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kojinnie · 3 years

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The Impossible Request | Levi Ackerman

Based on the request by a lovely anon here. As always, I apologize for putting a little bit of angst into what was supposed to be a full-on fluff :(

levi ackerman x reader; fluff/angst; 2032 words

Captain Levi Ackerman left you with an impossible request during your last ride to the forest with him.

Throughout the whole journey Levi kept looking at you, throwing worried glances frequently at the strange way you rode your horse through the forest. A moment ago, you were about to ride yourself and your horse to a certain death offered by a cliff by the side of the trail. If it wasn’t for your horse’s trained instinct, you’d be a tragic story of a silly death by now.

Admittedly, your focus was not on the trail of the forest hill, nor was it on the hurdles of vines and fallen branches splayed all over your pathway. Levi had to keep screaming at you to keep you from bringing your horse to an accident. Your focus was somewhere else, a distant place that a soldier must not dwell within too long. The unfamiliarity of this place caught you off-guard and as evident by the harrowing way you ride the horse, it has come to ensnare you.

As the thickness of the forest started to dissipate to an open field that overlooked the castle where Survey Corps was stationed at, Levi abruptly changed his direction and stopped your way. Your horse squealed in shock and reared up in effect, almost throwing you to the ground.

The Captain immediately jumped off the horse and darted a piercing stare at you, “Get off. Now.” The way he commanded you sent a shiver down your spine, that tone – his battlefield sternness returned, something far different than the somewhat casual Levi that you have grown to be close with during your off-duty season in the castle with him and the Corps.

It was a scarce occurrence to hear him used that tone far from the warfare. You knew he was enraged. You whimpered almost inaudibly, trying to calm your own racing heartbeat as well as to calm your horse down by patting her cheek, before climbing off of her. The Captain immediately yanked your arms and brought you to the side, under the aid of a huge willow tree whose leaves were yellowing with the arrival of Autumn.

The anger was palpable on his pale face, “Are you—” he was immediately dismayed by the surprising hike in his own tone, something that was almost unprecedented of him. The captain knew that he couldn’t let his rage overcome him. He sighed out of annoyance as he came to maintain his composure, “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“I’m sorry, Captain.”

“You were riding like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

“I know. Sorry—I—”

“If you want to die, then just tell me. Hange can use you up for experiments.”

“Captain, I—”

There was a momentary silence looming over the two of you. Levi waited for your response but he scoffed and walked away to the edge of the hill when another second passed with your inability to bring any form of coherence in your words. Your heart sunk in disappointment.

Levi squatted and looked afar to the castle. You could see his torso heaved; it was obvious that he was trying to pace his breath from the suppressed anger. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit of what made you so distraught. The idea that a mere emotional disappointment had led you, a trained soldier, to almost kill yourself for not being able to ride your horse right, is of something preposterous. You were ashamed and girded by guilt. As a soldier, you had let emotion distraught your aptitude.

“Tell me or don’t tell me – whatever,” Levi finally broke the silence without looking at you. Your only view of him was his heaving back, “I already knew.”

You knew of it already, but his reiteration shriveled the last hope you had that the Deployment Letter you received this morning was still bound to change, “You can’t do anything to change it?”

“No. I’m a soldier, and it’s my duty to obey,” Levi spoke. You wished you could feel even the tiniest bit of an upset in his words, but there was little to none, “you have been asked for the Garrison. Effective tomorrow. You shall no longer be here when Eren Jaeger arrives. Erwin’s decision, signed by Commander Pyxis.”

It had been three years since you were assigned to the elite Levi Squad by his own choice. Within those years as well, you had seen yourself grown seasoned by the battles alongside your entrusted Captain, as you fought the mouth of deaths countless times together. Naturally, parting apart alive would be hard for you.

People of the Walls knew him as the humanity’s strongest soldier, would they gape in knowing that humanity’s hope needed to stay humane in order to be their beacon of strength? And that was your duty for him – keeping him humane. Even if it was just to learn his meticulous way of brewing his own tea, so when he was injured and bed-ridden, he would still be aided with the warmth of his favorite drink. Even if it was just helping him tying his cravat when his hand was occupied with paper works. Even if it’s just a sleepless night with him at the library as he learned the offense strategy for the upcoming expedition. You’d done all that with no words spoken of how fond you were of him. Even when your smile arose when he finally let you massaged his strained back, or when your fingers touched the bare skin on his back when you were tending his battle scars, you were adamant to let the feelings simmer in painful silence.

In keeping him humane, you must set aside what you want of him. Your childish imagination and desire to settle with him. After all, Levi was a man unbounded, and in certain liberty shall he thrive for humanity. So, you never spoke how much your heart fluttered when he rode in full-speed to save you from the monstrous titan holding you in their grasp. The way he stayed awake, sitting by your bedside all night after a near-death incident that left you barely conscious for a week. You had sworn to bring this truth to death, but you were conscious when, out of desperation, he ran his calloused fingers through the mess of your hair, stroking your temple soft with the coarseness of his fingers as he whispered in prayer, “Please stay alive, please stay alive…” and then Levi spoke of your name, calling out to what was left of you after a bloody expedition. He called for you, not in the stern command the Captain would utter in the battlefield, but with tenderness of a man bound by grievance.

Had you grown a space in your heart to love me? Was the question that hung in your throat when you finally gained consciousness after the injury, where Petra shrieked in relief and happiness, calling out for the others, and then she said, “Welcome back. We miss you terribly. The Captain has been gaunt without you.”

The question throbbed again with simple little things he did. When he shoved more mashed potato to your empty plate, “Eat more,” he would say with more of a grunt rather than a warm suggestion; The tender pat on the back when you successfully cleared your final task; The palpable look of agitation when you returned from an impromptu hunting trip with Eld in the forest that led him wary of your whereabout for two nights – in all those moments, you wished you had the courage to ask him the question: Had you grown a space in your heart to love me? Or were you just being a good leader to your comrades?

The sun was beginning to set on the horizon. The wind breezed through the forest, blowing the yellowed leaves off of its branches, drenching the two of you in the solemn noise of Autumn. Couple of hours ago, Levi had taken you to ride to the forest to collect firewood for supplies, but even then you knew that wasn’t what you rode here for. Levi sat on the dirty ground and sighed, “Come here.” He looked at you, and softly pat the ground by his side.

Levi knew that he assumed a great deal of obligation. He wasn’t daft, he’d grown aware of the murmurs that people left on his path, ‘Look, it’s the humanity’s strongest soldier – Captain Levi Ackerman!’ then when he wasn’t so well-guarded, he’d catch the way those children look up to him with earnest amazement. Those wondrous eyes. The innocence of faultless children is the thing he had sworn to protect when he braced another expedition beyond the wall, at the expense of everything that made him humane – delicacy, tenderness, warmth, and love. But then Levi met you, and since then he began to wonder: ‘What if? What if? What if?’

Levi knew the feeling he had grown to have for you was starting to cloud his judgment when he almost broke the formation to save you from the mouth of a titan. He remembered the awful feeling of riding back to the camp, with your bloodied form on his lap, to be greeted by the discerning look of disappointment from his own comrades. Later that night, as much as the expedition was a success with minimum casualty, Erwin sat him down and bludgeoned him with the fact that negated every virtue Levi had ever stood for, “You compromised the whole formation with your rash action.”

Compromised. Rash action.

The words that had brought Levi to a prolonged regret. Who he was with you, was not the person Levi devoted his heart for. Levi knew he needed to stop. His allegiance was to humanity, to Commander Erwin Smith – and not to you.

As you sat down by his side, he finally looked at you, and smiled. So scarce of the captain, but when he did, you could feel it was genuine.

“I am going to ask you a question,” Levi said, his grey eyes darkened underneath the warm dusk, “and you don’t have to answer it right now.”

You nodded obediently.

“Do you think all this will end? To live in constant fear of death, and,” there was a momentary pause in his sentence. Uncharacteristic of him, as if he was trying to fight his own fright that was starting to nestle deep in his mind, “have ourselves carrying the last bits of humanity’s hope?”

You remained silent as he carried on, “If no, then understand that your re-assignment is a necessity. For the greater good. But if yes, that you believe that this monstrosity will all end eventually, then, I hope…”

“Yes, Captain?”

Levi looked down at the soil where your hands and his were laying side by side. There was a somber smile beginning to rise from his face. He dragged his finger to tangle with yours rather cautiously. You greeted the awkward gesture with open heart, as you slithered your fingers into his grip.

“I hope, you will have the heart to welcome me home…”

“…to you.”

The words drowned you into a deafening silence, no matter that the Autumn breeze was starting to grow stronger as the sun succumbed into the night, no matter that your heart was thumping in all kinds of inexplicable agony – all you could hear was the void of nothingness, in which no matter how close you were to him, you could feel Levi drifting away from you.

Deep down, you knew that none of this walking nightmare they called life was ever going to end. You knew that each one of you was cursed to live the life in wretched reality. You always thought that he had known of it all along, out of so many people, you thought Levi would be the one to never look forward to a future of peace, for peace was an absurd concept as long as humanity was still trapped within the Walls.

And it broke your heart to gain understanding that Levi still had hopes for it. For the unattainable peace. With you.

He had believed in a future that you thought was impossible, and with it you realized that so would be your future with him.

As the sun finally slid to its resting peace, you brought your body closer to his embrace. He brought your face closer to him, he smiled before landing a kiss on your forehead. The genuine kind, of innocence that was so strange in the world of horrors. The kind of warmth he had longed for so many nights with the thought of you. And finally, you smiled at his words, “Yes, I will.” nodding at the impossible request.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi angst #levi fluff #aot levi #snk levi #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #requested

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scarletarosa · 4 years

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Athena

Greek goddess of logic, truth, intelligence, knowledge, wit, wisdom, war, battle strategy, heroism, protection, law, justice, order, good counsel, skill, victory, and handicrafts

Athena (Roman: Minerva) is the magnificent goddess of Truth, she is a tremendous being of light who ensouls the cosmic consciousness of Truth and grants it to the world. She is the guardian over all knowledge and despises ignorance, facing it and destroying it like light ripping through darkness. She was one of the most important goddesses of Ancient Greece and is said to have led the Greeks to their homeland and supported their development by teaching them many things. She was also their greatest protectress and would valiantly defend them while defending their cities, even mentoring them in particular battle techniques. As a very complex goddess, Athena would watch over many areas of life, including all forms of education, crafts/inventions, and philosophical thinking. She also is one of the three Virgin goddesses (along with Artemis and Hestia) who are never swayed by romance or lust, since Athena values being solely devoted to the realm of the mind.

Mythology: Many ages ago when Zeus was less moral than he is nowadays, he was very jealous of anyone who threatened his position of power. When he learnt that his wife, Metis, the goddess of wisdom, may birth his successor, he became desperate to end their lives. Zeus devoured Metis while she was pregnant, thinking this would secure him. But when the time came, Zeus began feeling tremendous headaches. As even he couldn’t bear them, Hephaestus struck Zeus with his axe and Athena leapt out of Zeus’ head, fully armed and with a furious cry. This frightened some of the deities, but Zeus, however, was delighted and full of pride. In this story of Athena’s birth, we see her as enraged wisdom that fights as a defender and upholder of justice.

A popular myth of Athena is the story of Arachne, a mortal craftswoman who boasted that she was more skillful than Athena herself. Athena offered her a chance to repent, but after Arachne refused, she challenged her to a weaving duel. The goddess fashioned a beautiful tapestry which illustrated the gruesome fate of the mortals who had the hubris of challenging the gods. Arachne, on the other hand, chose to depict stories of the mortals unjustly victimized by the gods. But she didn’t even have a chance to finish it for the enraged Athena tore Arachne’s fabric to pieces and turned her into a spider. As such, Arachne is doomed to weave ever since. This was a myth written by the Greeks as a warning against hubris, and does not portray an actual event, especially since Arachne is actually a goddess of spiders and wasn’t a cursed human.

Roles: Despite Athena’s connection to war, she moreso represents the strategy behind it and the ability to protect and bring about order (whereas Ares represents battle-lust, Athena fights out of necessity). She was also known to bestow victory in war, as she is at times seen accompanied by Nike, the goddess of victory. Through these connections, Athena is the patroness of heroes and is known to wisely advise them in their quests and grant divine weapons in times of need.

Other than the art of battle, Athena is known as a skillful inventor and even holds the title of ‘protectress of agriculture’. She is represented as the inventor of the plough and rake: she created the olive tree (the greatest blessing of Attica), taught the people to yoke oxen to the plough, took care of the breeding of horses, invented the bridle, instructed people how to tame horses, and much more. At the beginning of spring, offerings were given to Athena in advance for the protection she was to afford to crops and fields. Besides the tools of agriculture, Athena was said to be the inventor of numbers, science, hand-made crafts, chariots, and other such helpful things.

Athena is a magnificently powerful goddess who can easily strike fear into her enemies. In times of battle, she is known to have lightning flashing from her eyes, and can even overpower Ares himself with her strategic mind during combat. She is peace gained through battle, courage gained through struggle, and clarity gained through wisdom. She has explained to me that the Aegis (the head of Medusa) on her breastplate represents her victory over her own shadow, the part of one’s psyche that creates negative emotions such as fear or cruelty. This is a true mark of wisdom and shows even further just how glorious Athena is. She can always be relied upon for sage advice in any matter, and knows how to directly tell someone what needs to be done or how they should change to become better. Athena says that she is also the goddess who inspires women to be more than their domestic roles that are pressured on them. She inspires rebellion in their hearts and teaches them how to fight and overcome oppression. Thus, Athena is the glorious warrior goddess of illuminating truth and courage; there is nothing that can break her down.

Appearance: a tall woman in her 30′s with long brown hair, gray eyes, and wears either a white dress or silver armour

Personality: Overall, Athena is wise, intelligent, serious, diligent, straightforward, courageous, determined, perfectionistic, and a steadfast protector of peace. She has a very strong sense of morality and is able to keep calm and collected under a great deal of pressure. She loves to spread knowledge to others, but does not guide us through everything since she seeks to make her devotees independent. She greatly values strength of character, open-mindedness, and the desire to make oneself better no matter what. Athena can be a bit motherly at times with those she likes, but not too much in a “soft” way but more like a quiet and dedicated mother who wants the best for you. Although she does not have much patience for most people, especially if they are unwilling to take responsibility or overcome their ignorance. She also has no patience for people who disrespect her or disregard her nature as a virgin goddess. When Athena is angered, she becomes terrifying and cold. Lightening begins flashing out from her eyes and is relentless in bringing her fury upon whoever offended her.

Athena is very empowering and knows exactly what to say when her devotees feel down or lost, for she can see past clouded emotions and into the clarity of truth. She also hates injustices of any kind and seeks to destroy all ignorance. She is a very protective warrior and an Illuminator, following the path that Lucifer teaches about wisdom through adversity. She is also a very close friend of the goddess Lilith, so they work well together for gaining Illumination. One of the most sacred animals of Athena is the serpent, which sheds its skin to be reborn, making it a symbol of wisdom and knowledge. This is one of the lesson that she often teaches to her followers, that their current self must die to be reborn in wisdom. In some of her statues, a giant snake can be seen beside her.

| Symbolism of Athena |

Owls

Eagles

Doves

Snakes

Helmets

Shields

Weapons

Olive Tree

Books

| Some of her epithets |

Alkis (The Strong)

Areia (The Warlike)

Ærgáni (Instructor of the Arts)

Axiopoinos (The Avenger)

Día (Heavenly)

Drákaina (She-Dragon)

Chalinitis (Tamer of Horses)

Erganê (The Worker)

Mêchaneus (Skillful Inventor)

Mítir Tǽkhni (Mother of the Arts)

Paiônia (The Healer)

Kóri (The Maiden)

Parthenos (The Virgin)

Pallas (The One who Brandishes Her Weapon)

Lýteira kakóhn (Deliverer from Evil)

Omvrimóthymos (Strong of Spirit)

Oplophóros (The Warrior)

Ormásteira (She Who Urges You Forward)

Polias (Protector of the City)

Polæmitókos (Bringer of Necessary War)

Polývoulos (Exceedingly Wise)

Nikephoros (Bringer of Victory)

Sóhteira (Saviour)

Devotional Actions: Above all, Athena values offerings of action. She expects those devoted to her to constantly seek to improve themselves by gaining spiritual advancement, overcoming their Egos, and gaining as much knowledge as they can. Wisdom is embraced through battling hardships, analyzing yourself, and learning from trial and error. Dedication to what she teaches pleases her far more than physical offerings.

Offerings: Fine quality white wine (esp. if flower-scented), olives, olive oil, milk, bread, goat cheese, pomegranates, citrus, apples, cherries, figs, white lilies, myrrh incense, sandalwood, almonds, honey, cakes, cooked lamb or goat, beeswax candles, non-fiction books, fancy pens, quills, pottery, paintings, swords, daggers, silver armour, snakeskin, owl feathers, votive owls, clear crystals, silver jewelry, chess games, wool, knitting tools, pretty antiques, white marble, artworks, poetry, snake statuettes, and imagery of her sacred animals.

#athena #minerva #greek gods #greek deities #hellenic polytheism #hellenism #roman polytheism #deity work

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sebastianshaw · 3 years

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Since I did Fabian x Mami in an ask... Shaw x Mami? :>

AT LAST!! I'm so sorry, my friend! This took way too long and I hope she's ok! @episomalvector

Name: Tomo Shaw Gender: Cis Female General Appearance: A LOT like Mami, but with longer facial features, and much more slack ones due to her frequent lack of expression. Long, lanky limbs, like Shaw’s bones are trying to fit into Mami’s frames. She doesn’t wear clothes so much as they’re draped on her, long tops and loose knee-length skirts in cool neutrals. Likewise, her black hair is long, lank, and utterly unstyled yet always pin-straight. Tomo seems utterly still, unnaturally so, most of the time, except for very strange seconds where she seems to ‘flicker’ with a sudden rapid movement, and then no sign any such thing happened. Personality: Tomo began life as a very quiet baby, and became a very quiet, tomboyish child, punctuated with brief periods of animated girlishness. Tomboyish as in, she mostly wore her hair very short and boys clothes and played outdoors and wasn’t into tea parties or dolls, but unlike the stereotypical loud, sports-loving image, she kept to herself and was very focused on things like building grass forts for bugs. This interest in bugs would carry on to an adult interest in etymology, especially crickets. She also keeps some exquisite snails in a lush terrarium. Some people think they’re odd pets, but, well, Tomo is an odd girl. Tomo has a bizarrely detached, apathetic manner. A lot of people would describe her as a blank slate, and she has a very muted response to how she’s treated by others, whether it’s good or bad, even violent. People notice this first. It’s only after you’ve been around her awhile that you notice she has no response to her external environment in general. Beautiful sunsets, smoggy city skies, garbage dumps, pristine mountain peaks, messy squalor or clean luxury----she doesn’t seem to have an opinion on her surroundings. It’s odd, after all, even an animal react to the environment in which they’re kept. And yet, Tomo becomes irrationally enraged or opinionated about most random of things such as the edges of a font. It’s said that still waters run deep, and perhaps that’s true for others, but Tomo has a sense of a deep abating emptiness within her. Yet, she’s not suffering from it, as others might. It’s a clean comforting sort of lacking, like a pristine whiteboard that’s never been written upon. She wishes to preserve it, rather than fill it with the clutter of a personality, emotions, relationships. Still, she’s not a total void. Tomo has lots of little quirks. For instance, the aforementioned interest in crickets. Or how her manner of speech has a tendency towards elegant, poetic metaphors and a perfect blunt politeness that must be heard to be understood.Or how has a minimalist approach to food, like nouvelle cuisine without the pretension, with a focus on as few ingredients and as little cooking as possible, fresh and natural. Yet she also really fucking loves those pink and white frosted animal crackers and always has a bag in her room Tomo is eclectically social and morally uneven. For all that’s been said about her as detached and un-engaged and unemotional, at times she manifests a much brighter, engaging personality, very reminiscent of her mother’s default with people. Maybe she’s faking. Maybe she just goes through periods where she’s sunnier and more social. Maybe it’s Prime influencing her to behave like the other Mamis and find people to attach to, but can only exert said influence for a short time. That’s what the “eclectically social” side. The “morally uneven” side is that exactly how she behaves in moral/ethical terms really shifts around, almost as if she’s trying on different outlooks to see what fits. Which, probably, she is. The best way to understand Tomo is to remember she is halfway an independent person, halfway something that is more like a very independent, long-reaching arm----what Mami is to Prime. But she doesn’t have a Prime to connect back to. She is an arm without a body. And she is comfortable like that for the most part, but also at times is trying to grow parts of a body as she finds necessity for it, whether it’s forming social relationships, developing a morality, or some other part of being a “person” that we do on our unconsciously in our development, but she has to deliberately DECIDE on for it to happen. And she won’t do that without a rational reason for it. So far.

