#and the serf can do nothing but pray

[fffiii]

The soul calls to your desires

[hero-israel]

I don’t want annexation of the West Bank for the reasons you said and others, but how can you say doing so is not in accordance to Zionism? One of its points, on multiple parts of the spectrum, is that Jews should live (and the state of Israel should be in) all parts of Jewish ancestral land, which includes the West Bank, as many settlers point out. I think it’s more trouble than it’s worth, both disrupting the people living there and giving too much fuel to Israeli expansionism, but I don’t think we can say it’s not Zionist. Also, the way you described the Abraham Accords sounds a bit like Darth Vader’s “I have altered the deal. Pray I do not alter any further.” Not really the modus operandi I’d like to take, but that’s obviously a gross simplification. And a strenuous peace with occasional conflicts is leagues better than multinational genocidal warfare.

Annexing the WB is anti-Zionist because it will either immediately add 3 million former Palestinians to the Israeli population or it will add 3 million "nobodies" as powerless serfs while the whole world watches in broad daylight. The former would be a death spiral for Jewish demographic and political sovereignty, rapidly turning the country into Lebanon; the latter really would be apartheid and I think there would be severe consequences, many of them imposed by disgusted Israelis themselves. Both steps are totally unnecessary, nothing at all has changed on the ground in decades.

And yes, the beauty of the Abraham Accords was that the whole world agreed the status quo is acceptable. Israel got immense diplomatic and financial gains in exchange for no concessions at all. Any Israeli politician throwing away a platinum-coated victory like that is a greater threat to the country than Islamic Jihad.

[jdgo51]

It’s Just Me and Jesus

Today's inspiration comes from:

Grit Don't Quit

by Bianca Juarez Olthoff

"In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. — Paul the Apostle, Romans 8:37"

"If you don’t necessarily feel like a conquering warrior today, it’s okay! You know what I discovered?

When we are around people who feel like conquerors, it strengthens our faith because faith is contagious. So grab a comfy seat, and let’s remind ourselves of what we are called to.

Some people are called into politics. Some people are called into the home. Others are called into ministry or medicine. Me? I’m called to bring freedom. Plain and simple, I was made to set the captives free through the transforming Word of God. This isn’t a glorious calling or job that promises a lucrative future. Whether working in an anti–human trafficking organization, ministering in prisons, or preaching the gospel in churches, my calling is clear: bring freedom in Jesus’ name.

But the results sometimes make me question my calling. When no one responds to a gospel message, am I doing what I’m supposed to do? When I pray for someone and their situation remains the same, did I really hear God’s voice lead me on this path? When I preach a studied and passionate word but no one seems to receive it, did I make a mistake choosing this calling?

As children of the Most High King, our identity is clear. But sometimes our callings aren’t. Your mission might feel cloudy. Maybe your life has shifted. Maybe you are finding new passion for your calling.

No matter what confusion or lack of clarity you may be facing, don’t stop forging ahead. Put one foot in front of the other, and repeat this daily.

There will be opposition. In this life, there will be moments when you want to quit, cower, and call it a day. You aren’t alone. When Paul knew the Romans were dealing with similar issues, he encouraged them in the same way I’m encouraging you. Whether the opposition is physical, spiritual, financial, emotional, or relational, we are more than conquerors.

But note this:

a conqueror will never win if a conqueror never fights. We have to be willing to get back up and fight our next fight, to wage war on the lies of the Enemy, and to step into our callings like we are stepping foot into our promised land.

No matter what confusion or lack of clarity you may be facing, don’t stop forging ahead.

More Than Conquerors

Now, if you are familiar with the Bible, you might know Romans is a no-nonsense book in which Paul lays out theology and Christology with such urgency you’d think he was late for a date. It’s deep. It’s profound. It’s applicable. And sometimes it’s hard to understand. But sandwiched in the middle of the letter is a lovely, straightforward section that reminds us of our identity as followers of Jesus.

In Romans 8, Paul told us that there is no condemnation in Christ Jesus (v. 1). We have been set free from the law. Hallelujah! Our minds have peace because of the Spirit of God. We are no longer slaves and serfs, but we are children and coheirs of the Most High God. Our present sufferings are nothing in comparison to the future that awaits us. And we know that all things work together for good for those who love Him (v. 28).

Paul — like a lawyer — laid out an airtight case to make sure we know that there is nothing that can come against us. Look at the progression Paul made in Romans 8:

In verse 31, we see that opposition cannot separate us from God.

In verse 33, we see that accusations (from someone who comes against us) cannot separate us from God.

In verse 34, we see that condemnation (the belief that God is against us) cannot separate us from God.

In verse 35, we see that no one can cause separation.

Now that we have that context, consider verse 37 again: “In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.” This verse really sounds good in an Instagram post, crocheted on a pillow, or painted on a mug. But let’s not miss out on the true power in what Paul was teaching.

Paul was writing to the Roman church, which was not only facing persecution and prosecution but was also oppressed in every way. In chapter 8, Paul reminded them — and us — of the power we possess as the people of God. We will need to be resilient; we will need grit; we will need to cultivate perseverance for this life. But we aren’t doing this in our own strength. The power of the Spirit of God will give us what we need.

Romans 8:37 isn’t a statement of probability or possibility. It’s a statement of reality. How do I know this? Because in my own struggle to push past nerves, negative self-talk, and insecurity, the power of the Spirit of God has allowed me to pour myself out like a drink offering. Even in the midst of my inadequacies and insecurities, the gospel has gone ahead of me. I’ve repeatedly quoted the words of Paul in my mind: I am more than a conqueror. I am more than a conqueror. I am more than a conqueror.

Sometimes when I’m preaching this powerful truth at a conference or in a church, I feel a wave of insecurity wash over me. Out of nowhere, the nerves are back and I’m feeling dizzy. The dewy glow on my face is definitely now just sweat. I’m not preaching for the room — I’m preaching for myself.

The literal translation of Paul’s phrase “more than conquerors” is “to go beyond a concise victory.” The Greek word for this expression is hypernikaō (pronounced hoop-er-nik-AH-o).1 By using the prefix hyper-, Paul was basically saying, “I’m trying to say victory, but victory isn’t big enough, so what I really mean is that the love of God gives us glorious hyper victory.”

There wasn’t one Greek word to describe this power and victorious mindset, so Paul took two words and brought them together to attempt to describe “more than a conqueror.” God’s love and grace has empowered us to be hyperconquerors."

Excerpted with permission from Grit Don’t Quit by Bianca Juárez Olthoff, copyright Bianca Juárez Olthoff.

[versin-surfin-moved]

Starters taken from my Matthew Playlist (6/7)

Taken from my Matthew spotify playlist (which can be found here). You don’t have to know any of the songs to use the starter, don’t worry!

*Please note that the presence of certain artists on this or any of my playlist is not an endorsement of the artists as people or agree with every action they do. There are some artists I know nothing about. The reason any songs are on here are because I like them and think they fit the character.*

Feel free to change pronouns as needed!

Where the Devil Don’t Go- Elle King

“Cast me down where the devil don't go”

“Good lord turned his back on me”

“Lucifer gonna set me free”

“It's a mean world that I've known”

“Never got no good doing what I'm told”

“Bruised my knees getting down to pray”

“Won't repent 'til my judgement day”

Bird Song- Florence + The Machine

“Well I didn't tell anyone”

“He sang about what I'd become”

“I was afraid all the neighbours would hear”

“I invited him in, just to reason with him”

“I promised I wouldn’t do it again”

“That's the last song you'll ever sing”

“But I couldn’t scream”

“The song was coming from my mouth”

Goodbye- Bo Burnham

“So long. Goodbye.”

“I'll see you when I see you”

“Do I really have to finish?”

“Did I say that right?”

“So this is how it ends”

“No, that can't be right”

“I wanna hear you tell a joke when no one's laughing in the background”

“Am I going crazy?”

“Am I right back where I started (number) years ago?”

“Wanna guess the ending?”

“I'll panic”

“Call me up and tell me a joke”

“You're really joking at a time like this?”

“Well, well, look who's inside again”

The Consequence of Imagination is Fear- Junie & TheHutFriends

“The consequence of imagination's fear”

“Now I'm running to forget”

“I met a man downtown the other day”

“The moral always goes ‘Don't trust the wolf in woolen clothes’”

“I hear from the witches”

“To purge yourself of fear, relax your mind”

“Where my mind leads, the feeling grows”

The Mind Electric- Miracle Musical

“Think of these thoughts as limitless light”

“How do you plead?”

“We'll need your testimony on the stand”

“My brain has claimed its glory over me”

“Thy genius saves a thirst for trouble”

“Here in my kingdom I am your Lord”

“I order you to cower and pray”

“I beg of thee, have mercy on me”

“See how the serfs work the ground”

“They give it all they got”

“Someone help me understand what's going on inside my mind”

“I can’t tell if I’m not me”

“Calming if you look at it right”

Oh Ana- Mother Mother

“I'll be God today”

“I'll play God today”

“Oh (name), I'll be with you still”

“You are the angel that I couldn't kill”

“I'll fake God today”

“We'll laugh away”

Hell’s Bells- Butch Walker

“What you trying to sell?”

“Put it on the table before they take us to jail”

“You never saw it coming”

“Your pretty white shirt is red!”

“Did you not come here looking for a fight?”

“They say brown liquor make you sleep all right”

“Well who's that calling? Is that your little darling?”

“He found you out”

“Word got around that you gave us up without a sound”

The Devil Had a Hold of Me- Gillian Welch

“I was just a girl of two”

“The devil had a hold of me”

“He trembled in his hand and voice”

“I dreamed last night that my time was done”

“There are those who'll laugh and not believe“

[2lim3rz]

uwu horus x reader? Plssss

@ horuslupercal

Oh boy I love me some Horus content

Also apologies for this being so late!! I also just finished False Gods so.. angst time!

A Lover Long Gone [HORUS X READER] [40K FANFIC]

He was not Horus.

Well, correction, he was not your Horus. The man that stood in the doorway, tall and intimidating was no longer the man you adored. The small smile and very subtle dimple lost its boyish charm, and instead sent writhing snakes into your soul. His shining intelligent eyes, so full of life and vigor, were cold and cunningly calculating. He spoke with a ferocity not born of dedication and loyalty, but of subterfuge and dishonesty.

In short, not your Horus Lupercal. You thought it was all in your head in the following days of Davin. You were just as elated as the rest of the expedition fleet when he arose from his.. whatever it was he did in the lodge. You waited all those days for him, as close as the members of the Mournival allowed.

And then the fight for the Auretian Technocracy began. Days turned to weeks which turned to months. You could see Horus changing more and more. Perhaps what was worse was that he no longer visited you, and any attempts you made to visit him were scant and few between. Always playing it off as that he was busy.

Bullshit. You weren't having it. It was a week after Ignace Karkasy's 'suicide' and after Horus's own Remembrancer mysteriously died. You had effectively went to the Council room and waited. Waiting, waiting, and waiting more until he walked in.

"Ah, I thought I kept this room locked," the way he spoke your name filled you with unease as you stood from his chair. It was comfortable.. once upon a time perhaps. A time when you and him held good memories and good faiths.

"You never changed the codes." you began, then cut to the point "What's going on, Horus?" he raised an eyebrow, and you felt your heart flutter. Some inane part of you hoping.. praying that he would explain this as some big farce. "Nothing you need to worry on. Now leave, there's to be a meeting in half an hour."

You didn't move. Your hopes dashed away at his disapproving look. At how he stepped towards you. "You trust me, right, sunshine?" the nickname made you feel sick. The tone patronizing. "I.." you almost said you did "How can I? How can I when not once in nearly a year, you've come to see me! How can I when all you've been doing is.. creeping around the ship! What happened to you, Lupercal? What happened to us?!"

You threw your hands into the air. Not many had the courage to yell at a Primarch, nevermind the Warmaster. Horus's disapproving look disappeared, leaving nothing. No spark in his eyes, no soul or fire. A dead look from a dead man. "You thought we were together?" if the dead look was a broken glass, then his words were the shards shoved into your flesh as he stepped forward. "I have news for you, we're not and never have been. You were nothing than a side hobby. A tool for some idle entertainment." his hand chopped through the air as though to emphasize.

You took a step back, horror and revulsion marring your own face. This wasn't your Horus. He never would have said these things to you and yet.. was... was that all you were to him? Were you just an idle fling? Were there others? Of course there were others before you, humans had such short lives but.. Was it a lie? What was truth? What was fiction?

The newsletters. Maybe it wasn't slanderous lies, but truth. Enough of it seemed to be, especially with what you had witnessed.. Tears stung your eyes as you looked up to the Primarch, some scant puzzle pieces putting themselves together. "Fine." faint surprise crossed his features from how easily you gave in as you took a shuddered breath and began to walk past the man "Fine. You stay like this. You can.. can have fun sleeping on a cold bed. You can have fun with.. whatever it is you're doing. I'm done with this."

It was the Primarch's turn to do a double-take, even if he was more adept in covering it up. "What do you mean?" he asked, but you heard the order. Balling your fists to hide your shaking hands, you glanced behind you, back to him. "Me and my ship are leaving. You can take all my military personal and whatever resources necessary. You can continue on whatever this campaign is becoming, but it's clear all you need by your side is your men and your legion, Warmaster Lupercal."

Your words were iced over, akin to a whip lashing out at him. If there ever was humanity in his soul, it was long gone. "You are not. You joined this fleet and you will-" "You just said I was a tool! That we are nothing! None of those nights and hours together meant nothing to you!" all at once, your words exploded from you. How could he? How could he insult you so lowly and then change his mind?! "I did not dismiss you!" the Primarch roared, sending you to stumble away.

You felt a sob in your chest as a serf sheepishly opened the door. Announcing that the time for Horus's meeting was coming close. Standing himself straight, Horus's eyes were on you as he spoke. "Dismissed, but if I see your ship divert off-course by even one kilometer, you will be apprehended."

With tears in your eyes, you turned away and stormed out. Fine. Your ship couldn't leave, but he didn't say anything about someone else's.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Expectation (The Great oneshot)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! reader

Word count: 1699 words

Warnings: mentions of sex and pregnancy, swearing, an arranged marriage, mentions of food.

From @foxinaforestofstars request:   So... I have a Grigor request, if you don't mind. Grigor and reader are married. It was an arranged marriage, but they really do love each other. One day reader realizes that she hasn't had her period in two months and after confirming it (as much as possible in that time) she tells Grigor and they're both overjoyed. Thanks in advance!

A/N: You’re welcome! I hope you like it! I love writing for The Great!

“Y/N, come back to bed, darling,” you husband mewled out to you.

You had sat up and placed your feet on the floor. Turning to look at him behind you, he was laying himself on his side smiling up at you. He was a beautiful man and sometimes looked like a Greek God in the morning sunlight, you admitted to yourself. It made you forget the sour churning in your stomach you have had for a few days. The churning that concerned you. 

Feeling the bed shift with his weight. You smiled under the feeling of him moving aside the collar of your nightdress to kiss your shoulder.

“It’s already daytime…” you answered, “the birds have been chirping forever,” you said.

“Let them chirp all they want. They aren’t in here with a pretty lady in their beds.”

Obliging, you gently leaned back and let him cuddle you for just a bit more. Crawling partly on top of him, you let your head rest against his heart. It was beating slowly. His skin felt hot against your cheek and the nightgown you were wearing contrasted with his skin.

“I was remembering…the day you arrived here. When we married…” Grigor recalled, his eyes looking up at the red bed post.

Part of you let out a little laugh of embarrassment.

“Oh god…” you blurted. “Which one? When I tripped when I got out the first carriage?”

“No, no…I remember how…how scared you seemed…” he recalled, his voice low, scratchy, and sleepy.

“I was scared. Remember-I forgot my own wedding vows, Grigor! Archie had to prompt them to me twice!”

“But…I was just as scared too.” he continued.

“I…I just didn’t know who you were. How wonderful you were,” he complimented. 

Your cheeks grew red. Your head shot up and he looked down to see you. 

You did recall that wedding. Your legs were shaking beneath your gown as you walked down to the dark chapel.  

When the wedding night arrived you nearly cried as you were changed out of your gown into your nightdress and heard his knock. As everyone else excused themselves to give the betrothed couple privacy, you thought your heart would knock itself out of your ribs. Could you just lie down, lift your skirt, open your legs, and pray for it to be over soon?

To your shock, Grigor asked for nothing of you. You wound up drinking a little vodka and talking. He offered to sleep on the chair or in the other room until you were comfortable with him. He spent his wedding night curled up on a chair in front of the fire.

This soon became longer hours of talking and learning more about each other. He had become your friend in a way. Then he only held your hand and began kissing you when you let him. As you talked with your new husband more and more, you began to know him, dance with him, and let him kiss you more often, then to sleep beside you in his bed, and then to make love to you to consummate the marriage.

 And you found you enjoyed it. A lot. And a chance hardly passed for both of you to jump into each other’s arms and be at it like rabbits.

The birds were quieter. You pulled yourself up to look at his face.

“I…I don’t regret marrying you…” you confessed. “In fact, I think I…I….”There was another word right on your lips, but you could hardly think. A pressing matter was to your mind. Several pressing matters. You wanted to say it. And you wanted him to say it too so badly. Someone had to say it. It was right on the tip of your tongue when a serf burst in bringing breakfast on a tray.

