#life settlement calculator

[doumadono]

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Natsuo, fem!reader, smut (short & not graphic), viking themes, Shoto is a spoiled brat

Summary: in a Viking world of power, secrets and warriors, a young woman captured during a raid finds herself entangled in the life of Dabi, the enigmatic eldest son of the ruthless earl. As secrets, scars, and desires collide, their unconventional connection unfolds in a tale of love, danger, and destiny

Word count: circa 5.9k

A/N: for a few years, I've held a fascination with Viking themes and their historical era. Recently, I had the idea to place Dabi in such a setting and see where the story would take me. I sat down to write and found myself falling in love with this new narrative instantly. While it might seem trivial to some, it's already become a precious gem to me. I plan to unravel the story over six chapters. I hope you enjoy the first one, and I'm open to all opinions. If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST NEXT CHAPTER KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

ACT I - UNMASKING THE SCARS

As the longship glided silently through the dark waters, the moon cast a pale, ethereal glow on the rugged Viking coastline. The scent of salt and adventure filled the night air, and the crew of fierce warriors, led by Dabi, the renegade son of the brutal, ruthless Viking earl, Endeavor, prepared to make landfall.

Dabi, at thirty years of age, bore the marks of a troubled past. Dabi's once-pale skin was now marred by those burns, darkened like a charred log in the heart of a raging fire. His body bore the scars of a fire that had ravaged him in his youth, a cruel gift from his own father, who had attempted to kill him. But it was these very scars that had forged his determination and honed his indomitable spirit. His hair was the color of snow, and his eyes were as blue as the frost-covered sea. He had a reputation as a fierce warrior, known for his ruthless tactics and the way he fought with the fury of a tempest.

The village he came from was a place of cold stone and rough-hewn timbers, where the Viking way of life reigned supreme. The women of the village shied away from Dabi, for his scars marked him as an outcast. He lived a life of solitude, seeking solace in the wild, untamed lands that surrounded their settlement.

Their destination was a small Christian village, nestled among the rolling hills. It had been raided by Dabi's people before, but tonight was different. Tonight, Dabi's heart was restless, and he was inexplicably drawn to the village's fate.

As the Vikings stormed the village, chaos erupted. Houses were set ablaze, and the cries of the villagers filled the night.

The raucous cries of his men filled the air as the village burned and the spoils of their raid were gathered. Dabi stood at the heart of the chaos, an enigmatic figure in the midst of destruction. A faint, unsettling smile tugged at the corners of his lips, hidden beneath the eerie wolf's jaw mask.

He watched with satisfaction as his warriors, his loyal comrades in arms, looted and plundered. The riches of the Christian village flowed into their grasp, their spoils of war. It was a successful trip by Viking standards, a brutal triumph in the unforgiving world they inhabited.

Amidst the smoldering ruins of the Christian village, the Vikings had unleashed their wrath. Blood had been spilled, and the lives of some villagers had been brutally cut short.

But not all of the villagers had met a swift and merciless end. The Vikings, with a calculated eye, had chosen to capture several women and a few men, sparing them from the fate that had befallen their companions. These survivors would serve a different purpose, as slaves in the service of their Viking captors. Among them a young woman. Her hair was the Y/H/C, and her eyes held the innocence of a world untouched by the brutality of the North.

As the raiders dragged the captives away from the charred remains of their homes, the air was heavy with the weight of despair and uncertainty. These men and women, once free, were now prisoners of a world far removed from the peaceful existence they had known. Their lives had taken a harrowing turn, marked by servitude and the harsh reality of Viking conquest.

For Dabi, this decision was not only about power but also about securing the resources and labor needed to sustain their existence in these harsh northern lands. The villagers had been caught in the merciless currents of fate, and their futures were now inexorably tied to the whims of the Viking warriors who had chosen to spare them for their own purposes.

As Dabi inspected the captured men, his gaze swept over the somber group, each face marked by fear and resignation. But then, as if guided by a force beyond his control, his eyes fell upon a young woman. The sight of her took his breath away, and for a moment, he couldn't lie to himself – she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon.

Despite the dirt, blood, and tears that marred her face, her beauty shone through like a radiant star in the night sky. Her cheeks bore the scars of anguish, her eyes, streaked with despair, created rivulets in the dust and grime that clung to her skin. Her once-neat clothes, now tattered and dirtied, bore witness to the cruel turn of fate she had endured.

Dabi's heart, which had been hardened by the harshness of Viking life, thudded in his chest with a new and unfamiliar emotion. She was a vision amidst the chaos, and in that moment, he realized that there was something more to her than just her physical beauty. There was a strength in her, a resilience that had allowed her to endure even in the face of such brutality.

As Dabi's eyes locked onto her, a strange and unsettling sensation coursed through him. It was a feeling he couldn't quite comprehend, a magnetic pull that defied all reason. In the midst of the chaos and destruction, this woman, captured from the village, appeared before him like an enigma.

Her hair, now messy, and those defiant eyes held a fierce determination that had not been extinguished by the horrors of the raid. She was a picture of vulnerability and strength intertwined, a paradox that captivated his very soul.

Dabi, who had always been driven by the uncompromising resolve of a Viking warrior, found himself unnerved by the intensity of this attraction. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions, but her presence stirred something deep within him, a longing he could not explain. He questioned the very nature of his emotions, grappling with the unfamiliar warmth that her presence kindled within him, even though they hadn't spoken.

He couldn't tear his gaze away from her. Every time their eyes met, it felt as if the fates themselves had intervened, weaving their destinies together in a tapestry of fire and ice.

Their initial meeting was far from the romantic tales sung by skalds. She was bound and helpless, standing amidst the ash and ruin of her once-peaceful village. Dabi, cloaked in darkened furs, surveyed the captives with an air of detached authority. His icy gaze met hers, a meeting of two souls from opposite worlds. "You," he spoke, his voice as cold as the northern winds, "What's your name?"

The woman's voice trembled as she replied, avoiding looking at him, "It doesn't matter anymore."

Dabi's frustration simmered just beneath the surface as her initial reply didn't satisfy his curiosity. He huffed in annoyance, the cold air from his breath mingling with the tension in the atmosphere. His desire to understand her and the strange attraction he felt only intensified.

Closing the distance between them, he moved with a predatory grace, catching her by the shoulders and forcing her to turn to face him. His grip, firm but not unkind, held a subtle hint of authority. Their eyes locked, his piercing gaze penetrating her soul. "I asked you for your name, woman," Dabi demanded, his voice tinged with impatience. It was a command that brooked no disobedience, his intensity pushing past the boundaries of the tumultuous situation they found themselves in. His own desire to know her name and the unexplainable connection he felt had turned into an obsession, and he needed answers, regardless of the circumstances.

As Dabi's demand hung in the air, she met his unwavering gaze. Her eyes, a mixture of fear and defiance, looked up into his, a silent struggle raging within her. But shortly after, her gaze faltered, shifting to the mask he wore, crafted from the jagged jaw of a wolf. The sight sent a shiver down her spine, a symbol of the fierce, untamed nature of the man who stood before her.

The man, with the mask that lent him an imposing visage, was tall and imposing, easily towering over her. His presence alone was enough to instill a sense of vulnerability in her.

Trembling, she finally surrendered to his demand, her voice quivering as she spoke, "I am Y/N." Her name, offered with a tremor in her voice, was a fragile gift, a shard of her identity laid bare in the face of the formidable Viking who had claimed her as his captive.

For the next two days, the Viking raiders worked tirelessly to pack the spoils of their conquest onto their longships.

Dabi, ever the watchful leader, stood guard over the entire process, ensuring that the riches plundered from the Christian village were securely stowed away. The village's treasures, from precious metals to food supplies, were meticulously organized and divided amongst the victorious Vikings.

The night of their conquest, the Vikings celebrated their successful raid with an infernal party. Driven by the spoils they had claimed, they emptied the Christians' pantries of beer, meat, and mead. The sound of merriment echoed through the night, a stark contrast to the sorrow that had befallen the captured villagers.

However, amidst the revelry, there were dark moments that marred the festivities. Some of the Viking warriors, fueled by intoxication and the ruthless nature of their world, committed terrible acts upon the captive Christian women without their consent. It was a grim reminder of the brutality that often accompanied such raids, where power and desire clashed with the innocence of the conquered.

Dabi, torn between his leadership role and the strange attraction he felt for one of the captives, observed the chaos with a heavy heart. The celebration, for him, was a juxtaposition of the jubilant and the sinister, a reflection of the duality that defined their lives as Vikings.

After days of tireless packing, the Viking raiders were finally ready to set sail for their homeland. The longships, laden with the spoils of their conquest, were now prepared to embark on the journey back to the rugged shores they called home.

Dabi took his place at the bow of his longship, a position of command and observation. His keen, turquise eyes surveyed the captivated people who had survived the ruthless acts of the past nights. They were a motley group, marked by both the physical and emotional scars of the raid. Some carried the burden of their violated dignity, while others were haunted by the loss of their loved ones and the destruction of their once-peaceful village.

The longship that Dabi commanded was the largest among the six that had come to the shore. It loomed like a dark behemoth against the horizon, its figurehead carving through the waves, a symbol of the Viking's ruthless power. Dabi watched as the captives, those who would serve as slaves in their new life, reluctantly boarded the vessel. It was a moment that carried with it a sense of foreboding, a step into the unknown, as they embarked on a perilous journey to a life that was bound by the harsh code of the Viking world.

Dabi's keen eyes never left the captivating young woman named Y/N as she hesitantly approached the longship. She was one of the last to board, and her trembling form didn't escape his notice. She might have tried to mask her fears with a poker face, but the vulnerability that emanated from her was unmistakable.

A faint, almost smug smirk played at the corners of Dabi's lips. He knew that Y/N was not going to be easily sold in any market or to another earl. The strange attraction he felt for her had ignited something within him, a desire to protect and possess her. He understood that she was unique, an enigma amidst the other captives, and he was prepared to put pressure on his father to ensure she remained with their family in their Great Hall.

The journey back home was arduous and relentless, the Viking longships battling through raging storms and colossal waves that crashed against their sides. The tempestuous sea was a cruel reminder of nature's might, a fierce adversary they had to contend with on their voyage.

For days on end, they sailed through the tumultuous waters, each day bringing new challenges and peril. The crew worked tirelessly to navigate the treacherous waves, their lives intertwined with the unpredictable whims of the sea. The longships, laden with their ill-gotten gains, were tossed like leaves in a tempest, and the thunderous roars of the ocean were their constant companion.