Special Talents: - Quiet little creeper. Shaw SWEARS she needs a bell, she spooked him ALL THE TIME as a wee one. - Excellent at finding the shortest distance of least resistance aka the quickest, easiest means of accomplishing a goal. It may not be something she can DO but she can TELL you what it is. - Very observant and VERY manipulative, or at least, has the capability to be so. She doesn’t always or even often exploit it, but she picks up on far more than people realize about others and has a very good understanding of what buttons to push and strings to pull for a desired result. She just DOESN’T do it, less out of morality and more because, due to her detached nature, there’s nothing she really wants people to do. She’s more interested in observing what choices they make on their own, if anything. - She has an entire fleshy funguslike network follows her around under the ground she walks on, tunneling through any substance to stay beneath her feet. This is a part of her, and it is a defense and offensive system. When she is threatened, it springs out of the ground or floor to defend her/attack her assailant. It can saps energy of others, which can keep her alive or heal her wounds as well as draining her opponent---to death, if she so desires. Or if it so desires---it’s a part of her, yes, but it may have a mind of its own, much like the stomach or heart functions without our conscious will. It looks a lot like. . .the twisting flesh of the parasites in Parasyte (but without the blades) or the multi-tentacled tongues of the vampires in The Strain, shaped like, again, a fungal network. - Tomo has a sort of half-link to Prime, a mutual awareness but not much more than that. They can have a conversation of emotions, but not will or influence the other. At least, assuming that’s not where her more social extroverted perky side comes from. Assuming. Who they like better: If she had to describe how she sees Shaw, it would be as her memory of his gigantic trouser-clad leg---just one, the one closest to her---passing her by on the floor as a toddler. If she were to describe her relationship to Mami, it would be that between a moss or lichen and the tree upon whose roots its grows. Take that as you will. Who they take after more: Probably Mami in terms of sheer weirdness. Personal Head canon: Besides entomology, Tomo is also extremely interested in using technology to explore the mystical and parapsychological, such as machines to pick up ghostly energies. She’s not entirely sure why she’s drawn to the subject of ghosts, but she feels she may relate to them in an “opposites attract” sort of way---they are spirits with no bodies, and she feels like a body with no spirit. She has a fantasy she doesn’t understand of decaying in a forest, at the roots of a great tree. Mushrooms grow from her eye sockets. Squirrels hide acorns between her ribs. It’s the most peaceful though possible and it helps her get to sleep. She’s not suicidal. She doesn’t want to die. She just. . .likes the idea. . .of being part of a natural system. . .I wonder why. . . it feels like home. . . Face Claim: N/A

#kid meme #kids #tomo #episomalvector

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sopewriters · 4 years

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Mιɳԃ Gαɱҽʂ | 01

Summary: With a murderer prowling the streets, and a charming villain on the loose, all bets are off.

Pairing: Jaehhyun X Reader; Hero x Villain AU

Word Count: 4.9K

Warning(s): None yet.

“Run the tape again.”

The screen flickers dimly, lighting up your gaunt features. Every part of you screams of exhaustion, as it should – you’ve hardly gotten any sleep all night. Your fingers tap against the desk in front of you, restless, and it takes everything in you not to bounce your leg.

The man beside you – your partner – looks at your tense jaw, pursed lips, and frowns. “You can take a break for tonight, you know. I doubt they’ll come back so soon.”

“But you don’t know that.” You correct harshly, making him recoil. Guilt stabs at you, and you sigh. “Sorry, I… I’m sorry Mark, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Mark smiles at you, and you only now notice the pallor of his cheeks, the shadows under his eyes. Your partner hasn’t gotten anymore sleep than you have. With a large, cracking yawn that could probably split a lesser man’s face open, you shake your head.

The protest – or lack, thereof – building on Mark’s lips immediately dies, and he exhales heavily.

“This guy is unreal.” He comments, dropping back into his seat beside you. “How does he avoid the cameras so well? They were even set up so no one would be able to dodge them – is this his Gift, do you think?”

You cast a wry glance at him, then. “No, Mark, we both know for a fact that his Gift isn’t invisibility. Remember the one time he made some sort of illusion to throw the cops off his trail?”

“Ah, right.” Something like awe passes quickly over his face, though he’s careful to school his expression at your chiding glance. “I forgot.”

“Funny, you were gushing about how wicked Joker was for weeks.” You nudge him lightly, a tiny grin on your lips – probably for the first time tonight. “It was cute.”

His cheeks immediately flush – adorable – and you wish there were better lighting so you could see them better.

Unfortunately, being a superpowered vigilante can really cast a wrench in your budget. Not everyone can be a millionaire-cum-superhero, no matter how much they’d love to be. And balancing the criminal nightlife with your actual life… well. University has always been particularly unforgiving.

“______…” He grouses, burying his face in his palms as you laugh. “Why’re you always so mean to me?”

“You just make it really easy.”

“ ______!”

“What? Am I wrong?”

Mark huffs out a breath, pushing away from the desk and standing up to flick on the light. “I’m not even gonna bother. I know you aren’t going to drop it!”

“You’re – oh my fucking god, turn the lights back off!” The measly light you do have is still blinding, making your head almost ache from how bright they are. “Mark!”

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” He laughs, dodging one of your well-timed swipes. “Alright, I’m going to jet before you actually manage to hit me again. Please try and get some rest? We’ll go over this again tomorrow.”

He looks at you imploringly.

You laugh fakely. “Oh, yeah, of course!”

Mark sighs, resigned, and gives you a waning smile as he moves to leave. He pauses, briefly. “We should really find a new HQ.”

You look around at your converted closet, thinking he’s not wrong. But, again, life isn’t quite like the movies and you don’t really have the money to spare on much beyond your daily necessities. Frozen food isn’t quite as cheap as it used to be around these parts. If anything, you’re lucky you have a walk-in closet large enough to accommodate a small desk, especially in your dorm.

Going to an expensive college in a rich part of town does have some benefits even if, tuition aside, you’re financially on your own.

“We’ll see,” you mumble tiredly, head thumping softly against said desk. “You know how tight our budget is.”

“Yeah, I do.” Mark looks apologetic, giving you a quick wave before he’s stepping out, likely heading back to his own room.

Now that he’s gone, though, your place is entirely too quiet, and it really puts you on edge. At least Mark turned the light on, earlier – you might as well credit him for that – so it’s not as creepy as it could be. But still.

You turn back to the monitor, mouth pursing into a frown as you watch the slight flicker of shadows – the criminal’s only trail. Something about this guy doesn’t seem all that right, and it’s seriously making you paranoid. You’ve never interacted with him, though – that, as it seems, only really happens to the licensed superheroes in your sector – but there’s just something about him…

You turn off the monitor with a sigh, wondering why on earth you’ve stupidly chosen to deal with this guy, of all people. You ignore the little niggling in the back of your mind that tells you that you’re really just trying to put off real-life responsibilities by taking unnecessary tasks upon yourself; that’s totally not true, no. What – why would anyone think that?!

You duck your head out of your closet, tentatively stepping out into your actual room. There isn’t much in there; just your bed, a cabinet for your papers and files, and a dresser in which your clothes actually go. Most of the place is just free space, honestly, and you could have your whole hero setup here, but… secrecy is important. And your closet is a lot more private than your room itself, for obvious reasons.

“ ______ !!” The door slams open, and your enraged best friend storms inside.

Case in point.

“Hey, F/N…” You say awkwardly, leaning against your bed so you can look at her fuming face. “Um. Fancy seeing you here?”

“Why aren’t you in bed?” She pinches the bridge of her nose, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “It’s almost midnight!”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” You counter, eyes catching onto her mussed hair, puffy eyes. “I was so quiet; how could I possibly have—?”

“Mark.” She says simply, to which you inwardly groan. Of course. Mark “Clumsy” Lee lives up to his name, yet again. “Are you sure you two aren’t dating? He’s been over for whole nights before.”

“What, are girls and guys not allowed to spend the night without dating or screwing around?” You snap defensively. Too defensively, judging by the smirk forming on her face. “No. No, no, no. Whatever bullshit you’re going to spew at me right now, save it, because I sure as hell won’t like it.”

“I’m just saying, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt,” she sings, ducking to narrowly avoid a pillow projectile. “It’s not a big deal! Mark’s super cute.”

“And you can have him.” You mutter in response, shuddering at the thought of dating him. Being in close quarters has really educated you to some of his more… quirky habits, and you couldn’t ever deal with that on a permanent basis. Plus, he’s not really your type.

F/N just rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever, pretend all you want. I know the truth though.”

“Is there something you actually need?” You level her with a flat stare. “Or are you just trying to snoop in on me?”

She smiles guiltily, like the guilty person she is. It might as well be branded on her forehead, G-U-I-L-T-Y, and you really hope she trips over one of her stupid pencils and stumbles down to hell.

What? You can be petty if you want to be, and it’s all in your head anyway. No one will ever know.

“No, there’s nothing important.” She assures you, though you really don’t need her assurance. “I just… worry about you sometimes, you know?”

“Well gee, thanks for making my night a whole lot better with that vote of confidence.” You mutter, sarcastic as ever, though your subsequent words die on your tongue at her sharp look.

“Relax, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to know if you were going to go to bed, or if you couldn’t sleep or something.” She shrugs. “I’m being rebellious and staying up past my bedtime.”

Well.

You grin sharply at that. Maybe she can stay in the land of the living for a little longer. You take back everything you thought just a few moments ago. “Oh, have I been waiting for this day.”

So. Staying up last night was possibly the worst decision you’ve ever made. Your eyes feel like they might just pop out of their sockets any moment now and the only thing that could possibly make this better is a good cup of coffee. Or, even better, two.

But life, as always, is cruel.

“I hate you.” You mutter at your coffee pot, squinting angrily at it through stinging eyes. “You had one fucking job.”

Yep. The coffee pot, as fate would have it, has completely broken down – just to deprive you of your life, of course, no big deal. Who even needs to be awake for their 8AM discussion anyway, right?

“Stupid, useless hunk of garbage, I should just melt you down already.” Your fevered death chant follows you all the way to the front door as you sling your backpack over your shoulder. It stops there, though, because you’re too tired to keep it up.

F/N’s lucky she doesn’t have to wake up early today, and you angrily curse her in your head because goodwill? It’s all gone now. Maybe she’ll get a really bad case of the Hiccups. Maybe it’ll be terminal Hiccups.

You cringe at your own deviousness.

You manage to bike all the way to class without perishing which, in your books, deserves a gold star. You don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve somehow managed to not get hit by a car, or a bus, or a truck, or another bike, or a pedestrian (though you wouldn’t really mind that last option. People really need to stop looking at their phones while they walk, holy shit). It’s a miracle, truly.

Maybe it’s because you’ve got to attend a Classics discussion; shockingly, it’s one of your more bearable classes. Scratch that, it’s possibly one of your favorites. You might be a STEM major, but the way they discuss mythology in this class really gets to you.

And, of course, there’s your TA too. He’s probably one of the kindest, sweetest people you know – and that’s saying something, given that you know Mark and are even acquainted with Wong Yukhei, the Student Council VP. No, you don’t know how that happened and, frankly, don’t care to find out either.

“Hey there, ______.” You look up at the sound of your name, seeing your TA cock his head at you a little quizzically. “You okay? You seem a little out of breath.”

Yeah, it’s no big, I practically just pulled an all-nighter and biked all the way here using the mothballs that are my eyes, with the level of coffee running through my bloodstream hitting a critical low. It’s fine, it’s totally fine! And if you weren’t the unobservant piece of crap, sweetheart you are, I’d feel a hell of a lot better—

“I’m fine.” You make an effort not to let your gasps for air grow too obvious, giving him a strained smile. “I just, um – just biked here.”

“Ah, I see. You can come inside, you know, sit down.” He holds the door wide open for you, letting you slip inside. “Do you have water? Would you like me to get you some?”

He gives you an appraising look. “Though, something tells me you need something stronger? Coffee, maybe?”

He holds up a thermos, shaking it gently with a questioning look on his face; and, on cue, your mouth begins to water. You need it. You must have it.

“What gave it away?” You chuckle weakly, before shaking your head. “No thanks, Jungwoo, but I appreciate it.”

You last remaining braincells cry, extremely sorry for your loss.

Jungwoo sighs, “I don’t mind sharing, ______, trust me. I promise I didn’t poison it or anything, and I won’t give you much – just a tiny cup.”

He pours some out into the cap of his flask, offering it to you. You stare at the beautifully crafted drink of perfection, steam gently curling off it, and wonder if Kim Jungwoo is a god. He must be, with this sort of impeccable timing.

Still, you’d feel a little awkward taking a drink from a TA that you actually don’t know all that well. That… might not be a good idea.

“I’m really fine.” You smile tightly at him. “I promise. Thank you, though.”

But why?! your brain cells demand, and you don’t have a satisfactory answer for them.

“If you’re sure.” He shrugs it off easily, smile never dimming. He’s pretty cute when he smiles – basically, all the time – but he isn’t really your type.

You think back to the crush you used to harbor on Yukhei. Your cheeks burn when you remember that you still find your gaze fixed to his long, slender fingers on more than one occasion – but you can’t help that. He’s just… too much. It’s unfair, really. But yeah, that’s your type. Tall and handsome, and unfair.

Great, and now you’re thinking about Jung Jaehyun.

You settle back into your desk and will your blush away as you begin pulling out a notebook and a pencil. You don’t usually take notes during section – not unless you’ve got some big essay coming up that he’d review in class – but it gives you something to do instead of just sitting idle.

You quickly sneak a peek at Jungwoo and, seeing that he’s preoccupied leafing through some of his notes, play a game of Catch the Pen. You locate the nearest shadow and guide your pencil through it, propelling it with enough of a velocity for it to hurtle out of another shadow to nestle comfortably between your fingers. It’s basically like playing catch with yourself.

And yeah, it got boring after the third or fourth time, but your only other option is using your phone, which – hey, not a bad idea. A quick scroll through your social media has you holding back your coos when you see videos of cute puppies attempting to do even cuter things. God, do you love dogs.

It’s only when Jungwoo raps his fist against his desk – a cue for all of you to start paying attention – that you notice that the empty desks from before have all been filled up. You quickly stash your phone in your back pocket, before leaning forward on your desk, settling your cheek in the palm of your hand as you force yourself to pay attention.

Ah, damn it. Your eyes still sting.

“Good morning guys!” Jungwoo beams at you, entirely too cheery for your tastes, given that it’s eight in the fucking morning. “How were your weekends?”

Your mind flashes back to your weekend, and you suppress a wince. Yeah. That was… not a good time, especially for the vigilante Caligo – for you. After getting your ass pummeled by a random guy in a mask – a random guy who you think just might be Joker, thief extraordinaire, and the person who you were watching through the footage last night – you weren’t really having a great time.

Not to mention your purpled cheek, courtesy of a deck to the face. You bruise like a peach and you’re really fucking lucky that F/N has a healing ability and a penchant to not ask difficult questions. She probably thinks you’re getting caught up in some shady business – drugs, maybe? – and honestly, that wouldn’t be too far from the truth, if a little exaggerated.

Jungwoo, luckily, takes the grumbled mutterings from the rest of your class that perfectly encapsulate your weekend experience in stride, beaming excitedly and holding up a faded copy of the translation of Ovid’s The Fall of Icarus. “Well, nothing better than this to turn that around, yeah?”

You hold back a sigh as you flip to the page he’ll inevitably bring up. You’d rather read about Icarus, who the book’s title deceptively alludes to, than the rest of these short stories. But, well. As life would have it—

“Let’s talk about what happened with Theseus and the Minotaur, shall we?”

A part of you is grateful that you’ve managed to survive most of your day, and it’s really only the thought of going to your chem lab that makes you perk up.

Now, don’t be misled; you still hate having to go to lab. The actual practice, in itself, isn’t all that hard, but the fact that you have to do it at all is just so ugh. Frankly, you’re only going because it’s required for your major, because fuck chemistry, and doubly fuck organic chemistry. It’s all just way too stressful.

But, well, back to the main point: lab is only really fun because you get a whole two and a half hours to fully appreciate some A+ eye-candy. Not that you would ever actually want to objectify him that way, but your TA is just so gorgeous that it’s unfair, really. Just a smile from him could have you tripping over your feet and potentially spilling dangerous chemicals all over yourself.

As it is, you’ve managed to survive so far, if only to irritate F/N with your very accurate description of how sharp his jawline is, how his dimple is to die for, how he just looks so dependable and warm and—

“Hey Jaehyun.” You greet him as you wait outside the lab. No one’s really allowed in until your TA – Jaehyun, basically – lets you.

Jung Jaehyun, AKA “God who has literally descended from the Heavens to bless your undeserving soul”, smiles at you and – aw, yeah, there it is. That fucking dimple. Paired with his soft, unassuming smile, and the reassuring warmth of his eyes as they look at you through the soft fringe of his hair—

Deadly. That’s what he is.

“Hey ______, how’s it going?” He greets cheerily, not unlike Jungwoo earlier. The only difference is that it’s actually a humane hour of the day right now; a little past noon as opposed to oh, you know, the crack of dawn. You still hate any and all sunlight, no doubt about it – especially with the night lending itself to your element – but at least you’re somewhat awake now.

Jaehyun fiddles with the keyhole before pushing the door open. Is a lab coat supposed to look this good on a person? You aren’t sure.

“It’s pretty meh.” You offer him a shrug and what you hope is not a dorky smile. “Just stressed, you know.”

“Oh, I figured.” He nods, raising an eyebrow. “Apparently Professor Kim’s being super hard on you guys for this first midterm and, I won’t lie, with her past record…” Jaehyun winces. “Yeah, things might be a little stressful. But you’re capable, and I know you can do it with the right amount of hard work and effort.”

Then, like he hasn’t just sprung an unwarranted pep talk on what’s left of your dreary soul, he disappears behind the door. You stare at it like it’ll give you the answers racing through your mind; what the fuck, how the hell does he know exactly what to say, how the fuck is he always so gorgeous…? etcetera, etcetera.

Immediately, you pull out your phone and text F/N.

You:

Oh my fucking god, I think Jaehyun and I just had a moment

Not like a Moment but he literally just gave me the best pep talk in my life, 5 stars on yelp

Jaehyun’s my TA btw

Checking the time, you impatiently rock forward on the balls of your feet, biting at your lips. You figure that, maybe, instead of constantly thinking about how gorgeous Jaehyun is, you should probably also start thinking about the experiment for today. It’s just some simple identification tests, thank goodness, but those could take a long time – especially if you have to share your resources with the rest of the class.

Sharing is caring, they say and they’re wrong. Sharing, in most cases, is essentially just shooting yourself in the foot, and you’ll stand by that until the end of time. You used to share everything – even your heart – after all, and where did that get you?

You shove all of that away, filing it into the mental Untouchable cabinet and locking it up. You’re a busy person now, and you can’t waste time delving into the past. For all your bravado and bluster, though, you just… sometimes feel like you always make the worst decisions for yourself and you’re just tired of having to put yourself through the same things again and again. Like – like clockwork.

The door cracks open, and Jaehyun pokes his head outside. “Huh, that’s weird. No one else is here yet?”

A quick glance around you shows you that no, there really isn’t anyone else here yet. What the fuck? You check your phone, though, and see you still have ten minutes before lab actually begins. Ah, yeah, that makes a lot more sense now.

“You can come in anyway.” Jaehyun grins at you charmingly, and you dimly wonder if he knows the effect he has on people, with how easily he throws that smile around. “Maybe get set up? You can’t start before the rest of your class is here, obviously, but you can still be prepared.”

“Of course!” You beam at him, a little shocked at how easy it is to smile at him. With how things have been going, with both your personal life and – ehem – line of work, this is actually nothing short of a miracle.

Jaehyun really is a great guy and you think to yourself, a little sadly, that whoever gets to date him is a really lucky person. It’s not like you expect for life to work out like a fairytale with you as the persevering royal protagonist who gets the prince she’s only ever dreamed of.

Oh, you wish though. Sometimes, you even wish you had the power to make wishes come true instead of the shadow manipulation that comes so easily to you. When you think about it, you immediately discard the thought; you’re happy with your Gift, though it does get a little tricky navigating its faults.

Faults that Joker took advantage of over the weekend, obviously. You seriously screwed that one up though, to be fair, you kind of had to get home pronto to finish up your biology lab report. Still, a screw up is, ultimately, a screw up. It’s not going to change just because you slapped some excuses onto it.

Your fingers spasm, clenching tightly around your lab notebook and digging into its spiral binding as you remember, all too vividly, what happened over the weekend; the way Joker just slid out of your bindings and smirked at you, lips brushing against your ear as he revealed it was all a lie—

The spiking pain in your hand forces you to let go of your book, allowing it to drop onto the table with a muffled thump. It was all your fault, really, for not realizing that, since Joker had a Gift that allowed him to make illusions, he would obviously take advantage of it to distract you.

You were such a fucking idiot.

“Hey.” Your lab partner slides into the seat beside yours, effectively distracting you from thinking about your Weekend Failure some more. “Please tell me that I’m not the only one who thinks that the data for this lab report was ridiculous.”

“You’re not.” A light smile pulls at your lips and you try to forget about everything else. “It was pretty crazy.”

It’s not until you step out of lab a few hours later, blinking the sun out of your eyes, that you see that F/N’s finally responded to your texts.

