#already failed my own challenge since this took me about 2 hours to complete -w-‘

[nartothelar]

IChooChooseYouWeek - Day 1: Flirting

- melli and ingo have only recently started dating at this point

- melli still isn’t used to how ingo gives sincere compliments so easily

- Ingo knows how easily melli is affected by such words; he finds melli’s reactions endlessly endearing (and teases him for it when he’s feeling particularly cheeky)

[joannie95]

Legacy- Part 7

Pairing: Carter! reader x ?????

Summary:  Everyone knows Peggy Carter is a force to be reckoned with, who cold have guessed her granddaughter would hold the same ferocity, if not more.This story follows y/n Carter’s life as she faces the obstacles life pitches her.

Warnings: None

A/N: Its finally time. shes really gonna do it

Peggy watches with amusement as the two girls looked purely terrified. 

“How- w-when…- “Darcy stutters out before giving up “totally busted.”

“you are indeed, totally busted.” Your grandmother replies, but there is no hint of anger in her voice or stance. No sign of disbelief or frustration, no yelling or gritted teeth. That’s when it hits you.

“You wanted me to find the journals.” you breathe out.

 “That’s an odd assumption- “

“oddly right. Those journals held things that would be dangerous in some hands, you’d never just toss them in a box, let alone the top box that wasn’t sealed shut. “You accuse her

A large grin appears on her face “it took you long enough- “

“oh, what the hell.” Darcy mumbles “this entire time you knew- you couldn’t have just handed her the journals Peg !?” She throws her arms up in frustration. 

“To shield and the worlds knowledge, those journals don’t exist. The information within them”

“is extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. I’m aware.”  you stare at her “I need to know the formula for Nitramene.” You bluntly state, 

 your grandmothers’ eyes slightly widen “Nitramene was discontinued after Howard-”

“as far as shield was concerned it was, but I know that didn’t stop my parents or Howard.”

 Darcy watches the staring competition between the two carters, heart racing as you slightly challenged your grandmother 

“Nitramene won’t fit well with your toxin extraction, you can find a simpler way-”

“what about for a super soldier serum process? I think it’d fit pretty well there.”

 “It’s prohibited to - “

“I took it more as a suggestion not to try, but Carters aren’t really known for following the rules, are they Agent Carter?”  You smirk at her knowingly. 

   “You’re definitely a Carter.” She mumbles, running a hand down her face in defeat. “If shield discovers what you’re doing- “

“I’ve already covered all my footprints.  Falsified my blueprints of the chamber to match the toxin project, everything lines up to be hidden perfectly Grandma. All I need is the Nitramene. “ 

 You slowly approach her, gently taking her hand in yours “I’m so close to- “

“creating something that could get you killed. Something that could cost others their lives if it falls into the wrong hands - “

“something that could change the world. Did you think I didn’t weight the outcomes for this? That I’d be reckless enough to even leave any room for chaos?” 

 She sighs squeezing your hand in hers “Nitramene is extremely sensitive, it cannot be thrown about, it can’t even risk to be shaken. It’s highly explosive - “

 You smirk knowingly at her” you have it, don’t you?”

“Howard destroyed every piece of evidence connected to it. Only a few vials of it exist- “

“are you going to make me go on a treasure hunt for it? Because I’m pretty positive it’s in this house-

“calm down Nancy Drew and let me speak.” She glares at you, then at Darcy when she laughs 

“is the chamber built?”

“not yet -“

“I’m not releasing it into your hands until you complete it, then you will go right from here to your lab and begin the experiment. Are we clear? No one is to know - “

“it’s being conducted in the middle of the night, I’ve already figured out how to bypass the security check in and hack into my security cameras to replay footage instead of recording at the time.  There will be no evidence, no traceable date, everything is covered with the project they actually assigned me to.”

“Very well. Go on and finish this, just… make sure whoever you chose for this - “

“there’s nothing to worry about Peg, I think she made a great choice.” Darcy butts in, smiling at you with a wink.

“oh lord.” Your grandmother mutters “I’ll be waiting.” 

“you won’t be waiting long gram.”  You kiss her cheek 

“I didn’t think I would be.  You’re too brilliant for your own good. “

“I wouldn’t be a Carter if I wasn’t.” 

 It only took a day to assemble the chamber, Coulson delivered the vibranium a few hours prior, leaving it in a sealed container on your shelf. The Only missing piece being the Nitramene. You wipe away the sweat on your forehead as you drop down to sit on the floor, tools scattered around you and Darcy laying herself across your lab table, 

“you could have helped.” 

“watching you work is… impressing. But it exhausts me just watching, I’d probably pass out from exhaustion if you actually made me do something. Gotta save my energy anyway.” 

 You roll your eyes at her answer, laying yourself on the floor and letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment “you know I don’t trust anyone else to do this with me, right?” 

“I’d be offended if you did.” She throws a pen at you, cheering when it bounces off your forehead “c’mon, let’s get outta here. We got a couple hours to kill before shit goes down.” 

 And the countdown begins. 

 2 am rolls around, you find yourself on your grandmothers’ doorstep, before even knocking the door flings open. Peggy rushing you inside and leading you toward her bedroom, then into her bathroom. You watch silently as she goes to her shelf of various perfumes, when she turns you see a small bottle in her grasp.

As she gets closer, you pick out a small shape among the liquid, tethered by what looks to be a few strings holding it suspended in the center of the small bottle.

“I cannot strain the importance of keeping this bottle steady y/n. When you remove it from the bottle use these - “she turns back, retrieving a pair of tongs “do it slowly and cautiously when you remove it and place it in. Make sure it’s safely sealed into the compartment you designed to contain it, otherwise - “

“grandma, I can do this.” 

 You’re not sure if you’re reassuring her, or yourself at this point. 

She nods as you gently take the bottle from her hands. She escorts you back to the front door, smiling as she cups your cheek 

“I am incredibly proud of you - “

“For all we know this could fail gran- “

“but it won’t. Do not underestimate your intelligence darling. Good luck, I expect a call in the morning.” She kisses your forehead before sending you on your way.  

You and Darcy sneak into the SHIELD facility, avoiding the halls you know has guards. It’s a lot less stressful since you already hacked into the cameras and began rolling the pre-taped footage. 