Dabi, despite his role as a leader, occasionally took walks along the longship to check on his comrades. It was an excuse, he told himself, but the truth was that he sought to steal moments to take a closer look at the captivating young woman named Y/N. She was bound to a mast, her body curled in a defensive posture, a vulnerable figure amidst the chaos.

One night, as they braved the wrath of the sea, Dabi stood close to the place where Y/N was tied. He leaned against the side of the boat, his arms crossed, gazing into the darkness that enveloped them. The crashing waves and the howling winds created an eerie symphony, but his focus remained on the woman who had become a focal point of his thoughts.

"I was curious how," Dabi's voice suddenly pierced the silence.

Startled, Y/N was pulled out from a shallow slumber she had allowed to envelop her. She blinked, momentarily disoriented. "What?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and apprehension.

Dabi, who had been standing nearby, turned his gaze toward her. "How do you know our language?" he inquired, his words delivered with a curious, almost neutral tone. It was a question that had been gnawing at him, the mystery of her familiarity with their Viking tongue.

Y/N hesitated, her thoughts racing as she grappled with how to respond. The truth was a delicate matter, a secret that she had guarded with her life. "My father was a Northman," Y/N replied, her voice carrying a note of bitterness, "and as long as he was around, he was teaching me some things."

Dabi's response was not immediate, and in the dim light, his smirk was concealed by the wolf's jaw mask he wore. The revelation intrigued him, and the knowledge that she had learned their language from her Northman father added another layer of complexity to the enigma of Y/N. It was a connection he hadn't anticipated, a bridge between their two worlds that he had yet to fully explore.

"What are you going to do to us?" Y/N asked suddenly, the uncertainty in her eyes betraying her anxiety.

Dabi sighed heavily and walked closer to her, resting his hip against the mast to which she was tied. "You'll work for us," he replied simply, his tone carrying a hint of slyness.

Y/N's expression darkened as she processed his words. "So, we're going to be your slaves," she said with a tinge of bitterness, "a beautiful perspective."

Dabi chuckled softly, the sound muffled by his mask. "Well, we Vikings have a different way of looking at things, you see. You'll find our 'perspective' quite interesting, I assure you."

"Why us?" Y/N asked, curiosity mingling with her apprehension.

Dabi's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Your village was raided before, and you happen to possess a huge amount of goods we needed," he replied, the slyness in his voice becoming more apparent. "You could say it's just a matter of unfortunate circumstances."

"You're a monster. You all are. You killed innocent people!" Y/N ground the accusation from the depths of her mind.

Dabi chuckled darkly, his head tilting back slightly. "We? Oh no, sunshine, we're not monsters," he retorted, his voice dripping with a chilling nonchalance. Dabi leaned in closer to Y/N, his voice low and filled with an air of mystery. "You see," he began, a hint of smugness in his tone. "We are Vikings, warriors of the North. Our ways are brutal, but they're also fiercely proud. We live by the sword and sail by the stars. Our world is one of conquest and survival, where strength and cunning are the ultimate currencies." Dabi paused for a moment, as if considering whether to reveal more. "And you, Y/N, have found yourself caught in the wake of our world. Your journey is now intertwined with ours, and how it unfolds, well, that remains to be seen."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the unknown.

Dabi's sharp ears caught the sound of Y/N's quiet sobs, and he turned his gaze toward her.

Her words, filled with pain and anger, washed over him. "I wanna rather die than be a slave," she lamented, "you're animals, killing and robbing for fun. I'll never forgive you for killing my friends."

He let out a low, almost amused chuckle, a sound that resonated with a kind of sly arrogance. "Animals, you say?" he responded, his voice carrying a note of mockery. "Perhaps, but in our world, it's the fittest that survive. We aren't much for sentiment, and the reality is, we did what we had to do to ensure our own survival." Dabi's gaze remained fixed on her, and his tone took on a more cryptic edge. "As for forgiveness, sunshine, that's not something I'm particularly concerned about. We live by the code of the North, and it's a world where the line between predator and prey is often blurred. It's a harsh existence, but it's ours."

As the Viking longships sailed southward through the tempestuous sea, they finally reached their home village, known as Skjaldvargr nestled on the southern shores of Norway.

The arrival of Dabi and his crew was met with a raucous reception. The people of Skjaldvargr, mostly guards and shieldmaidens, had been eagerly awaiting their return. The shieldmaidens, with their fierce eyes and battle-worn armor, stood proudly alongside their male counterparts, a testament to the equality that defined Viking society.

The village came to life with the clanging of shields and the joyful cries of reunion as the raiders disembarked, their ill-gotten treasures in tow. It was a homecoming marked by the spoils of their conquest and the triumphant return of their warriors, a scene that underscored the unyielding spirit of the people of Skjaldvargr.

The longships were expertly unloaded, and the captivated men and women were carefully escorted off the vessels. They were bound together, forming a dispirited line, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and resignation. The captives from the Christian village now stood on the wooden pier, their lives forever changed by the Viking raid.

Dabi was the last to disembark. As he stepped onto the pier, the people of Skjaldvargr erupted into cheers. His name carried weight in the village; he was known not only as a fierce Viking warrior but also as one of the heirs to Endeavor, their ruthless earl. His presence was a symbol of power and authority, and the villagers greeted him with a mixture of reverence and admiration.

The triumphant return of Dabi and his crew marked a momentous occasion in the life of Skjaldvargr, where the spoils of their conquest and the legend of their daring deeds would echo through the halls of their Great Hall. The fate of the captives, bound and silent, hung in the balance, as the world of the Northmen unfurled before them.

Among the men and women on the shore, there was a tall, white-haired male with a thick, long fur draped around his shoulders, a figure that stood out amidst the assembled Vikings.

Dabi approached the man and wrapped him in a warm hug. "Natsuo, brother," he greeted him with a grin that couldn't be seen behind his mask.

Natsuo, the younger of the two, returned the hug, placing his hands on Dabi's shoulders. "Looking good and returning successful again. Wonderful," he replied with a hint of admiration in his voice. He stepped back, taking a moment to study his brother. "But what's all this fuss about a Christian village?" he inquired, his curiosity evident. "You've got everyone talking."

Dabi's smirk only widened as he regarded his brother. "Oh, Natsuo, it's a long story. Let's catch up over a drink at the Great Hall. I have quite the tale to tell."

The brothers shared a knowing glance, the unspoken understanding between them evident in their eyes.

Dabi wasted no time in issuing his orders to one of his men. "Make sure the Y/H/C woman is not sent to the market but is brought straight to the Great Hall," he commanded, his tone devoid of any room for discussion.

His bondsman, ever dutiful, nodded in acknowledgment of the directive.

Natsuo, wearing a mischievous grin, couldn't resist teasing his older brother about the mysterious woman. "Dabi, she must be quite the catch if you're keeping her for yourself," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "Hope you're going to share a little!"

Dabi scoffed, playfully shoving his brother's shoulder. "Don't be absurd, Natsuo. She's just a captive from the Christian village. I've got more important matters to attend to," he replied, his tone gruff but carrying a hint of a secret smile. "Now, off to the Great Hall. Father is likely impatient for the reports."

The banter between the two brothers continued as they made their way to the heart of Skjaldvargr, leaving behind the captivated woman who had captured Dabi's attention and a tale that had yet to fully unfold.

His hips moved with swift and forceful determination, and the woman beneath him found herself panting and moaning his name in response. With a final series of intense grunts and thrusts, the young man with distinctive two-coloured hair reached his climax, giving one last deep thrust into the girl, spilling his seed in her.

She gently placed her palm against his cheek, her touch brushing over a scarred, reddened area under his left eye. However, her hand was met with a swift and firm push as he growled, withdrawing from her and hurriedly adjusting his pants.

"No," he snarled, pushing her off his bed with ease. "Get the fuck out now," he demanded, his tone filled with a brusque and dismissive edge.

"But you told me you liked me and that we'd have more time together," the young thrall whispered softly as she gathered her clothes from the wooden floor.

The young man's chuckle was cold and devoid of genuine emotion. "Are you that naive?" he sneered, "I only wanted your pussy, nothing else. Get out of my bed before my father or older brother catch you. You don't want to find yourself in trouble, do you?"

The thrall, disheartened and regretful, quickly dressed and left the room. She entered the main chamber of the Great Hall just as Natsuo and Dabi stepped through the massive doors.

Their father, Endeavor, the fearsome earl of Skjaldvargr, was seated at the throne at the end of the chamber, grinding his axe. His stern gaze bore into his eldest son as they approached, a silent expectation for a report on their latest raid.

"The raid on the Christian village was a resounding success. We looted their coffers, took their goods, and brought back valuable supplies that will sustain our village for the winter. The riches we've acquired are beyond our expectations."

Endeavor nodded, acknowledging the information. "Any captives?" he inquired, his eyes scrutinizing his son.

Dabi continued, "We have several men and women who will serve as thralls. We've also secured a Y/H/C woman who is very unique, father. She possesses knowledge of our language, and I've made the decision to keep her within our Great Hall rather than sending her to the market."

He listened to Dabi's report with a stern demeanor, his eyes narrowing as his son spoke about the captive Y/H/C woman. When Dabi finished, the earl's voice held a note of warning. "You know that you shouldn't be making such decisions without my consent," he admonished, his tone heavy with authority. "But this time, I will let it slide."

Inside, Dabi couldn't help but heave a silent sigh of relief. Endeavor's leniency meant that he would have the opportunity to interact with Y/N more freely, a chance to explore the mystery and attraction that had drawn him to her during the journey home. The knowledge that he wouldn't face immediate consequences for his impulsive decision filled him with a sense of gratitude, even as he maintained his outward composure.

Natsuo, on the other hand, took a seat at the long table, where freshly cooked meat was being served by their thralls. He joined the warriors who had gathered to eat, listening to the tale of their successful raid with a satisfied grin. The sounds of feasting and celebration filled the Great Hall, a stark contrast to the darkness and secrets that had transpired on the longship during the journey home.

As Dabi stood in front of his father, a sudden presence caught his attention. A young man with two-colored hair, neatly groomed but slightly untidy now, had joined them. It was Shoto, Dabi's youngest brother, who had recently celebrated his eighteenth spring. His appearance and demeanor appeared deceivingly innocent, but Dabi knew that his younger sibling was not to be underestimated.

"So, you've returned, brother," Shoto said, his tone dripping with feigned sweetness. He offered Dabi a smile that was almost too saccharine, given the complexities of their family dynamics.

Dabi acknowledged Shoto with a nod, a sense of unease brewing beneath the surface.

Shoto turned his attention to their father, Endeavor, his voice carrying a subtle air of request. "Father, this winter, I want to visit Earl Gizzor's settlement, as we discussed. It's crucial that we maintain good relationships between our settlements."