Wifey!! <3:

i’m glad he was so kind to you!

and yeah babe, i think you’d realize i know who Jaehyun is by now

you’ve only mentioned him a billion times

you’re such a puppy

You:

He was really nice man, he made me feel like I could actually do this

I mean idk how long it’ll last but it’s nice of him to even try ;-;

And I think you’d realize I know I’m a puppy by now

You’ve only told me, like, a billion times

Let it be said that you’re never one to let the opportunity to be petty go to waste.

A week later, you’re sprinting up the street between your favorite Thai place and the café F/N likes to frequent, short puffs of breath escaping your lungs into the cold night air. Your worn sneakers slap against the concrete as you try to find a secluded location for you to change covertly into more appropriate ‘crime-fighting’ clothing, when your frantic gaze lands on a relatively abandoned alleyway.

Key word: ‘relatively’, because there’s really only a cat in there, of course.

“Fuck yeah!” You whisper triumphantly under your breath, stepping into the shadows cast by the nightlights, letting their familiar chill wash over you, twist its way around your waist and seep under your skin, a comfortable, cool pressure—

And you’re out again, a couple of blocks ahead of where you started, and sprint up the street, jumping shadows to the second floor of a building, from where you see figure flying overhead.

You smirk. Right on time.

“Hey! Mind giving me a lift?!” You holler up, and with a flick of his wrist, you’re being lifted off your feet, propelled to the very top of the building. A grin pulls at the corner of your mouth, and you give in as you zip along after the figure ahead, who’s dressed in dark blue. “Thanks G!”

Gravitas – Mark – spares a look at you through his mask as he runs ahead, leaping gracefully over to the next building. “Hey Caligo!”

A grin pulls at the corner of your lips through your own mask, fully visible since it only extends to the bridge of your nose. He wants to play it like that, does he?

“Impressive, but you’ve got nothing on me!” You arch in a graceful backflip over the gap between the buildings, landing steadily on your feet.

Mark chuckles lightly at you, shaking his head when you skip ahead of him through the shadows. Like you aren’t going to wring out every advantage your Gift could possibly give you; there’s no way you’re letting him have the satisfaction of possibly being better than you.

“See anyone we need to beat up?” You slow your pace enough for him to run beside you, not needing to shout to be heard.

Mark’s mask covers his entire face, but you’re pretty sure you know the look he’s got on his face right now; that little dip between his eyebrows and the lightest pout on his lips. He’s really too predictable.

“We aren’t looking for people to beat up.” He corrects you. “We’re looking for people to save.”

You come to a stop so you can face him properly, hands settling on your hips. The seriousness of the situation doesn’t stop you from keeping the playfulness from your voice, though, forced as it might sound.

“Now that’s the mind of a future hero-in-the-making.” You shrug, mouth pursing into a tense smile. “The rest of us don’t really care so much about that, you know.”

Mark falters, nearly tripping over himself even though he’s slowed to a walk. “That isn’t what I was trying to imply, you know that.”

“I know.” You provide him with another half-shrug. “I’m just saying that I’m here to beat people up; you can call it saving people or whatever else satisfies your hero-complex but, at the end of the day, someone’s still getting beat.”

No matter how close the two of you are, this is an age old argument that neither of you have been able to shake off; the constant debate of vigilantism versus heroism. At the end of the day, you’re getting the same things done, so why Mark needs to get so prickly about it is beyond you.

He is training to be a hero – which you’ve grudgingly accepted, despite your misgivings – so that might be it. Unlike you, he’s always interested in those caped fantasies, in saving the day and happy endings. Even he has to admit it; Mark is the definition of a happy fool.

And you? Well, that’d make you the tortured genius – though there’s nothing particularly genius about you. Just tortured.

“At the end of the day, we’re still saving people too.” Mark’s voice is low, brittle. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“And we’ve always ended it the same way.” You force yourself to keep your calm, though you itch to blow up at him. “So what makes this time so different?”

Mark starts forward, about to answer, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice. A very unwelcome voice.

“Hope I’m not interrupting!”

There’s a muffled thump, like someone’s landing on their feet, as you slowly turn around, eyes growing wide behind your mask.

Decked out in a tight-fitting leather bodysuit and a black choker, which delicately circles his neck, he looks at you with dancing, mischievous eyes. The black eye mask that sculpts itself to his face prevents you from being able figure out who the man behind the mask is, but that isn’t your priority right now, because you know who this is, standing in front of you with that cheeky grin.

“Joker.”

Written By: Midnight

The amazing moodboard was done by Sangria! Blessed that I am to have such a perfect wife <3

Next: 02

#kwritersworldnet #kreativewritersnet #nctwriters #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jaehyun angst #nct jaehyun #villain jaehyun #nct jung jaehyun #villain jung jaehyun #jaehyun series #will i update consistently? let's find out

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mattchase82 · 3 years

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WHY EVERY CATHOLIC NEEDS TO JOIN THE CONFRATERNITY OF THE HOLY ROSARY

During This Time Of Diabolical Disorientation And Mass Confusion Of The Faith, It Is More Important Now Than Any Other Time For Catholics To Put On The Full Armor Of God And Join The Confraternity. Satan Will Try To Stop You Don't Let Him.

The Immaculate alone has from God the promise of victory over Satan.

(Saint Maximilian Kolbe)

Mary was made Mother of God to obtain salvation for many who, on account of their wicked lives, could not be saved according to the rigor of Divine justice, but might be saved with the help of her sweet mercy and powerful intercession.

(St. John Chrysostom)

http://www.dominicansavrille.us/signup-form-for-the-rosary-confraternity/

BENEFITS OF JOINING THE CONFRATERNITY

1. The special protection of the Mother of God.

2. A share in the prayer of countless Millions of members the world over, and this even after death.

3. A share in the prayers, Masses and apostolic works of the entire Dominican Order.

4. The intercession of the entire Heavenly Court.

5. Various plenary and partial indulgences.

The Rosary Confraternity is a spiritual association, the members of which pray the entire rosary during the course of a week. They form a union of the faithful in heaven and one earth who, along with their own intentions, include the intentions and needs of all its members.

"If anyone has the happiness of being in the Confraternity of the Rosary, he has in all corners of the world brothers and sisters who pray for him." -St. John Vianney

"Whenever a person fulfills his obligation of reciting the Rosary according to the rule of the Confraternity, he includes in his intentions all its members, and they in turn render him the same service many times over." -Pope Leo XIII

Saint Louis de Montfort tells the story of a young girl of noble station named Alexandra, who had been miraculously converted and enrolled by St. Dominic in the Confraternity of the Rosary.

After her death, she appeared to him and said she had been condemned to seven hundred years in purgatory because of her own sins and those she had caused others to commit by her worldly ways. So she implored him to ease her pains by his prayers and to ask the Confraternity members to pray for the same end. St. Dominic did as she had asked.

Two weeks later she appeared to him, more radiant than the sun, having been quickly delivered from purgatory by the prayers of the Confraternity members. She also told St. Dominic that she had come on behalf of the souls in purgatory to beg him to go on preaching the Rosary and to ask their relations to offer their Rosaries for them, and that they would reward them abundantly when they entered into glory.

The Fifteen Promises of Mary Granted to those who Recite the Rosary Daily

The Blessed Virgin Mary Promised to Saint Dominic and to all who follow that "Whatever you ask in the Rosary will be granted." She left for all Christians Fifteen Promises to those who recite the Holy Rosary.

Imparted to Saint Dominic and Blessed Alan de la Roche

1. Whoever shall faithfully serve me by the recitation of the Rosary, shall receive signal graces.

2. I promise my special protection and the greatest graces to all those who shall recite the Rosary.

3. The Rosary shall be a powerful armor against hell, it will destroy vice, decrease sin, and defeat heresies.

4.The Rosary will cause virtue and good works to flourish; it will obtain for souls the abundant mercy of God; it will withdraw the hearts of men from the love of the world and its vanities, and will lift them to the desire for eternal things. Oh, that souls would sanctify themselves by this means.

5. The soul which recommends itself to me by the recitation of the Rosary, shall not perish.

6. Whoever shall recite the Rosary devoutly, applying himself to the consideration of its sacred mysteries shall never be conquered by misfortune. God will not chastise him in His justice, he shall not perish by an unprovided death; if he be just he shall remain in the grace of God, and become worthy of eternal life.

7. Whoever shall have a true devotion for the Rosary shall not die without the sacraments of the Church.

8. Those who are faithful to recite the Rosary shall have during their life and at their death the light of God and the plenititude of His graces; at the moment of death they shall participate in the merits of the saints in paradise.

9. I shall deliver from Purgatory those who have been devoted to the Rosary.

10. The faithful children of the Rosary shall merit a high degree of glory in Heaven.

11. You shall obtain all you ask of me by the recitation of the Rosary.

12. All those who propagate the Holy Rosary shall be aided by me in their necessities.

13. I have obtained from my Divine Son that all the advocates of the Rosary shall have for intercessors the entire celestial court during their life and at the hour of death.

14. All who recite the Rosary are my sons and daughters, and brothers and sisters of my only Son Jesus Christ.

15. Devotion of my Rosary is a great sign of predestination.

7 Reasons to Pray the Rosary, from the “Secret of the Rosary” by St. Louis de Montfort

Here are his 7 reasons:

1) It gradually gives us a perfect knowledge of Jesus Christ

2) It purifies our souls, washing away sin

3) It gives us victory over all our enemies

4) It makes it easy for us to practice virtue

5) It sets us on fire with love of Our Blessed Lord

6) It enriches us with graces and merits

7) It supplies us with what is needed to pay all our debts to God and to our fellow men, and finally, it obtains all kinds of graces for us from Almighty God

A GIRL IN MORTAL GIVES HER LAST CONFESSION TWO DAY'S AFTER HER DEATH

Father Eusebius Nierembergh relates, that there lived in the city of Aragona, Sicily, a girl named Alexandra. Being both noble and very beautiful, Alexandra was greatly loved by two young men. Driven by jealousy, these young men fought one day and killed each other. Their enraged relatives, in return, killed the poor young girl as the cause of so much trouble. They cut off her head and threw her remains into a well. A few days later, Saint Dominic of Guzman was passing through that place and inspired by Our Lord, approached the well and said: “Alexandra, come forth.” Immediately the head of the deceased came forth, perched on the edge of the well, and asked the saint to hear her confession. Perhaps accustomed to bizarre phenomena, Saint Dominic heard its confession and also gave it communion, in the presence of a great concourse of curious persons who had assembled to witness the miracle. Then the saint asked her to tell why she had received such a grace. Alexandra answered that when she was beheaded, she was in a state of mortal sin and would have been damned to hell. But on account of the rosary which she was in the habit of reciting, Most Holy Mary appeared and preserved her soul from unending torments.

So it happened that for two days the head of Alexandra retained life and when summoned was set upon the edge of the well, in the presence of all, and then the soul went to purgatory. Fifteen days later, Alexandra’s soul appeared to Saint Dominic, beautiful and radiant as a star. She then told him that one of the principal sources of relief to the souls in purgatory is the rosary which is recited for them; and that, as soon as they arrive in paradise, they pray for those who apply to them these powerful prayers. Having said this, Saint Dominic saw that happy soul ascending in triumph to the kingdom of the blessed.

(St. Alphonsus Liguori)

Don't let anyone tell you that praying the Rosary is "meaningless repetition" (when we don't pray it, we don't know it, anyway, and how could we?). If you ever feel the temptation to stop, because it feels "tedious," that's when you keep going, if only because love is not a feeling, but an act of the will. Take your time; praying it effectively and loving it is gradually learned. And the appetite does come with the meal. Turn "tedium" into persistence.

The Rosary is the ‘weapon’ for these times.” -Saint Padre Pio

“Give me an army saying the Rosary and I will conquer the world.” – Blessed Pope Pius IX

“The greatest method of praying is to pray the Rosary.” – Saint Francis de Sales

“Some people are so foolish that they think they can go through life without the help of the Blessed Mother. Love the Madonna and pray the rosary, for her Rosary is the weapon against the evils of the world today. All graces given by God pass through the Blessed Mother.” -St. Padre Pio

“Go to the Madonna. Love her! Always say the Rosary. Say it well. Say it as often as you can! Be souls of prayer. Never tire of praying, it is what is essential. Prayer shakes the Heart of God, it obtains necessary graces!” -St. Padre Pio

The holy Rosary is a powerful weapon. Use it with confidence and you’ll be amazed at the results.” -St. Josemaria Escriva

“Say the Holy Rosary. Blessed be that monotony of Hail Mary’s which purifies the monotony of your sins!” -St. Josemaria Escriva

“For those who use their intelligence and their study as a weapon, the Rosary is most effective. Because that apparently monotonous way of beseeching Our Lady as children do their Mother, can destroy every seed of vainglory and pride.” – St. Josemaria Escriva

“You always leave the Rosary for later, and you end up not saying it at all because you are sleepy. If there is no other time, say it in the street without letting anybody notice it. It will, moreover, help you to have presence of God.” – St. Josemaria Escriva

“The Rosary is a powerful weapon to put the demons to flight and to keep oneself from sin…If you desire peace in your hearts, in your homes, and in your country, assemble each evening to recite the Rosary. Let not even one day pass without saying it, no matter how burdened you may be with many cares and labors.” – Pope Pius XI

“The rosary is the book of the blind, where souls see and there enact the greatest drama of love the world has ever known; it is the book of the simple, which initiates them into mysteries and knowledge more satisfying than the education of other men; it is the book of the aged, whose eyes close upon the shadow of this world, and open on the substance of the next. The power of the rosary is beyond description.” – Archbishop Fulton Sheen

““The Rosary is the most excellent form of prayer and the most efficacious means of attaining eternal life. It is the remedy for all our evils, the root of all our blessings. There is no more excellent way of praying.” Pope Leo XIII

“No one can live continually in sin and continue to say the Rosary: either they will give up sin or they will give up the Rosary” – Bishop Hugh Doyle

“The Most Holy Virgin in these last times in which we live has given a new efficacy to the recitation of the Rosary to such an extent that there is no problem, no matter how difficult it is, whether temporal or above all spiritual, in the personal life of each one of us, of our families…that cannot be solved by the Rosary. There is no problem, I tell you, no matter how difficult it is, that we cannot resolve by the prayer of the Holy Rosary.” -Sister Lucia dos Santos of Fatima

“The Rosary is a long chain that links heaven and earth. One end of it is in our hands and the other end is in the hands of the Holy Virgin…The Rosary prayer rises like incense to the feet of the Almighty. Mary responds at once like a beneficial dew, bringing new life to human hearts.”

St. Therese of Lisieux

“When people love and recite the Rosary they find it makes them better.” -St. Anthony Mary Claret

The Rosary is the most beautiful and the most rich in graces of all prayers; it is the prayer that touches most the Heart of the Mother of God…and if you wish peace to reign in your homes, recite the family Rosary.~Pope Saint Pius X

When you say your Rosary, the angels rejoice, the Blessed Trinity delights in it, my Son finds joy in it too, and I myself am happier than you can possibly guess. After the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, there is nothing in the Church that I love as much as the Rosary.~Our Lady to Blessed Alan de la Roche

One day, through the Rosary and the Scapular, Our Lady will save the world.~Saint Dominic

Even if you are on the brink of damnation, even if you have one foot in hell, even if you have sold your soul to the devil as sorcerers do who practice black magic, and even if you are a heretic as obstinate as a devil, sooner or later you will be converted and will amend your life and will save your soul,IF YOU SAY THE HOLY ROSARY devoutly every day until death for the purpose of knowing the truth and obtaining contrition and pardon for your sins-Saint Louis de Montfort

“When you say your Rosary, the angels rejoice, the Blessed Trinity delights in it, my Son finds joy in it too, and I myself am happier than you can possibly guess. After the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, there is nothing in the Church that I love as much as the Rosary.” - Our Lady to Blessed Alan de la Roche

Even if You Pray the Rosary for Years and See No Improvement Spiritually, Do Not Give Up. Mary and Jesus Will Always Come to Your Aide.

Imprimatur: Patrick J. Hayes, D.D. Archbishop of New YorkWhy All Catholic's Need To Join the Confraternity of the Rosary Immediately

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wanderingwolfwitcher · 3 years

Note

“Can’t sleep?” (from Saskia, before the battle of Kaer Morhen maybe?)

“Hmm? Oh... hello, your highness. Thought everyone else around here was asleep... or having one last night together. Care for a drink? Just preparing for the day... the battle... ahead of us. Readying the armory, my weapons, equipment and potions, and going over everything I’ll need to know. What few records of the Wild Hunt exist in the Witcher Codex. Viper School had the most on them, all aspects of the occult really... an utter disgrace and crime what the Usurper did to their library. Never saw em’, but always believed in the Wild Hunt, growing up, even if it was mostly folk stories to scare children. Listened to every tale about them that I could. Ran into a mad, drunken fellow a couple decades back who claimed to have been abducted by them. Can’t say I’d ever imagined them coming here though. Ready to finally reduce this keep to rubble, where so many have tried.”

Eskel’s deep, calm voice observed a bit wryly, marred features smiling faintly the southern Queen in exile’s way. Yellow, bestial eyes studied the blonde, rather striking and well built, young woman closely. He’d not really spoken to Queen Saskia since her arrival at Kaer Morhen beyond his courtesies and greetings... but then he hadn’t spoken much to the others either. A colorful assortment of characters though... and the most people who had been at Kaer Morhen in decades. It was strange to play host to so many... but it was a welcome necessity. They weren’t about to turn away help where it was being offered. People willing to risk their lives fighting against a mythical advanced elven race of dimensional conquerors, for a school of four outcasts in the Blue Mountains of Kaedwen.

In defense of it and Ciri, someone most of them didn’t even know. Especially considering they had all dropped matters important to themselves to be here, including the reclamation of her throne, in her case, the fight for her own people. Liberating Upper Aedirn from the Empire. It was good to find out there were still decent people in a world such as theirs. That there were people who would still fight for the Witchers, after all their schools had sacrificed for the ungrateful Continent over the centuries. He gestured invitingly to the seat beside him, for her to join him at the table of the main hall, where he sat going through a pile of various old dusty texts and tombs that comprised the Witcher Codex. He was having some difficulty, not many of the texts spoke of the Wild Hunt, beyond the hearsay and rumors the various Witchers had overheard and recorded while on the path. At last he looked up again from the book he held her way, shrugging his spike covered shoulders slightly.

“Still, I’m glad Destiny has deigned for me to be here this time. Not afraid. This is where I belong. I wasn’t here during the pogrom this school endured, decades back. Small handful of us were out on the Path at the time, the rest of us were here when it happened. I should have been here to fight and die if need be defending my home from that enraged horde and the scheming mages leading them, alongside my brothers. Instead of returning to a ruined keep of corpses and old memories, save for Vesemir. Still regret that... maybe this is my chance to set that absence right again.”

The Witcher shared with her calmly, thinking back to that time, coming home. What it had been seeing it all destroyed... or nearly all of it. He remembered the burnings, himself, Vesemir, Geralt and Lambert having to carry the remains of all their brothers one by one to the hills. Building wooden platforms for their final rest... scattering their ashes through the valley on the winds. By contrast, they had dumped the corpses of the enraged peasant army in the moat, where their bones lie to this day. The envious mages who had coveted the secrets of mutation had fallen in the battle, the ones who had provoked the peasants in the first place, got another sort of treatment. Their heads had been planted on wooden stakes outside of Kaedwen, to inform the folk that they had failed to accomplish their genocidal goal.

Vesemir had been adamant on that gesture, with Lambert particularly enthusiastic. Maybe the warning... bluff really, given their reduced numbers... had worked... the Kaedweni Nobles had sent out edicts to the Mages and peasants to leave the Witchers alone. To steer well clear of the valley and to stop harassing them when they came to town. Passed through. With soldiers enforcing said edicts for a time. About all the support they had ever got from the Nobles... they certainly hadn’t donated any coin or workers to restore the keep, even after the School’s many years of service to the realm. Everything had been left to the four of them ever since. At last he closed the book in his hands, setting it down among the others, hand rising and rubbing his mutilated cheek absently in uneasy consideration. Then he reached for a nearby tankard of White Gull and took a sip from it, savoring the warmth. He returned his attention fully back to the monarch, smile deepening a bit as his low, steady voice washed over her again.

“How about you? Seem well accustomed with war, difficult yet worthy causes, even for your relative youth. Heard impressive stories about you on the Path. ‘The Dragonslayer of Aedirn’. Heard Emhyr stole Lormark from you recently as well. My sympathies. Reckon you’ll take it back if... when we survive here. Can’t pledge my sword to political causes... but I ain’t ignorant. Don’t get my age being so. Yours is about the only worthy one I can think of. Never cared for Henselt... especially his choice in Sorceress advisors... nor the Emperor, refusing to reverse the Usurper’s anti Witcher policies in Nilfgaard. Henselt’s ancestor, King Viduka, granted Lormark legally to Aedirn, he no longer had a claim to it any more than Emhyr. Would be like Henselt deciding he wanted Kaer Morhen Valley back as well after his ancestors gave it to our guild. Can bet he would, if there was anything of value for him up here. When you take your kingdom back, if you need a simple Witcher’s expertise, let me know. Wars tend to draw monsters of all sorts to the land, prey on villages and towns while the soldiers are away. Was planning on heading out there when I return to the Path, come Spring.”

