped Kite and the others out instead of you, you would be totally dusted right now. That’s for sure.”

He was right, though. You couldn’t get mad at that. You were all alone back there, and the cloud of dracs would’ve ganged up on you. With Mysterion, less damage was observed, yet the injuries all targeted him.

Then again, his life mattered more than yours. He had Karen. You had no one.

“Mysterion, you matter more in the grand scheme of things. You have a family to find. I got fucking nothing!”

“Don’t say that, KN. You’re worth a lot more than you think.” He fumed, but his voice did not raise. Not at all. The look of anger on his face was clear, though.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shook your head, taking a deep breath before continuing.  ”I know I matter or whatever, but you have something worth fighting for.”

“You’re worth fighting for, though.” He assured, taking both of his hands to hold your empty one.

You snapped. Words fell out of your mouth quicker than you could process the rate of them going. “And you are too! What you want is so much larger than who I’ll ever be. That’s why I’ve been hellbent on saving you!”

“You have?” He mouthed, horror melting on his face.

Hesitant to answer, you paused, body frozen. “Yeah...”

“I’m sure that’s not just why.” He continued—the terror once present now turning into an upset one.

Strike you confused since you didn’t know or understand what he was talking about. “The fuck you mean?”

“Do you like me?”

“Duh.” You bluntly answered, furrowing your brows.

“No, you don’t get it. Do you like like me?”

“Mysterion, you sound childish.”

“Answer my question.” He demanded, his eyes dark and piercing through you.

Well, you were backed into a corner now.

In the end, though, you had already thought about telling him. This was bound to be found out about at some point. Kite likely knew already, so what’s holding you back from telling Mysterion?

Fear, that is—even if it dissolved into nothing when you were with him.

You took a deep breath before you answer. “Yeah. I am in love with you.

“And so what?” You scoffed, finally straightening your posture to shoot him a look of scornfulness. ”I know I shouldn’t want you this way, especially if our lives are on the line every second of the day, but I can’t help it. I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I’m willing to sacrifice myself to get hurt in the process just so I can hold you for longer.

At this point, even if you weren’t even thinking of what you were saying, you couldn’t care less. You were finally able to set the record straight and tell him the truth. Although, you began to falter and crumble with every word you spoke. 

“I want time to fast forward to a future where we’re together, and everything is normal. I can’t, though. That’s why I settle for second best—which is protecting you and waiting for that day to come.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” You spat.

You couldn’t read his reaction. You were helpless at that very moment. “Sugar…” He mumbled. 

You didn’t want him to call you that name for the longest time. You didn’t deserve a name that praised you to be sweet, to be caring because, when all is said and done, you were a monster.

You only went with the name because he seemed to love calling you that, and you loved him too dearly to stop him from doing so.

Yet, despite the head you held high, you started to crumble. Your words felt selfish and how was he supposed to take you seriously? You’re nothing more than a means to an end. What if he found your confession embarrassing? What if he didn’t want to be with you anymore?

“Shit, I know it’s stupid, but I ju-”

You were cut off by the sensation of Mysterion’s lips on yours.

This was nothing new, though. You two kissed all the time, so why did this one feel so different?

Maybe it was the way it felt like it lasted forever. Maybe it was how your arms were all over each other—clinging desperately as if the other would disappear into thin air if one of you let go. Maybe it was because you could read the desperation and longing on his tongue. The petals of his lips on yours felt like a confession that did not need any words—something holy.

Whatever it was, you didn’t want this to end.

In your mind, the moment you two pulled away from each other with breaths crooked and awry, you knew one thing in that instant: you must’ve been breathing him.

“Mysterion…” You mumbled, forehead beading with sweat pressing against his.

“Kenny. It’s Kenny. Say my name. You already know it’s the real one.”

“Kenny,” you breathed, his name feeling like a cool breeze on your tongue. It’s been years since you’ve last spoken his name.

You felt his lips form into a smile on yours. “YN, YN, YN.” He chanted your name like it was his favorite hymn.

Everything felt like it was in its right place, even for a split moment. It felt that a fraction of a second was all you needed to know everything was alright. To know that everything is, in fact, here. You and Kenny against the world.

“What is it?”

Pulling apart from each other’s bodies, his hands found themselves resting on the space of your shoulders. “I need, no, want you. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long now.”