“I don’t regret it at all…” Grigor said, pressing a kiss to your forehead appropriate enough as they opened some curtains for sunlight placed silverware on the tray.

Crawling out of bed together, your nose crinkled at the smell of toasted bread, but the smell of the eggs was almost overwhelming. You went to the desk to check your journal to check for today’s date. Some of the ladies were amazed and poked fun at you for being literate. You didn’t care too much. You liked to sometimes track and write things in quieter moments.

August the twenty-second was today’s date.

Glancing back, Grigor was occupied more with rolling up his stockings before having poached eggs, bread, and chopped melons for breakfast.

“Would you like anything?” he asked.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” you answered, confident he was far enough from you to peek. You pulled back a few pages to see your own notes.

June 15th: began bleeding today…

The smell of the new pages began to drift in your nose, replacing the strong egg smell as you checked each day of the next month where you wrote. There was no day to mark when you bled in July.

It had been two months.

You were supposed to bleed around August the 15th. And there was nothing.

Sitting down, you ate a bit of bread and a few bites of melon. You had to hurry. A matter like this couldn’t wait.

“I…I have to meet Lady Svenska for tea, I will see you later, my dear,” you excused.

The words slipped out so causally, if not fast. Grigor blinked and then smiled.

“Oh. Goodbye Y/N.”

He took your hand and kissed it in farewell before you dressed and scurried out. Walking down the wooden halls, you kept your eyes fixed to the end of it until a butterfly at the end of it got your attention.

There was a tall, auburn colored wig and a few more butterflies accompanying the first one.

“Oh, Madame Dymov!” she greeted.

“Oh-er-Elizabeth! What are you doing?” you asked.

“On my way to see the Empress!” she chirruped dreamily with a proud smile.

You noticed a bundle of wheat in her arms.

“With wheat? Are you going to make bread?” you teased lightly.

“Oh no- it’s annual! She must urinate on the wheat and if it blooms she’s expecting an heir!” she explained.

Your stomach dropped at the words. You were going to be sick, you really felt it. You eyed the bundles, tempting as they looked. Maybe you could ask for one. But…you couldn’t. Especially out in public where anyone could see, and a rumor could spread easily.  Who knew how Grigor would react? And, you had to visit someone who could without fail tell you yes or no.

“Why, what is it, Y/N? You look flushed!” she wondered.

“Nothing, I uh- I was only thinking that-uh- the wheat it reminded…r-r-reminded me of my duty towards my husband. You know.” You improvised, folding your hands in front of you meekly.

“Well, if you have any problem performing, just lie back and think of Russia. Find some erotica. It’s the best for stimulation. I have plenty of art in my chambers that may inspire you to try doing a position like a table while he…”

“Have to be somewhere, have to hurry! Goodbye Lady Elizabeth!” you interrupt, walking away to the green corridor.

Heart beating harder than ever, you reached the door to the physician’s office and knocked.

The words were still ringing in your ears along with the mixing of your stomach as you walked out. Everything went dizzy as you stood there, still processing the words from the court physician.

“Congratulations, Madame Dymov!”

First things first. There was one person who needed to know. Soon.

Hurrying back to the apartment, you rang for a servant. You asked where your husband was and as soon as he was free to come back.

Minutes ticked by slow as honey. You paced before the fire, turning by the large golden bathtub, and staring outside at the gardens. You looked down at your stomach in your dress. It seemed perfectly normal. No sign of anything. But that meant that everything was normal. Half an hour stretched by agony came and went.

Finally, the door opened and Grigor walked through. His eyes were bright from movement. He wore a looser white shirt-probably playing tennis against the wall with the emperor again.

“Hello there, Y/N…you’ve summoned me? Is something wrong?” he asked worriedly.

You paused, frozen. The words half in your mouth. Staying there, almost choking to get out.

“Grigor I…I…”

Your throat knotted up. He walked closer.

“You’re…you’re not sick with the pox or anything, are you? I don’t see any marks…”

“Grigor I’m pregnant,” you announced flatly.

He turned white and then pink.

“Y/N…is this…is this a prank?” he questioned, head shaking but his voice getting higher in pitch.

“I’ve not bled for two months. It’s no prank, I just got back from the court doctor. You can talk to him,” you confirmed, bobbing your head.

His jaw dropped low and he took your hands.

“We’re going to be parents…” you told him in disbelief.

“Y/N…”

He took your face in his hands. And then he began to kiss you passionately and you kissed back, your hands wandering to his back. Looking up, you saw a few tears in his eyes and his smile had a slight crinkle to his face. Once he let go, you began smiling back.

“I could pick you up…would that be…” he wondered.

“As long as you’re gentle. It won’t hurt the little one, yes.”

He picked you up and turned you around in an embrace. Tears began to well up and fall once you landed and you started to sniffle, holding onto each other. He placed a careful hand on your stomach. It was quiet for a moment.

He looked up, grinning ear to ear.

“Y/N…I’ve known this for a bit but…as mad as it is, even though we’ve been married for a long time, but I… I…I think I love you…”

There it was. The words you wanted so badly this morning. The words you wanted for a while. The words that would make having this child easier. You kissed him again.

“I…I think love you too.”

Taglist: @foxinaforestofstars @queenlover05​ @sgt-stardustkillerqueen​ @itsametaphorgwil​  @grigorlee​  @vintage-and-hypnotic​ @joeneslee​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @bens-jawline​ @themarchoftherainbowqueen​ @isitstraightvodka​ @silverrose02

@deck-heart​ @iwritefanficnotprophecies​ @simonedk​ @panagiasikelia​ @fueled-by-novocaine​ @xviiarez​ @raerae27​ @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night​

[imthedoctorlove]

All I'll Ever Need - Count Orlo x Reader.

Hey everyone! Hope you're all doing well. This is a part 2 to The Virgin and the Violinist. A huge thank you to @wonders-of-the-multiverse for inspiring me with angst. 😁 I hope you enjoy it.

Warnings - angst, mentions of injuries.

You didn't know how it happened. The violin was in your hands then in the Emperor's the next. Your heart was in your throat as you watched him manhandle your precious instrument and winced every time he dragged the bow across the strings. It sounded as if it were crying out for you. 

"Sire! Please, you are holding it wrong." 

The whole court fell in silence as they eagerly watched what would unfold. 

"Oh, really? Shit. No wonder it sounds fucking awful. You will teach me." 

The whole court seemed to mirror how you felt as they gasped at the Emperor's demand. It was not something you ever thought you would hear. 

"Of course, sire. It would be my honour." You tried to keep your voice as you bowed to him. Your hands were clammy as you dug them into your dress to try and stop them for shaking. 

"Right. That's settled then. You lot," he gestured to the court, "fuck off." 

The men and women filed out the room with grumbles and jibes sent your way in hushed tones. It was only when the serfs slammed the door shut, you realised you were alone with him. 

"So, how the fuck am I supposed the play this thing? I must sound excellent to impress the empress. Ha! 'Impress the empress!' That rhymes! I'm so fucking clever!" 

"Haha! You are so smart, sire!" 

"I know!" 

You took a cautious step closer to him. 

"If I may help you correct how you have positioned the violin - it will help you play better." 

After receiving permission you placed your hand over his and moved it to where it should be. 

"You must hold your wrist like so in order to reach the strings better." You were surprised to see the look of concentration on his as he listened to your instruments without jibes. "Now, for the bow - which is the stick you are holding in your right hand - must be held as if you are holding a quill." 

The Emperor followed your instruction. 

"Can we hurry it up a bit? My arms fucking killing me!" 

You flinched and steeled your nerves as you taught him to play a simple tune. 

Your hand fell gently on his that was holding the bow and showed him how to properly bring it across the strings. 

A loud bang caused you to jump away from him as you looked to where the noise had come from. Your heart dropped when you saw it had originated from Orlo dropping a rather large book on the floor. 

"My apologies, sir, I didn't know you had company." He bent down to pick up the book. His eyes did not meet yours when he stood back up. 

"Orlo, what the fuck do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" 

"Yes - yes I can see that, but there is something I must discuss with you." 

"Well, spit it out!" 

"It is quite a delicate matter. Something I must discuss with you in private." 

"Well, I'm sure whatever it is you can say it in front of what's her name." 

"(Y/n), her name is (Y/n)." 

The Emperor let out a bark of laughter. 

"No fucking way!" He turned to look at you and shoved the bow in your face. "You're the (Y/n) that's been fucking Orlo?" 

You wished the ground would swallow you up at that moment. When he finally looked at you - you saw the vulnerability reflected in his eyes. The fear of what the Emperor might do to you now he knew you meant something to him. The violin was now forgotten in his grip and you wished he would release it so it could return to your hold. You needed it's comfort more than anything. 

 The Emperor circled you like a predator before he walked over to Orlo and clapped him on the back. The force nearly brought him to his knees. There was no time for him to recover as the Emperor threw an arm over his shoulders and brought him close in a chokehold embrace. 

"So, (Y/n). How good does he fuck? Does his cock make you cum?" 

Your breathing became uneven as you thought about what you could say. Anything that you said in that moment would be on the lips of every member by the court by the day's end. You were damned if you told him of the intimate moments you had shared with Orlo in the library on more than one occasion. 

The door was yet again flung open and in stepped the Empress. 

"What is going on here?" 

"Oh, Catherine! You are just in time! (Y/n) was about to tell us about how good at fucking Orlo is!" 

Catherine winced at his words, but placed a pleasant smile on her face. "How interesting, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal (Y/n) away. She promised me a private performance." 

"Ha! I bet Orlo witnesses plenty of those. I am sorry wife but - Vanessa is needed with me. Now, leave us." 

"Her name is (Y/n)." Orlo bit in before the Empress could say anything. 

"Orlo! Fucking hell! It seems that fucking has lit some fire within you. Oh, this is brilliant! I suppose I can't call you lobcock anymore. A pity, I was quite fond of it. Nevertheless, I shall find you a new nickname and it shall be genius." 

"Words cannot express how enthused I am to hear what you will come with, sir." Orlo grumbled as his gaze flickered to the Empress. He silently pleaded with her to try harder. 

"Husband, do you not care for my happiness?" 

The Emperor scoffed as he twirled your bow in his hand. 

"Of course I do, wife."

"Then you shall release (Y/n) to me as nothing would make me happier." 

You waited with bated breath as he thought over what she had said. 

"But what I am doing here is to make you happy. I am learning how to play this instrument for you." 

"And you do not know how that fills me with joy." 

Finding your voice, "Sire." 

You felt yourself shrink as three pairs of eyes settled on your shaking form. 

"If I may, Sire. There will be plenty of opportunities to practice another time." 

The Emperor stared at you before his eyes darkened. "Are you trying to flee from me?" 

You winced as he prodded you in the chest with your bow. 

"Well, are you?" 

"No, sire I-I it just that I promised the Empress a performance." 

His grin chilled you to the bone. 

"And a performance she shall get." 

The Emperor ordered them away and it was the two of you once again. 

It seemed as if he had orchestrated this torture all for you - your own personal hell. It was even worse now that he knew that you had been with Orlo. His interrogations didn't seem to end until a serf informed him that  it was time for the banquet. There was not much time for you to feel relief as the Emperor's face broke out into a grin. 

"The banquet! Of course! What perfect fucking timing. I shall play for Catherine in front of the entire court!" 

Your heart experienced palpitations at the idea. 

"Sire, you have learned so quickly, but, if I may, perhaps it is a bit too soon to showcase your new found skills." 

"Are you telling me what to do?" 

"No, sire." 

"Good. Time to put on a show!" 

---

You stood awkwardly on the side of the banquet Hall with the serfs as the court gorged themselves on the feast that had been prepared for them. The Emperor proclaimed that he refused to perform on an empty stomach and therefore would wait until after the feast to show the court what he had learned. Your chest tightened with every passing second as your gaze remained locked on your violin as it lay beside the Emperor at the head table. Whispers then found their way to your ears which caused you to lock eyes with Orlo who was already looking at you. His eyes were silently asking you if you were okay. Your own started to tear up as the feeling of suffocation grew. You wanted to get out but you could not bring yourself to leave your precious instrument behind. It was the last thing you had of your family; your father. He motioned for you to come to him, but something held you to the spot. He went to rise to come to your side, but a clanging of glass caused him to freeze in his seat. 

"Lords and Ladies of the Court! My darling Catherine! I have a brilliant surprise for you all!" He picked up your violin and leaped onto the table so everyone could see him. He swayed slightly as he readied the instrument. Your heart became lodged in your throat as he played the first few notes of the melody. The Empress tried to keep a smile on her face as she winced at the violin's cries, but the Emperor carried on playing, oblivious to the awful sounds he was producing. The court seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief when he finished his piece. His gaze immediately fell on the Empress as she waited for her verdict.

"That was simply marvellous, dear husband." The court followed in their praises which seemed to lift the Emperor off the table as his already massive ego inflated further. You allowed yourself to relax but it was short-lived as Grigor stood to his feet. His wife tried to pull him back down, but he shook her off. He stared at the Emperor and gave him a mocking clap. 

"Grigor, what are you doing?" His wife asked as she grew wary of the court's eyes on her husband. 

"I just wanted to congratulate the Emperor on destroying our memories of a cherished lullaby and ruining our eardrums in the process." It was clear that he had too much to drink, but that didn't mean that he could get away with talking to the Emperor in such a manner. You prayed that he would brush it off as a joke as often has, but this time it was different. You caught the look of hurt as it flashed across his face before it was replaced by anger. 

"I don't like this fucking attitude you seem to be having a lot lately, Grigor." 

"And I don't like how you keep fucking my wife." 

What happened next was a blur as Grigor lunged across the table and tackled the Emperor. In an attempt to get Grigor off him, the Emperor used the only thing to hand, your violin. A sickening crack sounded through the air as he smacked the aged wood into Grigor's head. It splintered on impact. You started forward as you watched him throw it to the ground with disregard. Everything seemed to still around you as you fell to your knees where your instrument had fallen. A sob burst free as your shaking hands caressed the shattered body. You felt so numb you barely felt warm arms encircle your waist and lift you off the floor. You took the violin in your arms and cradled it as if it were a child. 

"(Y/n)? (Y/n) can you hear me?" A voice pulled you back from the dark void and through blurred vision you could just make at Orlo's shape as he knelt before you. It was then you realised he had taken you to his apartments. 

"Can you let me look at your hand?" Your brows furrowed at the odd request. When you said nothing Orlo sighed and gently pulled your hand from where it still clutched tightly to your broken heart. You winced when he ran a finger over the small wound which was there. 

"I need to clean this up before it gets infected." He went to get up but your hand clenched around his anchoring him to the spot. 

"Don't - I can't - I…" the words you wished to convey would not release themselves from your tongue as your chest constricted with the thought of him leaving your side. 

"It's okay, I'm not going anywhere, but I do need to venture over to the other side of the room to get the things I need to clean your wound." 

You relented your hold on him as he rushed to collect some clean bandages and a bottle of vodka. He knelt before you once again and began prepping the bandages. 

"What am I going to do, Orlo?" His hands paused the actions as he looked at you. Even after all this time you still got lost in those soft, expressive eyes. 

"What do you mean?" He took your injured hand gently in his own and began to clean it. 

"My violin is ruined. Without it, how will I perform?" 

He apologised when you winced as he applied the alcohol to your cut. He wrapped it in a bandage and placed a kiss there. "You don't not need to worry. I shall get you another." You pulled your hand from his as if you had been burned. 

"You don't understand. This was my father's and his father's before that. When I play it, I feel his presence near me, but no more. He has truly left me." Orlo's soft hands cupped your cheeks and wiped away your tears. 

"Then I shall not rest until I find the greatest restorer in all of Russia so that you can play again because a life without hearing your sweet music is not worth living." 

"Orlo…" 

"I mean it. Your happiness is my happiness, my love." 

The feeling in your chest lifted at his words as you let go of the instrument in your lap. You lent forward, cupping his jaw and captured his lips in a kiss that was different to those you had shared before. Your mind drifted back to how this had all began; an innocent kiss in the library that had led to so much more. You slowly pulled away to rest your forehead against his. 

"All I will ever need in this life to be happy is you." 

[undermounts]

Empire of Light—Prologue: Of Monsters and Men

AO3 | Table of Contents  | Ashes and Embers | Playlist 

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: In the sparkling capital of Morella, strange things go bump in the night.

Notes: this is a sequel to my first Blades 2 fic, Ashes and Embers. If you haven’t read that yet, you can do so here!

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Whitetower was not the sort of city that slept.

Even at the oddest hours of the morning, there was always some sort of trouble afoot—sometimes good trouble, sometimes bad, but always mischievous. The evenings were filled with the merry music from open tavern doors, the raucous laughter of drunkards, the rapturous cries of lovers, and other things that went bump in the night. Deals were made in dark alleyways, schemes were carried out amongst thieves atop the terracotta shingles that lined moonlit rooftops, and assassins and mercenaries earned their coin in underground fighting pits, where the wealthy and poor alike frequented to bet on the odds.

The Temple of Light, mercifully, was always quiet, and Cili loved quiet.