 Stepping into your lab, you go right in to work mode. You press a few buttons, smiling when the chamber emerges from the wall, in the hidden false wall your mother left details for in her notes. She installed it herself, there a few more, but you haven’t had a chance to explore those just yet. 

“What do you think your grandmas going to do when she finds out you’re the one taking the serum?” Darcy asks 

That’s the golden question “I’m going to pray that she’s thrilled - “Darcy scoffs “shut up, it’s a 50/50 chance she could be totally ecstatic!”

“Or totally homicidal! I aided you in this! She’ll kill me too!”

You laugh” don’t worry about her, well deal with it when that wave comes - “

“she’s a fucking hurricane, not a little wave. Have you ever met your grandmother?!?”

You shrug her off and get to work, setting up the necessary laptops, open the correct container and finally pop open the actual chamber. Darcy watches in silence and panic as you slowly fill each tiny tube with the serum. The liquid a mesmerizing shade of blue, while the Nitramene sits on the counter, holding a bright orange hue. 

 You adjust everything into its place, cringing when you remember about all the needles necessary to inject the serum.  It’ll only hurt for a second. If Steve Rogers could do it, so can I.  You set your lab to sound proof, and apply the blackout feature to your glass walls, just in case. 

“Alright D, I wrote the directions down and tacked it to the table right in front of where you’re going to be, but I’m gonna go over it verbally for you. “

She nods, following you to her position 

“I’m going to get myself ready, then deposit the Nitramene. It will be stable for roughly 5 minutes, before it becomes a hazard. As soon as I step foot into the chamber hit this button” you point to the large green button labeled ‘1!’. “Immediately after those doors shut, hit the red one” pointing to the one labeled ‘2!’,” it motorizes the spider leg looking things that inject the serum, the light at the top of the chamber will turn blue when it’s all administered, and you’ll see the tubes emptied. once the light is red, hit the other red button- “you point to the ‘3! Just a few more D!’  Labeled button “it initiates the Nitramene, allowing minimum oxygen to infuse into its compartment and sparks the energy just enough for the chamber. You have to move quickly to this lever, - “now you’re in front of a yellow handled lever attached to a small laptop on a small table beside the chamber, wires running it to the chamber, ‘almost done babe #4’. “ This entire screen will turn blue when you need to pull it down the first time-“

“the first time?! “ 

“you nod, it goes by 10% notches of power each time, you have to do it slowly. All that radiation at once would kill me. I placed a note beside the laptop to remind you of the timing. After every notch, the timer in the corner will count down 20 seconds, when it hits 0, you move the lever another notch. Keep

your eyes on the timer. When you hit 100%, as soon as it’s finished it’ll shut itself off, and the doors will pop open.”

 When you finally look at her, you see the concern written clearly on her face. You take her hands in yours, smiling at her 

“hey, you can do this. I trust you. I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t believe you could handle it.”

“your life is going to be in my hands- “

“I trust you.” You repeat. “think of this as doing this the Dugan way. Always a chance of-”

“ending up in the hospital.” She finishes, tightening her grip on your hands before tugging you into a tight embrace. 

 “I love you.” She reminds you as she takes her spot at the first button. You hover over the Nitramene, slowly twisting open the lid, and dipping the retractors into the liquid. The orange glow only brightens as you relieve it from its small prison, the tiny ball brightening the entire lab as you take cautious steps toward the small compartment in the chamber for it. Slow and steady, sloooooow and steadyyy . You lower it in, screwing the cap shut as tight as you can. Releasing your breath as the orange lights up it’s small new home. 

 the clock starts now.

“I love you too. Always Darcy” you lift your shirt over your head 

“woah woah woah! Why are you getting naked!?” She shrieks 

You laugh as you remove all your clothes besides your boy short panties. “I feel like this looks like the beginning of a bad science porno.”

Both of you laugh, the sound dying down as you step in front of the open chamber, your heart rapidly racing.  I can do this, I can-

“you sure about this? That’s a lot of needles - “

“pffft, this is nothing - “your wave her off, praying she doesn’t see your hands shaking “I could do this all day. Oh- “you turn to her one last time “just a heads up, the lights are gonna flicker and I’ll probably scream. Ignore it, and keep going - “

“but- “

“do not stop under any circumstances, got it?”

 She nods “your parents would be proud of you ya know?”

“tell me that after this works.”

 You back up into the chamber, squeezing your eyes shut as the doors close you in. 

 The whirring of the machine is oddly calming, you let your mind wander to Steve Rogers. You’ve seen the pictures of him before the transformation, a handsome man before, and just a little bigger handsome man after. You never doubted how your grandmother fell in love with him, throughout all the stories you’ve heard, you’ve fallen in love with the thought of him. 

 Your thoughts falter as you feel the pierce of all 8 needles over your body, a small yelp emitting from you at the harsh pinch.

That wasn’t so bad.  As the liquid pulses through you, the pain ignites. You take deep breathes, as the you hear the first click of the lever being moved. 

 Heat flares through every inch of you, an uncomfortable pressure swimming over your body. You don’t hear the other clicks, only feel the pressure increasing, your body screaming at the pain spreading through you. 

 You force yourself to distractions, you let images of your parent’s flash through your mind, followed with memories of them, along with your grandma, Darcy, dum dum and Coulson.  Even with the distractions you scream out, your body vibrating from all the energy being radiated into you, bones aching and muscles throbbing.

Please work. Please please please. You mentally repeat as the pain sweeps through your body. Until suddenly, it stops, the sound of the doors popping open startle you. 

 You squint your eyes at the blinding light that floods your vision. On wobbly legs you attempt to step out of the chamber, being caught by two arms as you lose your balance. You look up into Darcy’s watering eyes as she snakes her arm around your waist to help you stand. 

“Well? How do I look?” You weakly ask 

She hands you a baggy black V-neck “you’re huge!” She sees your face drop before beating out laughing “I’m -I’m just kidding! You’re fine! Your muscles a little more defined, and your tits are bigger - wait- “she leans and looks behind you” yep, your ass too. That’s not fair man.”