Dabi furrowed his brow, disbelief tinging his words. "What? How do you intend to do that? We've declared war on them."

Shoto maintained his sweet smile as he responded, "While you were away, brother, father and I reached an agreement. We've decided that it's no longer necessary to wage war with Earl Gizzor. Instead, we've buried the hatchet."

Dabi was taken aback, struggling to process what he was hearing. Earl Gizzor was known to be a man of dubious trustworthiness, and the sudden reconciliation with him left a bitter taste in Dabi's mouth. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, and the unexpected alliance between his younger brother and their father raised more questions than it provided answers.

Endeavor nodded in agreement with Shoto's proposal, adding his voice to the conversation. "Shoto is right, Dabi. Maintaining alliances and peace with neighboring earls is essential. We can't be at war on all fronts."

Dabi, with a simple nod of acknowledgment, turned to leave the throne area of the chamber. However, before he walked away, he caught Shoto's shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. "You have a fucking sperm on your pants, you little bastard," he grumbled, his voice low and filled with a blend of irritation and brotherly mockery. "Which poor thrall have you managed to lure into your charms this time?"

Shoto, not one to be easily cowed, replied in a wry and cocky whisper, ensuring their father couldn't hear, "You're always looking so closely, brother. Some of us don't need a mask to be charming. If you looked look like a real man, you wouldn't need to be envious of my romantic pursuits," he quipped, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he took a not-so-subtle dig at Dabi, looking him hardly in the eyes.

Their exchange, hidden beneath the veneer of family respect and decorum, hinted at a deeper sibling rivalry and a history of conflicting personalities. The tension between Dabi and Shoto was a thread woven into the very fabric of their family.

Dabi's patience worn thin by the exchange with Shoto. He scoffed and let go of his younger brother's arm. He turned and made his way straight to his chamber, his footsteps heavy.

Natsuo, who had been a silent witness to the situation between his two brothers, watched with a heavy heart. He loved them both and couldn't bring himself to pick sides, but the tension in the air was palpable, and he worried about the growing rift between Dabi and Shoto.

In his own chamber, Dabi wasted no time. He shed his outer layers, discarding the fur, the mask, woolen shirt, and pants until he stood naked in the room. He flopped onto his bed, which was covered with furs, and stared at the ceiling. His mind was filled with thoughts about everything that had transpired during the days, and he couldn't help but wonder about Shoto's intentions and the potential consequences of their father's newfound alliance.

After some contemplation, he decided to take a bath to clear his mind. Dabi wrapped a towel around his hips and called for one of the thralls to prepare a hot bath for him.

As the thrall prepared the bath, the steam filled the room, creating a cozy and relaxing atmosphere. Dabi wasted no time and immersed himself in the hot water of the wooden tub. The soothing warmth seeped into his muscles, and he leaned back comfortably against the edge, closing his eyes.

The scent of the bath's herbs and oils mixed with the steam, creating a fragrant haven that allowed Dabi to momentarily escape the complexities of his world. With each passing moment, the tensions seemed to melt away, leaving him in blissful solitude and the serene embrace of the soothing bathwater.

As you were brought to the Great Hall, everything appeared new and unfamiliar. Fear coursed through your veins as you found yourself surrounded by strangers, most of them men whose eyes bore into you with an unsettling hunger. The air was thick with whispered, lewd comments, but you did your best to avoid drawing attention, keeping your gaze lowered and your composure intact.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, an older woman, a thrall who had been through similar experiences, extended a hand to guide you away from the prying eyes. She offered a reassuring smile as she took your hand and spoke in a soothing tone. "Come with me, child. I'll explain your new duties and help you settle in," she said, her voice filled with empathy. "You'll find your place here, and in time, it will become more familiar."

Her words provided a glimmer of hope in the midst of your fear, as you followed the thrall to begin your new life in the Great Hall, embarking on a journey that held both uncertainty and the possibility of finding your own strength in a world of unfamiliar faces and customs.

The thrall, as she handed you a plain, thick, greyish dress, began to speak about the members of the earl's family. Her voice was gentle and informative, and you listened attentively, eager to learn more about the people you would be serving. In the end, it was your new life.

She explained, "The earl is Endeavor, a formidable leader and the head of this settlement. He's known for his strength and authority, but also for his ruthlessness."

You nodded, taking in the information, and she continued, "Touya, the eldest son, is a fierce warrior, and he's known for his prowess in raids. His younger brother, Natsuo, is more diplomatic, often seeking peaceful resolutions. The youngest of Endeavor's sons is Shoto," the thrall continued, her voice carrying a more cautious tone as she spoke of him. "He can be the most problematic one, especially when it comes to his affairs." Her words were filled with a hint of warning. "Shoto is known for his charisma and charm, but don't be fooled. He's a smooth talker and has a way of getting what he wants." She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as she emphasized, "Be careful around him, dear. He may seem charming, but his intentions can be far from virtuous."

Overwhelmed by the realization that you had been reduced to nothing but a slave, a feeling of hopelessness and anger welled up within you. You turned to the elder woman and, with a hint of defiance, you declared, "I don't want to work. I won't be a slave."

The thrall, her expression heavy with the weight of harsh reality, looked at you with a stern gaze. She leaned in closer, her voice low and foreboding as she whispered, "You don't have a choice in this matter, my child, so hadn't I. If you refuse to work, you won't survive for long. This is the way of our world, and it's a harsh one. I arrived here several years ago, after being taken from the settlement of another earl who was killed in a battle with Endeavor, and ever since, I've been toiling for the earl's family. The tasks are far from rewarding, but such is the way of life," she explained, her voice tinged with resignation.

As you inquired about the tall man who cnquered your village, the thrall's eyes held a certain intensity, and she clarified, "It was Dabi. Dabi is his chosen warrior name. His given name is Touya."

You had obediently completed your first task of cleaning the Great Hall, even though it felt like a menial chore that reflected your new life as a thrall. However, when another thrall instructed you to go to another room to help with the bath, you complied without question. With a heavy sigh, you followed the directions and pushed open the door.

As you stepped into the room, a rush of steam enveloped you, carrying a fragrance of herbs that filled the air. Your brow furrowed in surprise, but before you could react further, the steam dissipated. What lay before you was a scene that caught you off guard: a large bed and clothes, and a mask that you recognized from when Dabi had worn it.

Then, your eyes fell upon the figure in the bath, and a gasp escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't control. You took an involuntary step back as the sight unfolded before you. The man in the bath was Dabi, his body covered with a patchwork of purple, dark, scarred skin. These gnarled, wrinkled, and disfigured patches marred much of his lower face and neck, extending past his collarbone, and continued down his arms and legs. Your whimper of shock hung in the air, and you couldn't help but take another step back, horror etched on your face. It was the first time you saw him without a mask.

Dabi's turquoise eyes opened slowly, and he gazed at you with a haunting intensity. "That's you," he whispered, a quiet acknowledgment of your presence, his voice tinged with a hint of mystery and a deep well of secrets.

As the realization of Dabi's disfigured appearance settled in, the room seemed to grow heavy with tension. Your initial shock gave way to a mix of empathy and curiosity, wondering about the circumstances that had led to such extensive scarring.

The room, suffused with the aroma of herbs, steam and the eerie sight of his scars, seemed to cradle you both in its embrace, marking a pivotal moment that was only beginning to unfold.

heathen wolves: @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog

[eqt-95]

💛 for the love of god

it took a minute to think of a concept for this one, but just know your 'ask' timing was perfect.

💛 reunion kiss / relief

- - - - - - - -

On rare occasions, Lena would default to her most recent takeout order and find ten pizzas delivered with no Kryptonian stomach to eat them. This was how a new tradition started whenever Kara was off-planet. Instead of sister night, Lena had Alex, Kelly, and Esme over to binge on too much pizza and ice cream while playing round after round of Candyland and UNO. 

As Esme got older, the games got more complicated. Kelly politely bowed out, choosing instead to tuck into the couch with a good book while the other three hashed out whether Alex was allowed to build a settlement one road segment away from Lena’s. 

She was not.

Slowly but surely, the competition grew so fierce that they elected to find activities no one was any good at. First it was bowling, then miniature golf, then a pasta-making class. She learned to fill her time; to keep busy; to reinforce existing friendships.

Sometimes Kara’s trips would last weeks. Sometimes longer. On those occasions, Lena would find herself going out with Nia and brainstorming new ideas with Brainy. When those weren’t enough, she spent her evening checking through the calculations on the latest upgrades to Kara’s suit.

Just to be sure.

Just in case.

Just so Lena could sleep through the night.

This was the life of being married to an intergalactic-traveling superhero.

Which was why it came as a bit of a shock when Brainy was contacted by a twelfth level intellect from the future with a problem. A problem that Brainy couldn’t fix alone. A problem that required the help of Lena.

“How long?” Kara asked, her pacing taking a toll on the stone flooring.

“Brainy thinks just shy of a month,” Lena said. She was neck deep in research, having spent the last twelve hours sifting through the transmission sent through time and space to them. “But neither of us will know until we get there.”

“A month?” Kara gawked. “An entire month?”

“Darling, we’ve been apart for longer,” Lena said with the distracted focus that meant she was not seeing the look of distraught despair on Kara’s face. Nor did she see the pout slowly forming on Kara’s lower lip. 

And so Lena left for charts untraveled and paths unseen. Her and Brainy arrived and time ceased to exist: meals and sleep were foregone while they dove into the problem (a minor issue with the space and time continuum brought on by a narcissistic giant of a prince from the Promethean Galaxy with a knack for tinkering with the past) alongside the tentacled-inhabits of the plant. Days passed, then weeks. Only one minor setback left them scrambling, but the tiny light at the end of their intergalactic-ending dilemma was glowing bright and strong and-

An explosion shook the building. Tables were rattled, lab equipment crashed to the floor, and it was all Lena could do to stay standing. Clinging to the table, she glanced toward Brainy who was struggling to keep a pile of samples from tumbling into disarray.

“What was that?” 

“It would seem the south wall has been penetrated.”

“The what-?” Lena asked, racing toward the window overlooking the base camp. And sure enough, a stream of smoke was rising from the tiny outpost. “Are we under attack?”

“I would put those odds at 74%.”

“But what would-”

“Code Meteor!” 

Brainy and Lena both turned to find an armed guard burst through the door, panic-stricken and out of breath. “ I repeat, Code Meteor,” he huffed, his tentacles gripping the doorway for support. 

“Code ‘what’?” Lena asked. 

The answer came as “Shelter in place!”

And then he was gone.