@sunbentsky

#sunbentsky #we can turn this into a thread if you want dragon lady lol #he talks too much sometimes but necessary for threads

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ashfountainfanfics · 5 years

Text

Eddie is released before Richie wakes up. The cop that took over in the morning didn’t say anything about Eddie and Richie sharing a bed for the night but Eddie could tell it made him uncomfortable. He looked a bit younger than Eddie and acted like discharging him was some awkward task to deal with. He never even looked Eddie in the eye.

This town doesn’t really change, does it? Eddie thinks as he starts the long walk back to the small inn he and the other Losers have taken temporary residence in.

Eddie was shocked that Richie didn’t even so much as stir when he left. He’s an incredibly heavy sleeper but he also cuddles like a fucking octopus. Eddie had to untangle a mess of long arms and legs to free himself. Richie’s entire body had been grappled onto every part of Eddie. For a minute Eddie thought he might need the jaws of life to get out.

The morning weather is cold but Derry always feels cold. Unless you happened to catch it in the full swing of summer, Derry is essentially an icebox disguised as a small town. Eddie zips up his hoodie and shoves his hands in his pockets.

‘You’ll catch a cold, Eddie! You need a sweater and some thick socks!’

The echo of his mother’s voice makes his stomach surge. Eddie knows damn well that a chill breeze cannot possibly give him a cold but he can’t help the anxiety that rises from the thought. She used to say other nonsensical shit too like a cold can kill a man if you don’t treat it right away or that being too close to the microwave would give a person cancer.

It didn’t stop at radiation and weather either. Mrs. Kapsbrack had fully decieved her son into a number of lies about sex too. Masturbation makes you blind, having sex can kill you, touch it too much and it’ll fall off; Sonia Kapsbrack had the entire discography of abstinence only rhetoric on loop.

Eddie knows logically that none of these things are true but he knows it now. For two solid decades of his life he had believed his mother. He thought her word was gospel. Even in his twenties, it took time to come around to the truth because, what if the world was wrong and Sonia was right? Could he risk that?

Eddie spitefully unzips his jacket.

By the time Eddie was in his mid thirties he knew better but the paranoia lingers even today. In the time he’d been married to Myra he can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve had sex. Really it comes down to a once a year event and one Eddie never looks forward to. Bless Myra, she really tried sometimes but for the rare occasions of fancy home cooked meals and lingerie Eddie ended up losing his appetite and turning off all the lights. Myra got ten minutes of action annually while Eddie never managed to get off. Myra never was happy with that but Eddie wonders if she’d been happy with anything in their marriage.

Eddie shrugs out of the jacket and doesn’t look back as it slides off into the street.

Eddie might have had options. He may have had several people interested in him at any given moment but he was raised with blinders on and marriage ensured those blinders stayed. Eddie realizes that he never had the awareness, let alone the confidence to pursue anyone except Myra. His mother had led him into near celibacy through his hypochondriac training. If she hadn’t died would Myra have ever been a thing? Or would he still be a virgin even now?

Maybe Eddie could like Richie. Maybe men weren’t off the menu for Eddie Kapsbrack but how is he to know that when even the default of heterosexuality was taught as a dirty and unfortunate? And poor Myra, poor fucking Myra. Eddie’s going to leave her and because of his dead mother who shouldn’t have had anything to do with his marriage but Sonia Kapsbrack is the catalyst for all of it. Everything Eddie is, everything he never chose to become, is because of her.

Eddie takes off his shirt and drops it as he starts running in the cold morning air. The breeze smothers his chest, perks his nipples and sends shivers down his spine. The cold hurts a little but tells him he’s alive.

A memory of his last visit to a therapist surfaces as catches himself on the kissing bridge. He takes a few deep breaths and remembers. It was grief therapy which he was sure made his mother turn in his grave but Myra had suggested it. Sonia may have hated therapists and shrinks but Myra swore by them.

After a single session, the therapist calmly asked if Eddie had ever heard about the term ‘emotional incest.’ After a quick explanation, Eddie chose never to return to therapy ever again. Eddie is horrified and enraged as he stands on the bridge now and lets out a primal scream because Sonia Kapsbrack really did it. She committed emotional incest and Eddie feels the violation of it rack over his body.

‘Eddie, you can’t go out.’

‘Eddie, girls like that carry diseases.’

‘Eddie, don’t get too close, he might have AIDS.’

‘Eddie, you’ll never leave mommy right? You wouldn’t want me to die alone.’

And he had done just that. He stayed with her the entirety that their lives intersected. He even held her hand and watched cancer thin her down to skin and bones until there was nothing left. He never had a choice.

‘Eddie, you have to wear socks even inside. You could get sick.’

Eddie steps out of his shoes and pulls his socks off. He throws them into the barrens with as much force as he can muster. The asphalt under his feet is rough and unforgiving. He smiles and it’s manic and he keeps running.

---

Ben is waking up alone but he remembers not going to bed alone. Very clearly, he recalls Beverly and her soft mouth and her smooth curves. He took her in like she was sacred because to him she always had been. Last night had been spiritual experience because for so long Bev had only been a memory folded in a wallet. In a single night she went from paper to full flesh.

Keeping that yearbook page in his wallet had been like carrying around a religious artifact. So often it boosted the faith he needed to have in himself. It told him with little hearts and an old signature that he was worth looking at, worth helping, worth talking to. It had torn him apart to have thrown it in the fire but he’d burn a million memories if meant holding her.

As quickly as he had bedded her she’s gone though. Ben can still smell her soap on the sheets. It’s not the first time Ben’s woken up to an empty bed. It’s not as if he’s been celibate for the last twenty seven years. But he wasn’t very good at giving reasons for women to stay. It’s like they already knew his heart was somewhere else. Ben should be okay waking up to this familiar scene except...

“...Beverly?” he calls out softly, hoping that maybe she’s just in the bathroom.

There’s no response.

Ben gets himself showered and dressed. He can’t help but wonder if he’d done something wrong. Was having sex going too fast? It’s not like he declared his undying love for her but he supposes that he didn’t really need to. No one keeps a signature in their wallet for almost three decades because they’re just buddies.

Ben walks up to Bev’s door and hears her pacing and yelling. It’s a one sided conversation so Ben presumes she must be on the phone. Through the thin walls he can make out a few phrases and keywords. The words ‘divorce’ and ‘lawyer’ come up quite a bit. Against Ben’s better judgement, he presses his ear to the door to better listen in.

“You can have the business, you can keep the money but you can’t have me. Fuck you.”

Ben startles as it sounds like Bev has thrown her phone against the wall. Ben regrets invading her privacy but feels compelled to comfort her. It sounds like her husband is a real asshole and that the divorce is going to be messy. Ben isn’t sure what words to offer her.

Ben is about to knock on her door but then gets an idea. He makes a beeline to his room and rips a blank page out of the guestbook. He argues with himself the whole journey back to Bev’s door. He insists to himself that this is childish and unnecessary. She’ll think it’s stupid. It won’t help. Ben still sits down though and scribbles out a message.

You okay? - Ben

He gives the door a soft knock and slides the page underneath. A few minutes pass. It feels like the longest two minutes of Ben’s life and his insecurity bombards him. Of course this wouldn’t work. It’s dumb and foolish and Ben should know better. He’s a grown man after all.

The paper returns from under the frame.

No. - Bev

It’s an odd approach but at least it begets an honest answer. Ben uses the door as a writing surface. It’s shocking to think this method is even going anywhere but Ben figures it’s best to continue. At least Bev’s talking. He has a feeling that if he’d gone with the first choice and simply knocked that he wouldn’t have gotten far.

Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want to talk?

He stops signing it at this point. It’s not as if the whole gang is sitting in the hallway passing notes to Bev. This time it takes a lot longer for her to reply. Ben takes in the moulding on the door frame as he waits. Despite many of his designs taking a modern approach he really likes looking at the old stuff. He wonders briefly how he might create designs with modern benefits but a nostalgic look. The note slide out slowly this time.

I’m sorry I left.

Ben appreciates the sentiment but he has a thousand questions to ask about it. If Bev is sorry then why did she do it? Did something happen? Did Ben mess up? Did he hurt her or make her feel unsafe? All of this takes a backseat to the present situation though.

You have a lot on your mind. I want to help. Can I come in?

Ben stands to his feet as he hears the latch on the other side coming undone. Beverly is red faced but composed. She’s in a bathrobe and slippers. By the door he sees the tennis shoes he’d picked up for her yesterday after she’d thrown all her clothes from earlier in the day away. He knows she’s only using them out of necessity but he likes to think that maybe she likes them. He chose a pair that was black and burgundy. He remembered that Bev liked burgundy.

“You’re really nice,” Bev says quietly.

“I don’t try to be,” Ben shrugs and tell himself not to move in and hold her, “I’m just me”

“I know. That’s what I love about you.”

Ben smiles at the word ‘love’. He can’t help it. Bev smiles back and Ben falls in love with her all over again. She’s so much more than beautiful. She’s strong and kind and smart. Ben always secretly regarded her as the real leader of the group. He loves Bill and, yes, they often all followed him but secretly Ben followed Beverly. He’d follow her anywhere if she only asked.

“Ben,” her smile falters, “I’m going through something right now. It’s not easy and I’m trying to figure out who I am. You’re very sweet but I-”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Ben interrupts, already sensing where she’s going.

Ben understands that Bev’s life is complicated right now. He gets that maybe last night had some bad timing. He wants to say this but doesn’t. Something about the look in Bev’s eyes tells him that he doesn’t need to.

“All of this is on your terms,” he continues, “All I’m asking you is please, please, don’t shut me out.”

Bev wraps herself around Ben in a genuine embrace. She doesn’t cry but he can feel the emotions coming off of her in waves. Anger, fear, even sadness sheds from her as he holds her. He absorbs those feelings, welcomes them even, because it doesn’t hurt. Ben’s nose rests on her fiery colored hair as he processes those emotions for her,

“I got you,” he whispers into her hair, “You’re not alone, Bev.”

---

Richie is a free man.

Roger barely needed to work much lawyer magic and like a trooper he rolled right into the station the second he got into town. Grand total it took about an hour for Roger to convince Detective Lopez to let Richie go.

“How’d you get her to listen? I mean I’ve played some tough crowds but this chick was like a concrete wall,” Richie questions his lawyer.

Roger is exhausted and doesn’t answer right away. He seems half asleep at the wheel and it occurs to Richie how much his team cares about him. Even with the decent dollar signs attached to Richie, it’s worth noting that Roger drove through the night just for him. But then Richie’s had the same team since the beginning and they’ve known him since he was an eighteen year old little snot doing standup at open mic.

“It was easy,” Roger answers with a yawn, “I didn’t bullshit her. Made sure she knew it was a waste of resources to go after you.”

Richie definitely senses the emphasis of the word ‘bullshit’ aimed at him. He lets it slide though because he’s so deeply relieved not to be going to court or to jail for that matter. Richie knows damn well that he wouldn’t last a single night in the big house. He’d absolutely piss off the wrong person and either end up dead or somebody’s bitch. Richie doesn’t ever care to find out which.

“You’ll love the bed and breakfast we’re at,” Richie says as he looks out the window of Roger’s car, “and by love I mean hate. It looks like someone’s great aunt threw up upholstery. But it’s a place to sleep right? And once you’re rested you’ll come bail out ol’ Billy boy this afternoon.”

“Yeah, Richie, about that…”

“What?”

Roger looks incredibly guilty as he follows the GPS’s last instruction. He parks on the street and shuts the car off. Richie doesn’t like where this is going.

“Look, kid,” Roger sighs, “I meant it when I said I’d come back for your friend this afternoon but it’s not to get him out. I’m going back to talk out his story and see if I can prove him innocent.”

Richie feels bile rising up his throat. He can’t stand his stomach and the way it refuses to sit with anything terrible. Roger is equal parts apologetic and resigned. His bald head has the smallest bit of sweat on it, his mustache obscures any expression in his lip but his eyes say it all.

“You lied to me,” Richie is furious nonetheless.

“No. No, I never said I was coming back for anything specific. I said I was coming back for him I never said why.”

“Oh fuck you, Roger! A lie by omission is still a lie, you prick!”

“Hey! I got you out didn’t I?” Roger gets defensive now, “And I am going back for the other guy! I don’t have to do that, Richie, but I am. For you.”

Richie absorbs this in and pulls back his anger. Roger pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Richie has no reason to doubt the man but air between them still asks for further explanation.

“Detective Lopez doesn’t have much choice except to arrest Bill and send him to court,” Roger explains, “A kid died, Richie. The pressure from his parents alone is enough to force her hand let alone the rest of the community. Who ever heard of a small town brushing off a dead child?”

“You don’t know Derry,” Richie replies sarcastically.

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe the Derry you grew up in and the Derry that exists now are different. Who am I to say? I don’t know and I don’t care much either. My condolences to the deceased and all but I’m certain your buddy didn’t do it. If he’s as good as you say he is I believe you and I’ll help him out.”

“I could hug you right now.”

“Oh, Jesus, spare me the theatrics, Richie.”

“Nope. We’re hugging. Come here.”

Roger makes a show of not reciprocating at first but then relents and pats Richie on the back. In many ways, Roger is like the lawyer uncle Richie never had. He sees him at holidays and when he’s in trouble. Really his whole team is like that, a family.

“I’m going to make a couple of calls before I head in,” Roger says before digging out his cell phone, “I remember a buddy of mine who used to teach had some super student from Maine. Henry Beaver or Reevers or something. Maybe he can give me an idea of what I’m working with in this state.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go ahead and get you set up. Room’s on me.”

“You’re not deducting that from my pay.”

“Fuck you too, Roger.”

Richie leaves his lawyer to his calls. Luckily, the old lady who runs the place is available and manages to get a room together quickly. It’s the last one too. Richie is bouncing from nerves. He has confidence in Roger but he can’t help the nervousness bubbling up inside.

“His name is Roger Clemmings, just give him his key and let him up,” Richie explains, “he’s had a rough night.”

“Of course, dear,” the older woman answers.

Richie hears the front door opening behind him. He spins around, expecting Roger but instead finds Eddie half naked and shoeless. He’s shaking and completely out of breath.

“Eddie?” he rushes over to him out of concern and starts looking him over for injury, “Jesus Christ. What happened? Are you okay?”

“No. Yes. No. Yes and no.”

“Honey, do you need me to call the police?” the innkeeper asks, her hand already on the phone and ready to go.

“No. No. I’m fine. My whole world is falling apart but I’m fine.”

Richie takes off his coat and wraps it around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie is having a full on mental breakdown and Richie is terrified. He tries to catch Eddie’s eyes with his own but they stare vacantly at nothing. Richie assures the woman behind the counter that he’ll see to Eddie.

Suddenly the door opens again. Roger is pulling in a suitcase and fumbling with a text message. He doesn’t see Richie and his shirtless friend but Richie panics. He grabs Eddie by the arm and pulls him into the nearest door. He crams into the tight space with him and shuts the door behind him all before Roger can see.

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice is close by in the dark.

Richie shushes him harshly. He listens as Roger chats up the older woman. She has the decency not to say anything about Richie’s sudden escape and Richie lets the momentary relief wash over him.

“Richie?” Eddie whispers this time.

“Yeah?”

“We’re in a closet.”

Richie would laugh if it wasn’t so painfully on the nose.

“Why are we in a closet?” Eddie expands.

“Oh, Eds, I wish I could answer that.”

The old woman and Roger are still talking. She’s chatting him up and Richie wants to take back every kind word he thought about her just seconds ago.

“Fuck,” Richie whisper screams, “what part about ‘just let him up’ doesn’t she understand?”

The closet Richie has trapped them in is housing a broom with dust pan and a handful of coats on one side. It smells a bit like mothballs and cinnamon. It’s not the worst place to inadvertently imprison oneself. Richie rests his forehead against the door and groans quietly.

“Richie?” Eddie asks again.

Richie turns toward his voice and instantly regrets his life choices. Because Eddie is so close. He’s too close. There’s maybe half an inch of distance between them. Richie’s insides split in two directions; wanting to get even closer and wanting to run away.

“...Eds” Richie answers finally.

Eddie puts his hands on Richie’s shoulder. Richie feels like that contact is going to cause him to pass out. Eddie’s fingers find the collar of Richie’s button up shirt and gently tug at him, collar and all, closer to Eddie.

“E- Eddie?” Richie’s old habits act up, “I know this is a romantic venue and all but-”

Richie doesn’t have time to diffuse the situation with humor because Eddie kisses him. He kisses him and-

This is fucking weird… Richie thinks.

Eddie’s lips are tightly lined. It feels almost like he’s grimacing. It’s as if he’s not committing to anything more than pressing his lips against Richie’s in the most non intimate way possible. Eddie stiffly ends the kiss and takes a half step back.

“Ah, okay,” Richie doesn’t know how to respond, “that, um, happened.”

“I didn’t feel anything…” Eddie says, sounding a thousand miles away.

“Well maybe if you didn’t kiss like mashing two dolls together!” Richie cries in his own defense, “Jesus, who taught you to swap spit?”

“I kind of didn’t learn actually.”

Excuse me? Richie thinks as he thanks the dark for hiding his expression.

“I always thought kissing would get you herpes,” Eddie explains quietly, “and by the time I knew better it didn’t matter. I kissed my wife at our wedding but I don’t really. I don’t kiss often.”

This is absolutely horrifying information for someone like Richie who, on more than a few occasions, has referred to himself as a slut.

“Wait, you’re not a- are you a virgin, Eddie?”

“No, asshole!” Eddie says a bit too loudly.

Richie hushes him again. He brings an ear to the door of the closet and listens. He hears the old woman chuckling at something Roger said. He curses under breath. Richie is desperate to get out of this closet, out of this conversation. It’s so painfully awkward.

“Think about it, Richie,” Eddie brings the topic back up, “think about the kind of mom I had. She didn’t want me to roll around in grass what the fuck do you think she told me about taking a- a roll in the hay?”

“You did not just make a Young Frankenstein reference instead of saying the word ‘sex’,” Richie is at his wit’s end.

He might as well be a virgin, Richie thinks, I haven’t had virgin since I was a teenager.

“I’m pretty sure that that phrase is older than Young Frankenstein, just saying,” Eddie points out, “And if you’re going to make fun of me then you can cancel our date thing. Fuck it. Fuck you”

“No!” Richie whisper yells.

Even after being told point blank that there’s no chemistry and that Eddie has been about as intimate as an artificial insemination, Richie isn’t ready to give up. Sure, it’s a little daunting to be faced with Eddie’s circumstances but who cares? What Richie saw in the final showdown, how he felt when he thought he lost Eddie for good, that means something. Richie can feel that in his goddamn guts.

“You really, really, don’t really know how this works?”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“I’m seriously asking, Eds.”

Eddie mumbles his answer but Richie can tell it’s a yes. Richie decides to get down from his slutty high horse and really think about Eddie’s position. Richie knows what it’s like to wake up to sexuality. He’d slept with mostly women in his lifetime and he found it passable. It was about as thrilling as jerking off into a sock albeit far more comfortable. But men were a different story.

Richie has slept with a man before and it threw his entire life out of whack. It was nearly a holy experience and it almost got him out of the closet. Almost. By then he already had an established career as a straight man though and the idea of losing his career wasn’t worth the risk. Not even his team knows about his true proclivities. Which now that Richie thinks about it is entirely the reason he and Eddie are in this closet right now.

Richie can see Eddie in the dark. He can make out those puppy dog eyes looking off to the side in embarrassment. He sees generalized textures in his silhouette and good God does he find him beautiful. He wants to reach his hands under the borrowed jacket hanging off Eddie’s torso and touch everything he can.

You’ll freak him out, Richie stops himself, he can’t even kiss right and you want to grope him. Fucking relax. Shit.

“So I’ll show you what I know,” Richie settles, “as long as you’re feeling it I’ll keep going and if you’re not it’s cool. I mean I’m an asshole but I’m not a total asshole.”

Richie can see Eddie thinking the offer over. Richie’s spare coat moves in the dark in what looks like a shrug.

“Okay. Sure. Fuck it. Why not?”

“Real romantic of you, Eddie spaghetti.”

“Wow. I haven’t heard you call me that since we were kids. Good to know all your material is stagnant.”

Richie chuckles because honestly? That was a solid comeback. Eddie smiles back and chuckles. They both stand there laughing quietly in the dark like kids. Richie isn’t thinking about the fact that they’re stuck in here anymore. He just realizes that he likes Eddie smiling as much as he likes him pouting and annoyed. The moment fizzles out and they’re just staring at each other for a solid minute.

Richie gives Eddie a quick peck on the lips because he can’t take it anymore. He has to give something to him, something better than that sad excuse of a kiss from earlier. Richie pulls back quickly, worried that he may have been too fast. He’s genuinely surprised to have Eddie mimic the maneuver.