 “Don’t ever do that again. I almost had a heart attack!” You slip the shirt on before walking over the mirror on the wall.

 You really stayed the same size, your arm and leg muscles just look more defined, like Darcy said, and your eyes widen at your chest, then as you turn to check your ass. 

“Huh, didn’t know it was gonna to do that.” You mutter.  

 You return to Darcy’s side, typing furiously on your tablet,” let’s see how the inside looks.”

“how- oh gross! Is that even sanitary?!” Darcy exclaims as you prick yourself on a fingertip prick you pulled from the box beside the screen and wipe the blood on a clean dish.  You use you tablet to scan your blood, an image of your blood and DNA strands appearing on the screen. You grab a journal from your bag, turning to the page you last marked, an image of Steve Rogers blood and DNA that Howard kept behind Peggy’s back (although she actually knew.)

 You hold his images beside yours, the abnormalities perfectly matching his. 

“we did it.” You whisper, your volume increasing as you spin to Darcy “WE DID IT!! I can’t believe it!” You squeal 

She opens her mouth to speak, except the voice that sounds, doesn’t belong to her 

“Funny, neither can I.” 

Your tablet drops from your hands as the familiar eye patch accompanied by the glare of Nick Fury steps into sight 

Welp,  this is gonna be fun.

Legacy Tags:

@agentmarvel13 @1v-kayla @5sos-wdw @a-dancing-hufflepuff @avngrsinitiative @bradfordsgreekgod @captainam-erika-trash @carisi-sonny @chook007 @daniellajocelyn @ellieababy @futuremissstark @gummiwormsandonedirection @henrietteoaks @hermionie-is-my-queen @ineedmorefanfics @katykyll @littlephoenix-fire @lovemarvelousfics @maddie-laufeyson @moli1497 @paintballkid711 @pastelpurplexoox @sillydecoy @spodermanpete @tienna-laufeyson16  

[sansa-of-oldstones]

Jonsa Spring Challenge - Day 5: BABIES

I am so sorry this took so long. Work and sickness kicked my ass this week. I am finished with this story, though! Thank you to everyone who has read! I’ll post the next chapters after I post this.

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Also on ao3

@jonsa-creatives

-

The manual in front of her is completely useless. Useless. They have been in the nursery all afternoon, attempting to put furniture together. It is not going well.

“How important is a crib?” Jon let’s the parts he is struggling to assemble fall to the ground in frustration.

“I don’t know, Jon.” Sansa snaps. Pregnancy has made her extra snappy. Sitting on the floor is not comfortable, and she’s hungry. “Do you sleep on the floor, or on a bed?”

“On a bed.” He answers, sheepishly.

“I’m sorry.” She sighs, massaging her belly. The Braxton Hicks contractions had started around the time the morning sickness finally pissed off. Growing Baby Snow has not been easy. It’s been exhausting. She doesn’t know how her mother went through it five times, but seeing that sweet, little face on ultrasound makes it worth it. “I’m tired, and I’m sore, and I’m hungry, and he’s lying against my spine like it’s a chaise lounge.”

They found out months ago that they’re having a little boy, but they still haven’t been able to settle on a name.

“Let’s take a break.” Jon decides, standing up.

“From what?” Sansa stares up at him. “We haven’t gotten anything done.”

“I can call in reinforcements.” Jon shrugs. She doesn’t want to do that. She wants to have the nursery ready for the baby. She doesn’t want to ask her family for help.

“We’re terrible parents.” Sansa pouts. “We can’t even set up his nursery.”

“It takes a village...” He holds his hands out to help her off the floor.

“Our village would never let us live it down.” She takes his hands, and he pulls her up. A twinge rolls through her abdomen, and she squeezes his hands.

“That was a bad one.” Jon notices. “Are you timing them?”

“Trying to.” The supposedly fake contractions had grown more regular throughout the afternoon. They were lasting longer, and getting more intense. It’s part of why she was determined to finish the nursery. “They’re different.”

“A go to the hospital different?”

“I don’t know.” She honestly doesn’t. Ghost brushes against her leg, and rubs his face against her belly. She pats his head. The German Shepherd has always been protective of her, but it’s been bordering on ridiculous since she’s been pregnant. “Let’s see if walking helps.”

Ghost darts out of the room, and they hear his paws run down the stairs.

“You said w-a-l-k.”

“I didn’t mean a Ghost w-a-l-k.” Sansa laughs, and he runs back up the stairs, having heard his name. He stares at them from the doorway. Another pain hits her, and she braces herself against the changing table that Robb and Margaery had given them already put together. It and the rocking chair from her parents are the only functioning pieces of furniture in the room.

“If you have more that close together, we’re going.” Jon rubs her back lovingly.

“Okay.” She agrees, straightening out to leave the room. She feels a warm trickle down her leg, followed by another contraction. The trickle turns into gush, soaking her pants. She’s pretty sure her water just broke. “We should go.”

“Yeah, those were really close together.”

“I think my water broke.” She flourishes her hand over her pants.

“Oh.” He notices, trying to hide the panic in his voice. “When Baby Snow decides he wants to be born, he really decides he wants to be born.”

“Nothing is ready.” Sansa sighs, walking to their bedroom.

“Untrue.” Jon finds the hospital bag while she changes. “His little clothes are all clean, and organized by size. He has enough diapers to last him months. There’s a changing table to change him on, a rocking chair to rock him in, and a bassinet for him to sleep in when he comes home. Oh, and the baby bath. He also has a cute baby bath, with turtles on it.”

“I still don’t feel ready.” Sansa admits, sitting on the bed. Ghost rests his head on her lap. She wishes she could take their dog with them. He has a very calming presence.

“I don’t think we will.”

“He doesn’t have a name.”

“It’ll give us something to talk about while we’re waiting for him to be born.” Jon pats Ghost on the back, and shoulders the hospital bag.

“Good, I’m sure I’ll be bored to tears.” He helps her stand, and familiar nausea makes her groan. “Why do I feel like I did when I had morning sickness?”

“The books said that can happen.”

“I thought we had a deal?” She looks down at her belly. “No more making me throw up. If I throw up you are grounded.”