“Well, that has certainly put, as you say ‘a wrench in our plans’,” Brainy noted. “Shall we?”

Three more crashes could be heard, each one closer than the last. Brainy has broken into the surveillance system, but it seemed the initial attack had severed whatever streaming connection existed.

“It is quite surprising they still haven’t integrated a second line of defense for this. Especially after the attack of Cyborgs in-”

“Brainy,” Lena interrupted. Fear dripped into her voice, her knees were held tight to her chest, and the table they were taking cover under did nothing to provide any sense of relief. “I don’t need a history lesson. I need to know if we’re about to die.”

“That is quite the hyperbole,” Brainy assured. “By my calculations, there is only a 38%-”

Another crash, now even closer, rippled through the structure.

“Hmm, make that 54% chance of dying.”

“Attack at will!” came a shout from the hallway, and Lena’s heart jumped to her throat. 

The ensuing sounds did nothing to help: A grunt of impatience was followed by the rattle of gunfire and the scattering of footsteps drawing nearer and nearer. Lena swallowed against the knot in her throat, feeling a wave of dread overcome her. She looked for a weapon - any weapon, and found a screwdriver.

After everything, this was how she would die - by a random attack on some random planet in a galaxy that wasn’t even her own. Worse was that Kara wasn’t here.

“Brainy, Brainy,” she stammered. “I need that.”

She ripped the computer away from him and started typing madly, hoping there was enough time to connect; to see Kara’s face; to say goodbye.

The door burst open and smoke infiltrated the space. It was too late; her fingers weren’t fast enough; the connection was too slow; it was too late-

“Guys, this is really - ooph - eelly unnessessry.”

Lena froze.

“Flank her from the left!” came a commanding cry. More gunshot. More grunts. More body parts hitting body parts.

“Mm oht - ere - oo hur yoo,” the voice came again. The muffled but all too familiar voice that drew Lena out from under the table and toward the cloud of smoke. “I yust - wan oo see - my wie!”

Only then did the silhouette appear. It was a silhouette Lena would recognize anywhere, even if it was being attacked by no less than ten leg-sized tentacles. 

“Kara?” Lena asked.

“-Ena?” came a voice from beneath the coils of appendages.

“What… what are you doing here?”

“I issed yoo.”

“Darling,” Lena sighed, a smile spreading where fear had stood moments earlier.

“Ma’am, do you know her?”

She could only nod and close the distance between them. The guards seemed to understand and withdrew their tentacles of rope, and slowly but surely, Supergirl was unraveled from the slimy layers of them.

“I missed you too,” she continued, then wrapped her arms around Kara’s shoulders and drew her into a hug. 

“You were just gone for so long and I don’t know how you do it. How do you do it?” Kara rambled into the crook of Lena’s neck. 

Lena could only chuckle and pulled Kara tighter against her. “A lot of practice. And a lot of leftovers.”

“Does this mean you’ll forgive me?” Kara sighed.

“Well first, could have just called,” Lena huffed, pulling back to see the expected pout and look of apology. “And second, you’ll need a shower, because this won’t do.”

“Fair.”

“And you’ll need to stick around and help fix everything you damaged-”

“But I was being really careful!” Kara huffed. “It’s not my fault they started with the guns and slime!”

“Then, after all of that,” Lena said with an arched brow that left no room for debate, “Yes, I suppose I can forgive you.”

And the pout became a grin, and Lena couldn’t resist leaning in to capture her wife into a ‘premature’ reunion kiss.

- - - -

ask game

[qiutls]

TNGDH 001

I became a hamster. No wonder I thought I was hearing squeaks last night, it turned out to be like this. Shiny golden fur that doesn’t lose its light even in the dark. Four lovely pink-tinted feet. Long whiskers that twitch whenever I move my cheeks. The black curtains flutter and the light leaks in from the steel cage hitting my eyes. Wait a minute… a steel… cage? A cage?! ― Eek. (Why?) I didn’t just become a hamster. I became a hamster that’s been trapped somewhere. * Thud. Thud. Thud. The cage I was in suddenly shook heavily and my small body rolled around in different directions as the cage kept moving. Who is it?! Who the hell drives like this?! Can’t you drive safely! Thump. My body sways to the corner again and I feel my butt stinging from falling too many times. Then I heard a horse sniffing, it felt thrilling to think that I was going to ride a horse. However, it only felt thrilling for a bit before I thought, It seems like I’m gonna be meeting King Yeomra. King Yeomra is the King of the underworld, hamster thinks he'll die because of the cage being shaken. Where the hell are we going? Why did I become a hamster? And why the hell are we not riding a bus or a train, but riding a horse? This is unfair, I feel so wronged. It’s so absurd that I have to explain, it’s so obvious that I’m a human not a hamster! That’s right I’m human! Bae Soohyun. I’m turning 27 this year. Even though my life was like a thorny path, I am a small mugwort that didn’t give up and kept living. It was a life where it seemed like I kept working day, night, dawn, early in the morning, from Monday to Tuesday to Wednesday to Thursday to Friday to Friday to Friday… But I had no doubt that my hard work would pay off. After years of hard work, it seems the day has finally come. The day when the game I developed became a big hit. I think it’s dead. Dead… That’s right… I died. After the earlier confusion of becoming a hamster has passed, my memories slowly started to come back. The game became popular and it felt like the son I was raising finally became successful. I was finally able to receive the first batch of settlement money thanks to the game. I rushed back home feeling so happy that I could fly. Rattle. The cage suddenly shook as the horse started moving. And I started shaking back and forth, my head felt like it was going to pop and my eyes slowly lost shine as I felt dizzier and dizzier. Are you kidding me?! I kicked the cage a few times hoping for the shaking to stop and then heard a voice not so distant. “I’m sorry.” An unfamiliar, deep yet friendly voice. “Just endure it for a little bit more.” But why did it feel like I’ve heard this line somewhere before. I’m sorry, just endure it for a little bit more. I’ll take you to your new home soon. It suddenly came to mind. While walking at the crossing on my way home, I bumped into a child who seemed anxious while carrying a hamster cage, then a car hit my body. I instinctively felt my death then, all my senses were occupied by the fact that I was hit by a car, and my consciousness started fading away. Twinkle. In front of my eyes something glistened brightly. Wait a minute, what’s that blue thing… [ Hello World! ] I was stunned by the blue system filling up my field of vision. A familiar phrase, the most basic sentence someone with programming knowledge would know. This is the very first phrase you learn to code when you start programming. Then, several windows came up one after another.

[ Connection confirmed. Checking data. ] [ Determining quest. ] [ Calculating miracle value. ] [ Synchronization not complete. Please wait. ] [ Synchronization 0% complete. ] What does this mean? Data? Quest? Synchronization? Since the moment I woke up, this ridiculous situation started and kept going, I didn’t even get the chance to be surprised. While in a daze, the horse which had been rattling the cage non-stop suddenly fell silent and the owner of the voice earlier seemed to get off the horse. The tumultuous movement stopped, but I still felt nauseous. The cold wind blew into the cage, and I shivered. Suddenly, I heard another distant voice. “Your Highness, are you sure you don’t want to throw it out?” Your… Highness? First I rode a horse, now someone’s talking to a royal. These are words that you wouldn’t even hear in 21st century Korea. The term “Your Highness” is only something I heard as a child watching sageuk dramas. Then the deep voice I heard earlier replied. Sageuk is a k-drama genre in which characters wear historical costumes. “It’s a pup that was left alone by the horde, don’t you feel it’s a bit pitiful?” pup - baby hamster / horde - group of baby hamsters “What pity, Your Highness? It’s a child of a demonic beast, when it grows up,it will learn to seduce its prey.” I looked down at my small and round body, what do you mean seduce? Is this body even capable of seducing? In the first place, I’m not even a demonic beast, just a normal hamster, no I mean human! Heh, you’re quite convincing using that serious voice of yours, but you’re obviously joking! The man with the deep voice suddenly cut through my thoughts. “It’s still a child.” “A child of a demonic beast, Your Highness.” “That’s right, a child.” “Your Highness, the most important thing is that it’s a demonic beast!” That… Can you please stop referring to me as a child. It’s weird… While I was grumbling away my frustrations, I heard the man speak, this time anger laced his voice. “Are you questioning my decision?” He spoke words that could normally be taken lightly yet the way he enunciated it word by word felt like a threat, and that there was only one correct answer. “No, Your Highness, I was just momentarily confused since such a thing has never happened before. How dare I question the Grand Prince’s decision.” “Right. So, I’ll take care of it, surely you don’t think I am weaker than a demonic beast that’s barely the size of my fist?” You’re telling me he’s not just a royal, he’s the Grand Prince? “I already sent a man to the estate to prepare it's house, it would be fun to add little ornaments with it.” “Your Highness, you can also raise a real hamster, should I tell the man to prepare another one?” “No. Don’t test my patience.” “…Yes” This person is quite stubborn huh.

Soon the cage started shaking again, this time as the man walked, I could hear his armor rattling and his heavy footsteps rang. Then I felt the air around me get warmer little by little as he marched up the stairs.

It must be winter. Yet I died during summer, now I realize the abnormality of the situation. The man took me to a room and then removed the cloth covering the cage.

“Here we are.” I crouched in a corner and pretended to be asleep desperately. Somehow it felt like the smart thing to do, I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to tell him about my situation. Even if I told him, who’s to say he will not decapitate me for spewing nonsense.

How did my life become like this! Give me back my money! My skills! My future that was unfolding brilliantly! “Tsk. Tsk.” The man clicked his tongue, then he sighed deeply. Hey! I’m the one who’s supposed to be sad at this situation, why are you the one clicking your tongue! Ah, I really hate when people do that… Oh right, I was pretending to be asleep… Sleep… “Does it really not have a human heart?” He murmured.

What human heart? What is he talking about? “Looking at these naive eyes, before it turned into a demonic beast, did it really not have the heart of a human?” N-naive? Which eyes looked naive? Surely it’s not mine? “That’s right, for them there’s no such thing as compassion... Did I stay away from the North for too long? It’s no different from a glacier, it’s freezing. Tsk.” Suddenly, the man opened the cage, stretched out his hand and caught me in his palm.

― Eek! I was so surprised I forgot I was pretending to sleep, as I opened my eyes, I made eye contact with him.

[ 50% synchronized. ]

[ Kyle Jane Minehardt. Great Duke of Blake. ]

The blue system window showed up below his face. Hold on, this name, I’ve heard of it somewhere. Without knowing what was in my head the whole time, he raised me closer to his face. I felt his warm hand full of scars and calluses against my soft fur. Then he rubbed my cheek.