Cili, however, did not love Whitetower. He couldn’t wait until he ascended the full rank of priesthood—even though that was many years away—so that he could lead the pilgrimages across Morella or the recruitment journeys that picked up orphaned magic users such as himself, if only so he could get out of the city. It was too loud, and in some places, like the Nooks and Crannies, too smelly. In fact, if Cili had to pick a few words to describe Whitetower, they would simply be, “too much.”

Cili could still remember the day he had arrived in the capital city three years ago, not long after his fifth birthday had passed, when the priests had brought him to live at the Temple. Permanently. To put it quite frankly, that day was one of the most terrifying he’d ever had. 

Whitetower was overwhelming, a sensory overload. After crossing through the city’s borders, Cili had seen more people within a few moments than he’d ever seen on the quiet farm he grew up on. The sheer volume of people that occupied the capital made him nervous—they were a tide he could get lost in, could drown in. He was used to small communities and houses that were fields apart. Even after three years, he was still adjusting to living at the Temple with all of the other acolytes and priests.

The Market District was especially stressful. There were so many people, so many voices, smells, colors, and sounds—all of it blending together into a cacophonous mess that made Cili cling to the sleeves of the nearest priestess and bury his face in her robes. 

And beyond what Cili had experienced in his sheltered upbringing at the Temple were the stories he had heard. Some of the older students at the Temple gossiped about Whitetower’s underworld, the secret guilds of thieves, mercenaries, and assassins. Apparently, there were entire networks of tunnels hidden beneath the capital, dozens of secret passageways, and hundreds of peepholes for espionage.

The first time Cili had heard the gossip was in the hours after lights were out and the acolytes were supposed to be asleep. After that, he had spent the following day scouring the walls and rafters of the Temple for spies. He’d soon realized that he was acting a bit foolishly—the Temple of Light was perhaps the most secure place in Whitetower, right after the palace, but he still made sure to stay close to the priests whenever they were led throughout the city for their weekly services. While the other acolytes spoke of the criminals of Whitetower with some degree of awe or amusement—mostly about a thief dubbed the “Whitetower Reaper” that had mysteriously vanished a few years ago—Cili could only pray that he never encountered such rabble.

Nobles, knights, Light-users, traders, merchants, thieves, and assassins—Whitetower seemed to have it all. 

The one thing Whitetower did not have was monsters. At least not of the beastly kind, with fangs and fur and claws. Although, the same could not be said of those ruled by greed and ambition… No, Whitetower was not home to strange creatures, aside from the occasional noble-owned voxper. 

Or at least, that used to be the case. 

Now, a giant, winged creature stood guard on the city walls with a blazing fire in his lungs. And unbeknownst to the general public, strange beasts prowled the shadows… 

Cili quietly shuffled down the moonlit marble halls of the Temple, collecting and extinguishing the old candles that had been burning all evening and replacing them with new ones he would light tomorrow morning. This was the last part of his daily routine, his final task of the day as one of the younger acolytes, and his least favorite chore. He would never admit it, especially around the older children, but his heart always beat a little faster when he carried out this task, the tempo increasing with every flame he extinguished. Cili was not afraid of the dark, but he was afraid of the things that may lurk within it.

Growing up in the quiet countryside, Cili had never had any reason to believe in the folktales about wicked monsters or strange beasts that would snatch little children out of their beds at night. He’d only ever encountered lapna and kromps, which were more or less content to stay away, especially if rewarded with food. But after the events of the last year—portals opened to the Shadow Realm, the Crown Prince’s death, the Dreadlord’s rise and fall, the Battle of Ash, the Blood King’s ascension, and the guardian dragon’s arrival…. After all of that, Cili was no longer sure what to believe. He only knew that whenever he blew out a candle and stared into the shadows that crept in, he had the sinking, dreadful feeling that something was staring back.

Cili came to a stop in front of one of the white marble statues that lined the Hall of Saints. This statue in particular was of Saint Damaris, who was known for protecting children—especially orphans. This was Cili’s favorite Saint of Light, even if Damaris’ death was one of the more gruesome ones on record. Cili had learned that Damaris had died during the Great War—as most famous Saints did—while protecting a chartered boat of orphans from winged shadow gargoyles as they crossed the Silban River to safety.

Cili looked down at the candles at the base of Damaris’ statue, glanced at the darkening hall around him, then decided to extinguish those ones last. He did not mind having the Saint’s protection for a little while longer. 

Cili continued down the Hall of Saints, blowing out and replacing candles as he went. As he did, he recalled the names of the Saints and their stories, a tactic he had once used to strengthen his memory of the famous figures that had soon become a habit. Saint Ahlai, protector of settlements along the Golden Coast, drowned while defending a cluster of fishing boats from a bloodsquid during a storm. Saint Noa, protector of travellers, stoned to death while protecting a royal procession from raiders. The list went on and on—Saint Pasha, Saint Viktor, Saint Emira, Saint Holland, Saint Calla, Saint Athos… One tragedy after another. 

As he went about his task, Cili wondered if anyone he knew would one day ascend to the status of saint. A part of him hoped not. Revered as they were, almost every Saint seemed to meet a tragic end.

Cili reached the end of the hall, coming to a halt at the base of Saint Alina’s statue. He gazed upon the Saint’s alabaster countenance, her beautiful face at once nurturing, fierce, and sorrowful. She was one of the most popular saints, known as the protector of the innocents. Cili shuddered as he recalled her particular demise: burned while defending a town of human serfs during the Great War. The young acolyte shook that gruesome thought from his head as he withdrew a fresh candle from his basket and placed it at the base of her altar and leaned down to blow the flames out.

The moment the last candle guttered out, Cili felt a sudden chill wash over him, as if he had been plunged into a frozen lake. He inhaled sharply, clutching the basket of candles tightly to his chest as ice spread through his veins and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Something was wrong.

Heart pounding in his small chest, Cili slowly turned around. There was nothing behind him, although he found no relief in this small discovery. With the doors to the outer courtyard of the Temple closed and most of the candles extinguished, Cili was shrouded in darkness. His attention tunneled to the flickering semi-circle of candlelight that surrounded Saint Damaris’ statue, the only source of illumination in the entire hall aside from the watery moonlight

Cili’s blood was loud in his ears. He could not explain it, the inexplicable urge to run. Something was watching him, he could feel it. Waiting for him.

Cili inhaled deeply, his breath shaking ever so slightly as he smothered the urge to run toward the ring of light. Surely this was just some sort of joke. If anyone was watching him from the shadows, it was the other acolytes, playing a prank on him. Cili had a bit of a reputation around the Temple of being easily scared, after all. If they wanted to get a reaction out of anyone, Cili was the perfect target.

“This isn’t funny,” Cili declared, his voice quivering despite his best efforts to keep it steady.

No response.

“Marco?” he questioned as he clutched the basket of candles tightly to his chest and then slowly began to creep toward the other end of the hall, careful to keep his steps steady so he did not betray the immense fear he felt. He did not want the other acolytes to get the satisfaction of seeing him run. “Jude? I know it's you guys. You can cut it out. I’m not afraid.”

Again, no response. Then—

There was a rustling sound, like the flap of wings. Then the scrape of something solid and heavy against the smooth marble stone and—

Cili lost his nerve and ran, dropping his basket of candles as he sprinted for the semi-circle of candlelight around Saint Damarius. No sooner had he begun to run did the creature in the shadows flare to life. 

A horrible snarl ricocheted off the marble and alabaster floors of the hall, followed by the abrupt boom of beating wings and the click, click, click of talons snapping against the floor. 

Something hot and leathery struck Cili across the back of his legs and he stumbled, crashing to the floor only a few paces away from Saint Damaris’ light. Cili’s chin throbbed from smacking it against the marble tiles, but he shoved himself to his hands and knees, hastily scrambling for the ring of light like his life depended on it.

It did.

Cili waited until he was fully within the semi-circle of candlelight, naively believing that the light of a few measly flames would keep the mysterious creature at bay, before he flipped onto his back, throwing his hands up as he finally faced the beast.

His scream lodged in his throat, which felt as if it had been swollen shut with fear.

Cili did not know how to process what exactly was before him. He had never seen a creature like this in his childhood storybooks, had never even heard of a creature like this, either from the other acolytes or the old storytellers that sat around Whitetower’s town square. 

The beast had the face and wings of a bat, although its body was distinctly humanoid, corded with rippling muscle. But the creature’s composition was not nearly the strangest thing about it. The beast did not have skin nor fur, but rather, it appeared to be made of shadow. Tendrils of darkness wicked off of its body like smoke and glowing lines of reddish orange light trailed along its arms and torso, like molten lava bubbling through the cracked, blackened surface of cooled magma.

As it slowly prowled forward, the gargoyle screeched at him, baring a mouthful of razor sharp teeth and Cili flinched back, throwing up his hands defensively. He called desperately upon his teaching of the Light in a vain hope that something the priests had taught him would be useful in warding this creature away, but defensive magic was too advanced for someone his age, its teaching withheld until he reached his tenth year. 

The young acolyte scuttled backward as the beast stalked toward him until his back met the base of Damaris’ statue. Trembling, Cili’s eyes were trained on the gargoyles taloned, hideous feet as it lumbered closer to the circle of light. Closer, closer, closer—

One of the gargoyle’s talons breached the light.

And nothing happened.

Cili whimpered, realizing that there was nothing that could save him, not the candlelight, not Damaris, and judging by the quiet that still settled over the temple, not the priests, either. Desperate, Cili conjured an Orb of Light in his palms, the only bit of magic he could confidently do. In response, the gargoyle hissed, rearing back as a clawed hand swung forward, narrowly missing Cili’s face as the boy lunged back. Almost instantly, due to his fear and lapse in concentration, the Orb guttered out.

Panicked, Cili tried and failed to conjure another Orb of Light as the gargoyle shifted over him. Cili’s hands fell uselessly into his lap as the monster cornered him against the marble statue, its tepid breath ghosting over the boy’s face as it opened its gaping maw wide for the killing blow.

Left with nothing else to do, Cili closed his eyes and began to pray. 

“Light guide me through this endless night and protect me from the darkness. On Viktor, on Calla, on Athos and Alina. On Noa, on Pasha, on Damaris—” Cili broke his prayer and sobbed desperately. “Saints, save me!”

The doors to the Temple slammed against the walls as they burst open, and a flash of Light so bright it was blinding illuminated the room. The beast above Cili was thrown back by the blast and struck the opposite wall with an animalistic whimper of pain.

Cili’s gaze snapped to the open doorway where two cloaked figures appeared, silhouetted by the night sky and the mist that drifted across the cobblestone roads of Whitetower. The one on the right, distinguishable by the taller stature, swayed ever so slightly as the one on the left lunged forward with incredible grace and speed. Cili just barely caught the glint of steel before two blades shot out of the cloaked figure’s gloved hands. It was only until Cili followed the path of the blades that he realized the Shadow beast had gotten up from its supine position against the wall and had begun to charge toward him once more. 

The blades sunk into the gargoyle’s stomach, slowing its advance. The monster roared in pain and frustration as its wings snapped out, lifting its body into the air. There was a whizzing sound and sickening squelch as an arrow embedded itself in one of the beast’s wings, quickly followed by another arrow that struck the other one, causing it to crash to the ground once more. Cili looked to the taller figure, who now brandished a glittering bow of silver and gold metal. Beneath the folds of their coat, he could just make out the silver hilt of a sword. 

No sooner had the beast fallen from the air did the second figure with the knives spring forward, gripping the protruding shafts of the arrows and using them as leverage to shove the gargoyle back, pinning it to the wall. The Shadow creature howled as Cili’s rescuer used their weight to trap the beast, then yanked the arrows down, shredding its wings to the point of uselessness. The cloaked figure pulled back, unsheathing a knife strapped to their thigh, and raised the gleaming weapon high, prepared to stab deep into the beast’s heart.

Cili’s breath caught in his throat. He could not believe what he was witnessing, could not believe that he was about to watch these mysterious heroes defeat this monster, could not believe that he was saved.

Cili’s heart dropped like a stone as the creature lashed out with its snapping teeth, forcing the cloaked figure to jump back, leaving just enough room for the gargoyle to swing out with a muscled arm. The back of its taloned hand caught Cili’s defender across the midsection, batting them aside. As the figure tumbled to the ground, their hood fell back, revealing a head of shoulder-length, dark, and wavy hair. The face underneath was tan and ruggedly handsome, distinguishable by a well-kept beard and a scar that crossed a single eyebrow.

The beast shoved away from the wall, lurching toward the doors out of the Temple in a desperate attempt to escape with its life. But then the other figure was there, moving faster than a wicked wind as they darted forward and struck with their gauntleted fist, catching the gargoyle with a blow so savage and powerful, the weakened creature rocked backward, stunned.

Like the gears in a well-oiled machine, the man on the ground swung his legs out, catching the beast by its shadowy ankles. The Shadow creature slammed into the ground just as the man rolled out of the way and shoved himself up to his knees. He brandished his dagger once more, stabbing clean through the monster’s shoulder to pin it to the ground.

His voice was low and gruff as he demanded, “Do it!”

Cili watched in awe as the taller figure unsheathed the sword at their side—the strangest blade Cili had ever seen, crafted of steel but threaded through with a blueish, crystalline substance that resembled forks of lightning. The figure lifted the sword high, a silver glow—The Light, Cili realized—emanating from their hands and spearing down the blade as they stabbed down, piercing the gargoyle’s chest, and presumably, its heart.

There was a bright flash and Cili watched as the Shadow beast dissipated into nothingness.

When the Light faded, Cili gaped at the space where the creature had once been. There was nothing left behind to indicate that it had ever existed within this temple, nothing but a few soot stains on the milky white marble floors.

A soft, tired sigh drew Cili’s attention away from the marks on the floor and he looked up in time to see the taller figure rest the tip of their sword against the floor and lean against it as if winded. The man quickly retrieved the blades that had clattered to the floor after the Shadow beast disappeared and tucked them away before snatching the arrows as well. He clambered to his feet just as his hooded companion straightened, nodding gratefully as they slid the offered arrows back into their quiver and sheathed that peculiar sword.

Cili watched in awe as his rescuers righted themselves, the realization dawning on him. “You’re Saints, aren’t you?” he breathed, slowly pushing himself away from the base of Damaris’ statue. “That’s why you saved me.”

Immediately, Cili’s rescuers stiffened, their attention snapping to him for the first time since they arrived as if they had just remembered he was there.

“Aw, hells,” the man muttered beneath his breath as he quickly yanked the hood of his cloak up, concealing his face beneath the shadows once more.

The two figures wordlessly glanced at each other as Cili’s gaze flicked between them, awaiting an answer. He could not believe it. They had heard his prayer. The Saints had come. The Saints—

“We aren’t Saints of Light.” The voice that replied was dulcet and sonorous—a woman’s. Cili thought he could listen to her speak all day.

“But I saw you use the Light,” Cili insisted, shaking his head as he got to his feet. There was still a slight tremor in his legs, his body still thrumming with adrenaline, although he paid no notice. “I prayed for you and you came—”

“We aren’t Saints,” the woman repeated gently, glancing over her shoulder at her companion before she took a slight step forward. “We’re just… devout followers of the Light. Purging the realm of darkness.”

Cili tilted his head, leaning forward in an attempt to see under the woman’s hood. Sensing his efforts, the woman pulled away and Cili frowned, although his disappointment was short-lived. Another thought crossed his mind. “So you’re… like adventurers? Heroes, like those in the storybooks?”

Cili had a feeling the woman was smiling as she tilted her head to the side. “Something like that.”

Cili nodded slowly, his gaze sliding from her concealed face to the soot stains that marred the floors. “What was that thing?”

“Just a monster,” the woman replied. “A bad guy. But it’s gone now. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Cili chewed the inside of his lip, sidestepping away from the spot where the creature had died. The danger was gone, but he still felt unsettled. “Will more come?”

It was the man who replied this time. “Not if we can help it.”

Cili frowned, unconvinced, but did not reply.

As if sensing his unease, the woman reached out with nimble fingers and swiped something off of the man’s person, much to his dismay, but before her companion could protest, she knelt before Cili.

“Do you want to know what you can do if one of those beasts ever comes back?” she asked gently.

Cili’s eyes widened. He was nodding before he even realized he was doing so.

The woman held up her hand. Between her slender fingers was a small, sheathed knife. But Cili’s attention was not on the blade. Instead, his gaze lingered on her skin, which was a pearlescent shade of blue and horribly scarred as if it had been severely burned. A single gold ring adorned her thumb. 

The woman took Cili’s hand and pressed the hilt of the blade into his palm as she spoke. “The priests at the Temple will teach you how to protect yourself and others,” she told him. “That sort of training will be invaluable. But magic won’t always be there to help you, especially if you choose not to use it.”

Cili’s brow furrowed. “But why—”

The woman shook her head. “That is a choice you will make when you are older and understand the world better. And you must make it for yourself. But until then, you should know how to defend yourself without magic, too. Just in case.”

She curled Cili’s fingers around the hilt of the blade. “This can help protect you, but you must only use it if you are in grave danger, understand?”

She waited for Cili to show that he did. When he nodded, she continued. 

“If one of those beasts ever comes again,” she said slowly, a teacher guiding a student. “You take this—” She squeezed his hand, guiding it toward her chest. “—and put it here. Understand?”

Cili swallowed. “Yes.”