“It isn’t his fault.” He places a hand on her stomach. He feels the difference too. She can tell by his face. Her belly is lower, more toned. Baby Snow would be here very soon. “We should bug out. I don’t want to have to deliver my own son.”

“Bug out?” Sansa giggles, leaning on the bannister, following Jon closely down the stairs.

“You’re telling me quintessential grumpy veteran Ned Stark never used that phrase?”

“Maybe when the kitchen caught on fire.”

“I forgot about that.” Jon laughs, squeezing one of Ghost’s toys before tossing it onto his bed in the living room. This usual cue for Ghost to go to his bed fails. “Robb tried to make grilled cheese in a toaster.”

“And whose idea was that?” Sansa leads Ghost over to his bed, as he is refusing to leave her side.

“I said it was a terrible idea!” Jon laughs, grabbing his keys. “He’s the idiot that wanted to try it.”

“He put the toaster on the highest setting, because he wanted it to be crispy.” Sansa remembers, closing her eyes, and trying to not think about the pain and nausea. She rubs her belly, and realizes soon she wouldn’t have a reason to. She tells Baby Snow, “Don’t get any ideas.”

“It was crispy, alright.” Jon jokes, crouching down to pet Ghost. “Be good, boy. I’ll be home to check on you.”

“He’s excited to meet Baby Snow too.”

Fortunately, the ride to the hospital is short. Baby Snow is born within an hour of arriving to the labor and delivery floor. She had been in labor all day, and it’s a good thing they got to the hospital when they did.

He looks like Rickon when he was born, Sansa thinks, except his hair is dark like Jon’s. Jon dotes over them, and sends a picture to their family and friends.

“He has the nurses wrapped around his tiny finger already.” Jon tells his mother on the phone. “One said he’s the most beautiful baby she’s ever seen. Sans, Mom sends her love. They’ll be by in the morning.”

“We should probably name him before his grandparents do.” Sansa strokes Baby Snow’s cheek, and he opens his eyes.

“You know what would make the grandparents very happy.”

She knows what he is suggesting. Jon is suggesting going the traditional route, and naming Baby Snow after a grandparent. It’s nearly impossible to choose which one, though.

“I do know.” She gazes down at Baby Snow thoughtfully. “Is he a Ned or an Arthur?”

“Well, he’s already getting Snow from my Dad, technically.” Jon shrugs. “Maybe we should go with Ned.”

Her father has always preferred his nickname to his given name, and so do they.

“They’ve all been amazing.” Sansa reminds him. “If we’re going with Ned, Arthur should be his middle name. He’d have the same middle name as you. I like that.”

“I do too.” Jon pulls his chair closer to the bed, and kisses her forehead. She hands him little Ned, and enjoys seeing Jon bond with his newborn son. “It’s a good name. Happy birthday, Ned! I might slip, and still call you Baby Snow.”

“Me too.” Sansa smiles at them, leaning back against her pillow. She closes her eyes, and falls into a peaceful sleep feeling very lucky.

-

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, JEN! You’ve been accepted for the role of JUSTICE with the faceclaim of MARTIN SENSMEIER. Poor Viktor -- poor willing and reluctant Viktor, who could be soft if he chose to but instead chooses the opposite. There is a steeliness to him that I feel is unmatched; his dedication to Septimus is as breathtaking as it is painful to see knowing what I know now about his story, his background, how he has always knelt before standing at full height. Your writing felt like the perfect fit for the environment of the group, and Viktor, too, seems to nudge himself right into the portrait behind his king, exactly where he belongs. You have given him a humanity he must crush down in the wake of his duty, and I am eager to see it rise up, whether it be of his own volition or not.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OOC

NAME: Jen

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT+2 / I admit, I’m a bit slow with replies, but when I have a good grasp on them and aren’t overwhelmed with the amount of things I owe, I go through everything a lot faster. In that case, I usually post an average of 2-3 replies every couple of days and that’s the pace that I’ll be setting out to (hopefully) achieve here if I manage things well enough! Aside from that, I’m online quite often on discord and am always down to chat and plot.

ANYTHING ELSE?: Nope :’’)

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: Justice

NAME: Viktor Daegal / he/him

FACECLAIM: Martin Sensmeier, Trevante Rhodes

AGE: 34

DETAILS: What drew me towards Justice was, first of all, how different they are from most characters that I’ve written over time. I usually tend to gravitate towards characters that are a lot more volatile in nature; prideful, quick to anger, and most importantly, active -- in the sense that they push their own narrative forward rather than stand idly and wait for their story to propel them. Justice as a concept completely goes against those qualities that often draw my eye. They’re calm and firm and sure-footed, but while it may appear upon first glance that they’re purposeful (rigid as they are in their devotion to a king who, in everyone else’s eyes, is false and unfit), the truth is that it’s not really devotion that drives them forward, it’s doubt.

They would die for their king, would hunch their back beneath a thousand blades for him. They bend and they falter; bear the weight of their own doubt and the scorn of others -- all for him. Yet do they stand beside him when it truly matters? When they watch innocents get cut down for opposing his whims and wrestle with the urge to shove them out of the shadow of the blade. When they watch as he gorges himself on delicacies and vices while his people suffer and starve, and feel undeserving of the meals he places on their table.  That’s as far as Justice is ever able to bend their devotion before it breaks, and that, right there, is what made me fall in love with them.

To get to sink my hands into that delicious internal conflict, to get to stretch it and see how far it can go before it consumes them... the thought of it leaves me buzzing with excitement! And it’s not just that, it’s also the opportunity to witness the journey that Justice can go on and all the different ways that it could change them. Because while I see them as a character who will need to be challenged by the narrative time and time again before they can break out of the false conviction that they’re currently imprisoned by, I don’t think they’re passive by any means. In order for them to move towards any change, they’ll have to pave the way for themselves and I’m absolutely convinced that they can. But first they need to become aware that they even have that power in the first place; that they can do more than stand vigilant and wait for the collapse to come -- and I absolutely cannot wait to see it all unfold!