E-excuse me?! “You did well enduring the ride home, cashew nut, you must’ve been bored the whole way.” Bored? The ride was full of shock and horror for me, okay?! Wait, aside from that, can’t you put me down first? What the hell is this situation, why did you suddenly remove me from the cage… Wait! No! Don’t peck me! ― Squeak! Eek!  [ Let me go! ]

“Yes, yes, I know how you feel.” What do you know… You don’t understand a thing! Ack! Why’s he kissing me like he’s dying of love! A kiss… ― Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!  [ You bastard! What kind of dog kisses nonstop like you?! ]

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” ― Squeak! [ Get lost! ] “Did you like being kissed?” I can’t take this anymore!

Wait a minute… This face… I took a moment to observe all his features, his pale yet tough complexion, distinct eyebrows, his hair that’s dark as a raven, his eyes which glowed crimson. A cold and resolute beauty.

― Eek! [ Grand Duke Blake ] I remember. The Duke of the North, Kyle. A supporting actor from the novel, The Heart of Winter, I always read while traveling to and from my company. Not only was he a supporting actor, he’s a supporting actor that dies in the middle of the novel. A man who’s life was miserable from start to finish, yet died with no regrets. The reason why I remember him, and not the protagonists of the story, was that he’s the unluckiest character in the novel. He was unlucky to the extent that I lamented his cold fate many times.

So, I died, and transmigrated into a novel? “Cashew nut?” Cashew nut, my name, I mean the name of the hamster’s body I’m occupying. Kyle stared at me, he seemed to be worried as if something went wrong. His gaze was warm and full of kindness.

Stop looking at me! This bastard, you’re gonna pierce through me with that stare! I’m just worn out… I flicked my head away from his stare, and turned back to glare at him. I tried my hardest to look as mean as possible.

“That look…” It’s scary right?! You’re so afraid you could die, right? I look like a dangerous demon, don’t I?! So put me down!!! You kiss crazed bastard! [ Cold and strict personality. Clean and thorough. Frigid and Merciless. ] “You look so cute, staring at me like that.” Aren’t you the cold blooded Duke of the North?! Let go of me! What do you mean cold and strict?! What merciless? ― Squeak! [ Let go! ]

Yet the Duke didn’t let me down for a long time and I had to put up with the crazy kisses the he bestowed.

Help me, please! Save this hamster!

novel ⠀✿⠀ next

[gepgep2]

"So: what is the Israeli long-term strategy, really?

Insofar as there’s an answer, it seems to be that they simply don’t have one; the Israeli government no more has a long-term strategy for dealing with their future in the region than Exxon Mobil has a long-term strategy for dealing with climate change. They seem to just figure that, if US power does collapse or give up on them, something will turn up. No doubt too they have people in thinktanks brainstorming that, too, coming with reports and scenarios, but all this is basically an afterthought. The driving force behind the colonization of ’67 Palestine is not any sort of grand strategy; it’s a kind of terrible confluence of short-term political and economic advantage.

First, the settlements. They were originally the project of a relatively isolated, if well funded, collection of religious zealots. Now everything seems to be organized around them. The government pours in endless resources. Why? The answer seems to be that since at least the ‘90s, rightwing politicians in Israel have figured out that the settlements are a kind of political magic. The more money gets funneled into them, the more the Jewish electorate turns to the Right. The reason is simple. Israel is expensive. Housing inside the 1948 boundaries is exorbitantly expensive. If you are a young person without means, you increasingly has two options: to live with one’s parents until well into your 30s, or find a place in an illegal settlement, where apartments cost perhaps a third of what they would in Haifa or Tel Aviv—and that’s not to mention the superior roads, schools, utilities, and social services. At this point the vast majority of settlers live on the West Bank for economic, not ideological, reasons. (This is especially true around Jerusalem.) But consider who these people are. In the past, young people in difficult circumstances, students, well-educated young parents, have been the traditional constituency of the Left. Put these same people in a settlement, and they will, inexorably, even without realizing it, begin to think like fascists. Settlements are, in their own way, giant engines for the production of right-wing consciousness. It is very difficult for someone placed in hostile territory, given training in automatic weapons and warned to be constantly on one’s guard against a local population seething over the fact that your next-door neighbors have been killing their sheep and destroying their olive trees, not to gradually see ethno-nationalism as common sense. As a result, with every election, the old Left electorate further dissipates, and a host of religious, fascist, or semi-fascist parties win a larger and larger stake of the vote. For politicians, who can barely think past the next election, the lure is inescapable.

...I only came to fully understand the agony of the Palestinian situation when I came to understand that the entire point of life, in traditional Palestinian society, is put oneself in a position where you can be generous to strangers. Hospitality is everything.

...Wherever we went, Palestinians would tell us about all the different sorts of people they had historically welcomed to the Holy Land: Armenians, Greeks, Persians, Russians, Africans, Jews… They saw the Zionists as originally their house- guests. Yet they were the worst house-guests one could possibly imagine. Every act of hospitality, of welcome, is turned into license for appropriation, and the world’s most skillful propagandists leapt into action to try to convince the world that their hosts were depraved inhuman monsters who had no right to their own homes. In such a situation, what can you possibly do? Stop being generous? But then one is absolutely, existentially defeated. This is what people really meant when they talked about a life of calculated degradation. People were being systematically deprived of the physical, the economical, and the political means to be magnanimous. And to be deprived of the means to make that kind of magnificent gesture is a kind of living death."

https://davidgraeber.org/articles/hostile-intelligence-reflections-from-a-visit-to-the-west-bank/

[ievaxol]

no one can unring this bell

on good days, the creaking hardly bothers him.

'tis simply part of the daily routine to draw from the well of his aether and breathe life into his limbs again upon waking, to close his eyes through the initial panic of being pinned to the bed by dead weight and then the secondary, slower burning one of that dead weight being attached to him.

it took a couple of years, but he got the hang of it eventually. for all the theatrics of his youth, g'raha has discovered a pragmatic streak that runs deep within him.

he'll trade an arm for a settlement, half a leg for a child with eyes the color of lakeland -- he'll barter, give and take and move the pieces he has with lips pressed together and eyes cast to a future that may well lay hundreds of years ahead.

his own body is merely another resource at his disposal. he sits down with stacks upon stacks of books on anatomy to find a way to have the aether penetrate all the way out to this fingertips, not for himself but because the dexterity is needed in order to fight.

lyna smothers him in salves and ointments and he lets her, if only so she can feel needed. there is no need to tell of an itch that goes deeper than skin, not when she frowns in determination and sets his heart to bursting with affection.

on bad days, it does bother him.

those days he lets the sleeves drop a little lower and he stays in the tower if he can, both relieved and sickened at the familiar hum of aether that cocoons him.

relief at knowing he'll be able to move the way he wants. that he'll be able to fool himself into thinking there is nothing wrong with him so long as he doesn't look upon himself and see the tattered remains of his dress branded into the mockery of flesh provided by the tower.

nausea at the calculations that perpetually run in the back of his mind, reminding him of the fact that his body is no longer his. how many ilms of skin does it cost to save a life? what limbs would he trade for the crystalline mean? does he have the right to grieve himself?

it would probably do him well to remember that the tower isn't sentient as such, yet he can never shake the feeling that it hungers for more. some days it feels as though he has placed himself in the maw of a starving beast that is simply waiting for him to grow a little more before its jaws snap shut.

and time is notoriously not on his side.

on the worst days, the creaking is all he hears.

when he's called out on extended business, or another summoning attempt falls flat, or someone dies, or, well --

it's so loud those days. the scrape of rock against rock, slow and relentless. it is inescapable, too, as his chest heaves with every breath he takes and the crystal moves with it, groaning and cracking like a live thing.

the warmth is siphoned first out of his skin and then out of the very air, leaving his teeth chattering and lyna's face engraved with a silent worry that he's scared will grow permanent, and he wants to weep at how the one supposed to protect her ends up hurting her the most.

every swallow is a struggle, every step a fight. the seams of his transformation cracks and bleeds pain until he's half delirious with it, overcome by the need to claw his way out, out, out of his own body and the prison it makes.

it's basic survival instinct after all, to run away from what's killing you. and here he is. walking toward it, sprinting some days, as if he truly can't wait.

he has a thousand things to do and a hundred places to be, and yet all he is capable of is humming under his breath to try and drown out the never ending sound of his own corpse being puppeteered.

a small prize to pay on the grand scale of things but gods.

gods does he long for silence.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Imprisoning War Drama is consuming me and I cannot contain it any longer, so... here you go.

Hemisi still couldn’t believe this was happening. Link was here. Zelda had sent him here.

Her beautiful, stupid, wonderful friend was right in front her. Her former betrothed was right in front of her. Her best friend was right in front of her.

The pretense, of course, was that he was there to help reestablish healthy relations with the Gerudo. It had been three years since the war, a time that Zelda apparently deemed long enough to acknowledge their existence again. Hyrule hadn’t helped the Gerudo at all in the past three years as Hemisi had struggled to protect and guide her people, as she’d tried to pick up the pieces from a once thriving civilization.

Hemisi had originally been angry about it. Angry about everything. On the one hand, it made sense – the Gerudo had been Hyrule’s enemy. The destruction of her own kingdom was due to Ganondorf, not Zelda. On the other hand, it felt like one last slap, taking her lover, her dignity, and any hope she had of receiving help for her people despite betraying her own father to help Hyrule.

But that was then. It had been three years. Hemisi couldn’t exactly say she liked Zelda or Hyrule, but she also couldn’t say she wanted to see that kingdom burn anymore. She probably wouldn’t mind beating the queen senseless, though. But that wasn’t exactly noble, and she was trying not to be like Ganondorf. Anger was an exhausting emotion, and she was working on not relying on it or feeding it all the time.

Anger was certainly not what she was feeling now. What she was feeling was utter disbelief and exhilaration.

Link was here.

Truly, such a reunion should merit some sort of show of emotion. Instead, what came out was, “You look like shit.”

Link’s somber expression immediately shattered, bursting into life with as he let out a laugh.

And just like that, it was as if the last three years hadn’t happened. It was as if their last conversation hadn’t been her trying to convince him to come home with her, to part ways with his wife and unborn heir. Link was immediately at ease, and Hemisi felt overwhelmingly happy.

Maybe they were just pretending. Maybe enough time had passed that somehow it just worked. It seemed impossible, strange, ridiculous that they were suddenly laughing in the small space that counted as Hemisi’s court room in their new settlement, but… somehow it worked.

Link’s laughter subsided, fading into a gentle, sincere smile. “You look beautiful.”