Richie isn’t sure if it’s the close quarters of the smell of sweat coming off of Eddie that’s putting him on a high but he goes with it. He leans his body into Eddie’s. Eddie’s back gently hits the back wall but Richie takes care not to dominate the position. He kisses Eddie again, slowly and softly. Eddie repeats the gesture and this is what Richie had been picturing all this time.

Richie licks Eddie’s bottom lip, prompting him and Eddie takes to it like a natural. Eddie’s mouth is a little dry but that’s to be expected since he had physically exerted himself earlier. Richie doesn’t care. He lets his tongue wet Eddie’s and together their kiss moves into something makes the whole closet feel hot and heavy.

Eddie places his hands on Richie’s hips and the contact sends strong signals to his member. Eddie gives a cautious bite to Richie’s lower lip that comes off as seductive, coy even. Richie can’t tell if this is experimental or if Eddie’s really feeling it but right now he doesn’t care. It feels good. Eddie feels good and Richie’s been wanting this for a long time.

“I thought you didn’t know what you’re doing,” Richie swallows hard as they break their kiss.

“Don’t ruin it,” Eddie murmurs and kisses him again.

Light floods into the closet and the older woman squeaks at finding the two men in their compromising position.

“Christ!” Richie shouts and flings himself as far away from Eddie as physically possible.

“Oh! Oh my!” the woman continues to stammer, “No! It’s fine, boys! I’m- I’m hip! My nephew is a homosexual! He and his boyfriend are wonderful people!”

Eddie silently exits the closet and heads upstairs, leaving Richie to the awkwardness alone. Richie doesn’t see this silent escape until it’s too late.

“Well, we’re not exactly boyfriends-” Richie desperately tries to rouse some sort of explanation.

“It’s fine! Really! I prefer people do those sort of things in their rooms but you’re not the first couple I’ve stumbled on in there! No shame, sweetie! No shame!”

Richie seems to put his embarrassment aside as his ear picks up on that last fact.

“Really? Other people have done this?”

“Well,” she retracts a bit, “maybe not in the same manner as you. But I’ve found a couple or two after a stormy night entangled in there. Don’t feel bad.”

She may be the first person ever to directly tell Richie not to be ashamed of what he’s done with another man. Richie really looks at her for the first time; she’s upwards of sixty for sure and dressed like a Stevie Nicks impersonator. She’s not cookie cutter like so much of Derry was and still is. Richie berates himself for making fun of her interior decorating earlier.

“What’s your name again?” he asks her.

“Doris,” she answers slowly, “I’m pretty sure I said that when we met.”

“I had a lot on my mind then and I’m kind of an asshole.”

Doris nods in consideration which makes Richie laugh. He starts to head up the stairs.

“Well Doris, you’re getting an excellent Yelp review after all this.”

“Oh good,” Doris smiles.

Richie can barely contain himself at the top step as he hears Doris mutter to herself:

“The fuck is a yelp?”

#reddie #it chapter 3 ff #benverley #ich3-3 #btw #if I was casting actors for Doris and Roger?#Lily Tomlin would be doris #and Nick Sandow would be Roger

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vegalocity · 5 years

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I wanted to do some designs that were more Magical Girl Esque for Miraculous Ladybug, and by the time I started drawing Chat it was officially a Sleepless Domain AU because Sleepless Domain is a really interesting deconstruction of Magical Girl tropes and conventions without being overly hopeless like other deconstructions usually are.

(if you’re thinking ‘where’s Nino?’ he’s at the bottom of the cut so please don’t reblog this asking that)

for those who aren’t usually into webcomics, here’s the basic rundown and how the ML crew would fit into it:

The world of sleepless domain is... I suppose one could call it a post-post apocalypse along the limnes of Nausicaa and the Valley of the wind. Where something deeply magical and horrible ravaged the lang long ago. But this one city, currently unnamed, has been rebuilt in thanks to the magic they have sustained. This magic takes two forms. The barriers, and the Magical Girls.

The Barriers are in fact two of a kind, the outer barrier and the inner barrier. The outer barrier keeps the monsters out for most of the day, it’s a huge dome like structure that surrounds the city, no one can go in or out when the outer barrier is up. But the Outer barrier needs recharging for about 4 hours every night, from 10pm to 2am. And when the outer barrier goes down, the inner barrier forms. The inner barrier is a sort of seal along every closed surface of the city, it can be breached if a monster is strong enough or has enough time to chip at it, but it can also be opened from the other side by the people inside.

Which is where the Magical Girls come in. It’s currently rooted in mystery just how and why they get their powers, but when a girl gets her powers she’s usually around age 14, where she gets a mysterious, cryptic dream (some claim their dreams are creepy or depressing, while others find them almost serene) which ends with something, everyone knows there’s more to their dream but can’t remember it for the life of them. and when they wake up their hair and/or eyes have changed to some unnatural color, and a mark of the same color has been left somewhere on their body. The powers usually leave when they become a young adult. it’s not been specified if there’s an exact age, but the 18-20ish area seems most likely.

The Magical girls are tasked with fighting the monsters as the outer barrier goes down so as to make sure they don’t attack any helpless civillians on the inside of the inner barrier. there’s a lot of commentary on how Magical Girls are treated as both quasi-diefied saviors and straight up commodities throught the story. And as such it’s encouraged that Magical girls work in teams to maximize profit.

So this is the real shit on how Team Miraculous fits into the story

So Team Miraculous is a Non thematic team, in that despite all of them being based off of animals, they weren’t recruited with the intent on being a matched set. Thematic teams are usually shown to be thematic by having similar outfits, complimentary color schemes, and matching Marks.

Team Miraculous’ Animal theme is mostly coincidence.

So, as for the Ml kids themselves:

Marinette is the daughter of a former magical girl, Sabine Cheng AKA Shooting Star from the thematic Team Star. Sabine was... one of those kids that the city doesn’t like to talk about, someone who had a kid while she was still an active magical girl. Thankfully Team Star was only quasi popular and more of a ‘cult following’ than more overtly famous, so when Sabine quietly retired less of a fuss was kicked up than it could have been. It’s not a very common thing to have a kid while still a magical girl, but there is a precedent. When Marinette was born Sabine’s magic left her, and went into Marinette. There wasn’t much of a change other than her eyes. the color of Sabine’s magic. So when Marinette got The Dream it was inevitable. Sabine herself mostly encouraged Marinette to persue becoming a proper Magical Girl and as it turns out, the Magic that had left Sabine is now hers to channel.

Miraculous Ladybug’s power is not only Unlimited Lucky Charms (because we have no need for ML’s nerfing of the main characters anymore) but also ‘Lucky Streak’ which is based on her PV powers a little. Basically for a limited time whatever she’s attempting to do will turn out well for her, like the marvel lady Domino.

For the sale of a Five Man Band, and also the iconique nature of the black Cat, Adrien had to be here too, so since there’s already one instance of ‘trans women are real women you fuckwads’ in Sleepless Domain, i’m throwing another in the ring. Adriana Agreste. However unlike Zoe, Adriana was thankfully allowed to come out on her own terms. Mr. Agreste took it... surprisingly well. It was when, two weeks later, that Adriana woke up with black hair and her scleras turned green that he freaked out. THAT’s the fight of the century right there. that’s Daddy dearest confining her to her room, insisting any tutor he could hire would be EONS better than anything at the Magical Girls Only Highschool in the city, and that’s when Adriana sneaks out. She’s not sneaking out to go to Future’s Promisce, she’s sneaking out to register herself she wants to fight, to have this peice of her mother, and maybe understand her sacrifice a little better, her father finds out of course, but adriana’s refusing to stop, After she got registered her counsilor offered to move her into Future’s Promisce’s dorms. So she’s given Gabriel an ultimatum. Either he lets her go to public school and fight, or she’s moving out, needless to say, Gabriel relents. And that’s how she meets Ladybug and the two become the founding members of Team Miraculous.

As Miraculous Cat Her powers have been tweaked a bit from canon. Altering Cataclysm to only work on Monsters, but only on monsters that have solid physical forms. If she can grab hold if it she can turn it into dust. But this pwoer takes a lot out of her. She can either do it one time a night on a large monster, or multiple times a night on small monsters. But alongside that she has that Calamity power that was hinted at in earlier notes and the PV, in that she can summon bad luck and cast it on monsters. Creating damages based on their surroundings.

Alya’s as she always was as a character backstory. Her mother’s a chef, her father works with animals (though likely he just runs a shelter instead of a zoo since you know... dome city) But her older sister is an MG who just very recently lost her magic and is going to college. Alya still wants what she always wanted, to be a journalist and discover the truth. After what Nora went through as a Solo Magical Girl she wants to be the champion of the MG’s, since most news sites tend to lean into the idea of magical girls as they’ve been socially percieved as, Alya wants to show the world that magical Girls really are normal girls. That they don’t just exist to fight and die for the city. They have their own hopes and dreams. Sleepless DOmain seems to have decided that home technology ended around the mid 90′s since CD’s and corded phones are the norm, so Alya’s Self published journalism outlet is a newspaper instead of a Blog. She’s barely into making the deals with the printing company when she gets the Dream, and decides that’s even better, giving the city a first person perspective as a Magical girl. She opts to join her childhood friend Marinette’s team and become Miraculous Fox, since they’re already non thematic and it’d be easier to work with someone she already knew.

Alya still has an illusion based power of course, unlimited Mirage and all that. but most notably she’s the recon lady. able to summon a small orange fox that can do low level damage to enemies and more importantly she can see through its eyes so they don’’t have to rush into battles blind. She communicates with her fox with her flute when the little guy’s away from her. And she’s almost always seen taking notes on battles and what she learns from other MG’s for the next edition of The Magical Girl Banner

Chloe, of course, doesn’t initially go into this with the right intent in mind. when she was a kid she’s often try to dye her hair and draw marks on her skin in marker, claiming that she got her magic early. She wants the notoriety and fame that comes with being a Magical girl, and using the unfounded rumor that her family is actually descendant from the Founder herself as a reason why she DESERVES to get her magic early. of course, when her frequent target arinette is first to transfer out of their class due to actually BECOMING a magical girl, Chloe is pissed an flips a 180 on her stance, saying that being an MG is overrated anyway. then Cesaire transfers out too, then Lahiffe is asked to be their group’s manager. Chloe is so enraged by seemingly everyone around her becoming MG’s and not her, that whens he finally DOES get her magic she almost turns it down. especially since, for all her attempts to look like she got her powers early, they actually developed in her a year LATER than they should have. Straight up when she comes to class the next day to boast her ACTUAL magic, nobody belives her, thinking she simply put in yellow eye contacts. her hair doesn’t look particularly darker than it was before, her scleras don’t turn black until she’s transformed, and her mark is barely visible when stood against her skin. She ends up on Team Miraculous initially out of necessity, but that’s only the START of her character arc.

Chloe’s magic is more similar to Queen Wasp than Queen Bee. not unlike Alya she has a swarm of bees at her disposal, magic bees of course, they in fact help her fight. her most notable move is sending them swarming on monsters. But instead of paralyzing anything, the bees will turn into small lightning bolts, turning into an inescapable fury. She probably COULD use her bees to paralyze a monster, but that’s more being a team player than Chloe can do right now.

And Finally Kagami. Kagami is also as she always was. a long standing family, rumored to have had Magical girls in the line since Magical Girls first came about. The eldest daughter in every generation of theirs has become a Magical girl, and that runs true again in Kagami. She was groomed form childhood to fight, learning swordsmaship, archery, fighting with a bo staff, and learning any and all magical theory. her family are one of the ones that worship the deified idea of the founder, so it’s no surprise that Her Mother’s first step after Kagami becomes a magical girl is to get her registered and enroll her at Future’s Promisce. What she DIDN’T expect was her mother to dump her off at the dorms, give her a quick ‘behave yourself’ talk, and then leave. Kagamis’ mother was the second oldest, the only reason she inhereited the family name was the fact that her sister had died long ago. Kagami justifies being arguably abandoned at age 14 with her mother holding a secret resentment toward magical girls. The magic that took her sister away, and threatens to take her daughter too. That’s why she traiend Kagami but then sent her away. that’s why her life makes sense. She’s initially against joining Team Miraculous, that None of the Tsurugi’s before her had ever been in a team. But through her own lonlieness, about two years after she got her powers, she gives in and lets herself go from ‘Dragon’s Fang’ to ‘Miraculous Dragon’

Kagami’s got the sharpest deviation from her Canon power. I really coudln’t think of a way to make the Magic aspect work, so the best I’ve got is the transformative aspect. That’s right, Kagami’s magic lets her literally transform into a dragon. She has a sword to fight with when not transformed but the bulk of her magic is in the dragon form. She’s a mix of japanese dragon and western dragon, I don’t have the design finalized yet, but she’s got fire breathing and gold aesthetic, but also more directly japanese looking in design.

And as a bonus for sitting through all of this absolute garbage:

Nino, long time friend of Marinette’s was asked to be her team’s manager when they realized they couldn’t represent themselves.He instantly clicked with Adriana and became best buds. After which he was given the honorary title of Miraculous Turtle.

As a deal with Mr. Agreste for him not to hire a more experienced manager, Nino has to look presentable when doing managerial things. That means a suit. He can wear the hat and headphones, mostly because he hides them when They’re going to grab Adriana at around 9, but he has to wear a suit if he wants anyone to take him seriously.

#Miraculous Ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #Adrien Agreste #chloe bourgeois #alya cesaire #Kagami Tsurugi #Crossovers are neat #sleepless domain #no seriously go read the comic i cannot do the brilliance of the worldbuilding justice in ONE tumblr post #Nino Lahiffe #kinda #he's just an Omake so idk if he counts #crossovers #Team Miraculous

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mo-nighean-rouge · 5 years

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Gone- III

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference puts them all at stake.

Part I | Part II | AO3

A/N: Yes, this story still exists. Super shout out to @phoenixflames12 for being a pro beta and helping me shape this part up. Keep in mind that the following selection includes graphic depictions of violence.

Previously:

Jamie strained his eyes to see the rows of white tents visible through the trees ahead. Even from far away, their supply of men, ammunition, morale, highlighted the utter foolishness of the Scots marching into battle that day.

The hopelessness of Jamie marching into their camp right now.

But somewhere in its maze of red, his future laid unprotected.

There was no other solution. No other outcome he could live with. That he could die with, today. Je Suis Prest.

April 16, 1746 | Redcoat Camp – Culloden Moor

Jamie crept through the underbrush, Fergus hot on his heels. They stepped lightly, their trail discernible only to a trained eye like Murtagh’s.

Their teamwork reminded him of another early morning mission that they’d completed together — a day that now felt like it had occurred in a different lifetime.

If only he had focused on keeping his family out of the line of fire rather than falling into bed with the enemy… Jamie brushed off the darkening thoughts crowding his mind. He had plenty of present worries to bide him for now.

The camp was still awakening in the clearing beyond, about a hundred yards from their concealed path. The soldiers’ boastful remarks traveled over the wind to Jamie’s ear. Their morale was clearly high, unlike the spirits of the ill and weary men whom he’d left behind just last night.

The shuffling of tent canvas increased as Jamie and Fergus rounded the corner of the encampment. General Wade’s men were putting the finishing touches on their uniforms and moving off to seek nourishment before facing the trial to come.

Jamie motioned for Fergus to follow as he took a roundabout turn back to the north end of the camp. Crouching behind a boulder, they studied the ramshackle cabin. He knew that the commander of the bloody dragoons would not settle for the harsh conditions of a tent when greater accommodations were possible – meager though they still may be.

The soldiers guarding the back door of the cabin were the last barrier between Jamie and his defenseless daughter. Jamie spied the moment of decision in Fergus’s eyes as his expression transitioned from cowed, to slackened, to enraged. He had no doubt that these were the men that had ripped Faith from her godfather’s arms.

Jamie said nothing, nor did he inhibit the lad as he charged the redcoat closest to him. The men’s defenses were slow at the end of their night watch, allowing Fergus to cut the first down in one silent swoop. Jamie took care of the other in similar fashion, leaving no survivors.

He regretted this necessity, particularly for Fergus in his youth and inexperience. The handful of soldiers that they had encountered in the wood had been simply knocked out for the time being, but no personal vendetta was held against those men.

Jamie’s heart grew heavier at the sight of the gouge marks in the cabin’s doorframe and the cracked window to its side. He crossed himself in memory of the fate of the family that had not long ago made an honest livelihood on this land.

Inhaling sharply, he exchanged one last nod with Fergus before pushing through the door.

“Fraser!” Randall’s voice was a sneer as he turned toward the sound of their disruption. “You’re just in time!”

Much as Jamie expected, Randall was not straggling to start the day like many of his subordinates, but seemed to have been up for hours. A feast of stale scones and preserves was set upon a table in one corner; Faith’s chin barely cleared its surface from her position in a high-backed chair, a napkin tucked into the collar of her homespun dress.

“Da!” she squeaked, suddenly animated at the sight of familiar faces.

“Not to worry, Fraser. I’ve explained to her how close I am with her parents, and that we’ve simply been waiting for you for the fun to begin.” Randall’s eyes gleamed darkly, his mouth set in a subtle smirk.

He crossed the narrow space to stand behind Faith’s chair, gripping the back of it. “After all, there was no mistaking these beastly curls and wild blue eyes.”

Revulsion choked Jamie at the sight of the vile man’s hand caressing his child’s cheek luridly as she looked back and forth between them in confusion. But he couldn’t move, not yet.

“Though it seems that perhaps you’ve brought me a trade?” Randall tilted his chin toward Fergus, considering the boy. “I’m nothing if not negotiable.” He scooped Faith up and placed her on his hip. Her lower lip puckered out at the unfamiliar touch as she began to quiver in his arms and struggle against him.

Fergus, who had been quaking in his boots but nevertheless standing his ground, lunged forward at this, leading a startled Faith to cry out. “Oui, for mon sœur –”

Jamie pulled the tense lad back to him, his voice cold and steady in the silence. “Ye ken fine it will not be either of these weans that stay behind today.”

Randall’s mouth split into sly smile, his dirty laugh ringing out. “You’re an easier sell than I expected!”

“Hold on, ye mad bastard,” Jamie could not stop his voice from shaking with badly suppressed rage. “Ye’ll ensure the children’s safe exit from these grounds first.”

The Englishman shrugged, releasing his hold on Faith as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, letting her drop to the floor with a cry.

Fergus lurched forward to gather her into his embrace, tucking her face into his shoulder. She continued to howl, struggling in his arms. “Da,” she grunted, gesturing toward Jamie.

Randall walked through the front door of the cabin to confer with the next ranking officer.

Jamie listened carefully to discern whether he held his word. It was all he could do to resist the tug on his heart from ignoring Faith’s squalling.

Fergus swallowed audibly as he kept a hold on Faith. “Milord...” He nodded in farewell just as Randall re-entered the cabin.

“We don’t have all day, Fraser. As I’m to understand it, my life hangs in a balance today.” He jutted his chin sharply toward the narrow cot situated in the corner of the room.

Fergus took regretful steps toward the back door, turning the knob much more carefully than Jamie did before. He trudged back into the chilly April morning.

Randall turned to face Jamie, greed in his eyes.

Before the door had time to swing shut, Jamie’s wame dropped to his feet as Claire appeared behind Randall, cloak billowing in the breeze admitted through the open space.

She gathered Randall’s neck in the crook of her elbow and slit his throat in one swipe. His eyes widened as he choked on his own spurting blood, but the last expression to cross his face was a defiant smirk as he fell to the ground.

Jamie’s breath came easily for the first time that day. A healer she may be, but Claire also knew where to strike to do the most harm.

As she wiped her dirk clean, Jamie guided her out the door with an arm around her waist. Claire stopped just long enough to collect a distraught Faith from Fergus.

________________________________________

Claire held her little girl’s chin between two unsteady fingers as their eyes met for the first time in months. Her face was red, cheeks splotchy and eyes flooded, but she appeared to be in one piece. Before Faith could react, Claire whispered shakily: “We have to be very quiet, do you understand me? Like the mice in Auntie’s root cellar!”

She ran her thumb over Faith’s cheek. Attempting a strained smile for her daughter, Claire tried to spark some joy into her words – as if it was just a game and their survival was not on the line. As if they all had their whole lives to spend together, and not just the next few hours.

Faith, still sniffling, nodded tersely, tucking one tiny hand under Claire’s kerchief, the other wrapping around the back of her neck. Claire cupped the back of her daughter’s head, noticing her subtle changes and growth during their time apart.

It was hardly the reunion she had dreamt of for her family since hopelessly marching away from Lallybroch, but it was all they would have now.

Leaving the carnage of the cottage behind them, the party dashed away, the wood growing thicker as they continued on. Faith’s inevitable jostling against Claire as they ran made her long for the days when her baby’s tiny form could fit in a sling against her chest, safely tucked away from the world.

But Claire knew of no other way to keep her safe from the danger she’d brushed with today.She had stood outside the back door of the cabin for countless agonizing moments, fear unceasing that some element of their plan might fall through.

But they had finally beaten Black Jack Randall at his own wicked games. His gross obsession with pain had been satisfied for the last time in his own bloody death.