And don’t even get me started on the concept of Justice as a tarot card and how it represents the character so perfectly while also completely failing to capture their muddled, grey-toned conflict and how far it expands beyond the black-and-white image that they project. I could go off about that shit for years to come, but I won’t because I’m quite aware of how much I’ve rambled so far. All in all, Justice is a beautiful concept in my eyes (both as an idea explored within the character and as the character concept itself), with so much to capture and so much to expand upon, and I’m so happy that I get to have this opportunity to explore it all!

BACKGROUND:

TW: general abuse, domestic abuse, violence

King Septimus was not just his liege, but the thread that tied his past and present together. Viktor’s allegiance was one that his father had shared long before him, as a member of the city guard, and it was something that marred Viktor’s childhood like a scorch mark, gaping wider and burning hotter as the years passed until there were days where he could barely see through the blackness and the stench of it. Because his father was no guard; he was an enforcer. Hailed as Vadim the Vicious by his fellow guardsmen, he was Septimus’ swinging fist in the slums of Lowtown. Where higher-ranking guards held the ornamented swords that swung in the king’s name; Viktor’s father and his band of mongrels held the filthy daggers that swiped in the name of the king’s greed. Whether it was for the purpose of tax collection or under the guise of exercising military authority, there was not a single soul in Lowtown that hadn’t been terrorized by Vadim and his men in one way or another. Even the man’s own home hadn’t gone untouched by his cruelty -- and such was the blood-speckled, sorrow-written beginning of Viktor’s tale. It forced him to grow into a quiet, inexpressive child; tucked into the corner to eat in solitude or sent out into the street to play every time his father stumbled into their dingy nest and demanded that it be transformed into a castle for his own perusal and indulgence. It was through his mother’s diligent, desperate efforts that Viktor was never around his father long enough to be a target of his temper. Yet she ended up paying the price for that by occupying the hazardous role all by herself. Every time his father grew bored of drinking and whoring and beating into the commonfolk, he came home and took it all out on his mother who bore the burden, covered the bruises, and worked to make sure that her son’s eyes were never hollowed by the sight of her suffering. But then came a time where she could no longer hide it -- not that she ever had. At least not as completely as she had hoped. Viktor was a child who had grown to learn when to speak his mind and when to keep quiet; how to pick his battles and what demands he could afford to make when he did. That, in addition to his keen sense of perception and the many times he had snuck back into the house when he wasn’t supposed to, had led to him coming to know his father for what he truly was long before he could even see him as what he wasn’t. And as his bones thickened and his instincts sharpened with age, he decided on the first fight that he was ever going to lead. No longer was his mother able to send him astray or hold him off his father’s path; and no longer was Viktor willing to idle by as an observer of injustice. His father was away on guardsman duties more often than not; when he burdened them with his presence, Viktor learned to harness his strength and harshen his voice. And when the burden was lifted, he learned to use his wit and commodify his youth; gathering odd jobs, helping his mother any way he could, and supporting their modest household in all the ways his father didn’t. He grew into a steady, street-smart young man with a distinct brand of stone-hard temper, known in the area for fending off bullies and rogues, and for throwing his father on the gravel doorstep every other week. It was how they were able to get on by when his father finally did them a favor and landed himself in an early,  well-deserved grave. Viktor was well-liked within their small, struggling community and it made anyone who had any semblance of work to offer eager to bring the young Daegal man on board. But then Viktor grew, and so did his and his mother’s needs; and the haphazard jobs and errands that he picked up around Lowtown no longer provided for them. He needed a steady occupation. He was no good at academics, and no jobs that he apprenticed for gave him the sense of purpose that he had had when he was standing up against the bastardly likes of his father. So he decided to continue with what he had been doing ever since he taught himself how to swing a punch -- he would become all that his father was supposed to be, and better. After all, what better vengeance could he have against his father’s dastardly memory than to steal the man’s legacy and make it his own? Not only would he erase his name from Tyrholm’s history, but he would also steal everything that had corrupted his father and warp it into something of value, all while making his mother and his community proud in the process. Or at least, that was what Viktor expected. When he expressed his desire to enroll in the royal ranks, his mother was horrified and as a result, was in absolute rejection of it. She feared that this prospect would ruin him the same way it ruined the man she had once loved; begged and pleaded for him not to indulge this devil-spawned whim -- nearly broke down from the sheer agony brought upon by the thought of losing her dear son to the same poison that had eaten away at his father. She began to coax him towards the worship she upheld in the hopes that the Undying God might steer him towards reason, dragging him to altars and speaking to him of death and faith every time there was an opportunity for it. And Viktor, reluctant yet unwilling to push his mother or prod at her wounds any more than he already had, obliged her time and time again. Yet he never quite believed in the cause she was aspiring for him to follow. It was murky and intangible; upheld by the lofty pillars of faith and blind devotion, and steadied by no clear-cut foundation that he could grasp or believe in. What was the purpose afforded to the followers of the Undying, after all? What sort of great, all-encompassing goal did they believe they were achieving by embracing quietude and breathing empty words into the hearts of their palms? The inaction of it all, the fickleness and ambiguity of what it stood for, especially when compared to the fervent, burning cause that he truly strived for; it eluded Viktor like nothing else. Yet he still afforded it the time and attention that his mother coaxed out of him; perhaps because his desire to please and appease her was simply that powerful, or perhaps because part of him truly wished to see through the veil that shrouded his mother’s sight. He never knew for certain what had pushed him to seek it out alongside her for as long as he had -- and at one point, it was already too late for him to try. It was on a pale, dreary Winter’s day that it happened. Viktor had offered to help a local barkeep by carrying a barrel of ale over from his storage shack to his tavern, and it was on the way that he stumbled upon one of the king’s men. City guard or foot soldier, he was unsure, yet whatever ranking it was seemed to imbue the man with enough arrogance that he felt entitled to strike a woman for rejecting him. Viktor had witnessed a lifetime’s worth of cruelty from the so-called protectors of the city, yet that particular sight was one that had eluded him for several, blissfully forgetful years -- until that morning. In a fit of blind, ravenous rage, Viktor launched himself at the man, shoving him down against the damp grime of the street and pummeling into him until the man was choking on his own blood. And that was when Viktor remembered; the ever-looming cause that had faded in the wake of his search for the unreachable, the unforgotten sorrow that still swam in his mother’s eyes. Then his decision was made. He enrolled in the royal ranks. When he set out to leave to begin his training across the city, his mother didn’t bid him farewell at the door, and instead, remained locked away in her bedroom, far out of his reach. She didn’t speak to him after he informed her of his decision, and she never would again. To this day, Viktor believed that he had left his heart on that splintered doorstep, and there it would always remain, shriveled and eaten up by rot -- though whether the sickness of it spawned from the loss of his mother or from the path he had set out to take, was ever-unclear to him. He relished the purpose he found within the king’s army; he found comrades to fight alongside, had vast room to refine his education, skills and swordsmanship alike, and was greatly successful in citing his own history over the scratched-out script of his father’s. As the years passed, however, glory proved to have a rather short, minuscule half-life. With every fight and every kill; with every fresh battlefield and every newly-chucked corpse, Viktor found himself at a loss once again. He was older now, wiser and wearier in every way that should have counted yet didn’t, having witnessed enough atrocities and hardships that the memory of his father’s cruelty grew to lose its heinous sharp edge -- and Viktor had absolutely no idea how to harness that daunting realization. He reeled, dizzy and torn-up as endless questions and limitless choices struck a roiling hurricane around him -- until King Septimus threw the longed-for anchor at his feet. He trailed across a long line of prospects, came to a halt, and then chose him. It was truly as simple as that. And as Viktor kneeled before the king and felt the tip of a sword brush both his shoulders in a whispered declaration of purpose, he could swear that he felt his heart stir amidst the ruins of his home.