Well, that was quite the straightforward statement to say in front of all her guards. Link seemed to realize that too, despite Hemisi’s even blunter statement earlier, and he tried to backtrack, but Hemisi waved him off.

“You doing okay?” She asked, pushing beyond it as she smiled in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“Y-yeah,” Link shakily answered, though it was hard to tell if it was due to his earlier slip up or something else. “I’m… yes.”

The euphoria of their reunion was fading fast as something nagged Hemisi’s mind, and she said, “Well, I’m glad to hear it. There were rumors circulating that you were really ill, and I… I was worried.”

Link’s mood shifted, and he seemed to grow closed off nearly immediately. She’d seen the expression before, a mixture of a mask in front of nobles and superiors and the cold, calculating gaze he’d get when he had to guard himself. She felt a strange sense of pride and reassurance that she could still read him so well, but it was far outclassed by the worry that gnawed at her further.

Hemisi waved a dismissal to her guards, who all departed, leaving the pair alone. She rose from her seat (she hardly could call it a throne – none of their new accommodations compared to the splendor of their former capital, destroyed as it was) and walked up to him, closing the space between them. “I’m… look. We didn’t exactly end things on terrible terms last time, but we also didn’t exactly end them on great terms, either. I just wanted to say… for my part, I’m sorry.”

Link’s face softened, surprise peeking through the cracks. “For what?”

For what?! “Oh, I don’t know, for trying to seduce you?”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Pretty sure I do, moron.”

Link sighed. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

Well. Now the initial greeting was out of the way, the wave of excitement was disappearing, and they’d quickly addressed their last interaction.

…Now what? Goddesses, she missed when they could just be casual with each other, when they could just be friends. It had almost felt real for a moment, when they’d been laughing together.

Who knows? Maybe we can make something of this.

“The news was that you were to discuss relations with the Gerudo?” Hemisi prompted as Link seemed at a loss for words.

“Yes,” he hastily confirmed, trying to get his footing, lost in her gaze. “I—the queen wants to reestablish trade. With the border, at least.”

Hemisi read into the words easily. “So having a neutral zone, you mean? Where we can interact? But we’re not really allowed in the kingdom still, I presume?”

“Not—what? Hemisi, you came to the baby shower.”

“Upon being invited by the queen,” Hemisi noted, crossing her arms. “You think we’d have been allowed passage without the paperwork?”

Link’s brow furrowed, eyes upset, and he sighed, taking a step away.

Hemisi glanced around him as a new thought occurred to her in the silence created. “Where’s your entourage, anyway? Shouldn’t the mighty King of Hyrule have some royal party following him?”

“I don’t need one.”

“What about your shadow?”

“I asked Lady Impa to stay in the castle.”

Hemisi chuckled. “Oh, I bet she loved that.”

Link’s eyes grew sad, and he tipped his head to the side. There was clearly something he wanted to say, but he’d always been a quiet man. He kept his words to himself, sighing again.

Hemisi felt like she was fumbling some kind of negotiation before it had even begun. For the sake of her people and her sanity, she tried again. “Look, why don’t—why don’t we have a drink? I bet you haven’t had something as good as a Noble Pursuit since the war.”

The tip of Link’s mouth curled up slightly. “We never had a Noble Pursuit during the war. It was mead, remember?”

Oh, that’s right. It had tasted awful. “Well, then that means you’re in for a treat. Can’t a king enjoy a little beverage? It’s our hospitality.”

Link’s smile disappeared, replaced by something new, a soft, strange bemusement, thinly veiled behind a cool gaze.

“What?” Hemisi asked. “What is it?”

Links shifted, trying to find the right words. “Why are… you’re so… last time we talked…”

“Was over two years ago,” Hemisi reminded him. “What, you really thought I was petty enough to hold a grudge that long?”

“Was it just a grudge?” Link asked quietly, voice heavy.

Was our love just worth a grudge? Is that all it means to you? Hemisi wasn’t entirely sure that was what he was asking, but it certainly felt like it. Was he expecting her to be angry as she had been, bitter and vindictive and wanting to snap? Part of the reason she’d been so hostile then was because she’d immediately been insulted by the Hyrulians – she’d been trying to stay neutral during the visit. Her original mission had been to convince Link to return to her. She hadn’t been there to pick fights over anything else. She hadn’t been there to fight.

But there was something in the heaviness of his tone, in the exhaustion in his face that had merited her initial words, in the tension of his muscles. As much as Link played his part of the Hero, as much as he bowed and kissed the ground Queen Zelda walked on, he very clearly held far more feelings about the matter than he expressed.

It wasn’t as if Hemisi hadn’t known Link loved her, hadn’t recognized their parting would hurt him too. But he’d been the one to leave her. She hadn’t exactly expected him to be hurting as much as she had, left completely abandoned just after killing her father, left to pick up the pieces of a shattered kingdom and people by herself when he had promised to be by her side, left to mourn the loss of her entire family alone.

A familiar hurt and anger churned in her stomach and chest, but she bit her lip and tried to redirect it. “You know it wasn’t. But what are you expecting? You look as tired of it as I am. You’re the one who chose Hyrule, chose Zelda over me. Repeatedly. I did try to convince you otherwise both times. Now you’re surprised that I actually respected your choice?”

Link swallowed, taking a small step away, the dark presence that clouded him seeming to dissipate a little. “No, I—I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” Hemisi dully snapped, not quite able to reel in her frustration. “Doesn’t change things. Can we just… try to move forward? And have fun now? Drinks?”

Link nodded sheepishly, letting her guide him to her room. If they’d been in her old home, there’d be an antechamber where she could entertain guests. But as it was, in this new settlement they’d established at the oasis they’d found, she hardly had a regular sized house. The throne room was the only place to have an audience with people formally, and drinks hardly seemed a formal affair to be had there. As she passed the hallway leading there, letting Link get ahead of her, she paused, looking one of her trusted guards in the eye. “Don’t… if we drink a little too much… do me a favor. Don’t let it get crazy.”

The guard raised her eyebrow.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Hemisi whispered irritably. “No matter our feelings for each other, and no matter the choices we make about our relationship, we’re acting on that sober.”

It wasn’t like Hemisi was expecting anything to happen, of course. But alcohol was getting involved. And as much tension as there still seemed to be between them… well. She just… she was better than that. The baby shower had been her last attempt, one last act of hope, a thought that if the queen had an heir Link’s duty was fulfilled. She was not going to be so pathetic as to keep pursuing someone who had chosen another woman, no matter her feelings on the matter.

The guard nodded. “I can respect that. Nothing will happen.”

Feeling far more secure about the matter, she walked into her room. Link was standing in the center a little awkwardly, but his gaze had fixed on one of the walls, eyes a little wide, mouth a little parted, expression unguarded. It was a mixture of surprise, amusement, and regret, eyebrows moving subtly between the three along with his lips.

Hemisi huffed, walking up beside him as she looked at the wall in question. On it was an old painting of Ganondorf (it had originally depicted the entire royal family, but she’d cut him out and kept the rest elsewhere), pinned to the wall with multiple daggers that had been thrown at it. She was still most proud of the one she’d thrown that had ended up between his eyes. It held the piece quite well.

“You like it?” She asked, crossing her arms. “It’s my therapy.”

Link snorted and nodded. “I’m surprised you don’t have one of Zelda.”

Hemisi’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She hadn’t expected that to come out of his mouth. Link seemed equally surprised that he’d admitted it, and he shifted anxiously, asking about the Noble Pursuit. Chuckling, she walked over to where the bottle was sitting in the shade, commenting, “I probably would’ve had one for her a couple years ago. But you didn’t want that, remember?”

She wasn’t quite resentful enough of the queen to throw daggers at her. Zelda herself had seen and dealt with some shit, based on the little Hemisi knew. That didn’t mean she liked her, though. At all. She wouldn’t mind throttling her, honestly. But still. The queen wasn’t nearly on the same level of Hemisi’s hatred as Ganondorf.

This wasn’t something she really wanted to talk about much, anyway. If she vented to Link about how she wanted to punch his wife, he’d certainly jump to her defense, whether he himself liked her or not. And if his defense did prove that he liked her, it would only increase Hemisi’s ire, which was frustrating to just think about. She didn’t want to be petty or jealous. She was better than that.

Even if it did hurt. Even if the past three years alone could have been spent with someone who loved her and supported her, even if maybe her struggle to rebuild the Gerudo might not have been so terrible (or even lethal to some who had died in the interim) for everyone involved.

Hemisi was more than just a spurned lover. She was a chief of the Gerudo, she was a warrior. She would not perseverate on the queen.

She just wanted her friend back. She was hoping a little alcohol would loosen them both up to have an actual conversation.

Three drinks later, they were having more than just an actual conversation. They were having fun.

Link laughed as he put his glass down and leapt to his feet. “Okay, but I want to contribute to your therapy, to your masterpiece over there.”

Hemisi giggled. “With what? You’re not using my knives.”

“I have kunai,” he said easily with a wave of his hand.

“You still carry those, oh mighty ruler?”

“I told you, I don’t need an escort for a reason.”

Hemisi barked out a laugh as she stood on her bed, motioning towards the painting of Ganondorf. “Go for it, then. Good luck hitting anything when you can’t see straight!”

Link wiggled his eyebrows challengingly. “I’ll get him in the jewels.”

“I already got a knife in his headdress and I’m not moving it.”

Link’s smile grew. “You’ll see.”

Hemisi hummed, looking skeptical. What was he going to do, try to knock her knife off the jewelry that adorned Ganondorf’s forehead? Link faced the portrait, hand steady despite how glazed his eyes were from the drinks. He focused for a moment, and oh how her heart fluttered at the sight of it, oh how she remembered all the battles they’d fought together in the war, and oh how—

How the kunai flew, how it whistled through the air it cut as it passed, how it hit sunk into the canvas perfectly, how it landed right between the dead king’s legs.

Hemisi gawked for a moment, Link looked delighted and victorious, and they both scream yelled at the shot, raising their arms in unison.

The air was filled with excitement and glee, at the two young adults laughing and screaming with glee, at how Hemisi leapt up and down on her mattress cheering before she leapt into Link’s open arms and he spun her around. They were giggling in absolute delight, laughing at the release of the moment, at how it finally seemed to entirely break whatever barrier they were keeping between each other. Link got dizzy from spinning and fell backwards, and both rulers landed on the bed with a grunt, breathless from their amusement.

Hemisi jumped up as soon as she had breath to do so, stumbling a little. Link caught her before she fell on a table, and she laughed again, leaning against it instead.

“You’re a lightweight,” Link commented with a chuckle.