He looked up then, peering beneath the woman’s hood. He just barely glimpsed her pointed ears and a blur of green that was so bright, he thought they might be gemstones, and caught a whiff of starflowers, pine, and mist, before she pulled away. The woman dropped his hand as she straightened and stepped back.

“Be careful,” she instructed him. “And only use that when absolutely necessary.”

Cili nodded.

The woman stared at him for a few moments longer, her gaze heavy without being seen. Then she bowed her head. “May the Light guide you.”

Cili echoed her response, still shell-shocked as she turned on her heel and faced her companion.

“Uh, yeah,” the man said, reaching into the folds of his cloak. When he pulled his hand out, a glittering silver coin danced between his fingertips. He flicked it towards Cili, who caught it against his chest, confused.

“This’ll be our secret, yeah?” the man prompted, his hood shifting as he gazed around the Temple and sighed. “Bet they don’t pay you enough for this stuff. Wandering around creepy hallways at night.”

Cili did not know how to tell him that the Temple did not pay him at all, so he only nodded and replied, “Yes.”

“Right,” the man said slowly, before turning on his heel to follow his companion. As he went, he gave a lazy salute. “Light guide you, kid.”

Cili watched, stunned as his two rescuers made their way toward the doors that led out of the temple, their whispers carrying in the empty hallway.

“Please tell me you did not just bribe him.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one who taught him to kill a man, so I don’t think either of us are winning role model of the year, kit.”

Cili waited until they were halfway down the marble steps that led up to the Temple entrance before he scrambled after them, hiding behind the door to watch them go. They both moved like shadows, lithe and nimble as they stuck to the darkness and leaned against each other, as inconspicuous as any other couple wandering around the city after a night in the taverns. 

Bewitched by the two figures that had just saved his life with magic and steel—he was still not convinced they weren’t Saints—Cili followed them as quietly as possible off the Temple grounds and into the misty streets of Whitetower.

It was not until they reached the end of the block that his rescuers straightened, putting a casual distance between them. As they shifted apart, Cili saw why.

Cili watched from behind a barrel, mist swirling around his calves as his rescuers met up with two more cloaked figures, hidden in the shadows of an apartment that sat atop a shoemaker’s shop, which was closed for the night.

“I thought I told you to stay home,” the woman murmured, her voice nearly inaudible as she brushed her hand along the slope of another figure’s shoulder. Her other hand twisted behind her back, the mist churning with it. “Where it’s safe.”

“Oh?” the figure replied liltingly with a teasing edge as his head fell to the side. “Are you giving me orders now?”

A low laugh filled the air, full of warmth and affection. The sound was so entrancing, Cili almost didn’t notice that the mist had thickened around them, nearly concealing his saviors from sight. By the time the woman finished laughing , they were just fading blurs in the fog. 

“I would never do such a thing,” Cili thought he heard the woman reply, “Your Majesty.”

Cili’s breath hitched and he moved to follow, but the fog was so thick, he could barely see his own hands.

He tried to find the mysterious figures by sound alone, but when the mist cleared, they were gone.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Notes: And we’re back

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[flybi91]

sorry guys i have no idea what the fuck i’m doing and none of this was proofread but i had fun and i guess that’s what counts

Orlo’s a recently turned vampire, it happened when he was at the front. He killed a soldier to survive and save others, but the idea that for the rest of his life he now had to purposefully hurt and drink from humans just to live made him feel sick, but the animal blood wasn’t helping and any blood from a dead person that the doctor gave him made him ACTUALLY sick.

He was terrified of taking any blood from someone bloodletting in case anyone saw, plus while it happened quite a bit bloodletting wasn’t common enough to sustain a person. 

So he took to drinking as much animal blood as he could, although he had to drink what he assumed was MUCH more than if he’d just drink from a human.

To his shock Peter actually tried to help by offering to give him serfs. 

He felt his stomach roll at the memory of his cruel, disgusting words. How the king had less compassion than a vampire he’d never know

He jumped at peter slapping him on the shoulder “They’re just serfs, it’s not like they can’t be replaced. And HEY, maybe you won’t be a virgin anymore!” 

You’re a serf, you’ve heard rumors of count Orlo getting bitten by a vampire when he went to the front about a week ago but you took it as bizarre superstition.  

Although you noticed he hasn’t left his room in a few days. When you saw him for the first time since the accident later that evening you were serving food and drink at one of peter’s stupid parties. You were shocked with how sick and pale he was, almost grey, and he wasn’t eating or drinking anything or talking to anyone.

You knew it was probably just from the shock of everything he’s been through and you KNEW it was just rumors and superstition but seeing him like that you couldn’t help but think, what if he is.

You noticed people ignoring him like they were afraid of him, not it the typical way they usually did. Even Peter was being less of a cunt to him. Catherine was the only one that would try and have a conversation with him but even she was a bit wary around him and he was just too out of it to really participate, although she DID actually looked concerned for him which is more than you could say for half of these assholes. 

But you knew just because people were acting like he was a vampire didn’t mean he was, it just meant people were being stupid.....right?.

You weren’t best friends with marial but you got along well enough and she was friends with catherine. You pulled her aside before she could go back out.

“I know we can’t talk, I just have a question, does Catherine know what happened to Orlo?“

You were expecting her to roll her eyes and make fun of your “stupid crush” and make a rude comment about him as per usual. But you weren’t expecting her to look around to make sure no one was listening before talking in a hushed whisper.

“Look i don’t know for sure and i don’t know the details, BUT something did happen to him. I know you don’t believe in it but i’ve been around him more than you have these past few days and if there was ever evidence for a vampire, he’s it “

You stood there slack jawed while she quickly scurried away to serve drinks.

You walked around with your tray as people took drinks off of it. You tried to calm down and get your mind off of it but your eyes kept flicking back to Orlo. 

You were always rather fond of him, he was sweet and kind and didn’t treat you less because of your position. He was probably the only person of status that would conversate with you. So you were upset thinking about the 0000.000.001% chance that he was a vampire, you didn’t want to think about how frightening it was for him or how much pain he’d be in.

You decided to walk over to Catherine and Orlo under the guise of offering them drinks.

Catherine gave a sad smile and took a glass. You didn’t talk to her very much but she was kind and she was currently looking at you like she knew exactly you were thinking.  Orlo politely declined a drink. Infact come to think of it you haven’t seen him eat or drink anything all night. NO he’s just in shock over killing someone.

You were cleaning up the last remnants of the party when you saw Catherine pull Marial aside. You tried to not pay attention or eavesdrop but you couldn’t help but notice a strange muffled sound coming from the box Catherine was holding and the disgusted look marial gave her. You quickly got back to cleaning, trying to look innocent.

“she’s gone”

You shot up and spun around to see marial standing behind you holding the box.

“what are you talking about“

“oh come on, we both knew you were listening, you’re not as sneaky as you think“

You blushed in embarrassment. “catherine saw me?!”

Before she could open her mouth to answer you, you were both startled what was ever in the box, it started shaking a little and now that it was closer you noticed there was a squeaking.

Before you could ask about it she was trotting off “sorry i REALLY have to take care of this“

You went after her. 

She side eyed you as you caught up to her “you’ll get in trouble if you follow me“ 

You snorted at the statement. “when have you ever cared about getting in trouble“

She sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“Soooo...what’s in-“

“Rabbit“ 

you scrunched your nose at her statement. “and were bringing it to someones apartments?“

She gave you an uneasy look. “Orlo’s apartments”

You tried to control the nerves bubbling up inside you. “Well i suppose it would be nice for him to have a pet, must get lonely for him”

Your friend stopped walking, turned to you with a hand on her hip, and gave a look of disbelief. “And WHY pray tell, would WE be bringing him a pet at midnight? HM?”

You chuckled nervously. “I mean what else could it be”

You held up a finger for her to stop. “AND even IF he is, WHICH HE ISN’T i’m sure they would find a better solution than little animals like bunnies”

You picked up pace before she could ask another question as she stood there for a few seconds gawking at you.

You two were waiting outside the door to be let in. You looked at the box again and felt terrible for the poor thing as it squeaked and scratched. It must be scary to be locked up in a tiny box like that. Your attention was pulled away from the box as the door opened for you.

“count Orlo is ready to see you“

You entered his apartments and it...was normal, nothing creepy, no dead animals, just.....typical Orlo, you sighed in relief and released a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding in.

Orlo opened his bedroom door and he temporarily froze, clearly not expecting you to be there.. Now that you were closer and in better light you were concerned with the fact that he REALLY looked sick.

“M-m-my a-apologies, i wasn’t expecting you,”

he gasped and threw his hands up “NOT-NOT THAT IT’S A BAD THING YOU’RE HEAR I JUST-“

GOD if he was a vampire he was probably the most timid vampire you’ve ever heard of. 

Marial let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes before thrusting the box towards the poor man. 

Orlo blushed, mouth gaping as his eyes flicked between you and the box. You went to ease his fears by taking it from marial and put it on his desk but before you could he grabbed it and clutched it to his chest.

“SORRY sorry it’s just...personal“

Your friend crossed her arms, clearly frustrated with him. “she knows it’s a rabbit, lobcock“ she turned on her heel, marching out of his apartments. She spit the last word with such venom you were sure it could probably kill him. 

He looked down at the box clutched in his hands before looking at you.“I-i-i-i promise i can explain“

“There’s nothing wrong with having a pet”

You smiled as he started to relax, clearly pleased that you didn’t bring up silly stories and accusations about him. “Please sit”

“Oh i can’t, they’ll-”

You jumped a bit when he put a hand on your shoulder before pulling it back. “OH sorry, i didn’t mean to- its just that- i-i, well you can stay here and relax a bit if you’d like, you won’t get in trouble”

“OH I don’t want to impose on you, you probably have a lot of work to do”

“No it’s fine, i’ll ask for some tea and cakes, you must be hungry.”

While he went to go fetch a servant to get the tea you took the time to look around at all his books. You couldn’t read more complicated books like Orlo could. There’s been a handful of times where the man had even let you borrow some of his easier ones, well borrow is a strong word as you’d be beaten if someone of your class was caught with a book. But there’s been a few times where he let you sit in his apartments and let you read under the guise of needing an assistant. You smiled at the memory of the one time where he read one of his complicated books to you and explained all the meanings and philosophies, it was all completely lost on you, you just sat there staring at the poor man. 

Your eyes landed on something peculiar. You tilted your head to look at the spine of the book, you felt a bit dizzy when you noticed it said it was about vampires. Your curiosity got the better of you. You looked around to make sure no one was there to see as you carefully lifted the book and looked at his writing on on the parchment. You noticed a strange smell and a stain that wasn’t ink. Well you noticed it when you walked in but the palace was so vile you didn’t pay attention to strange smells but it was particularly pungent. It was covered in scribbles about blood, animals, the effects of different light.

“The tea is-”

You were so absorbed in your discovery you screamed and huddled into the corner.

“I’m sorry, i’m sorry, i really am, i just-” Well it wouldn’t matter if he was a vampire because in a few minutes you’d be dead for looking at his notes. It didn’t MATTER that you were good friends you were still a serf caught looking at his notes.

He quickly put the tray down and walked over to you, hesitating coming any closer when he saw you flinch.

He stayed a decent length away. “Please sit down i promise i won’t harm you”

You slowly uncurled from yourself and walked towards a chair. 

He very carefully walked to his seat, making sure to not get too close to you so as not to upset you.

“I hoped you wouldn’t find out, at least not like this” 

You tried to speak normally but you voice came out barely above a whimper. “So it’s true” You looked up from your lap

“Yes, although I truly promise I wouldn't harm you. I feel bad enough that I have to do this to animals but drinking from the dead makes me sick. Though i still don’t know if it’s just me or vampires as a whole as i haven’t meet any others, well…...not extensively” 

You gently picked up the box and held it on your lap. “Soooo this isn’t-”

“Isn’t a pet, no, i’m afraid not” he gave a forced laugh

You looked at the box again and made a motion to open it. “Can i?”

“Oh, yes!. Believe me, i wouldn’t be doing this if i didn’t have to”

You opened the box and gingerly took out the cute fluffy little thing.

You smiled as you scratched the fluffball behind the ears. “You can talk to me about what happened if you’d like”

His jaw clenched as he looked at the fire, you’ve never seen him so upset. “I prommis you don’t have to i just thought-”

“No it’s fine, i probably should talk to someone it’s just….hard”

He sighed and put his head in his hands.”I-i--it was the night the carriage crashed, apparently one of the soldiers was a vampire, he tried to kill me with his bite, and as i’ve found out, there’s no difference between a vampire bite intending to turn or kill, it depends on the length of time but when i killed him it wasn’t enough to kill me and i’m now cursed, I probably deserve this.”

Your heart broke for him, you’ve never seen him look so distraught. Not even the words of the court got the him this much. You held the rabbit to your chest and got up to sit next to him on the couch.

“So i presume any blood would do?”

He looked at you and quickly got up before answering. “W-w-well a-acording to the doctor it would b-b-be better if i h-had human blood”

He was turned away from you, towards the fire. He was shaking and visibly distraught. You put the little creature back in the box and quietly walked towards him. Now that you were right next to him you could see how pale he was and all the little purple and blue veins that ran through him. You should be scared, any normal person would in this situation but you just didn’t have it in your heart. He looked so broken. Your brow furrowed with concern when you noticed his eyes were red, was that blood?!.

You pulled off your head piece and gently dabbed under his eye, the cloth came back stained with red. “I-i-i-it seams that the only liquid in my body anymore is the blood”

“You need to drink, you look ill.” 

“Oh that’s just from the light. See light doesn’t kill it just, well it reveal things”

You watched him as he seemed to perk up, walking around the room grabbing books and other odds and ends.

He ushered you to a darker part of the room. “ See how my hand looks more normal?”

He lit a candle, put his hand over it and you were shocked when it started to pale in the light.

You looked up at him not knowing what to say or do. He opened a book to a page about the sun.

He leaned towards you. “See? It says that In the dark a vampire will look like a normal person but light shows their truth.” he put his hand over the candle again. “And this is just with candles if i was out in the sun i’d look…..well-” his mood quickly changed. “I’m disgusting” He stood up and walked away from you. “Why do you want to talk to me, to a cor-”

You gently shushed him. “It’s ok, it’s not your fault, you don’t deserve any of this, you’re one of the kindest people i know”  

He looked at you, his face stained with blood and his lip trembling. “But how are you not afraid of me, of what i am?”

You were both startled by the chime of the clock signaling it was one in the morning.

“My apologies, i did not intend to keep you here so late, you should be sleeping.”

You picked up the bunny once more. “It’s ok,you need to talk to someone. You were saying th doctor suggested human blood? So that means the doctor is helping you yes?”

He crossed his arms and snorted as he rolled his eyes. “If you can call what he does helping, more like shots in the dark, lucky guesses, and experiments.”

You walked towards him and the bunny started squirming more and more. You shrieked and dropped the thing as it bit you. 

You clutched your hand and looked at the mark. It wasn’t a lot but it HURT “I didn’t know bunnies could bite that hard,sorry i think it scurried under-”

You looked up to see Orlo’s terrified expression, It looked like he was using every single muscle in his body to keep himself under control.

 “You must leave, i’ll find it by myself”

“What are you talking about i-”

Then it hit you. You looked at your hand and realized the skin was broken. He could smell your blood. It felt like time slowed down for you. You thought about how kind he was towards you even though you weren’t a lady, or perhaps he was kind to you BECAUSE you weren’t a lady. Then you thought of the pain and fear he was in, and how he was one of the few people outside of your family that you unconditionally trusted. And there was always a little voice in your head that kept mocking you, saying you two could be together if status didn’t matter. You hated that thought, you kept trying to push it away. Status did matter and your dreams were just a bitter reminder of something that never could be. But if you couldn’t be with him, you wanted to be held, just once.

“It’s ok” you stepped towards him and he flinched.

He backed up, trying to get away from you. The words peter spoke about serfs echoing through his head “I shouldn’t i-i dont i-”

He was shaking. You couldn’t tell if it was from fear or hunger.

He had a look in his eyes that chilled you, a look you’ve only seen on wolves. 

You tried to sound brave. You stedied yourself as you walked towards him. “From what you’ve said, you need human blood. Animals won’t be good enough for ever. It’s been only a week and look how sick you are. I know you said it because of the light but it’s not just that. You need to eat”

His jaw was so clenched it looked like his teeth would break. “Please i don’t want to hurt you. I don't even know if i can control it ” his eyes became tinged with red as it threatened to spill from his eyes. 

Your hesitated before looking at your finger again. You squeezed it to get a droplet out before tilting your head and rubbing it on your neck.

You could tell he was starting to falter as his hands reached for you. Before he could pull them back you grabbed them and held them in yours. He was absolutely freezing.

“Please”

“Why do you want this so badly?”

Your eyes watered as you thought about telling him. You felt so foolish. “Because i’ll never get another chance to be this close to you“

He looked at you even more confused than before. “What do you mean? We’re friends we-”

It all clicked for him and his mouth fell open.

“You mean?”

You shook your head in confirmation as tears freely flowed down your cheeks.

“Well what makes you think you won’t get another chance?. Because you’re a serf?”

“Of course we can’t Orlo, you know that” You leaned in, resting your head on his chest. He froze for a moment, not use to being this intimate. 