PLOT IDEAS:

THE BLACKNESS IS NOT MY BLOOD, THOUGH IT FLOWS THROUGH MY VEINS ; Blind devotion is all that Viktor projects when it comes to his solid servitude of King Septimus, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the image reflects the truth of things. I don’t believe that Viktor is in denial about Septimus’ aptitude as a ruler, or that he harbors any illusions when it comes to the kind of person that he is and how that, in turn, is reflected onto his dominion. Being at his side for as long as he has, occupying the position that he does, he knows Septimus better than most people he’s surrounded by. And so, when it comes to Viktor’s loyalty to him, it’s not a matter of him believing that Septimus is a worthy king -- because the reality is, he isn’t -- but a matter of his sense of purpose being irrevocably tied to the man. Viktor doesn’t like to leave himself open to whims and possibilities; instead, he prefers to have a specific outcome determined and kept in mind in order for him to work towards -- and so naturally, when weighed against all the different scenarios that could branch out and tug him along their winding paths if the throne was ever stolen, the notion of Septimus keeping his hold on it is infinitely more favorable. Down to its core, underneath his sworn oaths and his frail hopes for the future, Viktor’s devotion is a selfish one. But what if it comes to a point where that is no longer enough?

I imagine that his devotion has grown lighter and lighter when weighed against his guilt of co-signing the atrocities and injustices that have become the standard of the king’s rule. It’s getting more and more difficult for Viktor to find value in his support of Septimus, but I don’t think he’s in a place where he’s willing to take action just yet. He’ll need to be pushed a lot more and challenged in many, many ways before he begins to consider treachery as an actual choice that he could make. I can see it happening if he finds allegiance elsewhere, whether it be in a prospect for the throne, or another faction, or even simply in an individual (or a group of people) that he grows to love and care for. He’s a man of the people, so I also think it’s possible that he could be swayed towards that by a certain community if he ever comes to join one (It would be hella cool if that ended up being the society of the Undying God...... Judgement, I’m eyeing you). He’ll need to be pushed towards it, but considering that he’s already begun to waver and wrestle with a lot of doubt when considering his allegiance to the king, I feel like it’s inevitable that he’ll reach a crucial turning point when it comes to that.

I HEAR TIME FALL, DROP BY DROP ; The previous -- admittedly very long-winded, holy shit -- plot explores the culmination of Viktor’s doubt while it can run its course, but time waits for no one, and it’s all too possible that change might come to tackle Viktor before he’s even had a chance to anticipate its arrival. What if Septimus is assassinated before he could reach that stage in his development? What if he’s overthrown and replaced sooner than anyone expects? It would be very interesting to explore how Viktor would manage to recover from that -- because I expect that although his instinctive response will be to enforce order and work to stabilize the situation as much as his position allows, he’ll be very disillusioned once the dust settles. I can’t say for sure how things would play out from that point onward, since it would greatly depend on the connections he will have formed by the time that happens and whether or not he will have already come to terms with his wavering loyalty, along with the progression of the plot, of course. But regardless, I think it would be pretty interesting if the rug was ever pulled from under him like that, and I would, in fact, be very here for it.

THE SOIL IS RICHER AFTER THE BURNING ; This is somewhat of an extension of the previous two plots, and while I used those to explore the outcome of Viktor’s doubts simmering to the surface, this one will explore the build-up that will lead to that. Particularly when it comes to the actions Viktor could take if he chooses to act on his conflict rather than stand by and let it consume him. I see this as the potential first step that he would make as he moves towards all the different possibilities that I laid out above. And it would progress with Viktor taking advantage of his proximity to the king to attempt to make him see reason. I don’t think he and Septimus are close by any means, but I feel like as his personal bodyguard, Viktor has most likely seen him and stood by him in every single arena of his life. When he’s clashing with his advisors, when he’s rousing political complications with his drunken antics, and when he’s contemplating all of that in solitude. That might push Viktor to advise the king in all the humble ways that he can, and lend him an ear when everyone else is refusing to listen; perhaps even earn his trust if that is possible. And because Septimus is not a playable character, I see this taking effect when it comes to Viktor’s own development; as this would push him towards confronting his doubts and taking action in response to them -- and also when it comes to Viktor’s interactions with the characters who would have an interest in what’s at play. This could be what paves the way for someone at court to manipulate him as I’m going to mention in the following plot, or this could simply be something that brings him closer to (or draws him into conflict with) those who are also closely intertwined with Septimus.