“Am not!” She snapped playfully, shoving him away from her with a laugh. Then she glanced at the art. “Feels good to do that, though, doesn’t it?”

Link looked as well, smiling. “Yeah. Too bad I couldn’t make that shot in the last fight.”

Hemisi wheezed. “Goddess, that would’ve been fucking amazing.”

The pair giggled, and then Link seemed to grow contemplative a moment, asking, “You really… I’m sorry. That he… that everything. You know?”

“Why do you apologize so much, Link?” Hemisi asked, far less irritated about it now that her mind was addled.

“I don’t know,” he answered. Clearly alcohol loosed his lips far more than she remembered.

Ah, wait, but there was that time she dared him to call Impa his mother. Maybe she’d underestimated how much alcohol messed with him.

“Pfff, and you call me the lightweight,” she snarked.

Link rolled his eyes, only mildly exasperated. “Fine. It’s all his fault anyway.”

“Damn right it is.”

“But I… I mean… us…”

The air grew thick, and the two grew quiet. Then, softly, Link tried to ask, “Do… do you still…?”

“Do I still what?” Hemisi pressed impatiently, reaching for her drink. “Speak up, goofball. Remember when I used to tell you that when we were first dating? My gosh you were such a quiet, timid little thing.”

“I wasn’t timid,” Link huffed. “Just not used to being allowed to speak.”

“Well that’s stupid.”

“Unlike you, I was just a guard, not royalty.”

“Different now, isn’t it?”

Link sombered again. “Yeah. It is.”

Then he looked her dead in the eye. “I still love you.”

Hemisi nearly choked on her spit, breath ripped out of her. What the—

What was she even supposed to say to that?!

Well. If she was sober she’d probably contemplate that more. Instead, she just said, “I still love you too.”

Link blinked. “…O-oh.”

Hemisi laughed so hard her ribs hurt. “Oh? That’s all you have to say? You’re hopeless! Did you really think I hadn’t? What, just because you said ‘no’ and I respected that you thought that was it?”

Link blubbered, flustered, cheeks far more flushed than they were a moment ago.

“I get it,” Hemisi interrupted his pathetic attempt to formulate words. “You love Hyrule more.”

Link’s stuttering ceased, and he watched her with a clear gaze. Then he sighed, looking away, eyes distant. “I… yeah.”

Hemisi’s heart ached, but it also swelled. His selflessness was one of the reasons she loved him so much. She just… had never imagined it would come between them. “Hyrule has a good Hero.”

Link’s lip wobbled a little, eyes growing glassy, alarming the Gerudo chief a little. He looked at her a moment, eyes pleading, desperately fighting for control, but the alcohol was preventing it from happening, and the tears trickled down his face.

“Oh, love,” Hemisi said, hearing her own voice tremble, and she walked over to him, pulling him into a hug. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried quietly, words thick and choking in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Hemisi felt his tears on her shoulder, felt him tremble in her arms. She was uncomfortable and warm, on the verge of tears herself, addled and ecstatic, and instead of really digging into the issue as she might have when she was sober, she kissed his head and said, “It’s okay. You love Hyrule. But… do you love Zelda more than me?”

Link’s quiet cries were sharply interrupted by a hiccup and a snort, and he yanked away from her, expression bewildered.

“Well?” Hemisi pressed, sniffling and poking his chest. In the back of her mind, a voice that was probably what was left of her rational side whispered, this is so pathetically stupid WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST HUG THE POOR GUY YOU IDIOT.

Meh. She wanted to know. They could hug after.

Link laughed. “You—you really—you have to ask??”

Hemisi grew mildly annoyed. “Yes!”

“W-wait, I—” Link moved out of her reach, heading for the table. “I need more alcohol for this.”

“Coward!” She called after him, his laughter contagious.

After taking another swig, Link walked back to her and pulled her to him, their lips meeting, and goddess she immediately drank him in, their bodies pressed so close, and Link poured all his energy into the kiss, hands roaming, and great Din above, Hemisi started to tug, started to feel her heart quicken, her body scream for just one thing, and—

A pole wedged itself between the couple as one of her guards jutted the handle of her spear to separate them. “That’s enough of that, Majesties.”

Link’s cheeks matched Hemisi’s hair, and the Gerudo chief rolled her eyes. “Leave us be!”

“Your orders, my chief.”

Ugh. It was a stupid order.

The guard gently but firmly grabbed Link by the arm, dragging him for the door. Before he left, though, he shot her a smile and a wink, and she knew, she knew in that moment who he loved more.

She smiled, collapsing on the bed, and before the door had even closed she was drifting off to sleep.

XXX

Hemisi groaned. Her head was killing her, and everything was too freaking bright.

She really didn’t remember much of last night, but she knew she’d had far too many drinks. Even if she didn’t recall that much, her body was certainly screaming it.

What had even happened last night? She remembered how it had started. As she tried to comb through fuzzy images, the linear progression steadily unraveled. She blinked her eyes open hesitantly to find herself alone in bed, still wearing her attire from yesterday, and she sighed a little in relief from that. At least nothing neither had planned had occurred.

So where was Link?

Slowly sitting up, Hemisi hissed as some sunlight peeked between the curtains of her room, hitting her eyes like a slap to the face. She shielded her face, grumbling and cussing as she nearly crawled out of the room.

“Good morning,” her guard greeted her.

Hemisi glowered halfheartedly at her, ignoring the fact that she likely looked like a disaster. “Where’s the king?”

“In the guest quarters.”

“We have those in this place?”

“We converted one of the guard’s rooms into one.”

Did they? Was that something Hemisi had planned for Link’s arrival? She didn’t remember that either. Great.

Leaning against the wall, she half dragged herself to the room in question, finding Link leaning over the bed, head nearly buried in a pot. He spat in it, clearly having just gotten ill, hair spilling over his shoulders. A twinge of sympathy pulled at her, and Hemisi sat on the bed, pulling his hair out of his face.

“Morning,” she echoed her guard’s greeting, waiting for a similar bite in reply.

Link just groaned.

In the past she would have laughed at him. Today, she just felt pity. She had been the one to encourage it, after all. She rubbed his back a little apologetically, waiting to see if he was going to get sick again. Instead, he slowly pulled back, grabbing a handkerchief and wiping his mouth.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been hungover,” Hemisi noted quietly, feeling her head throb rhythmically. She grimaced, closing her eyes. She almost apologized, but she chose the better route, smiling. “You’re a terrible influence on me.”

Link huffed, turning and nearly pouncing on her, tackling her to the bed and holding her hostage in his arms. Hemisi yelped, irritated at the motion as it made her headache worse, but also giggling at the roughhousing. She shoved hard against him, but he refused to let go.

“What are you doing, you butthead?” She grumbled, wiggling in his grip.

“Sleeping,” he slurred tiredly.

“Your breath smells awful.”

“‘S your fault.”

Hemisi huffed, admitting defeat. Her heart hammered with cheer at his behavior, at how they could still be casual around each other without the help of liquid confidence. Perhaps it was just that his mind was still addled from the hangover, from feeling uncomfortable and ill, but she’d take it.

Besides, she felt like garbage. She wanted to sleep. Link clearly was slipping back into a nap. So she just joined him.

When the pair woke again, It was nearly midday. A pitcher of water was resting on the nightstand, though neither knew when it had been placed there. Hemisi honestly didn’t want to really start the day, boneless and warm, safe and comfortable in Link’s arms. She remembered all the times they’d snuggled together to stave off the cold, for protection and a sense of security, weapons at the ready, wanting some kind of assurance that the other was okay, that they themselves weren’t vulnerable.

She missed the war. She missed the war.

Things were far more straightforward back then.

Killing was straightforward.

Link shifted a little, snapping Hemisi out of her musings, and she looked over to see him watching her. He was half asleep still, eyes a little glazed but so, so soft, face relaxed and open.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly.

“Hey,” he whispered back.

The moment lasted too long, each lover lost in the other’s eyes. Hemisi felt herself leaning in, Link reciprocating, and they both pulled away at the same time, sitting up with excited energy.

“Well,” Hemisi quipped breathlessly. “Guess we should do those negotiations, right?”

Link blinked, watching her a moment longer, and then squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. We should.”

“Not that last night wasn’t fun, of course,” Hemisi added with a nervous laugh, genuinely adding, “I don’t remember much of it, but what I do remember was… really nice. Maybe we can still have fun, you know? Without blacking out, at least.” Curious, she added, “Do you remember anything?”

Link huffed a little, mildly amused as he stretched. “Not really.”

Oh well. She was wondering if she could get more information on what had occurred, but whatever. They’d had fun, at least. “Well, we both could use a good start to the day. What about a nice warm bath? With some salts and nice oils… and a massage! Goddess, I sure could use one. I could arrange for it.”

Link peered over at her, letting his hand fall to his lap, and he smiled. “That sounds nice.”

Hemisi felt herself smile in return. They could have a nice day. They could. She scooted in front of him and leaned in cautiously for a hug. Link let her relax against him, carefully wrapping his arms around her once more.

Humming, melting into the embrace, Hemisi noted, “Goddess, I’m glad Zelda sent you alone. This would be way less fun if she came.”

For a moment, nothing happened. She listened to Link’s heart beat against her ear. His arms pulled her closer. And then his entire body stiffened. She felt his chest go rigid, trapping a breath in it, and slowly his arms slipped away. Hemisi pulled away, a little confused, and saw Link staring at nothing, eyes hard, face like a stone.

“Yes. Yes, she did send me alone.” He noted quietly, voice like ice.

Hemisi blinked a few times, feeling like she’d just gotten whiplash. “Y-yeah. She… what’s wrong?”

Link rose abruptly. “We should go downstairs to discuss the trading between Hyrule and the Gerudo.”

The entire atmosphere had changed. The coldest desert nights had never felt this frigid. Hemisi hesitantly rose. “R-right. I…”

She didn’t know what had happened, what was wrong, what she had said. Given how carefree and silly they’d been last night, given how gentle and caring they’d been this morning… how had she said something wrong?

Doubting and overthinking everything she’d stated today, she clarified, “You know I meant… separate. Separate baths. Right?”

Link glanced at her, and though his expression didn’t change, his eyes melted a little, trying to show some concern. “I know.”

That was all he said, and there was still finality to it. Reluctantly, Hemisi walked out of the room, wondering what the heck just happened and how she’d managed to ruin everything.

Link joined her downstairs shortly after, looking somewhat put together. Despite little hints of lightheartedness that she’d throw him, he kept everything strictly formal. The negotiations were quick enough, and before sunset he was ready to depart. Hemisi offered for him to stay the night, to rest and relax, to eat something because by the Goddess Din herself he didn’t look as healthy as he used to, but he refused.