“All i know is i’m a count meaning i’m one of the highest ranks besides the king and queen. I’m free to marry who ever i wish”

You pulled back and looked at him in shock. “Orlo, what do you mean?!”

“You’re one of the most pleasant people to be around, you’re kind, and funny, and you’re so excited to learn i just- i just thought you’d never be interested. I was just happy to find a friend”

You leaned in again. Savoring the feel of the silks and velvets of his clothes. And how you were pleasantly surprised by how sturdy he felt.

You rested your head on his shoulder and he gently brushed your hair away from your neck. You could feel yourself blushing at the closeness. He gently touched your neck.

“Are you sure you want this i could-”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Please, i’ve never been more sure of anything”

“From what i know it  should hurt, but then again he was trying to kill me, so please try to relax”

You closed your eyes and focused on Orlo, the feeling his arms wrapped around your waist holding you tightly, the smell of ink and leather, the warm and luxurious feel of his jacket. 

You flinched as you felt a prick and a burning sensation but it slowly melted away. Strangely enough it felt warm, like being wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. You sighed as he ran his finger through your hair, gently scratching your scalp, it felt amazing, almost overwhelming. You relaxed even deeper. You knew you’d fall if orlo wasn’t holding you.  You didn’t know if it was a vampire thing or if it was the blood loss but could swear you could here Orlo in your head.

“Thank you so much, no amount of words or actions could ever repay you for your kindness, i insist you stay with me instead of going back to the servants quarters, mockery of peter and the courts be damned ”

You felt extremely tired, like you haven’t slept in actual days. You hummed at the feeling of him licking your wounds. You felt him pick you up bridal style but you couldn’t say anything or even open your eyes, you tried but he shushed you, you whined and grabbed for his hand when you heard him walk away. 

“Sleep, i’m just changing”

You smiled knowing at the crack of dawn marial would march in and demand to know everything that happened. 

You tried sitting up when you herd him come back. He rushed over to you and tried to get you to lay back down. “You need to rest you-”

“THE BUNNYS SAFE!”

He tried to stifle his laughter.”yes it’s safe, i found it hopping around” He held up the box with the little thing inside and you smiled. 

“What do we name it?”

“You need sleep”

[spaceasianmillennial]

Gabriel and Maria Belmont: Part 3

He stared ahead for the mop of brown curls at the front of the altar. This was the Belmont family chapel and she was seated there as if she had been a part of the household for eons. He planted himself on the pew next to her, nothing but the vacant aisle between them. He wanted answers.

“Why did you come?”

Her eyes were on the wooden cross.

“What else did I have?”

“Did you have options?”

“I didn’t want to be charity to my family. I wanted to be neither charity nor a woman in a convent.”

“Why would you leave your family?”

“Haven’t you heard about them? Their dealings with the church and ways of treating the serfs doing their landwork. I would not be associated with that. I would not die in that household. Stay longer and I would be in Hell.”

“So, you left the devil you know, to marry the devil you don’t know.”

Now she met his eyes. Those stern blue eyes. 

“Yes.” She was having second thoughts, but she had no regrets for the leaving.

—

“It’s time for you to become a daughter of the Belmonts.” For three more days, she slept in the guest room. She had washed both of the dresses in her travel sack, and she took the nicest and bluest one.

Maria was married to Gabriel not in a church, much to her silent chagrin, but by the manor pondside by a visiting priest. Gabriel’s two present brothers and their wives, one of them clutching two screaming little ones, were witnesses, although their elder children were doing chores inside—a signification to Maria that they knew ceremony was more obligatory than celebratory. 

Gabriel muttered his vows and slipped a cold ring upon her forefinger.

—

The priest dropped Holy Water onto the wedding bed before he left.

She unlocked her dress and left herself in her shift then climbed into the covers. There, she stiffened like a plank, waiting for the weight. But he simply climbed into his end and did not touch her.

“You can stay in the guest room.”

He did not want to touch her. She thought he would simply perform his duties, or exploit this matter and have his way with her, and that possibility entered her brain and she prayed to God beforehand for an event. But he seemed utterly disinterested, as if she was just extra weight. Either way, he wasn’t going to get her pregnant. 

“The priest is gone. The guest room is open. Or you can stay in one of my sister’s rooms.”

She did not answer his comment. She turned over. She listened to him breathe and then his sound fading into aggressive snores. 

–

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[kshitij1997]

Welcome back!

Well, the die has been cast, and Europe shall endure the consequences. Or will it?

Onward with the story :)

All Frozen and Tangled characters belong to Disney. All I own is this retelling and some original characters.

Chapter 10: Felino the crooked nose

 

February the 5th, 1828,

‘You’re a frigid, wormy piece of shit, you know that?’, growled the recently anointed Tsar at the Arendellian Monarch. Not a good sign for the conference the concert of Europe had arranged; the Monarch of Arendelle was hellbent on closing his country yet again, and no one was willing to budge on their stance.

‘I care not for the impression you choose to have about me, your majesty. I have my reasons and my fears to support my decision. I have to do what I feel is best for my kingdom, as would you if you faced a decision of a similar magnitude.’ Agnarr stated his position calmly, even as he felt no genuine respect for the Russian Monarch. Unlike his late brother, Tsar Nicholas the first had no great capacity for empathy and understanding. He had chosen to keep himself and his people ignorant. After all, what could one say of the sovereign who treated his highest officials and closest advisors like the serfs he saw them to be, and the holy synod under him bragged openly about how it was their god given duty to keep the downtrodden as they were. Oh, how their man, Sergei Uvarov, the Tsar’s minister of education, openly declared: “If I can extend Russia’s childhood another fifty years I will consider my mission accomplished.”

Oh, the Tsar saw himself as a god, and a jealous one at that. Agnarr understood that and knew that as a fellow sovereign, the Tsar could do little but rant in his face for the insult. Even if he would want to wage war upon Arendelle, he wouldn’t wish to give up access to the only warm water seaport he had. Still, Agnarr’s worries were far greater than some disgruntled people in power.

Elsa had lost control of her powers and was crippled in her fear, Anna had been forced to selective amnesia from Grand Pabbie, leaving no trace of Elsa’s powers and Olva...well she hadn’t been so fortunate. Against the advice of Grand Pabbie, he and Iduna had insisted on the procedure of wiping her memory clean of Elsa’s powers and the accident. The hermit warned of the consequences he was facing now with Olva, but how was he to know in his panic and desperation? Now the poor girl had begun experiencing fits and severe headaches, along with bouts of fainting for several minutes. He hadn’t slept this past month properly in the worry of what could happen to his family. Now he had a solution, and he would not back off from it. He must protect his family in any way possible. He must.

‘Your majesties, please don’t antagonise each other. This concerns all of us. You’re not the only ones troubled here. King Agnarr, you’d best explain yourself.’, queen Sophia spoke firmly as she presided over the conference. Agnarr’s declaration had shocked everyone, and he was yet to provide an explanation.

‘Thank you, queen Sophia. I have no intent on stepping on anyone’s face or insulting anyone. This sudden policy of isolation is a measure of precaution. I have it on reliable sources and personal knowledge that there are elements of revolution and insurgency brewing up in my kingdom. I can’t ignore it like the previous bourbon king of France in his time, god rest his soul. I must deal with these rebels quickly and with extreme prejudice. Because if I don’t then Arendelle falls forever, and if Arendelle falls, all northern Europe shall sink along with it.

And before you decide on persecuting war against me, ask yourselves this. Haven’t we had enough of war? We saw 2 decades of war followed by a decade of relative peace. If you ask me, I’d rather prefer the latter. I make this tough choice for the safety of all Europe, please understand.’

He paused to size up the room, who could be his allies and enemies hereafter. Corona and Austria-Hungary were definitely his allies; he knew Reginald would support him in the end. Weselton and the English would be against it; his partnership with them and America would be at risk, he’ll have to accommodate them somehow. Same was the situation with Russia. Maybe the Ottomans had to be brought in to keep Russia in check? Spain and the Southern Isles could be neutral; the Spanish could not care less, their main rivals were the English and the French, they would only vote as a formality. As for the Southern Isles were represented by queen Paulina, for the king had taken ill. On the surface, Paulina looked pleasant and charismatic, yet Agnarr knew that she would be a formidable and dangerous foe if he didn’t play this right. He began to speak again but was rudely interrupted.   

‘And what would be these insurgent elements? The Northuldra?’, asked the duke of Weselton. The room tensed at the duke’s blatant attempt towards badgering the king of Arendelle. Agnarr had to fight a very strong impulse towards bashing the duke’s head on the wall. After composing himself mentally, he replied with barely concealed intentions ‘Why, yes. They have been neglected for far too long. I must attempt to bring them up with the kingdom. They are too obscure and are getting discontent.’

‘Just the language your father used, didn’t he? And where is he now? Lost like the rest of them. I’m telling you; this country is a lost cause. The Northuldra are ‘discontent’? Don’t make me laugh. They’re out for your and your family’s blood. They have been for years.’, the duke was clearly enjoying himself at Agnarr’s expense.

‘And if I hope to pursue a peaceful solution and keep Europe out of the mess, what is so wrong with that, duke?’, Agnarr nearly spat out the last part.

‘It’s always something personal. What, a problem with your kids now?’

‘Why, your uncouth son of a-‘

‘ENOUGH!’, the presiding queen roared. ‘That’s the second time you have tried to lay discord in the concert on purpose, duke. Once it was over my kidnapped child and now this. I swear, if it happens again, you’re going to meet your maker without warning, in front of everyone!’

‘I can’t believe you’re still going on about your bloody kid. She’s fucking dead! I always get enraged how the kings of Europe are disturbed about such trivial matters, and I’m to be punished because I call out the bullshit for what it is?! Fine. Hang, draw, and quarter me all you want, that does not change the fact that once again, some people are sullying the good name of the concert for their own interests.’, the duke spat venom without a care.

‘I’ve heard enough. Marshals, break the duke’s kneecaps.’, an enraged Sophia gave the cold order to her personal guard. The duke’s bravado melted away instantly, and he shrunk in his stature as the marshals came to deal with him.

‘Sophie, stop!’ King Reginald shouted.

‘Pray tell, what now, Reginald?’ his spouse was beyond annoyed by now.

The king of Corona whispered in his spouse’s ear ‘We’ll get the coward some other time. I need to talk sense into Agnarr somehow. I advise you to break for recess.’ A rare sight for the usually tempestuous king to calm down his calmer, more pragmatic wife.

Queen Sophia sighed heavily and announced a recess.

Once they were alone, Reginald confronted Agnarr ‘What’s gotten into you, Agnarr? You’re supposed to be the sensible one amongst us two.’       

‘I’ll tell you what’s sensible. I should invade the fucking duchy of Weselton, lay it to fucking waste, burn it to the fucking ground, and salt the fucking remains barren forever!’ Agnarr snarled with uncharacteristic murder in his eyes.

‘Oh, calm down, crusader. I hate the duke much more than you do, believe me. Nevertheless, even I must agree with that poltroon over your course of action. It’s drastic and uncalled for. Tell me honestly what’s bothering you. We’ll make it right. Tell me.’

‘You don’t believe me? I told you every reason I have for doing this. My kingdom has only just recovered from the previous war. I can’t risk another. I certainly can’t afford it to become a pan-European conflict. At the end of the day, I just want my heir to inherit a stable state. An agitated group of people is not the hallmark of a stable state. Even if it takes me years, I must resolve this once and for all.’

Reginald spoke empathetically ‘Alright, but it still is a visceral reaction to the situation. I think foreign aid would only help more. Are you sure about it?’

Agnarr thought about telling the truth to his best friend, but ultimately decided otherwise; he couldn’t let the secret get out in any circumstance.

‘Yes I am. I also believe that those so-called insurgents are supplied by foreign powers themselves; they would like nothing more than to make my kingdom their colony. And that fucking Weselton shill... I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s behind the whole damn thing.’

‘That may be true, but without solid evidence, we can’t deal with him effectively. We must be sure.’ Reginald advised him.

‘Alright, but I can’t back down from my position. Yes, my kingdom will suffer in the short run, but I know we’ll be secure and united eventually.’

Ultimately, the concert decided that Arendelle would only keep one point of access open to the outside world; the main port. Only diplomats and special traders would be allowed. Every other traveller, from tourist to student would have to be barred from entering the country. It may cause uprising among the international students in his kingdom, but he’ll have to deal with them on his down. To preserve the security, the red tape for the traders and businessmen became very harsh. All, in service towards protecting my family; Agnarr thought.

A week later

A craven figure along with half a dozen guards floated in a rowboat towards one of the northern shores of Arendelle, beyond the mist. A hooded figure in silhouette waited for them on shore, heavily dressed to protect them self against the bitter February cold. Upon reaching the shore, the hooded bowed in respect and said ‘Welcome, honourable duke of Weselton. I hope your journey was pleasant enough.’

‘As pleasant a trip I could hope in stormy, waning winter, thank you for asking.’, the duke removed his cloak and coat to make his face more visible, and gestured his guards to disembark and stand around. The scrawny man took a moment to stretch himself, and at length, spoke ‘How many instances of forbidden people wandering into your grounds?’

‘Not as many as before, however a group of the Iceni tribe were intercepted in the valley of death during patrol two months ago and dealt with without exception. No survivors that we know of.’

‘Good, the illegals are dwindling, soon they would be no problem. However, as long as Arendelle stands, you’ll never be safe. We’ll have to confront them once and for all.’

‘Let’s continue our discussion on the way to camp, honourable duke.’

The Northuldrian camp was twenty-five kilometres inland from the seashore, but the spirits had grown very erratic in recent years, so the Northuldra had to find new routes to their homes every few weeks. The latest incident was particularly severe; a landslide had destroyed the usual detour they took, so they had to take the tributaries by another boat, a slower but safer way of travel.

‘Forgive me, honourable duke. I know travel by water does not agree with you.’

‘I’ll live. Tell me, how is everything holding up north of the mist?’

‘We’re eking out a living somehow. As you know, the rivers have been gradually changing course towards the south, our arable lands are going barren as a result. Adding to the problem, the rains are becoming scarcer with every passing year bit by bit. I regret to inform you that the poppy plantation is facing a loss, the raw material for the heroin would be short this time.’

‘It seems you’ve lost the plot, haven’t you? How will I get you your weapons if your end of the bargain is low? Weapons, armament, lumber and steam technology for ships don’t come cheap, you know?’ the duke said with the faux humility that masked grave threats underneath, and the hooded figure knew well what those threats were. Nevertheless, a low yield was not the biggest problem.

‘There’s more, honourable duke. Arendelle has tried to sue for peace and is willing to cooperate.’

‘Yes, I heard. We both know it’s nonsense.’

‘I’m not so sure. The terms they have offered seem rather reasonable.’

‘I’m sure they are. They may be too reasonable, I’m afraid. Implying something between the lines. The implication being disastrous for the Northuldra. If you ask me, I would never take any terms Europe offers at face value.’

‘I’m a fair sceptic of the south, just as you are. But since the rise of the mist, they have not engaged in any big skirmishes.’

The duke sighed and said ‘It pains me to say it, but you lack an ocean of imagination. There are uncountable ways to fight a war of attrition, and Arendelle has chosen the most insidious way.’

‘What do you mean, duke?’

‘I’d rather tell this to everyone at once, instead of making it a poor game of translation errors.’, with that, the duke fell silent, knowing full well that the hooded figure’s doubts had been flared up.

After a voyage of two hours, the party reached the camp. A huge crowd had gathered upon the riverbank where the canoe stopped. The hooded figure removed his hood and stood beside the Northuldra leader as her most trusted vassal. The Northuldra leader went by the name of Yelena, a woman moving towards middle age, standing barely above the duke in stature, but those aged eyes had seen many ups and downs. The leader slightly prostrated herself before the duke; the Northuldra way of showing respect towards authority.

‘Welcome, o duke! I hope your voyage was pleasant.’

‘As much as I could hope it to be. I must say, the Northuldra’s native lands grow more beautiful every time I venture up’ the duke said.

‘Your grace flatters us. I believe my trusted vassal has given you the lowdown for everything that has happened in the past three months. We’ll be happy to discuss a compromise for the goods you need.’

‘Thank you, your excellency. However, my worries include the survival of the Northuldra as well.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘You may have received terms from the king of Arendelle for a peaceful cessation in the past few days, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, they are more reasonable than I expected.’

‘I feared so, for if you paid attention, you’d realise that the terms are too positive. They’re willing to overlook the massacre of the group of Iceni that happened two months ago. Not to mention the fact that they may have stumbled about the truth about our trade operation as well.’

‘Speaking of the trade operation, what we may be short of in terms of goods, we’ll make up in plunder in the North Atlantic. I have sanctioned three fleets for the same purpose later this week.’

‘That is encouraging, but I must warn you, the plundering operation would become very difficult very soon. What with the king of Arendelle sealing the kingdom’s maritime and overland borders.’

‘Excuse me, come again?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.’

‘No, I didn’t. Please enlighten us, your grace.’

‘Well, your excellency, the king of Arendelle has decided to isolate the country, and I quote his speech: “This sudden policy of isolation is a measure of precaution. I have it on reliable sources and personal knowledge that there are elements of revolution and insurgency brewing up in my kingdom. I can’t ignore it like the previous bourbon king of France in his time, god rest his soul. I must deal with these rebels quickly and with extreme prejudice. Because if I don’t, then Arendelle falls forever, and if Arendelle falls, all northern Europe shall sink along with it.” Now you tell me, is this the language a man would use while suing for peace?’