WHERE THE HEAVENS ARE SHALLOW AS THE SEA ; Political shenanigans, because who doesn’t love that shit? Viktor doesn’t, of course, and if anything, does his best to avoid being embroiled in it, but in my eyes, this is one pit-trap that he has no hope of sidestepping. His close proximity to the king and his intimate knowledge of him is something that I think most revolters would find valuable. In that case, could they be successful? Could one of them truly offer Viktor something that he would desire strongly enough to sacrifice his honor for? On the opposite spectrum, if no one seeks to use his position, I imagine they’ll seek to use him, instead. If the right person managed to coax him towards entrusting them with his doubts, they would have all the room in the world to manipulate that to their advantage, and that is one potential plot that I’m honestly buzzing with excitement for. I feel like he puts distance between him and most people in the court precisely so he would guard against that, so it would be so heartbreakingly interesting if he ended up being betrayed in spite of that. I’d love to explore what sort of relationship could build up to that and how the aftermath would play out, and most importantly, I’d love to see how it impacts Viktor’s character and changes his perspective and future approach to relationships, whether it be political ones or all of them with no exception. All in all, I’m really looking forward to having Viktor stumble into the murky politics of the royal court, and I’d be absolutely thrilled to see the larger impact it would have, both on his development and on the plot as a whole!

CHARACTER DEATH: Yes, once he reaches a good enough stage in his development where his journey feels complete and his death could have a lot of impact, I’d be totally down to have him killed off!

WRITING SAMPLE

TW: murder, death

Tension simmered in the courtroom, stifling his breath and crowding into the collar of his armor in heated fumes. Yet even as the aura of oncoming calamity burned within him and all around him, Viktor remained anchored in its core; hand firmly planted on the hilt of his sword and gaze steady as it traced the crowd for any hint of threat.

King Septimus had wandered into the courtroom on a whim. As much as he disliked the area, he often took to roaming the castle in a drunken stupor whenever his boredom got the best of him, and in this case, he just so happened to have been passing by the courtroom while he stumbled around and conversed with Viktor’s shadow.

Viktor wasn’t sure if the noble had been tailing them efficiently enough that he hadn’t detected them, or if they had somehow anticipated that they would run into His Majesty here. Whatever instinct they followed, it had drawn them into a direct clash with the king; because the moment they ventured into the room, the noble had launched into a cutting tirade, reprimanding the king for his current state and eyeing him with brimming disgust -- all while shouting loudly enough to lure half the inhabitants of the castle into the room.

That was when Viktor caught the calculation in their act; they had to wait for the king to reach his throne before they could confront him with his unworthiness of it. It gave their words impact; ensured that anyone with any semblance of repute in this castle would be drawn to the conflict like fluttering moths to a fuming flame.

And indeed, it was clear that they had played their cards right. As Viktor surveyed the cluster of onlookers, he saw a tangle of wide eyes and parted lips, brows knotted in apprehension and mouths twisted with disdain. The reactions varied, yet no face remained bare, especially as time passed and the confrontation escalated.

Though towards what end, Viktor could only wonder.

He didn’t have to wait long to find the answer.

It came to him in a blur of crimson mingling with gold; a nauseating cyclone of color that dissipated as he swallowed and came to settle in a broken mound of dread deep in his gut.

Viktor’s gaze sharpened as it flicked over to King Septimus, taking in the enraged flush in his face and the forceful blanch of his fists.

The noble turned their nose up to the king, and then turned to address his subjects as they hovered behind them.

Viktor glanced down at the king’s hand once again, breath locking in his throat.

His index extended in a slow tremor, teeth gritting around a vicious, thoughtless order.

Kill them.

Before he could even raise his hand in a furious gesture, because he could even turn his glaring gaze towards Viktor and holler the words at him, Viktor was stepping forward and stabbing his dagger into the noble’s back.

Treacherous vermin aren’t worth the sword, King Septimus had sneered the first time he had ordered him to kill a rebel; he had been displeased with Viktor for decapitating them. Next time, they fall on your dagger.

And fall they did, with a choked-up gasp and a fierce clutch at their chest.

Viktor held them as they sank to the floor, with a gentleness that went unnoticed by all.

Everyone was too busy searing him and the king with the same brand of scorn to notice the way he inconspicuously held on to the noble’s hand, wordlessly sending a prayer to the Undying God in their name.

Force of habit, he would tell himself each time.

He wished that it ever made any difference.

EXTRAS

None.

[periwinkquills]

Catalyst 1

    The gears turned and solid pathways flipped positions as he experimentally turned on the switch after a long day of tinkering around with the décor of the gym. It had become quite a habit of doing so, so much that the power outages within the city were of no surprise to both its residents, and the affected trainers within the gym. A platform here, a change of paths there; it was pretty much the unthinkable made possible.

    Volkner stared with grim blue eyes, unfazed by his work. Not like a trainer worthy of his badge would waltz in, especially at this hour. He sighed as the trainers exited the gym in pairs. Due to the lack of trainers willing to challenge him, the gym wasn’t open all days. Despite this, the many times Volkner had toyed with the platforms out of boredom prompted the city to turn towards more solar energy collecting.

    After the remaining trainers exited, followed by the gym guide, the young gym leader furrowed his brows at the emptiness of the first room of the gym. That was how he felt his passion for battling, and it caused him to sigh in disappointment. It felt like ages since he had used Electivire in battle, since the very few who reached him had barely taken out the weakest on his team. Where is that spark? He often asked himself this, whether he’d be renovating, or simply standing, nonchalant eyes staring at the door frame, awaiting the trainer to finally restore his faith, and to have him remember what is was to hold the title of Gym Leader.

    With a flick of a few handles towards the adjacent wall, he shut down all the energy, the whole gym dimming into darkness. Footsteps echoed as he followed the blur of light shining from the exit.

    He stepped out into nothing but fresh sea breeze, and the faint echoes of Wingull chirping along the coastline. Turning back momentarily, he locked the double doors of the gym, signaling any incoming trainers that it would be closed for a few days. There was a bit of hesitance as he left the keys glued onto the keyhole. What would he do tomorrow? How would he distract himself?

    The blond figured that he might as well tackle those questions when he got there. Pulling the keys out, he slipped them into his pocket, and began to walk down the smooth pavement. Nothing but the crisp air brushed at his cheeks, the waves ringing within the distance as he dully took each step towards the tall lighthouse within the other side of the city. The most relaxing part of the day was this walk that he took, where he spent a good amount of time in the lighthouse simply observing the scenery, watching water Pokémon play about in the waters, and taking in how beautiful his hometown was.