Claire fully expected, still, to be scolded by Jamie for her own definitive decision. The original plan, formulated quickly when she and Murtagh had caught up with Jamie and Fergus as they had observed the camp from afar, had been for her to wait with the horses as Murtagh followed in his godson’s footsteps to infiltrate the camp.

But Donas had been particularly skittish as Murtagh had hobbled him, likely detecting the pent-up anxiety that had plagued those around him. The other horses had followed suit, obstinate against the orders commanded to them. There was simply no way that Claire, at least 8 weeks gone, would have been able to keep them safely under control.

She still doubted that Jamie would see the situation in the same light.

Claire noticed Faith slackening in her arms, as she often did upon becoming more relaxed. While a calm – or even sleeping – child would be easier to navigate today, she knew she couldn’t carry them both the rest of the way to meet Murtagh.

“Jamie…” She panted, breathless from exertion.

He turned from his position directly to her left, eyes terrifying and himself poised to cut down any man, woman, or coo that threatened her.

Claire bounced Faith once in a final effort to maintain her hold, but she still unstable in her arms. “Would you take her?” she pleaded to her husband, only loudly enough to be heard over the wind. There was still no telling how soon soldiers might find Randall’s body and pursue them.

Jamie bent toward her, still in motion, and lifted a stiff Faith from her arms. The caress of his fingers left her skin chilled as soon as their warmth left her.

As they carried on, Claire felt the effects of their brisk pace in her underfed and overtaxed body. The stitch in her side grew almost unbearable, her belly rolling violently.

At last their horses were visible in the distance. They made it the few more yards to their rendezvous point; Jamie and Fergus kept pace with her, though she knew they could move faster if they wanted to.

Claire dashed to the shrubbery just as Murtagh spotted and approached them. This time the vomiting felt much worse, as there was nothing left in her belly to come back up. Big hands tugged through her hair as Jamie gathered it up and held it away from her face, one palm resting on her hip to support her, then help her up as she stood.

She leaned into her husband as they walked back to the group, spotting Faith asleep against Murtagh’s shoulder, and Fergus already mounted on his steed.

Jamie boosted Claire into Brimstone’s saddle gently, then cuddled a tartan-swaddled Faith to his chest after accepting her back from Murtagh.

Claire’s heart tugged as she studied the downtrodden group as they set off. They had all just been through Hell and back for her, only to still face a tragic outcome.

Murtagh and Jamie navigated an extensive path back to the base of Craigh Na Dun. Though they prayed that any nearby redcoats were on the battlefield rather than lurking in the woods to detain traitors to the crown, they still made every effort to avoid commonly traversed areas.

The sharp set of Jamie’s shoulders revealed not only his heartache over what was to come, but guilt for evading the fateful battle to which he had resigned himself for months. He appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, interrupting them only to lean forward and leave soft kisses in Faith’s windblown curls.

Claire longed to rub the tension out of his back, then run her fingers through his red curls until he grinned like an oversized cat, eyes crinkled in pleasure.

But they would have no more quiet moments, whispering in the dark and moving together in the shadows of a single lit candle as Faith slept soundly on her cot in the corner of the Laird’s bedroom.

Images of a life with Frank flashed into her mind, but soon were drowned out by her last memory of Jack Randall. The sight of him lying still on the ground, features frozen in a disturbing smirk, would likely never leave her mind. Even in death, the likeness to Frank’s appearance – though dirty, ill, and vile – was haunting.

How she would be able to look into Frank’s face every day for the rest of her life without seeing Jack, she didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine passing Faith off to Frank to tuck her into bed. Her hand drifting to her belly, she shuddered to think of sharing this child with Frank. She couldn’t feel anything yet, but the nagging idea of something being there had finally shaped itself into a confirmation of the future in her mind. This baby would only ever know Frank, rather than the man that had laid down his life for the child to have a chance at one.

It was dark by the time the stones became visible in the distance, and the ache in Claire’s heart sharpened. She watched Jamie halt his horse as they approached, glancing back and forth between the crest of the hill and the cabin at its foot. After turning to meet Claire’s eye, he guided Donas in the direction of the cabin. One more night.

With only a glance between the two, Murtagh acquiesced to Jamie’s silent plea to seek out their supper, while the rest filed into the cabin forlornly.

They ate their meagre supper in silence, saving the important words for the next morning. The pressure of the day soon caught up with them, and they arranged themselves for sleep in the small space.

Fergus curled up to Claire before laying down, reminding her of the young boy who dozed on a Parisian couch, many sleepy mornings ago. She pulled him to her and tangled her fingers in his hair. Her own son.

Faith, whose eyes had popped open just before supper to warily survey her surroundings, snuggled into Claire’s other side, gesturing to her father and patting the space next to her with a huge yawn.

Jamie complied, sliding one arm under his daughter and curving his opposite hand over Claire’s hip. Claire doubted either of them would sleep that night.

Claire’s gratitude brought tears to her eyes as she watched Murtagh set himself up just beyond the doorway to guard his clan one last time.

________________________________________

As dawn greeted them, Jamie rose once more, supported his wife as she stood, then swung his dazed daughter into his arms.

Claire’s kiss to Fergus’s sleeping head felt like a knife twisting into Jamie’s wame, but it was her extended hug with Murtagh and the tears shining in his eyes as he whispered into her ear that broke his heart.

Jamie took Claire’s hand and led her through the doorway, then helped her keep her balance as they advanced up the steep hill. Before Claire or Dhia, Faith, were inhibited by the unearthly sounds the stones emitted, he stopped them and hung his head.

“Da loves ye,” he whispered to Faith in English, then repeated in Gaelic, the words a haunting lullaby on his tongue. “My strong, bright, beautiful lass.” He passed her gently to Claire even as she wriggled, then looked deep into his wife’s eyes.

Her lip was already quivering as she swallowed, eyes streaming. She held onto the side of his neck with her free hand. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive you.” Her voice shook. “But I’ll miss you more every day that passes.”

Jamie nodded, thumbing the tears from under her eyes. “I’ll find ye,” he promised. “I’ll wait the 200 years. Wherever you are, I shall be.”

Their mouths met once more, teeth crashing desperately. He held onto Claire’s waist and Faith’s wee back as he walked them to the stones beyond.

Faith vibrated in Claire’s arms, reacting to the all-encompassing terror of the sounds surely engulfing her. She burrowed her face into her mother’s arasaid, trying to muffle the noise.

Jamie placed an open hand at Claire’s belly. “Name him Brian?” he whispered. “After my Da.”

Claire nodded as he lifted her right hand and kissed her ring, followed by each finger, then placed it on the tallest stone. “Until we meet again.”

They faded away before his eyes, just as Claire had nearly done on another bleak morning, years ago.

They were gone.

To be continued.

#Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #faith fraser #murtagh fitzgibbons fraser #fergus fraser #Gone #canon divergence au #Outlander #outlander fanfic #my fic #cw: violence

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thescrybe · 5 years

Text

Urgot, The Dreadnought

Once a powerful Noxian headsman, Urgot was betrayed by the empire for which he had killed so many. Bound in iron chains, he was forced to learn the true meaning of strength in the Dredge—a prison mine deep beneath Zaun. Emerging in a disaster that spread chaos throughout the city, he now casts an imposing shadow over its criminal underworld. Raising his victims on the very chains that once enslaved him, he will purge his new home of the unworthy, making it a crucible of pain.

Urgot always believed that he was worthy. As a headsman, an executioner of the weak, he was a living embodiment of the Noxian ideal that strength should rule, making it a reality with every swing of his axe. His pride swelled as the bodies piled ever higher behind him, and his intimidating presence kept countless warbands in line.

Even so, a single word was all it took to seal his fate. Sent to distant Zaun to eliminate a supposed conspiracy against the ruler of Noxus, Urgot realized too late the mission was a setup, removing him from the capital even as the usurper Swain seized control of it. Surrounded by agents of the chem-barons, and enraged that everything he believed was a lie, Urgot was dragged down into the chemtech mines beneath Zaun. He was defeated. He was enslaved. He was not worthy after all. He endured the mine’s hellish conditions in grim silence, waiting for death.

In the Dredge, death came in many forms…

The mine’s warden, Baron Voss, would sometimes offer freedom in return for a prisoner’s tortured confession—granting it with the edge of her blade. From the screams that echoed through the tunnels, Urgot learned about the wonders of Zaun. There was something special about the city, something marvelous and evident even in the secrets that spilled from slit throats. Urgot didn’t know what it was until he was finally brought before Voss, fearing that she would break him.

But as the baron’s blade cut into his flesh, Urgot realized that his body was already wracked with agony, far beyond anything Voss could inflict. The Dredge had made him stronger than he’d ever been as a headsman.

Pain was Zaun’s secret. His laughter drove Voss back to the surface, and a reign of anarchy began in the depths.

Seizing control of the prison, Urgot reveled in new trials of survival. He found the parts of his body that were weakest, and replaced them with scavenged machinery, technology created by those who would die without it—necessity being the mother of pain.

The guards could no longer enter the areas Urgot had carved out of Voss’ grasp. The prisoners themselves were more afraid of their new master than they were of her. Many even grew to hold a fanatical respect for Urgot, as they were forced to hear his feverish sermons on the nature of power, his grip tightening around the necks of those who would not listen.

Only when a Noxian agent arrived in the Dredge was Urgot was finally forced to confront his own past. Though the spy recognized him and sought his aid in escaping, Urgot beat him mercilessly, and hurled his broken body into the darkness.

It was not strength that ruled Noxus, Urgot now realized, but men… and men were weak. There should be no rulers, no lies, nothing to interfere with the pure chaos of survival. Starting a riot that ignited a chemtech vein within the mine, Urgot shook the city above, and cracked the prison open in an explosion that rivaled the birth of Zaun itself. Many prisoners died, and thousands more disappeared into the Sump beneath the city. But the worthy, as ever, survived.

Since then, Urgot’s reign of terror has only grown. A hideous fusion of industrial machinery and Noxian brutality, he slaughters chem-barons and their lackeys one by one, gathering his own following among Zaun’s downtrodden masses. To any who find themselves spared in his murderous rampages, he delivers a message: he is not here to lead, but to survive. If you are worthy, you will survive too.

And the trials… they are only just beginning.

#leagueoflegends #league of legends #lore #league of legends lore #urgot #the dreadnought #Noxian #Noxia #Zaun #Zaunite #chem-barron

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sorcererstales · 5 years

Text

Chapter 2

The rescue of lady Malia

Galaden and the boy rode quietly through the desolate landscape. They had been traveling for three days now, following the tracks of the brigands who had kidnapped Lady Malia, resting on the back of their mounts and halting just to let the horses breathe. They had planned on exchanging them for new ones at the last village, but they had only found ruins and charred wooden remains, token of the war that was ravaging the kingdom.

"The War of the Gods is coming, young one," Galaden had said. "This war is but a skirmish, the first raindrops that precede the massive storm that is yet to come.

"Rielat, Lord of Light, is dying, and the God of Death wants to take his place. Sheolach feeds off this destruction and suffering, and every casualty further drains Rielat's life force."

"Why would Sheolach want to become the new God of Life?" The boy had asked.

"He has grown tired of his domain of Death, and the Trickster God has persuaded him that when the Lord of Light dies, the strongest amongst the Gods will take his place. So now Sheolach feeds, he gorges on our world, he incites wars and sends pestilence, to gain power and fill the coming vacancy himself."

"But why would Sandard the Trickster want to incite war?"

"What greater mischief is there than starting a war amongst Gods? They are proud and cannot see through his schemes. Balbas the Enlightened may be wise enough not to get involved, but the others are doomed. And this time, our world will be their battlefield."

The boy was curious, but he knew when the time for questions was over. He would learn most of the answers throughout his training, and Galaden did not enjoy being interrupted during his speeches. Indeed, the boy almost never spoke, knowing that what was worth learning would come on its own. His taciturn demeanor had earned him the name Silence around Castle Andert, and he liked it, so he accepted his new name.

Silence could see the next village shaping up against the horizon in the distance. It was still a few miles away, but he already knew this one had been razed too: the smell of smoke and burning wood was already heavy in the air, and the energy's balance was shifted towards death. The first grain fields appeared, and the bandits had laid waste to them too.

As they approached the village, Galaden became more alert.

"Do you sense it, boy? There's still someone in the village."

The boy closed his eyes and let his mind drift. Between the heavy strands of death, he could feel faint sparks of life. The closer they came, the stronger they became.

"Reach out to them now, boy. Don't touch them, but spy them, see if you can tell if we're meeting friend or foe."

Silence did as Galaden commanded. Again, he let his mind drift closer to the village. The distance was still great for him, but he had learned how to harness more out of his mental and physical energies. The lives shaped up clearly in front of him now. His consciousness slowly waved past them, an invisible breeze they would never notice. As he wove through them, he could feel blood lust, anger and violence.

"They're not friendly," the boy said. "Looters?"

"Indeed. Well done boy. There's five of them, but we will confront them. It's time you learned how to behave in a real hostile situation."

They continued their approach without slowing, but their senses were on high alert, their minds primed to harness the energy around them. They passed the first smoking ruins and halted their horses in front of the bandits.

The village had been small and insignificant. A few buildings had been left standing: the inn, the temple to Gagavr, and what looked to be a peasant's hut. Everything else had burned down. The smell of scorched wood and smoke hung heavy in the air, but it was covered by the stench of burnt flesh. Silence could see a pyre of charred corpses next to the temple. His stomach tightened and he barely held in the rising vomit.

"Whoa there!" A big, bearded man greeted them with a raised battle-axe. He wore a heavy leather armor and a wolf's head covered his helmet. "What have we here? Two lost rats?"

"On the contrary, we are quite on the right path," Galaden answered. "The same cannot be said of you, however."

"How so?" The bearded man grinned. "We are exactly where we want to be. These peasants always find a way to hide their truly precious stuff where the soldiers don't find it. How about you two turn around before things get ugly?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible." The Old One's voice was calm, but with an icy undertone. "We are headed past this village, and our road takes us right through you. So I suggest you and your men gather your things and leave now, before this becomes dangerous for you."

"Ha! Hear 'im, boys? We're in danger!" The man laughed loudly, and his companions joined in. "If you haven't noticed, there's a hand's fingers of us, and only two of you. Last chance, ugly one, turn around or die. And we don't kill quickly." He spat on the ground.

Galaden said nothing, but the boy felt a nudge in his consciousness. He understood. Without moving a muscle, he gathered his mind and pulled at the fiery energy around one of the men. He raised his arm and closed his fist.

The man burst into flames. He let out a horrible scream and started running in circles under the astonished eyes of his companions, who were too surprised to run to his aid. The smell of burning cloth and flesh filled the air as the helpless man flailed and threw himself on the ground, but no matter what he did, the flames grew bigger and bigger, and his screams became fainter and fainter.

The bearded man looked at Silence for the first time, and finally saw the boy's inhuman lineaments.

"An abomination! Men, let's get him!" He shouted, but no one reacted. With an enraged scream, he charged towards the small tiefling, who was still focusing on the burning man, keeping the flame alive. Too late he saw the huge axe coming down toward him. His concentration broke, and the flames died down as Silence raised his arm helplessy to deflect the incoming blow. He tried to harness energy to repel the swing, but in his panic he could not focus his mind sufficiently. He closed his eyes, not ready to meet his fate. A blood curling scream pierced the air, just as the boy felt a sudden surge of energy, and then a loud thud, as of something heavy hitting a solid surface. Silence opened his eyes.

The bearded man was lying on his back, in front of a broken barn door. His axe lay a few feet away from him, broken in two.

"Careful, boy," Galaden warned. "I won't always be here to save you." The boy nodded, too shocked to reply. He had been a hair away from death, and yet he was still standing, and his would-be executioner was lying on the ground, his back broken, his lungs pierced by his ribs.

The master and his apprentice focused their attention on the remaining looters. "We surrender," one of them stuttered. "Please don't do us no harm! You will never see us again, we promise!" They threw their weapons on the ground in front of them and knelt.

"Indeed," the Old One said. "This shall be the last time we see you."

With a quick movement of his hand the sky above them darkened, and two bolts of lightning shot down on the men, burning their hearts and brains and killing them instantly. The last man jumped up and started to run.

"This one is yours, boy. Don't let him escape."

Silence nodded, then focused on the terrorized man. He raised his hand and gathered the energy around him, but nothing happened. The man was running, his back toward them, he would have never noticed his approaching death. The boy tried again, and again his mind faltered and the energy disobeyed him. Disheartened, he lowered his arm. He couldn't harm the terrified looter.

A shard of ice flew past him, and lodged itself into the man's back. His body collapsed, the life gone in a second.

"You must not hesitate again," Galaden said sternly. "His life could mean our death." Without another word, the master spurred his horse forward, and Silence could do nothing but follow him.

...

"Old One..."

"Yes, boy?"

"Why did we kill those men? They were unarmed and defenseless. Could we not have just let them run?"

"You think me a crazed murderer? I do not take pleasure in killing someone. But when necessity arises, I won't shy from the task. If any of them had escaped, our presence might have been revealed to the raiders, and we don't want that. Let them think we will wait for a ransom letter.

"Taking a life is not always easy, boy. Sometimes, we have to do things that we abhor, because the consequences of not doing so might be even worse. I will forgive your indecision this once, because you are young and inexperienced, but don't let it happen again. You need to master your feelings if you want to become a true sorcerer. War is approaching, and it does not forgive indecision."

"We could have tied him up"

"We could have. And we would have lost even more time. The quickest way is not always the easiest. Remember that, boy."

Another day went by as Silence and his master followed the tracks of lady Malia's kidnappers. Their surroundings rarely varied: they crossed burnt fields and passed through empty and dead villages, as gray clouds drifted through the sky slowly, heralds of a coming storm. Galaden insisted that Amael, the Lady of Tears, was gathering her forces to fight in the upcoming War.

They rode quietly, exchanging but a few words. Galaden seemed preoccupied by something out of Silence's grasp, so the boy passed the time exploring the energy around him, feeling the horses and the life that their powerful bodies emitted. He remembered his first attempt at dominating the ox, and his failure in doing so. He expanded his consciousness until he could feel it touching his horse's mind. The animal raised his head and neighed nervously, but kept its stride. Silence infused his mind with the slightest bit of fiery energy, just enough to make him appear warm and inviting to his mount. Slowly, he caressed the animal's mind, sending waves of consciousness over it but never infiltrating its defences. The horse relaxed and lowered its head. It seemed pleased. Silence found an opening in its awareness, and carefully extended his mind to infiltrate it. Again, the horse raised its head and cried out, but it didn't panic. Encouraged, Silence pushed deeper into the gap.

Suddenly, he was the horse. His hooves trampled the ground below him, moving his energetic body forward. He was not used to walking on four legs, yet the movement came natural to him, as if he had always galloped across fields and pastures. He could feel his own body on his back, sitting rigidly and immobile. Enthusiastically, he picked up the pace to a steady gallop and darted forward. His massive lungs filled and emptied, the air blowing in and out of his nostrils. He felt free, as he had never felt before, The world raced past his eyes, everything becoming a blur. The air whipped at his face, his mane flying in the wind. Euphoria overcame him, and he shouted. A loud neigh came from his mouth, and a flock of birds took flight from a nearby tree, scared by the sudden disturbance. He was the embodiment of speed, power and elegance. He was free.

A foreign presence touched his mind. It was sudden and rough, unwelcome, and the horse shied away from it, scared. Silence tried to soothe it, covering his steed's consciousness with waves of warmth, but to no avail. Terrified by the disturbance, it forced the boy out of it's mind and skidded to a halt. Its flanks were trembling from fear and effort, and its ears were laid back in panic.

"That's enough," Galaden's voice came from behind him.

"You've made great progress, boy. Well done. But don't overdo it. Spend too long being something you're not, and you will forget yourself. Are you a horse, or the horse's master? Don't forget your place, boy, or you won't find it again. When you fuse yourself with another being's mind, you become something inbetween, and the longer you stay there, the less your individual mind will be able to come through. Don't forget that.

"There are many things we can do with magic. We manipulate the energies around us, we probe minds, we affect reality around us the way we most wish to, but all this comes at a price. We weren't made to know more than one consciousness, and if we spend too much time as something else, we forget where we came from. You were your horse now, for however brief a time, and it will come natural to you to try the same with a human mind. But humans are much more complex than horses, and without the proper training you will be overwhelmed. I have seen more winters than you can even count, and even for me it is difficult to overcome another sentient mind. So listen to me when I tell you, know your limits and adhere to them, for magic does not forgive."

The tracks suddenly ended at a fork in the road. No matter where they looked, there was no sign of the kidnapper's passage. Silence and Galaden rode back, looking for deviations from the road, but there was nothing out of the ordinary until the spot where all tracks were lost. The grass on the fields around them was untouched, and there was no forest or river where the kidnappers could have hidden their traces.

Silence was confused by the seemingly inexplicable paradox; Galaden on the other hand looked very worried. He got off his horse and examined the tracks closely. His eyes moved and the boy could feel energy flowing to and from then, but he didn't know what his master was attempting.

"Feel the magic, boy. Try to feel the tracks and tell me if you notice something."

The boy did as his master asked. He expanded his mind and reached towards the tracks, but he couldn't feel anything in particular. He couldn't feel anything at all about them.