Yelena became quiet for a moment, taking in al the information. At length, she asked ‘What are the possible ramifications of this declaration?’

‘They could be numerous, but I’ll tell you the most obvious one. Within a month at the latest, the coasts would be dotted by the Arendellian navy, putting a blockade through which nothing except their own ships could get in or out. You can imagine they would be only too happy to hunt down your pirate ships before you’re able to secure any loot at all. You can’t raid through the land, as the mist is your most powerful jailer. It will surely be a stifling experience; I won’t deny it.’

‘What if we do sue for peace? If we sincerely send an envoy to the south?’

‘Aye, you could try that. In fact, I suggest you try that without fail.’ Interrupted a tall, dark man as he made his way inside Yelena’s tent.’

‘Mathias, just because the mist forces me to tolerate and learn to like your presence doesn’t mean you interrupt me in meetings about the matters of state.’ Yelena bristled with annoyance.

‘Believe me, once the mist lifts up, I’ll ride south, first thing on my to-do list.’

‘Mathias, you look familiar. Tall, dark, muscular, good posture. Does your Ethiopian father still till the grain and tan the leather shoes?’, making harsh, cutting remarks was a talent the duke used well.

‘No. Does the honourable duke take me for his wretched bastard slaves in the Congo?’ Mathias growled.

‘Gentlemen, please. Your grace, please don’t mind Mathias. Yes, he’s a southerner. He was in king Runeard’s personal guard from what I gather. He may look brutish and imposing, but he’s harmless and dare I say, a halfway decent man. He doesn’t usually interrupt one of my meetings, so this instance must be special. Tell us big boy, what should bother us?’ Yelena finished as she turned to Mathias.

‘I’m sorry. I’m not willing to entertain the stories of a deserter.’, the duke said nonchalantly.

‘As if your pip squeakiness has ever been in a battle to judge a trapped prisoner of war?’ Mathias seethed.

‘See, even he agrees, we’re at war.’ Oh, they were all playing right into my hands, the duke thought with glee.

‘Yes, and now peace must be made. Yelena, this is not the time to go on the offensive. Trust me.’ Mathias faced Yelena as he settled down beside her.

‘Maybe, but it is a peace we would be forced into. We want it on our own terms, Mathias. I understand you’re homesick, but we haven’t had a home to go back to for decades. We will assert our terms onto the king, and he will have to accept it. If he doesn’t, it’s war.’

‘Lofty words, your excellency. Alas, there’s no substance or weight to back your words. You’ll be blockaded soon, and travel by land is impossible anyhow. I suggest you make a permanent settlement here and be done with it.’, the duke laid the bait.

‘And perpetually disturb the peace of the spirits by claiming their sacred forest? Never.’, and Yelena took it.

‘Well, I can’t negotiate such a big difference in your quantity of goods. You’ll have to offer me something if I must continue supporting your struggle. What about lumber from the forest?’

‘You must be reading a fucking comedy. When we refuse to make a permanent settlement in the forest, YOU PROCEED TO SUGGEST SOMETHING FAR WORSE?!’, Mathias had half a mind to strangle the duke right there, when he was stopped by Yelena.

‘Sit down, Mathias! We’re in desperate times. We’ll have to do what we must in order to survive.’

‘Making a bad situation worse is survival?! Can you imagine or fathom withstanding the rage of the spirits if we cut down the forest?! How can you even consider this, Yelena?’

‘If I may ease your concerns, I’ll vouch for the fact that a sacred relic commands a lot of value in the market. Especially amongst those who are powerful, proud, wealthy and don’t ask too many questions. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll introduce a tiny amount in the market. People would recognize it as sacred or magical with plenty of history behind it. Once I do that, I can manipulate the price for it and bring you all the money, all the weapons, all the ships you need.’, the duke reassured the Northuldra leader.

Yelena spoke at length ‘Alright, I agree to the venture. Let’s begin with ten logs.’

Mathias hung his head in defeat and nursed his forehead, which had begun to throb. This is not going to end well.

Yelena tried to comfort him after the duke left ‘Listen, for every tree we cut down, we’ll plant ten, I promise.’

‘Even if you do that, it won’t be the sacred forest of the fifth spirit anymore.’ Mathias said ruefully.

As the duke made his way to the ship waiting off the coast on his rowboat, one of his taciturn guards asked him ‘Your grace, why do we need these bunch of sheep worshippers?’

The duke grinned darkly ‘When a rival nation is at war with itself, best let it consume itself.’

Around the same time, somewhere in northern Greece

‘Rider, move your ass and get over here!’ A portly man called out as he wiped a greasy hand on his apron.

‘Coming, Elios!’ Flynn came running in. He was now a man of seventeen; having seen a fair bit of the world by now and had been working with Elios for a few months. Elios had hidden Flynn to save him from ‘The Hawk’, a notorious smuggler who had trapped him in his ring. In return, Flynn agreed to work for him in his front business.

‘Why must I go through this fucking chore every time? To have to call you up like a fucking parade float to just do your blessed job?’

‘I’m sorry for being two minutes late. I already did the prep for tonight; the bar has been cleaned and stocked. I just took a nap, calm your tits.’

‘I’ve heard that many times, give me something new Flynn’ Elios rolled his eyes.

‘What do you think I’ve been doing? Making merry around the city square? Come on, I know better than that.’

‘Don’t bother lying to me. I swear, one of those women is gonna make you the sacrificial goat someday.’

‘Alright, I heard your speech. Got it, can we move on?’

Elios wiped some sweat off his forehead and asked, ‘You know who’s coming tonight?’

‘Yeah I do, friends loyal to the Greek cause.’ Flynn answered without faltering

‘Not just any friend, mind you. The Gent is coming along with the Sicilians.’

Flynn’s ears perked up at that piece of news. The Gent was a legend in Northern Greece, almost singlehandedly forming the on-land resistance against the Ottomans in the Greek war of independence. He had been involved in the resistance for nearly seven years now and was lobbying for foreign support.

‘Wow, that’s a hero if I ever saw one.’

‘I told you I’ll introduce you to him soon. Today’s the day.’

‘Now, why would he visit an affluent restaurant filled with Turks day in and out, I’m sure I don’t know.’ Flynn stated incuriously.

‘Hey Flynn, let his people worry about it. I’m sure his people would be clever enough to figure it out.’ Elios was a practical man who knew the streets well, however, forethought was not his strongest suit.

‘No, Elios. Hear me out. If the Gent is ambushed here, we’re done for. Everything will be up for grabs and I know neither of us would like the prick of the cold sabre chopping our necks. And if we know The Gent is coming, the officials certainly know. And if the Sicilians find out, you’ll end up wearing concrete shoes, old boy. You may know the gutters and the roads, but I know loyalty.’

‘What do you suppose we do now? We can’t really serve them in public view.’

‘That is true. Tell you what, let’s clear the cellar for their dinner. I’m sure they don’t want any outsider to hear what they are discussing amongst themselves. Also, I think you should serve them personally, Elios.’

‘No can do. I’m the front. If I don’t stay there, they’ll investigate. You’ll have to serve them yourself. I’m sorry Flynn. The Gent trusts me, if he sees that I consider you worthy, he’ll be comfortable.’

But I don’t know the first thing about him and the others. What if I offend them without meaning to?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Flynn. We both know you know better than that. If the service is good, they’ll fill your pockets with enough dosh to set you up for years. If I truly know you, you wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world.’

‘Alright, I’ll do it. Say Elios, what if I warm them personally first about the last-minute change of scenery?’

‘No. I’ll have to warn them myself. Set the cellar up. I did contact them two days ago; I’ll do it again.’

‘Just make sure you’re not followed.’

‘Hey Rider, who knows the street better?’

‘You do, clearly.’

‘Yup. I’ll be back soon.’

A few hours later, a party of people showed up. There was the Gent, a tall slender man, worn down by the hiding and fighting. His face was warm enough, save for the green eyes that could bore holes through the Earth, and a crooked mouth that had a scare across the top lip. Still, he felt like a man who could fight forever. As for the Sicilians, they were something else entirely.

It was a band of seven people. The man most fancily dressed, along with the ruby ring on his little finger and the gold watch and chain, was obviously the leader. The six were presumably his bodyguards, each one burlier and more imposing that the last, looking like killers happy to kill a priest in the middle of a sermon. Ruthless and royal. Dressed to the nines up to their plug caps.

Flynn suddenly felt dwarfed and puny.

‘Gentlemen, this is Flynn, he’s been working with me for a few months, he’ll be serving you tonight.’ Elios gave a short introduction and left. Flynn gave a short bow, not sure how to address these powerful men.

‘What’s your name, green boy?’ The Gent asked.

‘Flynn.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Going to be seventeen next month.’

You’re not from around these parts, are you? Your accent tells me....Austria Hungary?’

‘No sir, Corona. The Rhinelands, to be exact.’ 

‘Uh huh. How’d you end up in Greece?’

‘War orphan from the Napoleonic wars, pushed around all of Europe, ended up here.’ By now, Flynn knew the story by heart.   

‘My condolences. Ok Flynn, you’re going to undergo something unpleasant. Forgive me, just the nature of these times. I need to be sure of your loyalty.’

Before Flynn could reply, one of the goons was upon him, almost choking him with his weight, pressing down on his spine. Even if Flynn had any wind left him, he couldn’t yell.

‘Answer me, why was the room changed at such short notice?’

‘When the Gent asks, you better fucking answer, figlio di sfagato!’

‘Get off him, let him speak.’ The goon got off at once.

Flynn coughed and gasped for air. When he could breathe normally, he said weakly , ‘Mr. Gent, it was Mr. Elios who suggested it.’ Flynn barely finished his sentence before receiving a punch in the gut, knocking the air out of him.

‘That’s a lie. Elios is not that big a thinker. You seem to be smarter than you let on. Why’d you try to protect us from the Turks?’

‘I didn’t want them to kill you here. That would be underhanded and filthy. I’ve heard....heard that you believe in engaging them head on, I didn’t want them to ambush you. You’re a hero around here, would be a shame if I couldn’t do my bit for your cause.’ Flynn was hit yet again by the goon, this time in his nose. Blood had begin ebbing from his mouth and nose.

‘You’ve said enough. I can guess the rest of the story. Either betray the Turks and face the sabre or betray us and face getting shot in the face. Why choose us over them?’

‘I gambled here.....I’d rather be loyal to someone fighting the slavers for freedom than the slaver themselves.’ Flynn braced himself for another hit, but the hit never came.

Instead he could hear a chuckle from the Sicilian leader, who had gestured his goon to stand down. He approached Flynn and held him by the cheek, saying in thick accent, ’Felino. That’s your name from now on. Felino the crooked nose. Drinks on the house, all night. Keep the drinks up, you’ll be richer than the sultan come morning. Good boy.’

The leader, or don as they were calling him now, lightly tapped his cheek and went back to his place, settling down with the Gent and the other goons. Flynn left the room and almost crumpled on the floor. I could’ve died there, he thought for a second. Nevertheless, he composed himself and put on his charm; Felino the crooked nose had a job to do.

Ha, the duke of Weselton’s such a bastard, always stirring up shit wherever he goes lol. I love the potential his character has.

Our Man Flynn is serving the big boys now! What could happen?

Thanks again to those who continue reading this silly story :P

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome!

[backtozeon]

Dear Fans of Watchmen, Hello there. My name is Damon Lindelof and I am a writer. I am also the unscrupulous bastard currently defiling something that you love. But that’s not all that I am. I am a twelve-year old boy being handed the first two issues by my father. “You’re not ready for this,” he growls with a glint of mischief in his eye. My parents have recently divorced and he has gone rogue, so there I am in my bed, flashlight beam illuminating pages, watching the Comedian fall again and again and again. The old man was wrong. I am ready for this. Because this was written just for me. I am thirty-eight. A man offers me the opportunity to adapt Watchmen for television. The filmed adaptation came out less than a year ago, but that doesn’t matter. I tell him I am not interested and that perhaps he should let sleeping dogs lie with hopes they will eventually be run over by a car tire, bursting their stomachs. He does not get the reference. I am watching my father haggle with a man in a wheelchair. I am fifteen years old and we are at a comic book convention in New York City, long before attending a comic book convention was something anyone wanting to ever have sex with another person would admit to. I definitely want to have sex with another person. My father finally harangues the merchant down to thirty dollars for a guaranteed authentic screenplay of Watchmen, soon to be a major motion picture! Now, he reads aloud from the script as “The Watchmen” battle terrorists at The Statue of Liberty. Something is wrong. The old man’s brow furrows, scanning the text in a mixture of disappointment and rage, a child who has just been told that Santa didn’t bring him presents this year, then robbed the house and beat up his parents. “What the fuck is this?” my father mutters. It is the first time he swears in front of me. Another man offers me the opportunity to adapt Watchmen for television. I am forty now. I tell him someone else asked me to do this a year ago and I declined. He inquires as to why I said no. I tell him that Alan Moore has been consistently explicit in stating that Watchmen was written for a very specific medium and that medium is comics, comics that would be ruined should they be translated into moving images. The Another Man pauses for a moment, then responds – “Who’s Alan Moore?” I am twenty-three and living in Los Angeles. My father flies out from New Jersey for my birthday and gives me a present, a new edition of the “graphic novel” that is Watchmen. He explains to me that this is the publisher’s way of retaining the rights to the characters. He tells me that Dan and Adrian and Jon and Walter and Laurie are all serfs, working the land for a Feudal Lord that will never grant them freedom. My father is more than a little drunk.. More so, he is a hypocrite for buying me the new edition. “I know, I know…” he says, that same mischievous glint from years ago obscured by now thicker lenses, “But it’s so goddamned good.” Yet Another Man offers me the opportunity to adapt Watchmen for television. “Just a pilot,” he says, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I am forty-three now and I am thinking about something I read about Orthodox Judaism. While most religions are cultivated by evangelizing and conversion, Orthodox Judaism doesn’t solicit. If someone from another faith wishes to become an Orthodox Jew, they are rejected. If they are stubborn enough to ask again, they are denied even more harshly. But should they have the audacity to ask a third time? The door cracks open. And if they’re willing to invest an immense amount of time and effort and sacrifice and faith, they are embraced into the fold. Why am I thinking about this? I have said no to Watchmen twice now. This makes me Orthodox Judaism. I crack the door. And now I’m a hypocrite too. I am standing over my father’s hospital bed. I am twenty-nine, the last age at which I will consider myself “young.” The breathing tube was removed two hours ago and they said he wouldn’t last longer than fifteen minutes. It’s a cliché. I’m living a trope. He is unconscious and unable to impart final wisdom nor tell me he was proud all along, even though he never said it out loud. There is no beeping machine showing his weakening heartrate. My father is beyond machines. I hold his cool hand and try not to pray to God because he detested the very idea of God so instead I pray to his gods. I pray to Cthulhu. I pray to 42, the Eternal Cosmic Number. I pray to Dr. Manhattan, far away in a galaxy less complicated than this one. The television is on and the Lakers win the championship. My father never cared about basketball. He didn’t even know the rules. When he dies, I finally understand that I don’t know the rules either. No one does. I am forty-five and I am writing a letter to the fans. The fans of Watchmen. It’s unnecessarily wordy and an exercise in oversharing, but nothing gets people on your side more than telling them about the moment your father died. Sharing such intimate details with strangers feels needy and pathetic and exploitative and yucky and necessary and freeing. I am also looking for an elegant way to escape from this device of quantum observance, a device appropriated from Mr. Moore so that I can speak to those fans from the bottom of my cold, thieving heart. Perhaps I could switch from referring to them in the third person and shift into the second, thus bringing them closer to the first? Would that be amenable to you? First and foremost, if you are angry that I’m working on Watchmen, I am sorry. You may be thinking I can’t be that sorry or I wouldn’t be doing it. I concede the point, but I hope it doesn’t invalidate the apology, which I offer with sincerity and respect. Respect. That’s second and twicemost. I have an immense amount of respect for Alan Moore. He is an extraordinary talent of mythic proportion. I wrote him a letter, parts of which are not dissimilar to this one, because I owed him an explanation as to why I’m defying his wishes and to humbly ask him not to place a curse on me because he knows magic and apparently, he can do that. His response, or whether he responded at all, is between he and I. Suffice to say, even before I sent it, Mr. Moore had made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want anyone to “adapt” his work. To do so is hubris. Worse yet, it’s unethical. There are a million ways to rationalize unethical behavior – I could argue that Mr. Moore’s partner, the brilliant artist, Dave Gibbons, is equally entitled to authorize access to his masterwork and that he has been kind enough to offer us his blessing to do so. Or I could offer that Mr. Moore cut his veined teeth on the creations of others; Batman, Superman, Captain Britain, Marvelman (he’ll never be “Miracleman” to me), Swamp Thing and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, not to mention The Charlton characters upon whom his Watchmen characters are based… So am I not allowed to do the same? No. I am not. I am not allowed. And yet… I am compelled. I am compelled despite the inevitable pushback and hatred I will understandably receive for taking on this particular project. This ire will be maximally painful because of its source. That source being you. The true fans. I once said that if one were a true fan of something, they weren’t allowed to hate it. A prominent writer took me to task for such heresy, arguing that just because one was the creator of a show, this did not permit them to pick and choose who was and wasn’t a fan of it. The writer went on to win a Pulitzer for television criticism. I went on to get snubbed by the Razzies for Prometheus. As such, I concede this point, too. After all, even the most fervent lifelong fan of, oh, let’s say the New York Jets, is allowed to shout at the top of his lungs, “YOU SUCK OH MY GOD YOU SUUUUUUUUUCKIII II” and do so while wearing a replica Namath Jersey he purchased for an ungodly sum of money that may or may not have constituted his entire first paycheck on Nash Bridges. But the point. The point is, you love Watchmen. That gives you the right to hate it, too. Because no matter what… You’re still true fans. But to quote the immortal P.W. Herman… “I know you are… But what am IT’ What am I? I’m a true fan, too. And I’m not the only one. What I love most about television is that the finished product is a result not of singular vision, but the collective experience of many brilliant minds. I have the pleasure of sitting in a Writers Room each and every day that is as diverse and combative as any I’ve ever been a part of. In that room, Hetero White Men like myself are in the minority and as Watchmen is (incorrectly) assumed to be solely our domain, understanding its potential through the perspectives of women, people of color and the LGBTQ community has been as eye-opening as it has been exhilarating. We’ve committed to doing the same in front of and behind the camera. And every single person involved with this show absolutely adores Watchmen. But in the spirit of complete honesty, we also sorta want to… uh… Disrupt it? Except I hate that word because now it’s not disruptive anymore. And how can I present as punk rock when I’m now cozy in bed, spooning with Warner Brothers, HBO and DC? Truth be told, everyone there, particularly Geoff Johns (who is as true fan as it gets) has been extraordinarily supportive. Sure, it’s fun to kick around the comic corporate overlords for exploiting writers and artists, but we all know what happened to Jack Kirby and we’re still first in line for every Marvel film. So… how do we answer the challenge of when it is appropriate to appropriate? Which brings us to the most important part. Maybe the only part that really matters. Our creative intentions. We have no desire to “adapt” the twelve issues Mr. Moore and Mr. Gibbons created thirty years ago. Those issues are sacred ground and they will not be retread nor recreated nor reproduced nor rebooted. They will, however be remixed. Because the bass lines in those familiar tracks are just too good and we’d be fools not to sample them. Those original twelve issues are our Old Testament. When the New Testament came along, it did not erase what came before it. Creation. The Garden of Eden. Abraham and Isaac. The Flood. It all happened. And so it will be with Watchmen. The Comedian died. Dan and Laurie fell in love. Ozymandias saved the world and Dr. Manhattan left it just after blowing Rorschach to pieces in the bitter cold of Antarctica. To be clear. Watchmen is canon. Just the way Mr. Moore wrote it, the way Mr. Gibbons drew it and the way the brilliant John Higgins colored it. But we are not making a “sequel” either. This story will be set in the world its creators painstakingly built… but in the tradition of the work that inspired it, this new story must be original. It has to vibrate with the seismic unpredictability of its own tectonic plates. It must ask new questions and explore the world through a fresh lens. Most importantly, it must be contemporary. The Old Testament was specific to the Eighties of Reagan and Thatcher and Gorbachev… ours needs to resonate with the frequency of Trump and May and Putin and the horse that he rides around on, shirtless. And speaking of Horsemen, The End of The World is off the table (THE LEFTOVERS! NOW STREAMING ON HBO GO!) which means the heroes and villains — as if the two are distinguishable — are playing for different stakes entirely. The tone will be fresh and nasty and electric and absurd. Many describe Watchmen as “dark,” but I’ve always loved its humor -worshipping at the altar of the genre whilst simultaneously trolling it. As such… Some of the characters will be unknown. New faces. New masks to cover them. We also intend to revisit the past century of Costumed Adventuring through a surprising, yet familiar set of eyes… and it is here where we’ll be taking our greatest risks. Risk is imperative. I need the feeling in my stomach before I leap from a great height without knowing the depth of the water below. If my body should shatter upon impact, at least it was in pursuit of glory. And let’s be honest… Isn’t there a small part of you that wants to see me explode like a fleshy watermelon? But hopefully, there’s also a part that wants to experience something sort of amazing. As for what I want? I want your validation. I also want not to want it. I’ve given up the opioid highs of Twitter, but continue to score my methadone in the threads of Reddit and the hot takes of morning-after recappers. I’ll be reading and watching and listening to what you have to say because even though I wish I didn’t… I deeply care about what you think. Which brings us, Thank God, to the end of the missive. Endings. I’m GREAT at them. A wise, blue man once said that nothing ever ends. But maybe he wasn’t wise. Maybe he was just scared and alone and sad that he would outlive everything and everyone he ever loved. So I hope this isn’t the last time we correspond, fellow fans… after all, it’s just a pilot and we don’t want to get ahead of ourselves. But maybe… if everything works out the way I hope it does… and if you’re willing to give me a chance, it’s not the end at all… It’s the beginning? With Respectful Hubris, -Damon