“Why are you only telling me this right now?” You cooed.

“I was terrified,” he professed. ”I didn’t know if you wanted me as much as I did with you. That’s why I never pursued anything with you. I settled to be needed. It felt more comfortable that way anyway

“Besides, romance isn’t for the zones. If I was with you, my fear of losing you would be too amplified that might even kill me.”

With every word he spoke, you could feel your heart break a little more. He didn’t deserve to think this way, and you didn't deserve him to believe in you like this.

“At least you don’t have to be scared anymore.” You said reassuringly, taking the sides of his face into your hands, thumb caressing his cheek. ”I’ll be scared with you. Two negatives is a positive, right? We’ll find a way to work this out.”

“Please hold my hand as we work things through. Please,” he paused, hesitant to continue his next words. “Be with me.”

You nodded, finding your hand intertwined with his as you laid a soft kiss on it. “For as long as time allows us.”

(You thought to yourself, ‘Perhaps I’m a romantic as well.’)

[lotus-ashi]

Amorra week 2024. Day 1: Hope/Resistance

This shit is perhaps the most corny thing I've written in a long time... It was posted on ao3, too. :) Enjoy! @amorraweek2023

.

On the occasion Korra told him she was having his child Noatak felt as if all the air abandoned his lungs and his heartbeat stopped for a second. The news would have made anyone smile on joy or at least thank the spirits for their blessing.  

But he was no common man and Korra knew that. Perhaps that’s why she granted him some space, although her lips pressing together, and her elusive gaze gave away how much his reaction had disheartened her.  

There was a time in which knocking her up crossed his mind. At the time, he was her jailer, and she was his to do as he pleased. So, it didn’t come as a surprise the possibility of her carrying his heir to maintain the equalist movement. Ultimately, the balance of power shifted to the other side and Korra regained her freedom. Why she chose to stick with him was still a mystery to him. In any case, she liked to remind him she loved him every night.

Forgetting for a moment his defeat to the Avatar, Noatak was sure he had no motives to experience fear in all his life, not since the day he gathered enough courage to bloodbend Yakone. But the prospect of actually becoming a father felt as if he were at the border of an endless cliff, the water waiting for him from below being a turbulent whirlwind of emotions.

Terror, sadness, bitterness, spite, hatred.

He didn’t want to turn into an abusive monster like his father, dehumanizing his children to use them as weapons and tools of revenge. In the long term, Tarrlok ended up dead for that, also he still felt guilty for the pain he inflicted on Korra when he was incapable of seeing her like more than the Avatar, even if he didn’t admit it very often.

That night Noatak couldn’t fall asleep. For hours he shifted his gaze from the walls to the ceiling, until he had enough and decided to fix his eyes on his wife’s sleeping form. She looked cute, even if her disarranged position and snoring were not exactly ladylike, and he allowed himself to smile tiredly and place a hand on her belly. If he still had his bending, he could have perceived the tiny heartbeat, however, it was nice just to caress Korra’s little tummy and turn off his negative thoughts for a while.

Whether he was capable of pulling himself together or not, the arrival of a son or daughter of his was a matter of fact. It was up to him if he would still give the past the power to shape his future. Noatak didn’t want to feel like a prisoner of fate, with the path already traced by his tyrannical father. Among the fear and his concerns, a warmer emotion bloomed in his chest. A part of him craved to do things better than his predecessor, to make a real change and teach his child that bending, if he or she was born a bender, comes with responsibilities, that water was meant to heal, not to hurt.

Sensing Korra started stirring, he was pulled out of his reverie and moved back a little to give her some space. For several seconds they just stared at each other, it was kind of embarrassing getting caught with his hand over his lower belly and, on her part, awakening in such an arrangement. Then, she blushed, and he felt more confident about his prior musings.

Korra was going to be a loving mother, he was sure of that. So, why couldn’t he? He had enough motives to feel hope, even though that sort of emotion was a dangerous thing for a man like him to have.

“Korra, thank you.” He uttered. Before she could come up with an answer, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his chest.

Taken aback by his words, she let out a sleepy giggle, sinking into the warmth of his embrace. But still, it was too early, and being so bad at the task of waking up on the first try, she only could summon enough energy to raise her face and place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I love you, too, oldie. Just let me sleep a bit more.”