    Only two people had passed him as he walked the rather lonely roads, giving the darkness that had already overshadowed the sunset. Everyone had rushed into their homes for the night. This was normal, he noted, as the city was rather quiet during the evening in comparison to the busy daytime, booming with business.

    At least everyone else in the city was proud of their work.

    Volkner shook his head from the ominous thoughts, sighing. At least his spot up in the lighthouse would bring him piece of mind.

    The closer the building grew, the more his troubles faded. A good hour or two simply staring through the glass would probably make him forget about this whole ordeal – at least until he got home… 

    Walking past the edge of the building, he made a sharp turn, hands in his pockets and his head tilted down. He could feel hints of a small headache beginning to drill his head. Volkner’s hands pulled out, pressing his index fingers to his temples.

    He didn’t even notice the rushed footsteps. Being too drawn into easing himself of his oncoming headache, the gym leader failed to react. Taking him by complete surprise, Volkner felt a sudden crash of weight against his chest, causing a grunt to rip out of his mouth, and his feet to stumble. His ears caught a gasp, and his eyes filled with the view of the entrance to the lighthouse ahead, and ends of long, chestnut colored strands.

    Both would have fallen if it wasn’t for Volkner’s quick reflexes. He managed to step back, holding onto the stranger before they could fall flat onto the pavement. “Hey,” he started out, a bit of annoyance dripping, “watch where you’re headed, hm?”

    Blue eyes met wide browns – scared browns.

    Ripping herself off his hold, the stranger stepped back, evident horror etched upon her pretty face. Her long, brown hair – akin to her eyes – gracefully fluttered with the sea breeze. Her hands shyly clutched the auburn colored bow neatly resting against her chest, making no effort to mask the intimidation in her eyes and body language.

    He now felt a tiny speck of guilt.

    “I’m, uh…so s-sorry…! I didn’t see you!” She bent herself in front, those long streaks of hair now curtaining both sides of her face. “I hope I didn’t hurt you!” She stood up straight, nervously fidgeting with her bow.

    “You didn’t,” he reassured, blinking. This girl, out here so late? He raised an eyebrow as she did a double take between him and the lighthouse. “Are you hurt? You seemed to be in a rush.”

    She relaxed – visibly. He observed the slump of her shoulders, and the hold she had on her bow, hands now at her sides. “Um... I’m okay. I just wanted to get back to my place…”

    He nodded in agreement – it was much too late, and usually the lighthouse was a ­him-only thing. “I see… Well, take care of yourself on your way home.”

    She didn’t look like the type to battle intensively. In fact, it looked like she didn’t even own any Pokémon. If she did, he thought she would’ve own a Buneary or a Pichu – something that seemed to fit with her shy, reserved portrayal. It was a shame, really. A part of him, for a single moment, expected her to have good Pokémon to give him that spark. He shook his head at his thoughts.

    Meekly, the woman nodded. “I will… Er…thank you…”

    Volkner didn’t say anything, so she assumed that it was her cue to continue on walking. He heard her footsteps – fast and rushed, and he turned his head, watching her silhouette fade within the darkness of the street, only barely catching a glimpse of her through the street lamps that had flickered.

    He continued to walk slowly, pushing past the entrance of the lighthouse and entering through the double doors of the elevator.

    Ding! After reaching the top floor, the doors opened, and the gym leader cautiously walked out, hands in his pockets. As expected, there was nobody on board with him.

    The elevator doors closed behind him. He sighed again, and took his time to approach the long, glass window that gave him a pretty good view of Sunyshore. He was greeted with the waves of the coast, the locked gym, a few stands with lights turned on, and the large chunk of sand in front of the waves. It was a rather therapeutic sight. The moonlight shone against the current, Pokémon flew about and swam, and the occasional move of a few people walking down the visible pathways within the city. His home was beautiful. So beautiful; it was almost difficult to leave it and go and challenge the league.

    He had thought about joining the league, but there were hardly any trainers to challenge at that level. He had the Pokémon for it, but it didn’t seem right.

    Lazily, Volkner peered through the high-definition binoculars, taking in a breathless sight of Sunyshore. He was able to see the beach better down below due to the lampposts the city had put in place for evening markets and those that had business during the weekends, when the beaches were more lively. There were some water-types, some flying-types, and…a person…?

    The gym leader squinted his eyes as he adjusted the zoom within the binoculars to get a closer look. It was late, and there were no vendors out… Was this person looking for the vendors?

    Despite him zooming, all he managed to catch was a curtain of brown hair that was barely visible with the light that was provided. The darkness didn’t let him have a clear view, but from what he noticed, the person seemed to be facing the ocean, as still as a statue. “…”

    Upon turning their body and walking away from the water, the person was much more visible, and Volkner noticed the familiar red bow…

    It was the woman he had crashed into earlier.

    “Heading home…” he muttered to himself, watching her hug her arms as she maneuvered along the soft sand towards the city. “Maybe she’s a vendor.”

    She disappeared from his view. Leaning back, his back hit the wall of the center structure that held the elevator and blinked. She was odd. And a liar, he also noted. Volkner still recalled the way her brown eyes stared at him, the way she hid herself from him. This caused him to frown slightly – he should be one to be stared at with pride and confidence as facing a league member – and the strongest one. He wasn’t used to cowardice. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t bring the sparks back. The thought burned them.

    Suddenly, he didn’t want to be at the lighthouse anymore.

    Ding! He entered the elevator, leaving the one place he truly felt at home.

**

notes: aww yea im back and this ones gonna be more than a one shot hehe... i havent published any multi chap things in a long time (bc 1: i never finish them 2: im highkey insecure abt my writing so this is kinda going out of my comfort zone aha....) but! ive been so much into these two lately they hurt me. bear w me one this, i hope?? to keep it short pft. 

this fic is for my self indulgence, and a very late birthday/friendship anniversary gift for @starrydownpour. a long time ago i jokingly said id write you some alexandrian, and here it is! thank u for being there for me and canned trio u are amazing and i love u ok now pls enjoy what i have in store!