[freehawaii]

NOTE TO FAKE STATE - FORGET THE BLUE RIBBON COMMISSION

Honolulu Civil Beat - Danny de Gracia - February 19, 2020

Earlier this month, while I was walking in downtown Honolulu, a Native Hawaiian kupuna visiting from the Big Island reached out with his hand and stopped me as I almost passed him by. “Excuse me brah, I like ask you one question,” he began. “Who cleans this place?”

“No one!” I answered, much to his surprise. “As you can see, there’s dead animals on the ground; trash all over here; and someone even left their dirty underwear in the bushes!”

Stunned by how aware I was of all the surrounding details, the man told me how O`ahu was “a disgrace” and a perfect example of how the state has failed to do its basic duty. On his way to visit the Legislature to raise concerns, he revealed to me that he believed all of this was a result of the overthrow of the Kingdom, and that he was putting me and everyone else “on notice.”

I told him I agreed wholeheartedly with him, asked if I could pray briefly with him, and after invoking a blessing of success upon his efforts, we shook hands, and went our separate ways.

Though I would not consider him a sovereignty activist, a perception that the state has mismanaged the islands and brought about poor outcomes for Native Hawaiians is a key fissure in the many fault lines that divide locals today.

This session, the Legislature has proposed with House Concurrent Resolution 37 and Senate Concurrent Resolution 37 to “convene a blue ribbon reconciliation commission to examine and formulate a reconciliation process relating to issues of past, present, and future importance to the Native Hawaiian people, the State of Hawai`i, and the United States of America.”

The contentious Thirty Meter Telescope project brought to the surface a lot of pent up emotions over culture and religion, and served as a spark for public demonstrations all across the islands over not just the telescope, but over Native Hawaiian outcomes in general.

Unfortunately, yet another commission will have little actual impact on “reconciliation” between Native Hawaiians and the state of Hawai`i. The Legislature has a historic habit of creating task forces stuffed with hand-picked stakeholders who come up with a glorified wish list of objectives and best practices that at the end of the day are ignored.

Not Getting A Fair Deal

The divide between Native Hawaiians and the state is more than just debating the historical details of what has happened since 1893 or how to make people feel better.

Native Hawaiians experience significant disparities compared with other groups in Hawai`i, particularly in their socio-economic status, educational attainment and health outcomes. Until one addresses these disparities, animus toward state and federal government is only going to continue.

Hearing Native Hawaiians oppose the TMT, Homeland Defense Radar and other projects over ancient graves, cultural artifacts and environmental concerns is not only predictable, it is inevitable under poor economic conditions. This is not a local phenomena; it is a historical pattern repeated the world over.

The ongoing assertions of Native Hawaiians against local development are reminiscent of Shakespeare’s King Richard II who bemoaned, “We can call nothing our own except for our deaths and that little patch of earth that will cover our buried bodies. For God’s sake, let’s sit on the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings, how some were overthrown and others killed in war.”

When people feel that they don’t have a place in the system and that nothing they do, good or bad, can result in progress, the only thing left is conflict.

Forget a blue-ribbon commission.

First and foremost, Hawai`i must solve the housing crisis. Native Hawaiians need to be home owners, not just renters, to have a long-term stake as active participants in the community. And while I can hear in my mind detractors saying, “but Danny, in ancient Hawai`i we didn’t own the land, sea or sky” my response is thinking like that is precisely what the establishment uses as a convenient excuse not to remedy the crisis.

Second, Hawai`i needs to stop penalizing poverty. When we have a government that wants to tax stormwater, tax miles driven on the road, tax visits into Honolulu, tax property to pay for education, tax healthcare, and tax everything else imaginable, we aren’t raising revenues, we are suppressing impoverished people from climbing the economic ladder.

Between all the fees, fines, taxes and the already expensive cost of living, locals are treated like serfs on a feudal plantation. Like Rocky Balboa, Hawai`i residents have to ask, “Yo, don’t I get some rights?”

Last and most importantly, we need to all recognize that Hawai`i in 2020 is not a fair place to work, live and play. We are living in a palace economy where the next big success depends on a law passed by the Legislature, or a contract issued by government, rather than the innovation of local ideas and the triumph of local people.

In Hawai`i, rather than enforcing existing laws or taking care of our current responsibilities, our government just creates new laws on top of defective ones and more responsibilities on top of unfulfilled ones.

And what is the result? Our people are impoverished, our lands are covered with trash, and politicians live as career barons and kingmakers.

Native Hawaiians can’t take pride in a state that is falling apart. We don’t need “reconciliation” in Hawai`i. We need the existing Hawaii government to do their damn job and get this state working again. You’ll be surprised how well that brings everyone together again.

[kalle-and-lita]

Jealousy

For @goddessatina Prompt 14: Jealousy

A/N: Any canon muses are under my interpretation of the character, and mine alone and do not reflect those who RP the same character. 

~~

The party was lively, to say the least, and one Lita was certainly enjoying. It wasn't too often that she went to events such as these, as a gathering of the Primarchs was a rare occurrence indeed. But there were politics to discuss, war plans to go over, and when the Warmaster called for a gathering one was usually inclined to listen.

Her attendance had also been a bit of an unexpected development. Just earlier in the evening she'd been happily filing away paperwork for the Eighth Legion when his Highness had come barging into her office. Judging from the scowl on his face, he didn't seem at all pleased.

"Get ready.”

His curt order earned him an equally curt, but curious, reply,

"For what?"

He simply waved his hands, allowing two serfs to enter the room with various garments, "You'll be attending a gathering with me. Now get ready." He growled, leaving Lita with the serfs.

And so she eventually found herself at his side, hugging the far corner in every vain attempt to avoid conversations with his other brothers. Mortarion, Primarch of the Death Guard, had joined them not long ago. The pair of them spoke in low tones to each other, leaving Lita to hop softly from foot to foot.

Her drink was nearly empty, and not nearly strong enough to stave off her boredom. She had hoped that Atina would be in attendance, but so far had yet to see her good friend. Eventually, she became fed up, and politely excused herself to get more to drink. Easily she slipped in and out of the crowd in attendence. Remembrancers, and first officers alike, chatting and laughing as the party continued ever onward.

"Pardon me," a thick voice intruded upon Lita's thoughts as she refilled her drink, and she turned to find a Primarch she'd never met standing before her. He looked as if he'd been forged in fire, tall and terrifying, but there was a gentleness on his face that put her at ease, "Might you be Lita, Eighth Legion Representative?"

She dipped her head politely, "Indeed, Primarch...?"

"Vulkan, of the Salamanders."

Lita wasn't quite sure how long they stood and talked for. Their topics jumped and varied about, from Vulkan's home world to Lita's occupation and finally settling upon the topic of Lita's garden. They talked and talked about it for a good long while, the Primarchs interest very apparent.

"Brother, do tell me you're not going to demand all of this young woman's attention!"

Another voice joined them, and she turned to find another one of the Primarchs at her side. His skin was color of the rising sun, crimson and proud, a single eye gazing down at her in interest. This brother she knew.

Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Thousand Sons. She dipped her head in greeting,

"Young woman," she teased, "If I didn't know better, I would think you're trying to flatter me, Lord Magnus."

"Is it working?" He smiled,

"Only a little." She replied with a laugh.

"Ah, and here I had hoped to steal you away from my brother Konrad, I've heard of you, little human. Pardon my forwardness, but I believe your talents for speech would be in far better use in my Legion than that of the Eighth's. What say you?"

Lita simply shook her head in amusement, "Apologies, Lord Magnus, but there is little in this galaxy that would tear me away. My work is important, and my loyalty to my King far more so. I fear your attempts shall on deaf ears."

"A pity." Magnus mused into his drink, "I would speak with you all the same. That is, of course, if Vulkan has not already exhausted your powers of speech."

The three of them shared a laugh, "Of course not, Lord Magnus, though I pray you can keep up with me. I've been told I'm very hard to stop once I really get going."

"What's this, gathering around a beautiful flower amidst a room full of vagrants?"

A new Primarch had joined them, displaying colors of purple and gold paired with a pale face and even paler hair. He was pretty in a way, as if sculpted from marble, a charming smile painted upon his features

"A flower in a room full of vagrants?" Lita said, now noticing her drink was halfway empty again, "Why must you speak so ill of me, Lord Fulgrim? I don't believe I'm a vagrant."

"I agree," Magnus teased, silently offering Lita another cup of wine. She gratefully accepted, as the four of them delved into deep conversation. They laughed and teased, conversing on all manner of topics from art, to history, to everything under the sun. At some point, Lita realized she was losing her faculties, made evident when she swayed dangerously only to have Magnus reach out to steady her.

"I think, gentlemen," she spoke carefully, "I am done for the evening."

"So it would seem," mused Fulgrim, quickly replacing Lita's wine with water. She drank from it gratefully, "While I am sorry you must leave, do part with a promise that you'll come visit Chemos. If I may be so bold, I do believe you'll find it quite spectacular."

"No, no, say you'll come to Prospero. The view from the highest point in all of Tzica is most amazing." Argued Magnus hotly. Lita smiled all the same,

"Perhaps, if my busy schedule affords me the time. Now, if you'll excuse me."

They bid her farewell and parted their own ways as she did. In and out she dipped through the thinning crowd, back towards to the wall where she'd left her Primarch some hours before. Halfway there she found him right where she had left him, though Mortarion had seemingly long since departed.

"I wondered when you would deign to return to me." Her king commented coldly, and the cheerful mood Lita had previously found herself in died. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him,

"I am here now," she bit back just as coldly, narrowing her gaze upon him,

"Though I find it very difficult to believe I was so hard to find."

A nerve in his eye twitched at that, but he said nothing in return. Instead he pushed himself from the dark corner, his swift pace making for the exit of the room. She followed behind him dutifully back to their transport and back aboard the Nightfall. Once inside the main lift, and closed in a tight space with him, she could feel the cold radiating off him in waves.

"You reek of alcohol." He said eventually, making Lita's hair stand on end in fury.

"Apologizes, Your Highness," she fought the sneer as hard as she could, yet failed all the same, "Are there any other grievances you'd like to air, or shall we stew in furious silence all night?"

He said nothing, earning him a scowl as the lift finally slowed to a halt on the stateroom floor. Lita lifted the hem of her dress and swept past the Primarch in an effort to retire to her room. She didn't look back to see if he was following, but the tell tale sound of his footfalls told her that he was. She ignored him as she came to her stateroom door, keying in her code in furious silence as his cold aura still radiated off of him.

"Fits of jealousy are unbecoming of you." She finally said as her door hissed open. She lay a hand on the door to keep it from closing, turning back before she swept through with a furious glare up at him, "The next time you see fit to drag me off to one party or another do feel free to talk to me, otherwise just leave me be!"

The door hissed shut behind her, with a loud thud on the wall following shortly after. If she had to venture a guess, he'd probably hit the wall. In furious silence she discarded the dress in favor of a shower and more comfortable clothes, silently hoping that tomorrow they'd all be in better moods.

[truththatsetsyoufree]

Every American wants to be a mini Columbus and other observations

Jesus Christ, 

is history nothing less than the story of who has to do the shit work,

colonization, exploration, expansion, and gold, so that somebody doesn’t have to work

from dust until dawn shoveling shit, and starving; blood, bones, and bread, so that somebody can be the one sitting on the throne or toilet while somebody else cleans it out, slaves, serfs, paupers, all different names for those who do the shit work, and history sounds so grand with its palaces and it's statues, but the shit work is the story of the losers, and they are still cleaning up the shit, so today as i cleaned up my toilet i thought of history, and where I stand, and where i want to stand, and who i am standing above, as i flush and pray for something to change.

[hotrod402]

  7 Circles of Hell in JRTC                A Soldiers Dante's Inferno (The Not So Divine Comedy)

    A Satirical Observation By: Armando J Rodriguez III, SGT, US Army

    Down in the deep south, just north of the bayou lies place spoken with dread and disdain.   A land that ignites a certain misery and a terrible mythology, only those who’ve endured within its’ gates will be able to relate and understand. As horrid and disheartening as the place may be, it serves an overarching purpose, to forge and temper us soldiers into the people we need to be whether you like it or not. Some of those not strong enough are broken as they never grasp its purpose of why a place of such infamy exists. It exposes the weak and emboldens the strong, although results may vary. It tests the very fortitude that makes up the glue that binds us men and women of the armed forces, as it ensures that together we succeed divided we fall and have to come here to do this dumb shit all over again. And just like a wise woman once said, “Ain’t nobody got time for that”.