"I don't sense anything. I should feel their presence, at least, but there's nothing."

"Exactly. This isn't natural. Someone tampered with them to make sure they cannot be followed anymore. There's something bigger than we thought here." Silence had never seen Galaden worrying. He wondered if he should worry himself.

"Are you looking for those men with the screaming woman in tow?" The voice came from behind them, suddenly. Galaden whipped around, his hands extended, already gathering energy from around him.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm just an entertained bystander, that's all. I can tell you who they are and where they went, for the right price."

The voice belonged to an elderly woman. Her shape was bent, weighed down by the years that had left deep marks in her face and around her eyes. Her hair was a matte gray, and flowed in the windless afternoon.

"Who are you?" Galaden relaxed a bit, but the energy still gathered around him, invisibly.

"As I said, I'm just an observer." The hag cackled. "You can let all that magic thing go, you can't harm me with that. I'm no danger to you: if I wanted you dead, you would already be. So, what are you willing to give up to complete your mission?" Her lips deformed into a hideous grin.

The tiefling stared at her in amazement. The woman was completely invisible through the energy, just like the tracks. It was as if she didn't exist at all.

"We do not bargain with witches and hags. Leave us be." The Old One turned back towards the tracks.

"I see you're having a lot of success on your own, elf" The hag laughed again. Silence's mouth dropped in stunned amazement. An elf? That wasn't possible, he had lived with his master for almost five summers now and he was certainly human. Elves didn't live in this kingdom.

Galaden froze and turned around again. "I'm no elf. Elves haven't existed in this part of the world for centuries."

"And yet you are. Your magic doesn't work with me, elf, I told you already. Neither do your clumsy disguises. Now, I will give you this hint for free, but the next one will be expensive. The men you are looking for were traveling to the Haunted Highlands. Imagine what they could want there."

Galaden's worry seemed to deepen. "The Highlands, you say? What could they want there?"

"I could tell you. But I want something in return first. How about your soul, little one?" The witch turned and faced Silence, then cackled again. "I'm teasing you, tiefling. I can't do anything with your soul. But you blood, hmmm yes, your blood would be quite extraordinary."

"Out of the question. Nobody here will give their blood to you, witch. Don't think us stupid, I know your kind."

"Oh, do you? Well, it was worth a try. How about a strand of his hair, then? It certainly isn't as powerful as blood, but it makes for some great magic too. This is my price. A strand of the boy's hair." The woman grew stern and looked at Galaden.

The master turned toward Silence and slowly nodded. The boy took his dagger and slowly cut a strand of his hair, then handed it to the witch. She quickly hid it into a pocket that appeared from nowhere in her cloak, then grinned again.

"Well then, that wasn't so hard, was it now? The men you are looking for are headed towards the Highlands, to Victricius the sorcerer in his tall tower. The blood of a noble lady is powerful, and this lady of yours is especially noble. They will sacrifice her in four days under the glowing moon and obtain Niserie's blessing. Ride fast, then, for the chosen night is approaching and you have little time." Thunder rumbled, and lightning struck the woman, blinding Galaden and Silence. When they could see again, she had disappeared.

Galaden turned towards Silence. "Victricius the sorcerer, she said. I've never heard of him, but this does not promise good things. The witch is right, blood holds power, and Niserie will certainly be please by such a sacrifice. But why would they want her blessing? They are just raiders after all, and Niserie does not concern herself with them. Something foul is going on. Come on boy, we don't have much time to lose." They climbed back onto their saddles and resumed their travel, heading for the Haunted Highlands.

"What worries me, young one, is the absence of energy. You'll surely have noticed the same with the witch. She's absent in the energies as well. You know there are six energies, the four elementals and life and death; but there is also the void, the absence of energy. The people of her kind have traded away their link to the energies to be one with the void. There is very little we know about their abilities, as you cannot study energy and void at the same time, and it is an extremely well guarded secret how to perform the bargain.

"Somehow, the tracks had the same quality as the witch, that is, they had no defining qualities in the energies. If we are headed to the Haunted Highlands, we will probably have to face raiders. But they don't deal with sorcery, so they must have had outside help, from this Victricius as it seems. Why they would want to sacrifice lady Malia to Niserie remains a mistery to me, her blood is wasted on a blessing for a band of marauders, and it certainly does not require the use of magic. We must hurry, and avoid what I fear might be a disastrous event."

"Master," Silence ventured. "The hag called you an elf. How can we trust her directions when she can't even recognize what is in front of her?"

Galaden looked at Silence with an indecipherable expression. "The witch wasn't mistaken. Indeed, she is one of the few who have seen past my disguises. I am an elf, born far away from here but chased from my home by war and persecution. Ever since, I have been wandering and adivising powerful men, but I soon learned that my ancestry would hinder me more than help me, so I hid my origins beneath the features of a man, through sorcery and clever disguises. Men are cruel and afraid of what is different; elves are not welcome, for humans cannot understand someone so similar yet so different." Galaden sighed. "I hope you will keep this a secret, for my sake and your own. I'm much more useful when free to act as a man, and you as an abomination will not have it easier. We have the good fortune of living in the household of lord Andert, a good natured man surrounded by good natured servants, but rarely you will find such kindness in the world. Now, we must move quickly, there is no time for idle chat."

The sun of the fourth day had just risen when they reached the sorcerer's tower. It rose high into the sky, a skeletal finger in the nothingness of the surrounding highlands. At its feet a small makeshift camp had been erected. Silence counted eight tents forming a circle around a structure hidden between them. A small number of heavily armed men was standing guard, and it didn't take them long to notice the newcomers. A horn rung alarm, and four men rode towards Galaden and the tiefling, weapons ready.

"Are you lost?" The biggest of them asked Galaden. His beard was dirty with crumbs and snot, but the massive axe in his left hand and the metal armor made his face look more terrifying than ugly. His sharp eyes wandered from the master to the apprentice. "What have we here? An abomination? You aren't lost now, travelers. Victricius will want to have a word with you. Come with us and don't even think about making a move, our arrows are faster than your horses." He grimaced, then turned his horse around and rode back towards the encampment. Silence looked at his master for instructions, but the Old One just nodded as he followed their captor. They rode in silence, flanked by two of the men and followed by the last one. They were all massive, over two meters tall and stronger than anyone Silence had seen before. He subtly extended his consciousness to gauge one of their minds, and was surprised when he felt a presence that did not resemble any of the human presences he had encountered in Castle Andert. As if he had known, the man he had inspected turned around and emitted a low growl, exposing unnaturally sharp teeth and raising his sword toward the boy. "Stop that," he said before resuming his escort. Silence noticed that the sword arm was smooth hairless. As ordered, he dropped his mind probing and followed their lead. As they reached the tents they were ordered to dismount and their hands were bound behind their backs before being led to a small hut at the base of the tower. The bearded man opened the door and pointed his axe toward it, and two captives obeyed and entered. The door was closed behind them, and they could hear him ordering two of his men to stand guard. Their makeshift cell was dark and damp, and Silence could not guess what its prior use had been. There was no straw on the floor, suggesting that it wasn't meant to be a holding cell for long.

Galaden turned towards the boy. "I guess our infiltration was easier than I had anticipated. Our escape with lady Malia will be more difficult, however. I counted ten men on our way, and no doubt there were more in the tents and in proximity of the camp. Let's not be hasty and see if this Victricius will join us before tonight; if not, we will have to force our way to him."

Silence was skeptical. "Can we take on two dozen men on our own?"

"We won't have to. As soon as we will have killed the first few, panic will do the rest. Fear can be a weapon more powerful than any sword, and raiders are rarely disciplined enough to put their life on the line to neutralize someone stronger than them."

Silence remembered his captor's mind. "Earlier, I tried to sense their intentions, but the mind I approached was different from any other that I have felt before."

Galaden looked at him, then a grin crossed his face. "You have never had anything to do with non-humans, have you? These are orcs. They are much bigger and stronger than a human, but also less smart and cowards. They live as bandits because they aren't able to form a proper society without rampant crime and killing, or at best as mercenary companies, although few people would want to hire them as they are unable to follow orders and discipline as war requires. I assume he also noticed you probed him? They are especially attuned to the energies, although they lack the mental powers to use them consciously. I suppose they know we are sorcerers, and Victricius will know too."

As if summoned by the mention of that name, a small figure opened the door and entered the dimly lit room. Its features were hidden under a heavy cloak and a silly pointy hat. His presence was surrounded by a wave of energy. He turned towards Galaden and bowed.

"Victricius, sorcerer extraordinaire, at your service. Well, since you lot are my prisoners, I suppose you will be at my service." His voice was quick and nervous. "So what do a sorcerer and his apparent apprentice want in the Highlands? There is nothing here for miles." He threw a suspicious glance at the Old One.

Galaden rose to his full height, and in his eyes anger flickered. "Who are you, to dare imprison two wanderers without due motive? You associate with the raiders: I had expected better from someone so versed in the arts of magic and sorcery, and yet you mingle with orcs and kidnap noble ladies for your foul purposes. Set us free, then, before you and your men regret it!" His voice rumbled with anger, and the energy around him flickered ominously.

"Why, I told you who I am," the hooded figure laughed. "I am Victricius, at your service. And these orcs are quite more capable than you'd think they are. They managed to fetch the noble lady you talk of without much difficulty. As for the reason, you will witness why tonight under the full moon." With a flick of his hand, a thick layer of ice enveloped Galaden, immobilizing him. "And don't try to scare me with words, sorcerer. They don't work on me. Now, I regrettably have to leave you, but I will see you before dusk. Enjoy your stay, my friends." He turned around and back outside, and the door closed again. The moment he was out of the door, the ice around Galaden melted into a puddle of water, and its prisoner was free.

"We cannot break our way too freedom just yet," the Galaden said to Silence. "They will raise the alarm before we get to lady Malia, and I am sure they would rather kill her on the spot than let her go with us. We must bide our time and wait for a better occasion. In the meantime, we will come up with a plan for action. We cannot make a move until we have the lady in our sight."

"He has a strong control over the energies, and we should neutralize him as quickly as possible. What still baffles me is the void from the tracks we were following. I haven't sensed it here, yet, if the witch was to be believed, whoever did that is here, with the sorcerer; I cannot make sense of it, and this worries me."

The door opened again shortly before dusk, and Victricius entered the room again, flanked by three rough looking orcs. He had switched his cloak for a more elegant purple robe, covered in silver flaming swords. A black cape hung from his shoulders, and his hat had disappeared, leaving an impish face exposed. He bowed again, looking at Silence. "I have entirely failed to acknowledge you earlier, my dear abomination, and I am most sorry for that. You must know that I'm not always this rude, but today is filled with pressing matters." He turned towards Galaden. "Now, my dear sorcerer, if you and your what I presume to be apprentice will follow me, everything will be much clearer." He raised an small hand, motioning towards the door.

"We will not follow you anywhere until some things have been explained, imp. Why are you holding us in captivity?"

"Well, I wouldn't dare to throw wild conjectures at your esteemed person," the sorcerer mocked, "but I believe you're here to rescue the dear lady, and we can't allow that after everything we have gone through to reach this day."

"And what may you and your orcish fiends have gone through?" Galaden inquired.

"Troublesome ventures, indeed, with no reward but being every time a step closer to this night. But this is hardly the place to discuss these things. Follow me, willing or not, and you will know; everyone will know of Victricius and the Highland Raiders!" The guards that had so far stood silently at his side broke out in a synchronous, ear-piercing howl, knocking their weapons against their chest and baring their sharp teeth. Silence recoiled, taken by surprise by their sudden outburst. They were truly terrifying, massive beasts of muscle and violence. The imp turned and left the room, a satisfied smile on his face. Galaden followed him, poked by a mace, and the tiefling followed his master and their captor.

They were led to the center of the encampment, where two dozen orcs were standing perfectly still, weapons at their side, their chests exposed, illuminated by torchlight. They formed a circle around a rudimentary stone bed, placed in front of a shrine adorned by the figure of a winged woman, a lance in her right hand and a shield on her left arm; the figure of Niserie, Silence was sure. Victricius took place in front of the altar and raised his hands toward the black sky. Suddenly, Silence felt the energy that permeated the place vanish. There was no fire, no earth, no air or water, life or death. There was only void. Galaden went pale.

"Companions! Tonight is the night, our hour nears! The sacrifice shall take place shortly!" The orcs broke into a beastly, victorious howl, heads raised to the sky, weapons slamming against shields and tents. The sorcerer raised his hands again. "But before we begin," he proclaimed, "let me introduce you to our esteemed guests! They are men of lord Andert, whose spouse we will bleed tonight, and they have come here to deprive us of our glory!" Another howl erupted, this time filled with anger and rage. "But look at them!" Victricius shouted. "Look at them! Here they are, before us, bound and powerless, and they will not be able to stop us!" More howling and rattling rang up to the sky. "And now," Victricius continued, "bring forth the sacrifice!" The roar grew ever louder, as the orc who had first captured them dragged a blindfolded woman into the circle and pushed her to her knees in front of the altar. She made a futile attempt at extricating herself from the iron grip of her captor, but surrendered to his will when she realized that it was of no use. She was dressed in a plain white robe, her arms bare and somewhat covered by the long raven black locks that descended freely to her waist. Even blind and submitting to her fate, she moved with grace and elegance suggesting her regal nature. Silence glanced at the assembly, as the bystanders stared at her figure, enchanted by such dignity.

"Behold!" the sorcerer resumed, "behold the noble lady Malia, wife to lord Andert, daughter of kings, niece of emperors! Her blood runs blue since the beginning of time, and now she shall color the shrine with it!" He turned around and faced the two captives. "But what may be better than a sacrifice?" he asked. The crowd stood still, curious for an answer. "Three sacrifices!" he cried, and a deafening cheer came as a response. An orc came forward and pushed Galaden and Silence toward their fellow prisoner. He did not notice the tiefling's tail slowly wrapping around the knife at his belt, nor did he notice the knife missing afterward. Galaden, however, had seen his apprentice's action and nodded subtly.

Victricius positioned himself in front of the three sacrifices and raised his arms once more. The eyes of the congregation were fixed on him, not a sound was uttered. A tremor of anticipation and excitement went through the company.

"Oh, noble Niserie! Lady of Tears, Goddess of War, Divine Shieldmaiden, Exalted Warrior! To You I dedicate this offering of virgin blood, may you feast on it and grow ever stronger in Your power! Bless us with Your good will, and smile upon us and our ventures! Grant us success, and make us powerful! Aid us in our mission, for we are tired of being outcast and vilified. With Your help we will build a nation, strong and indivisible, and our will shall be respected! Accept our sacrifice, for it is a good one! The blood of the noblest, descendant of warriors and kings, of emperors and demigods; the blood of an elf, ever rare, a sorcerer of renown in these lands; the blood of an abomination, the product of unspeakable sin, the vessel of great power. Accept these offerings, and bless us with your favour!" Thunder rumbled in the distance. "She hears us," Victricius exclaimed. "Our lady hears us! Rejoice, my brothers, our prayers have been heard! To sacrifice!" He raised his dagger, and Silence felt its blade surrounded by energy, the only bright spot in a world of darkness. The imp ordered his minions to step away from the tiefling, and with a triumphant cry he lowered his weapon. His eyes suddenly widened in an expression of shock and pain, and his shout transformed into a choking gurgle. The boy had raised his tail, knife gripped firmly, and plunged it into the sorcerer's neck before his foe could strike. He held onto the handle and dragged the weapon across Victricius' throat, before pulling it out. Warm blood sprayed from the severed veins and arteries, covering the tiefling and the ground. Silence felt a blinding strike as the energies around him abruptly reappeared and fell to his knees, stunned. At his side, Galaden suffered the same blow, as did all the orcs.

The orcish leader was the first to recover from the sudden shock. He rose and scanned his company, surprised to see all of his men on the ground, covering their ears and holding their heads. His own temples were pounding. He looked towards the shrine, and was astonished to see his master lying prone in a pool of his own blood. The abomination was kneeling beside him, a bloody dagger held in his tail working frantically to cut the bonds that were restraining his wrists behind his back. He knew that he could not let his captives escape, especially not now that he had to avenge the fallen sorcerer. A wave of despair overcame him at the realization that without the sorcerer and Niserie's blessing, his dreams of uniting his folk under one banner were void. He ran to the nearest orcs and helped them to their feet as they were still recovering. "The prisoners struck our master," he called. "Go and avenge him!". The three men shook their heads vigorously, raised their weapons and charged without a moment's hesitation. He observed them as they ran towards the tiefling who was now busy cutting his master's ties, but immediately shook himself and ran towards the next group of fighters to help them to their feet so that they may jump into the fray as well. He was interrupted by an ear-piercing scream coming from the shrine, as he felt the familiar surge of energy that announced to him that sorcery was at play. As he turned around he saw two of his men on their knees, engulfed in flames, arms flailing helplessly as they tried in vain to smother the flames. The third one was still standing, although he had stopped moving. Blood was pouring out of his orifices and he collapsed as his strength failed. The abomination and the elf were standing side by side, their arms outstretched, grim determination stamped on their faces. The woman rushed to arm herself with the sword and shield of one of his fallen comrades, and was standing behind them. She was no soldier, but her posture showed she had received some basic training in the use of weapons. Two more orcs rushed to the fight, but were immediately struck down by a bolt of lighting emerging from the elf's hand. He raised his axe and rushed forward, ready to meet his doom, but determined to go down fighting. The piercing cold in his chest was the last thing he felt, as a shard of innaturally sharp and hard ice penetrated his armour and burst his heart.

Galaden took advantage of the momentary shock that went through the orcs at the death of their commander to step forward and raise his voice. "Orcs! Listen to me before more of you run towards a foolish death! You may overcome us through sheer force of numbers, for we are but two and you are many. But is it worth it? Your leaders lay dead before you, and many of you have already perished. We have no quarrel with you, we came here to rescue our lord's wife, and thus we have done. Stand down, throw away your weapons and let us pass in peace! This woman is of no more use to you. Keep living your lives as raiders of these Highlands, or find some other occupation, we care little as long as you don't throw away your lives trying to cut us down. Let us pass unharmed, and your company will never again hear of us!".

The orcs stopped. They looked at each other in bewilderment, some with a hint of fear in their eyes. No one threw down their weapons, but neither did anyone charge at the two sorcerers. As if to emphasize his deadly powers, Galaden surrounded himself with a crown of roaring flames, before stepping out of them unharmed. Seeing this, the first orc stepped forward and dropped his mace on the grass. Soon others followed, and before long all the men were disarmed. Their ranks parted wordlessly to form a corridor for the former prisoners. Galaden nodded at Silence, and without saying a word the tiefling, the old elf and the woman walked to their freedom.

The three fugitives put many miles between themselves and the dead sorcerer's tower before halting to rest. Lady Malia curtseyed and kissed Galaden's hand. "My dear Galaden," she said. "I thank the Gods for your well timed arrival and your rescue! I had already given up hope and prepared myself to die at the hand of these fanatics, but I should never have doubted my husband's trusted sorcerer. And to you, abomination," Malia turned towards the tiefling. "I owe my thanks as well. I know not who struck the fatal blow to end that fiend's life, but I am certain that without your assistance even our esteemed Galaden would not have been able to rescue me." Silence did not know what to say, so he bowed to show his respects.

"We did but our duty, my lady." Galaden interjected deferentially. "Indeed, had we done our duty from the beginning and been vigilant, this whole adventure may have been avoided."

"Don't be so harsh on yourself, Old One. These barbarians' boldness took you off guard, but that is excusable, for nobody could have expected such an attempt on my life and freedom. You have averted the worst though, and for that both my husband and I are forever grateful. But you still seem worried; what is it that robs you of your peace?"

Galaden looked back towards the tower, now barely visible in the distance. "My lady, what worries me is the nature of the architect of your kidnapping. He was versed both in the use of the energies, and in their dismissal. Such talents are unnatural and were always believed to be impossible to reconcile, and yet I know what I saw and I cannot make sense of it. I'm afraid I must take my leave from Castle Andert and seek out the King's librarian and sorcerer to discuss the matter with them."

"I understand your concern," Malia assured him softly. "But I do wish to remind you that you are an irreplaceable part of my husband's retinue, and losing you for even the shortest amount of time could prove disastrous."

"What you say is most true, my lady, but I cannot in good conscience let this matter die. My apprentice has made great progress, and while he's still far from reaching my abilities, he will prove a suitable replacement in my office until I come back." Galaden spoke respectfully, but he was steadfast in his intention.

"I see I cannot change your mind, Old One, and I doubt my husband will prove more successful. If this truly is as serious as you tell it to be, then for the sake of our country pursue your mission, and come back with answers. We will be waiting for you."

"Then, my lady, our paths will diverge soon. I will leave you with my apprentice, who I trust to bring you safely back to the castle. I will be back as soon as I have found answers, I promise." Galaden turned to Silence. "You have been trained well enough to know how to fulfill your duties in my absence. I trust you will serve Lord Andert well. While I am gone, further your studies with the help of the books in my apartments, you will learn everything you need from there.

"Farewell, my lady, farewell, boy. I will return soon."