The lessons learned are vague and steeped in mystery as its custodians are just as corruptible as every man can be. Yet the land itself and its vassels are deviously unwavering as the sadism is exhibited regularly with no remorse. This land tests your spirit and tortures your soul as you trudge your way through each of its 7 deadly circles. Unforgiving and unrelenting to the soldiers is the land of Fort Polk, as this is the indomitable Hell known as JRTC, for which it consumes each and every soldier who passes through. For those soldiers who’ve endured this Hell more than once, to our horror, it’s a reminder of how fragile the human mind truly is. You will witness the most formidable man break under its inexhausted pressure, and the weak toil in the dirt praying for the punishment to stop. But for those with the tenacity and courage to look destiny in the eye and take fate by its horns, they will solidify their legend in the memory of those soldiers who look to their heroics for inspiration as mortal men did to Hercules while performing his 12 Labors. Let’s take this journey into the Mouth of Madness and suffer in this God forsaken underworld together, for its to forge us to be either a pitbull or a poodle.  

 The Desert of Envy (The 1st Circle of Hell):  Our perilous journey begins at the very moment every soldier arrives in ole Fort Polk Louisiana. The envy sets in almost immediately, for as the soldiers notice something very distinctive about  the presence of rental vehicles driven by the nobility, granted every enlisted(peasents) soldier is wondering how in the living fuck did the officers aquire a rental in the first place let alone find the time to even get one since we all got off the plane together and we had to set up the living spaces before anything. The truth is all apparent since the nobility do have their personal household of serfs to set up the cots, tents and unload all the equipment. But from the outside, the soldiers see this pompousness and crave the same level of comforts, access to many luxurious resources, and freedom to venture out instead of the meager and peasant like living conditions a majority of us endure. Although the enlisted(peasants) only see the nobility living much more cush and lavish, as lavish as you can in the field, the nobility are envious of the enlisted’s(peasants) lack of burdening responsibilities and expectations. Some of the nobility do produce many opportunities and assist in the better conditions for morale, yet that is only some and that doesn’t stem the tide of envy since no matter what they tend to be ignorant of the heavy tax on the enlisted(peasants) they impose due to their poorly thought out decisions. The Desert of Envy is more like a vast desert with rolling sand dunes that go as far as the eye can see, much like the Sahara desert. It’s unrelenting and imposing with little to no vegetation to feed on, not to mention the lack of water. As a soldier, the nobility are very much like the Beduin nomads turned oil moguls that have survived in such a vast desert and prospered yet us soldiers are much like the city kid that's never left his moms couch to only be left out in such a desert with nothing more than a case of monster and a bag of jerky. Over a little bit of time you’re gonna want to know where to get water, but when you find these nobles, they say hi ask you if you need anything and speed off with everything you just said you needed making damn sure you see that they have it. And all you can say is screw these douchebags, turning you into a damn hater making you wish you had what they had knowing all too well that they will remind you that they still have what you want but just cant have. The Desert of Envy starts as soon as you arrive in Fort Polk until you leave the box.

The Oasis of Lust (The 2nd Circle of Hell): The cravings, the Monsters, the PX runs, Pizza Hut, and the endless need for tobacco. All of your field pogey bait and compulsive needs are within your reach. A soldier will easily blow through their money on random snacks and gadgets that for some unknown reason assume they need yet will never use let alone know how to use. The Oasis of Lust is very much like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory only far less trippy. Gatorade here, can of dip there, giant bag of jerky yet fuck cutting your god damn hair. You can walk around and just witness the financial travesties occurring regularly all around you as if some form of dark magic is forcing them to make compulsive decisions to buy all types of products. In The Oasis of Lust, all soldiers are under its spell and the strongest soldier fall to the circles call. Its solitary inhabitants seduce you only with what they have and can offer, definitely not with their looks. They will have you like a crackhead on a Xmas all you can smoke sale. The Oasis of Lust appears much like a magical oasis with tropical fruits and sexy sultry people with the ability to seduce and entice your every need as you buy and indulge your every desires. And as you indulge yourself, little do you know it's only a mirage and it's all a damn lie knowing all too well you don't need any of this shit you just got, too late for buyers remorse dumbass. Over time when you come to your senses, you see the reality for what it is, an opportunity to make a cash grab on the vulnerability of soldiers that want the comforts like “good” food, stock up on tobacco, buy case upon case of energy drinks, and splurge on meal team 6 tactical gear only looking like a real “Fobbit” with all this gear that they themselves will never use only to look like a complete moron in the end. We’ve all been there though, no one is immune to the compulsion and nonsensical urge to splurge. This kind of circle typically occurs a couple of days after arriving to Fort Polk and lasts until you enter the “Box”.

The City of Greed (The 3rd Circle of Hell): Still trapped in the Desert of Envy, you come across the City of Greed. All soldiers that just “jumped” into the “Box” after escaping the clutches of the Oasis of Lust, are still gilded will all of their goodies they have freshly acquired from the trolls that seduced them. Like any big city though, cash is king. Whether it be actual cash money, a monster, or a pack of cigarettes. Everyone has something someone else wants, and like a shark in the water sniffing for blood, some are willing to do whatever it takes to have more of what they want. Like on Wall st, it’s a dog eat dog world, and the City of Greed blinds you to the point where you lose yourself in your own wants, needs, and ambitions. The soldiers start stealing from each other and then begin hoarding snacks, drinks, and MRE’s as if they are preparing for the Apocalypse. This circle begins to expose each individual soldiers selfish need of self preservation and exposes their personal lack of integrity. Each soldier experiences the City of Greed differently be it becoming the predator or the prey. Many soldiers are just natural predators and will be the opportunist as they will constantly search for every opening to seize something of worth at any given moment. Very early on, the sociopathic tendencies start taking hold as if they never had the chance to get their own goods, but they don’t need or have an excuse on why they steal, they just do. Some treat it as if they didn’t steal, they would die, all i have to say is, “Motherfucker this shit ain’t that serious, and what did your mom tell you about touching whats not yours, don’t fucking touch it”. The City of Greed is a dark and cold, despite being in the Desert of Envy, it slowly drains the life out of you as you lose something important to every soldier, that is trust. When a soldier begins his/her predation, they typically don’t go after the enemy, yet they go after a much easier less suspecting target and that is their brothers and sisters in arms. Those who do this violate a sacred trust between all of us and exposes themselves to everyone that they cannot be trusted and if you are on an actual battlefield, how can you depend on that person when the going gets tough. Their greed and selfishness degrades the units overall effectiveness because now everyone questions each other. If you are willing to do something like this here then what else are you willing to do. The City of Greed starts on the initial jump to the second week in the “Box”.

The Caves of Wrath (The 4th Circle of Hell): Just like anyone who’s lost everything at Las Vegas or made a shit trade on Wall st., those must be some really angry people stuck in a deep dark hole that they are desperately trying to get themselves out of. This hole is like a dark damp cave that you must navigate to conquer and make your way back home. This is about the time soldier run out of all the comforts and goodies that keep soldiers sane and level-headed. All of a sudden you have a soldier that ran out of dip, cigarettes, and caffeine which definitely remind you of the movie Gremlins when they get wet or feed after midnight. Every little thing can set any soldier off. Short fuses are everywhere, will power being the only savior from absolute unit self annihilation. Only the strong leaders can ensure unit integrity during this damaging time. The effects of The City of Greed are still apparent and the Caves of Wrath only exacerbates its writhing effects. The anger becomes unnecessary fighting, and slowly becomes a soul searing resentment that may last long into old age enduring as a grudge that may never die. Inept leadership lacks the foresight to navigate such a treacherous period due to their inability to understand or relate to their soldiers. The lack of creature comforts mixed with anger/frustration topped off with nonexistent morale baked like a cake of command desperation is not just a powder keg, but a powder keg with the explosive power of Tsar Bomba. If there was a time to question if the Army is something you can do, Wrath does this in spades and it just ran a Boston on your ass. It may be a week long but it continuously proves its point time and time again. The Caves of Wrath suck you deeper and deeper into the dark underworld that is your psyche and pulls you into the deep end after dead end until you lose all sense of self. The Caves of Wrath basically dissects you and breaks you down by asking yourself, “Why are you so angry, and what do you think being so angry accomplishes?”. Nevertheless, The Caves of Wrath breaks you down to the core and slowly eats you up inside, cannibalising your sense of reason to satisfy the insatiable need to project your anger. Its only up to you to come to the realization that your the only person that has the ability to control your fate and escape your own madness. The Caves of Wrath start on the last week of the “Box” and lasts until you exit the “Box”.

The Fields of Sloth (The 5th Circle of Hell): You just escaped The Caves of Wrath and jumped out of the “Box”, so now you’re in the homestretch. The Caves of Wrath has tortured your mortal soul into submission. You’re finally able to see a semblance of civilization, and those hunger pains for real non-prison gourmet DFAC food has been calling your name. Pizza Hut must have made some form of deal with ole’ Lucifer to be able to have such a monopoly over here and with all us gluttonous idiots standing in line for a whole pizza like a bunch of pigs stuffing our faces. You’d think we never ate before. There’s no shame and all of us must be glad we don’t have height and weight the next day, and if you do then shame on your unit for taking advantage of you in this vulnerable time. The Field of Sloth is almost endless with so much food to gorge upon the never ending orchards and fields of grain. You will see soldiers buy pizza after pizza and still will want to go to the PX to buy more food from the food court. It’s pretty disgusting on the ability one person can eat so much food, yet still function without going into a coma. You can eat what you want, but the lack of self control and discipline allows the soldiers to feast in order to satiate their ravenous hunger. Like the Oasis of Lust, The Field of Sloth is seductive and enticing but its horror is how it reminds you that you will not be satisfied because you are still not home. It tortures you with time and the endless cravings for the comforts we so aimlessly take for granted. It forces you to miss the little things that we don’t take the time to appreciate. And when you are so close to going home, the relative peace of being out of the “Box” is a just a misguided hope that makes you feel like you out of the woods. The time continues to torture you, the drowning sensations you feel in the lines at the prepo turn in yard, or the miles turn in since every minute feels like a hour and a hour feels like a day. Repacking all of your gear and getting your containers ready for the UMO to clear you to seal your container or if you’re based out of Hawai’i, get ready to convey all of your equipment back to port in Texas. There’s more then the constant hunger in The Fields of Sloth, it’s the craving for comfort the feeling of being home safe and with your family. That feeling of being so close to home scouring in your mind feeding the slow droning maliciousness of The Field of Sloth’s desire to tear at you by drawing out the effects of the horrors experienced in The Caves of Wrath. Pulling and tearing at your mind, laughing as you navigate The Fields of Sloth, you must drive on to fight the hungers to make you way home. The Field of Sloth starts from the jump out of the”Box” until you finally leave Fort Polk.

The Mountains of Pride (The 6th Circle of Hell): After all those trials and tribulations, damn near everyone has something to pound their chest about. Some have a good reason, most definitely don’t. But many in command positions, they are the most boastful and ignorant of what actually transpired. The overwhelming stench of self importance in the air of self proclaimed superiority permeates so thoroughly that it actually induces nausea. The level of pride a unit inspires is correlated to its cohesion and ability to generate and maintain morale. But the pride should be felt and reverberated throughout the unit to the soldier at the lowest level and exemplified by the commands ability to reinforce while absolute certainty why the unit should be proud of it’s accomplishments as a whole. Yet this is Hell, that almost never happens. Instead the unit is basically forced to listen to the boastful rants of how well the unit performed saying “ this is the best unit I’ve ever seen”, as you can see everyone’s complete bewilderment with everyone all say to themselves in one way or another “we looked like a bag of hot sweaty ass”. As you listen to them tell us how much better we performed the other units, you can actually see the dumbstruck look of disgust and utter confusion on everyones faces as we all wondered what fucking unit were you watching cause it wasn’t us, the audacity of these fools. Although they may boast on how well the unit performed, they are completely ignorant to the idiotic shenanigans and pointless policies they impose on their soldiers, therefore amplifing the effects of the other circles of Hell. The Mountains of Pride are jagged like the Himalayas, it has its ups and downs. In Hell though, its like scaling the tallest mountain only to see that is neverending in a futile attempt to reach the gates of heaven. You just have to find a way to ignore the revolving BS the educated idiots love to conjure up. The Mountains of pride are seemingly overwhelming and almost impossible yet terrifyingly treacherous. Never underestimate the dangers of The Mountain of Pride for it buries even the strong and it is extremely unforgiving. Many choose to brag about the seemingly inconsequential and most basic of tasks. The senior leadership ensures that the hardship of The Mountain of Pride is never forgotten by making sure that all the dumb shit we all love to hate is repeated over and over again, never bothering to ask why its dumb because they are too proud. They feel as though as their knowledge is paramount but their arrogant foolish pride prohibits them from learning any lessons that actually allow them to reach the wisdom they are seeking to be great leaders. The Mountains of Pride begin on a couple of days after we leave the “Box” until we leave Fort Polk, like a true mountain range, The Mountains of Pride are an all encompassing range that also follows along side The Fields of Sloth yet in order to escape this Hell you must traverse its peaks and valleys.

The River of Vanity (The 7th Circle of Hell) : The River of Vanity or The River Vain(vein), is the only true constant circle of hell that lasts the whole entire JRTC exercise. Yet no matter what you do, you follow it because it is the only way you can truly navigate thru all the circles of hell since it is the entity that guides you. During JRTC, we are all looking to do our very best and leave our mark on our units in this journey. Yet in our pursuit for success, we tend to make very nonsensical and poorly thought out decisions. You find yourself sometimes alienated or alienating people within unit. No matter what you do, there’s always a shit decision to be made regardless how big or small. But our vanity sometimes prevents us from being the good leaders we strive to be. It’s the ambition that clouds your judgement and transforms you into that person that make JRTC unbearable. Perception is reality that you can’t avoid, yet for some reason or another, we seemingly cling to the sometimes inept “military leadership” style as the only way to lead soldiers only to find out it exacerbates the miserable effects of being in JRTC. Following along The River of Vanity highlights the inadequacies within yourself that you otherwise ignore or are never able to notice. The River Vain continuously causes us to doubt and question ourselves. In our vain pursuit of excellence, we over commit and over compensate with overconfidence. Like a river that gently flows, whilst being the introspective reflection, The River Vain is what guides us, enlightens us yet tortures us slowly unlike The Caves of Wrath. It humbles you as The River Vain forces you to look inward to see your true self and all your flaws and reminds you that your only human and we are never going to be perfect so you might as well as fucking stop trying because that ain’t going to happen. With all the tortures The River Vain guides you and shines upon you, many fail to recognize the overarching theme of its lessons, which is one person is not an army but its a collection of completely different individuals striving towards one common goal, and one persons vanity and ambitions is not that goal, leaving those who chase their vanity, allowing themselves to fall in battle as we’ve seen in the past, ie. Napoleon Bonaparte or Alexander The Great, causing their armies to fall in the process wasting the lives of the men who serve the country, not the individual. The River Vain sees you through it all as you journey through the Desert of Envy, Oasis of Lust, City of Greed, Caves of Wrath, Fields of Sloth, and the Mountains of Pride. The River Vain flows through it all unnerving and unstoppable, so will you as you endure our Inferno in Fort Polk Louisiana.        

As we survive our misery, we lick our wounds. As we recelect or failures and revel in our victories, us soldiers strive to persevere past the ordeals we all wish to never live through ever again yet will never be able to forget. The memories we continue to relive pulsate through each one of our psyches, off and on as we actively try to forget the traumas experienced that saturates our instincts like a computer trying to fight its’ programing. With the sweltering heat and the suffocating humidity drowning beyond our sorrows, knowing our experiences will stay with us makes some feel trapped in the hell and trembling fear of the notion of ever returning. So many soldiers will look back at the enduring misery they have survived and only see the damnation but never truly allow themselves appreciate the noble and hard learned lessons from the hell we must fight through. The gauntlet of trials and tribulations teach us how to deal with instances we’d rather not deal with. This may be a hell but it should be admired as the crucible that takes the uninitiated from iron and turns them into steel, hardening us for the true horrors that is war. You either crack under the pressure and or slowly peel apart to the bare bones feeling lost and confused wondering why this is happening to you. I’d rather have a soldier do that in this crucible instead of down range in the true hell in combat away from home, all the ones you love and comforts you hold dear. In this hell, we see the good, the bad, and the utterly stupid but we must remember that this is the training we need to be ready for the worst. Us veterans know one absolute aspect of combat and surviving this particular type of hell, and that is you never forget those you suffered with and survived with. They can be the best of friends and worst of enemies yet together you can sit down and laugh about the stupidity you dealt with or the hard times that you got each other through. Each other these circles can solidify those memories as you will never forget how you got a friend threw lust, greed, or wrath. Strengthening relationships, and units are an amazing by product of this place but they are hard earned. Yet in this inferno, this crucible of chaos, the 7 circles of hell are the hell we need to survive the horrors of combat. May we all remember the circles for what they are and be able to identify all our brothers and sisters in arms enduring each of the circles, laugh a lil bit at their expense and help them through. We are all in this hell together, pay Charon his toll and enter those gates with resolve and be the soldiers and people of the world and our country needs us to be.