Silence and Lady Malia followed the old elf with their eyes as he galloped away into the distance, headed for the Sunrise City and its royal library. Once he was out of sight, they jumped back on their horses and resumed their travel to Castle Andert.

#loosely based on a #dnd #5e #campaign #sorcery #Magic #fantasy #short story #episode #rescue #adventure

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stream-of-distracted-thought · 5 years

Text

93 fun OC asks because why not (by rivalwrites)

For my Character, Kikia

Basics:

1. What is their gender? Female

2. What is their sexuality? Straight

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames? Her name means “little rose” in the local language of her world. Her husband calls her “my love” to tease her. Her uncle calls her “little gem.”

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with? She has one older sister. They are not super close, as her sister holds a grudge against Kikia since their mother died giving birth to her.

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives? She was very close with her biological father, as he was her only parent during her early life. She is also close to her adopted Mother and Uncle as none of them conform with Kaja society.

6. What would they give their life for? Her children, husband, and country.

7. Are they in a romantic relationship? With who? How did they meet? Yes, she is married to Devon. They first met when Kikia was being transported to the underground Darklit City. (The capital of monstrous creatures known as Dark Ones or Diwa’ka.) They didn’t get along.

8. What do they believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them? In the three local countries of the story, most of the people are deistic at most, but mostly adhere to ancestor worship. Because of this, Kikia believes she will join her ancestors after she dies. This doesn’t scare her at all.

9. What is their favorite color? Favorite animal? Lavender. Dolphins

10. What are some of their talents/skills? Since she was trained as an assassin at a young age, she retains skills in combat and general bodily anatomy. She is a witty and stern-faced politician these days however and can navigate the touchy and boastful leaders of the Diwa’ka.

11. If they could make a mark on history, what would they like it to be? Kikia does during her story-line in multiple ways. If she had a choice, she wouldn’t be a blip in the histories of the three local countries.

12. How old are they? When is their birthday? 32, Sometime in July. (Alumians don’t use our calendar.) (also writing this as if it was after book 3ish. Kikia grows up through the story age-wise. She’s around 32 by the end of it.)

13. What do they do for fun? Sit on her porch, relaxing with tea and a good book. Sometimes riding out to the sea for a few days.

14. What is their favorite food? How often do they get to eat it? Freshly cooked fish of any kind. Every so often. It has to be imported to her home from elsewhere.

15. What was something their parents taught them? Be a servant to the people. Value them over yourself.

16. Are they religious? No. The ancestor worship is not taken overly seriously and is considered personal only. None of the three countries have any dogmatic religions of any sort.

17. Where were they born? Sea Rose, a port town on sea-side cliffs. It is noted for the cliffs as well as the poppy flowers that grow in the grassland surrounding it during the summer time.

18. What languages can they speak? Where did they learn these languages? Alumian, Imperial, and Diwa’lu. Alumian is her native language and she learned the other two though interaction and necessity while living in the Imperial Empire and the Darklit City. She speaks Diwa’lu the most however.

19. What is their occupation? Regent Viceriene of the Darklit City. A politician.

20. Do they have any titles? How did they earn them? Regent Viceriene. She was given the title by the Darklit King to help govern the country. The regent bit was added later after the War of Three Countries. This is due to her ascension to the throne during the war, and abdication of it after the war, shifting the burden of rule back between her and the Darklit King. She also earned a prefix to her Diwa’ka last name, making it “royal”. Re’Kajalar.

Personality:

21. What is their favorite thing about their personality? Her fiery independence.

22. What is their least favorite thing about their personality? Her tenancy to lose herself to enraged madness.

23. Do they get lonely easily? Yep. This is due to being ostracized by the Alumians for her looks and powers.

24. Do you know their MBTI type? No I don’t.

25. What is their biggest flaw? She likes to wallow in her own pity and sorrow.

26. Are they aware of their flaws? No, not really.

27. What is their biggest strength? Her willingness to press through difficulty and disagreement to make the world and her life better.

28. Are they aware of their strengths? Yes.

29. How would they describe their own personality? Independent, intelligent and poised. A bit too ready to jump to a fight if prompted. Doesn’t take crap from other people.

30. When frightened, will they resort to “fight” or “flight”? Fight.

31. Does this character ever put somebody else’s needs before their own? Who do they do this for? How often do they do this? All the time. For her family and country. Comes with the job description.

32. What is their self esteem like? At her latest age, fine. Her earlier years however, it was very low.

33. What is their biggest fear? How would they react to having to face it? Herself (her madness.) She has faced it and has taken preventative measures to keep it in check. She struggled to face it however, as the madness is unpredictable and uncontrollable once it settles in. But still she overcomes.

34. How easily do they trust others with their secrets? With their lives? Only those she is closest to. She rarely trusts acquaintances with much of anything, let alone her life or secrets.

35. What is the easiest way to annoy them? Poke at her looks, her crippled limbs, act outrageously stupid or try to weasel authority from her.

36. What is their sense of humor like? Give an example of a joke they would find humorous. She’s very serious, but bawdy jokes tend to make her laugh.

37. How easy is it for them to say “I love you”? Do they say it without meaning it? Hard. She only says it to Devon and her children. She can and has said it without meaning.

38. What do others admire most about their personality? Her independence and iron will.

39. What does their happily ever after look like? Living life on her plantation, quietly with her husband and children.

40. Who do they trust most? Is that trust mutual? Devon, and yes.

Physical Profile:

41. What does their laugh sound like? Do they snort when they laugh? How often do they laugh?

42. What is their favorite thing about their physical appearance? Her hair. Its raven black and has a waviness to it.

43. What is their least favorite thing about their physical appearance? Her weak limbs that drag when she walks or tries to manipulate items.

44. Do they have any scars? If so, what are the stories behind those scars? Tons. The most notable ones are the one over her eye and where her skull was caved in a bit. Both of those came from when she tried to reason with her sister that she hadn’t betrayed Alumina to the Dark Ones. Her sister took advantage of that, hitting her with a sturdy branch. The eye the scar crosses is damaged and the vision is blurry, and the head wound is what caused her to have weak motor skills in her left arm and leg.

45. How would they describe their own appearance? Beaten up and as elegant as that allows her to be.

46. How easily can they express emotions? How easily can they hide emotions? She expresses her emotions very openly to those close to her, but easily hides them while in court.

47. What’s their pain tolerance like? High.

48. Do they have any tattoos? What are the stories behind those tattoos? No.

49. Do they have any piercings? No.

50. How would you describe their style of clothing? How would they describe their style of clothing? Simple, but extravagant. She prefers solid colors and simple designs on her dresses. They are usually made of silk so they shimmer. If she is at war, she dresses practically for the needs.

51. What is their height? Weight? 5′5′‘, around 130lbs.

52. What is their body type? Are they muscular, chubby, skinny, etc? Slender and twiggy. In her youth, muscular.

53. What is their hair color? Eye color? Skin tone? Black, red, pale.

54. What is their current hairstyle? What have been some of their past hairstyles? Which was their favorite hairstyle? Shoulder length, left flowing. Sometimes she will braid it with beads she earned from the Imperials, or wear extravagant hair ornaments. But otherwise, she leaves it as is.

55. What is their alcohol tolerance like? What kind of drunk are they? How bad are their hangovers? Middle ground. She doesn’t drink that often and when she does its wine. She drinks very lightly due to already have issues moving around. She’s never been completely drunk or had a hangover.

56. What do they smell like? Why do they smell like this? (Is it the things they’re around or a perfume they wear?) Roses. She wears perfume a lot in court.

57. How do they feel about sex? Are they a virgin? She’s open and fine with it. Obviously she’s not a virgin, as she is married and has children.

58. What is their most noticeable physical attribute? Her pointed ears and red eyes.

59. What does their resting face look like? Do they have RBF? Yea, she has RBF.

60. Describe the way they sleep. She sleeps on her side, mostly. She likes to be the little spoon.

Environment:

61. Which season is their favorite season? Summer.

62. Have they ever been betrayed? How did it affect their ability to trust others? Yes. Her ability was already low though, so it didn’t change anything.

63. What is always guaranteed to make them smile? Her children playing with their friends on a warm summer day.

64. Do they get cold easily? Do they get overheated easily? Cold? Yes. Overheated? No.

65. What’s their immune system like? Do they get sick often? How do they react to getting sick? She has a strong immune system and is even resistant to some poisons. When she does get sick, it hits her hard and she would be down for a week and then be better. She does suffer from seizures on occasion when under high stress of varying degrees due to her head injury.

66. Where do they live? Do they like it there? She lives both on her plantation and in the Darklit King’s Palace. She likes her plantation more.

67. Is their bedroom messy? What about their bathroom? Kitchen? Living room? No. She has servants who keep her house and quarters tidy.

68. How did their environment growing up affect their personality? It made her very independent and strong-willed. This is notable her her bloodline.

69. How did the people in their environment growing up affect their personality? Her father was her biggest influence. His values transferred over to her. These include the independent, take no shit attitude, and her want and love of serving people.

70. How do they feel about animals? Do they have any pets? Because of the time period (Early medieval era) animals are treated as work and food necessities. She doesn’t keep any pets.

71. How are they with children? Do they have any? Do they want any? She’s okay with children, but not great. Devon has done most of the raising of their children. She has three, one adopted, two biological.

72. Would they rather have stability or comfort? Comfort.

73. Do they prefer the indoors or outdoors? Outdoors.

74. What weather is their favorite? Do they like storms? Warm, summer weather with a good breeze. She doesn’t like storms due to their ability to sink ships and cause havoc.

75. If given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? She would write about memories, or make a list of things that need to be done later.

76. How organized are they? Very.

77. What is their most prized possession? Her “crown of feathers”, a hair piece that was made for her by the wives of some Imperial Soldiers during the war. It is made of raven feathers and sits at the back of her head like a crown.

78. Who do they consider to be their best friend? Devon and Jillian Snowfall.

79. What is their economic situation? She’s well-off, both from her plantation’s outputs as well as being paid by the King for her service.

80. Are they a morning person or a night owl? Morning person.

Miscellaneous:

81. Are they bothered by the sight of blood? Used to be (as it would spark her madness), but otherwise no.

82. What is their handwriting like? As elegant as the Diwa’lu alphabet allows.

83. Can they swim? How well? Do they like to swim? Yes, very well and yes she loves to.

84. Which deadly sin do they represent best? Rage.

85. Do they believe in ghosts? Yes.

86. How do they celebrate holidays? How do they celebrate birthdays? Usually with feasts, festivals or parades, depending on where she is for that holiday. She doesn’t really bother celebrating her own birthday, but will celebrate for her children’s.

87. What is something they regret? Returning to Alumina after realizing the truth about the Dark Ones.

88. Do they have an accent? Her accent is a little skewed and weird. She used to have a full southern Alumian accent, but due to the head injury, its more of a mix between it and the accent of Diwa’lu.

89. What is their D&D alignment? Neutral Good.

90. Are they right or left handed? Right

91. If they were a tweet, what tweet would they be? I have no clue. But she would be a crow if she was a bird.

92. Describe them as a John Mulaney gif.

93. What’s the most iconic line of dialogue they’ve ever said? “You all know who is the strongest Diwa’ka here. It. Is. Me. I could crush all of you with a wave of my hand. If you will not accept my claim, challenge me. I dare you.”

#just for fun

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fanoftheages · 7 years

Text

Hope Is a Bright, Beautiful Thing

relationship: Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker (Star Wars)

words: 1,926

summary: The Rebellion has achieved their first victory in defeating the Death Star. Hasty celebration ensues. But what can be said about our heroes, Luke and Leia, who suffered the worst tragedies on the way to this victory? Can they feel truly victorious in light of their unresolved grief?

(Chronology: between the end of A New Hope and the events of the Princess Leia comic, including only Leia's speech)

AO3

After their victory over the death Star, the Rebellion returned to their base on Yavin. They could not stay long, now that the Empire knew of their location. But the Empirial army would have to muddle through the aftermath, so the Rebellion took some time to savor their first real victory. Leia gave a speech, followed by a moment of silence to memorialize the sacrifices of the pilots Luke had flown with, as well as the loss of Alderaan. Following that, senior officers broke out, what Luke thought, a suspicious amount of alcohol. The entire Rebel force fell into raucous celebration and never looked back.

Luke had never been around so many people before—and had certainly never participated in such reckless partying. His home village on Tatooine was small and dry. Alcohol was found only in the bigger cities, or by those wealthy enough to afford it. The farmers and craftsmen of the village lived simple, modest lives. His aunt and uncle certainly never would have approved of him joining in the festivities playing out before him. It was part of why Luke had wanted to leave for the Empirial Academy—quiet farm life had never quite satisfied him.

A pang of grief shook him. He’d not had a moment to spare a thought for his uncle and aunt. Everything had happened so quickly—meeting Ben, learning of his lineage, being whisked away to the Rebellion, rescuing the princess, taking on the Death Star. He’d refused Ben at first, but after finding his home burned to ash, he’d demanded to be taken along. He’d been enraged and desperate, and Luke could see now that running off with Ben to join the Rebellion had been a wild grab for vengeance.

Well, he’d gotten his revenge, in a sense, but it rang hollow. He’d finally had the adventure beyond his wildest dreams, but at the cost of everything dear to him. Luke hadn’t wanted to live and die as a farmer—still didn’t—despite his uncle’s many lectures of how it was a safe profession, noble in its necessity. But now, surrounded by the cheers and drunken singing, Luke wished he’d appreciated the dependability and familial comfort of his former life, instead of being so eager to run from it.

Luke knew he’d found a new family of sorts in the members of the Rebellion, with Han and Chewie and Wedge. He just wished he hadn’t had to lose his old one to find it. The saber strapped to his leg, weighted with his father’s legacy, had not felt heavier than in that moment.

He sighed, staring down at his mostly untouched drink. He looked to where Wedge was currently being drunk under the table by Han, and a few younger members swinging from Chewie’s arms. Luke smiled in spite of his melancholy, then sighed again and decided it would be best to find some quiet.

He wandered from the main hall of the bunker, the celebration becoming faint echoes the farther he traveled. Luke had not been given an official tour, and the halls were narrow and winding. Soon, he realized he was completely lost, without even the sounds of the party to give him some idea of his location. Trying not to panic—the bunker wasn’t that big, he couldn’t be lost forever—he made a few more experimental turns before stumbling upon what appeared to be a storeroom.

Luke sagged in relief, then straightened, realizing he was not alone. Sitting on a crate, slumped over a table, was Princess Lei Organa herself. Her braid fell carelessly over her shoulder, face hidden in her crossed arms. She still wore the formal white dress Luke had seen her in when she’d stood before the masses and given her speech. When the celebration had fallen to cheerful chaos, he'd lost track of her. As tough as she’d been during their escape from the Empirial jet, Luke supposed it made sense that a princess wouldn’t join in with the drinking and revelry.

Taking in her slumped form, looking oddly frail, Luke hated to leave her. Still, she clearly sought to be alone and, in spite of fighting at her side, she was his commander, and Luke wasn’t sure it was his place. In his indecision, he backed into a stray box, tripping and cursing, before he could slap a hand over his mouth.

Well. That got him some attention.

Leia lifted her head. Luke was half-worried she’d been crying, but her eyes were dry. Dry and dull, shadows of weariness smudged under them. A few strands of hair had fallen loose from her braid.

“Luke?” she asked.

“Uh, Princess, sorry—”

She raised a hand, cutting him off. “Leia, please.”

“Leia. Um, sorry, I got a bit turned around. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You aren’t,” she said, smiling gently. “Not enjoying the festivities?”

“Oh, no, it’s—great. Just, you know, a bit loud. Needed a break.”

Leia chuckled, and Luke was glad to see some light return to her eyes. “Yes, I know what you mean.” She gestured for him to join her; Luke grabbed a crate and took a place across the table.

She continued, “I’m sorry we weren’t able to give you a proper celebration. If Alderaan had—” A stricken look crossed her features, with a sharp intake of breath. She closed her eyes, hands curling to fists on the table. Luke resisted the urge to reach out to her.

“Well,” she said carefully, “if things had been different, normally I like to give medals to those who prove their valor in battle.” She looked at him again, the gentle smile returning.

Luke ducked his head, blushing. “Ah, that’s fine, really. I’m just a farm boy from Tatooine. Medals and things aren’t really my… thing.” He coughed. “Although I’m sure Han would have appreciated it.”

Her smile turned wry. “Yes, I’m sure. Speaking of, I noticed your clothing…”

He looked down at his borrowed vest. “Oh, yeah, Han loaned me some stuff. I figured I ought to dress up a little nicer for the whole… service… thing.”

“Mm.” she looked at him a moment more, then turned away, shaking her head as if berating herself. With a deep breath, her shoulders straightened from their wilted slump. The gentle smile faded, brows uncreased, her eyes distant and serene. She reached up to tuck back the loose hair.

“Don’t do that,” Luke pleaded.

She blinked at him, hands falling. “Do what?”

“That… princess thing.”

She gave him a raised eyebrow, lips quirked. “Princess thing?”

“You know, when—when you get all, uh, solemn and poised. I mean, the speech you gave was nice, and I—I get that you have to be a leader but…” He hesitated a moment, then dared to take her hand. “It’s just us, Leia. You don’t have to hide.”

Leia looked at him for a long moment, then her eyes softened, the gentle smile returned. “Oh, Luke.” Her lip trembled, and she turned her head away, but Luke saw the stray tear fall.

“You let me lean on you when Ben died,” he said. “And that meant—so much to me. It was horrible to see him die; I really depended on him. But, honestly, I didn’t know him that well.

“My aunt and uncle, who raised me, they…” He had to stop, take a breath. “They were killed, by Vader’s people. Their house—the only home I ever knew—was burnt to nothing. It was what got me to come with Ben in the first place. I know it doesn’t really… compare to having your entire planet destroyed, but I am… here. For you.”

He could only watch as more of Leia’s tears fell. “Luke, I just can’t believe—I saw it. I saw it. And I still can’t believe it’s really gone. All those people, my people…” Her hand tightened around his; she still would not look at him. “My parents would have gladly given their lives for the Rebellion. But the people, they were peaceful, innocent. They depended on me, and yet…” She choked on a sob, hand covering her mouth.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Luke tried to assure her. “You joined the Rebellion for good reasons.”

She shook her head. “All those people, the culture, the history. Alderaan is a loss that will be felt by the entire galaxy. I don’t—” She took a deep, shuddering breath, her words colored by a darker tone. “I don’t know that I will ever forgive them.” She looked, finally, at Luke, and he was stunned by the determined fire in her eyes.

She pulled her hand from his loosened grasp, wiping away her tears. “Alderaan was a terrible loss. But I know my mother and father would be proud of what we accomplished. Now, no other planet will suffer the same horrible fate. We’ve finally had a victory against the Empire. Our fight is not over.” She smiled. “And you’re right, Luke; I do have to be a leader. But it is not something I think of as a burden. My people, the people I lead, give me strength.”

Carefully, she took Luke’s hands in her own. “I am sorry, though, for your loss. I wish I could promise that the pain gets easier to bear.”

Luke allowed his tears to fall, squeezing her hands. “Thank you,” he managed. “I’ll be, well, fine. Somehow. Eventually. You’re right, though, the fight isn’t over. I’m not just fighting the Emperor to free the galaxy; I’m fighting to honor their memory. I’ll carry them with me, always.”

Leia nodded, solemn. “I don’t mind, if you lean on me.”

He smiled. “Only if you promise to lean on me, when you need to.”

She laughed. “Deal.” She stood, pulling him to his feet. “Now, enough sad thoughts. There is a celebration to be had.”

“Ah, yes.” He couldn’t hold back his blush. “Actually, I got a bit, umm, lost. So, if you wouldn’t mind helping me get back…? You did say I could lean on you.”

Leia’s laugh was a bright, beautiful thing. Luke was so gladdened by her lively glow, he didn’t even mind that she was laughing at him.

“Come,” she said. “I��ll show you the way.” She winked at him. “That is what a princess is for, after all.” As they walked, she told him, “Luckily, we won’t be here long enough that you’ll have to learn the layout.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Thank goodness.” The theatrics were enough to pull another laugh from the princess-now-renegade-commander. The delicate sleeves of her dress fluttered, the white like a beacon—strong and unwavering.

Soon, they returned to the main hall. The celebration seemed to not have abated at all, though several Rebellion members were now passed out haphazardly around the room. Luke wasn’t sure how they hadn’t run out of alcohol yet. Suspicious, really.

“ ‘Eyyyy, yer Worshipfulness! Skywalker! Where ya been?”

Luke looked up to see Han waving excitedly at them, face flushed red. Wedge was sprawled on the table, unconscious; Chewie had acquired several fancy braids.

Leia wrinkled her nose. “Your mercenary calls for you.” She patted his shoulder, wearing a sardonic smile. “Best attend to him.”

“Leia,” he said, stopping her as she turned away. He held his hand out. “May the Force be with you.”

She smiled and clasped his hand in a firm shake; he felt a spark, some flux of energy in the meeting of their hands. “May the Force be with you, Luke Skywalker.”

#fanfic #star wars #fic; star wars #leia organa #luke skywalker #fannish

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