Hemisi watched him go in the dark, her heart heavy, wondering how seeing him again had made things so much worse.

XXX

The king’s arrival in the throne room was unexpected, but the room was cleared quickly as he walked towards the queen.

“Welcome back,” Zelda greeted, a little confused. “I thought you might be gone a little longer. Did it—”

“You did that on purpose, sending me there alone,” Link interrupted her, eyes fierce. “You used me.”

Zelda flinched a little, not used to this vehemence from him, never having seen this. Even at his darkest, cruelest moment, when he’d refused to see Sonia, he’d been cold and quiet. This was the exact opposite. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t speak to me like I am fool, Your Majesty,” Link growled. “I did not enter our marriage out of blind loyalty and obedience. I’m not your political toy to continue abusing! You sent me there to curry favor with Hemisi!”

“I—yes,” Zelda answered honestly. Somehow, that derailed her husband a little, though it seemed the fire was quickly returning. It gave her time to elaborate. “I wanted to reestablish relations with the Gerudo, and you were the best person to choose for that. You two love each other.”

Link’s brow furrowed further. “Yes. We do. And you knowing that means you sent me there to exploit it. You’re using me to get to her.”

“I just…” Zelda stumbled over her words, heart racing, trying to not feel slightly afraid by this turn of events. “I just want you to be happy.”

“And you want to be able to conveniently control the Gerudo through me!” Link corrected her. “This has nothing to do with me being happy. Do you think so little of me that you assumed I’d just go there and throw myself at her, that I don’t take my vows seriously? Do you think I am that much of a simpleton, a mindless animal driven only by feelings and cravings? You think I’m an idiot?”

“No!” Zelda argued, rising from the throne. “I just—it isn’t meant as an insult or a trap, you wouldn’t be the first—”

“You’re comparing me to your father now?” Link scoffed, voice rising as he gestured angrily. “Can you insult me any further? Will you call me Ganondorf next?”

“Link—”

“I agreed to our marriage because it was a desperate plea, a last-ditch effort to prevent further destruction,” Link growled. “I did it to protect Hyrule, to protect Hemisi, to protect you. You weren’t trying to use me as much back then – you were trying to look out for your people. And you were willing to sacrifice both of us, and I understood and accepted that. I didn’t just follow your orders, I knew what I was agreeing to, I meant my vows when I took them! I committed to this arrangement in every way possible, and you dare treat me like some pawn you can—”

Link cut himself, seemingly enraged beyond words, and he took a breath to calm himself a little before hissing, “Don’t try to use me like that. I am not a blind fool. You think I have spent years in this castle and not learned the politics? I’ve allowed you to utilize me multiple times, but I will not be your tool to hurt or control her. You will never control Hemisi.”

The throne room was deathly quiet as the two monarchs stared each other down. Link’s red eyes were like fire, glare furrowing his brow deeply, while Zelda’s green eyes held uncertainty and hurt, confusion and fear, and the king gave a jerky, terse nod of acknowledgement before storming out of the room.

Zelda slowly sat back down on the throne, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and buried her face in her hand as she leaned to the side. There were quiet footsteps, carefully loud enough to be heard when they had every ability to hide themselves.

“I thought you had ensured everyone left so no one could listen to our conversation,” Zelda noted tiredly.

“I did,” Impa replied. “And then I came back.”

Zelda blew out a frustrated breath, rising to her feet. “I don’t understand why he’s so upset! I was doing him a favor! He loves Hemisi, they can be together and it still benefits the kingdom!”

“Zelda,” Impa tried to explain gently, but her tone only irritated the queen further.

“Don’t,” Zelda cut her off. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some ignorant little girl. I’ve been ruling Hyrule for almost five years now, I’m not a child who knows nothing!”

“I didn’t say you were, Your Majesty,” Impa said appeasingly.

“Link shouldn’t be—this is so—I can’t win with him!” She snapped, feeling tears sting in her eyes.

Just like with my father.

Why couldn’t this just be easy?! Why couldn’t one thing in her life be easy?!

“Your Majesty,” Impa tried again. “You can’t… you can’t control others’ lives. It’s not like… just giving orders to accomplish a goal.”

“I’ve healed Hyrule through my orders,” Zelda reminded her advisor.

“Yes, you have. But Link isn’t a kingdom, a distant group of people, a problem to be solved. He’s a person.”

“So are the nobles.”

“You manipulate them because you have to. That doesn’t mean you should manipulate everyone.”

It was called manipulation when there was a negative outcome. It was called helping when there was a positive one. If Link had just listened and understood his duty, it would have been a positive outcome!

Zelda sighed tiredly, hugging herself and turning away. Impa was her confidante and advisor. She should listen to her. But…

She needed to pray. She needed to sort this out.

“I’ll be in the temple if you need me,” she said quietly, leaving the throne room, trying to get the terrifying image of Link’s furious face out of her mind.

[beelze-bruh]

The Skalatites are a sophont species originating from the planet Agarat, where all organisms are descended from nanotechnological cellular life with several inorganic qualities. They primarily communicate with each other through radio waves broadcasted by their antenna, though they've since invented speaker-like devices that can convert these signals into an audible language when communicating with other alien species. Their vast lifespans can reach over 300 years under natural circumstances and their civilization boasts a complex and storied history that has spanned over 520 million years, surviving several extinction events and apocalyptic scenarios. Using genetic engineering of their planet's nanotechnological life, they've created by far the most advanced technology known to the universe, most notably warp travel, gravity manipulation, and the living starships and space stations that have allowed them to colonize and terraform planets across space. Using these tools, they've created the intergalactic collective of sophont societies known as The Ecosystem, whose primary goal is the preservation of all intelligent life in the universe by any means necessary, ideally through peaceful assimilation. Typically this assimilation into the collective takes on three distinct phases, an Observational phase where the species is studied and they begin to collect sample populations of voluntary refugees to preserve the species, an Intervention phase where they intervene with the archaic or inequitable aspects of a civilization's political structures to quell conflict and minimize the possibility of self destruction in exchange for the trade of advanced technology and resources, and a Colonization phase where a space station is grown in the planet's orbit and settlements for trade and multicultural exchange are established on-world. In the event that they're met with resistance, they'll conduct a raid on the planet's surface to overthrow and dissolve native governmental bodies by force. If this isn't enough and conflict rages on, the natives may be categorized as a Predatory Civilization, one which is dysfunctional beyond reform and cannot be trusted to expand into space by their own free will, resulting in the wholesale destruction of their worldly society. This final measure has only been made necessary once, when the fascistic Barront refused assimilation at every turn in favor of the genocidal expansion of their own intergalactic empire. The Skalatites are typically respected highly as the founders of an entity as philanthropic and prosperous as The Ecosystem and are valued for their collective wisdom regarding the continued success of all sophont species. Though upon first contact, many might regard them as cold and calculating, Skalatites in reality are a very spiritual and emotionally intelligent people with a long, rich history of creative expression through art and literature. They have a specific passion for the art of dance and famously produce lengthy, operatic ballet performances, a passion thought to be a holdover from their animal ancestors, who used dance as a form of sexual courtship. Their most predominant form of spirituality takes on the form of “Syncasics”, an agnostic school of thought that is primarily encompassed by the belief that a scientifically provable system can be used to determine any aspect of our reality, and what we think of as the laws of physics may be smaller pieces of a larger system that makes up a divine intelligence.

[girorodesu]

Some readerxScrewllum/Svarog/Sam headcannons I got possessed to write.

During your journey through the universe, you've run into three different mechanical men, all with very different personalities and preferences but regardless you are smitten with the three of them equally and these feelings are reciprocated even moreso by these handsome mechs.

Due to the distance between the three of them and yourself at any given time, it was decided that the best arrangement was to 'share' your attention, since all three have responsibilities in their respective rolls it is only fair to let you spend time with who you please to ensure you get the attention you deserve. While the three of them agreed to this, not all are pleased with the idea of sharing you.

Screwllum:

-Screwllum has one of the busier schedules of the three. So whenever you wish to see him you communicate your intentions to visit him in advanced since there is always the chance he is won't even be on his planet. Screwllum's current location at any given time is as uncertain as Sam's since they both travel a lot for work. Unless he is in the middle of something important Screwllum will wrap things up quickly to meet you where you desire.

- At first Screwllum would pick you up wherever you were if you wanted to see him, since he has his own ship. However he soon realized it was better for you to be able to traverse as you please even though it potentially meant less time with you since you could visit the others. Regardless, with your best interests in mind he commissioned a ship just for you, it is even better than his own with many safety features to ensure you can safely travel amongst the stars.

-due to your relationship with several inorganic lifeforms, Screwllum takes this as a sign that you are interested in them. (Whether you are or not is uour discretion) he turns this assumption into education, taking you to museums on his planet and other inorganic planets to show you about the history of inorganic life, sometimes he will speak his thoughts on the subject freely as it is something he specializes in and cares about deeply. Your interest in the subject he cares about only drives his affection for you deeper.

- Screwllum owns a specially build organic garden, with many flora and insects within it. Especially butterflies of different species. As a lighthearted joke, you started giving the butterflies names, Screwllum finds this endearing and begins calling his butterflies by the names you chose.

-Screwllum also takes you on diplomatic excursions if you happen to be visiting him when something comes up. Screwllum is very fond of 'showing you off' to any other dignitaries, since he views you as his equal and hopes that one day you will feel enticed to help him rule his planet.

-he doesn't bring you around his endeavors with the simulated universe or other Genius Society members often, it is actually a subject he avoids. You do meet with Herta as he views her more as a 'friend' than a colleague. He once let it slip that this is due to fears that polka kakamond would harm you as a way to get to him.

Svarog:

-Svarog is both the easiest and the hardest to visit at first (before getting a ship from Screwllum) He is always nearby the robot settlement when you arrive at Jarilo-VI, getting thete to visit him with the inital hard part since unlike Screwllum or Sam he has no ability to traverse beyond his home planet.

-Svarog is the only one you do not communicate with before hand when visiting. It is simply unnecessary in Svarogs words. He had already calculated the date of your arrival with scary accuracy as everytime you arrive he happens to be preparing your favorite meal and Clara is spending the night at Hook's for a sleepover.

-out of the three svarog is the most relaxing to spend time with, he is content by your mere presence although he is also the most likely to mindlessly stroke your hair or place a hand on your waist. He shows his affection through action and touch, very rarely words.

- the main thing you do with Svarog for fun is encourage him to go to the overworld, such as visiting the theater or museum. Svarog doesn't like going to the overworld as his presence usually causes a disturbance since most see him as a threat up there and he prefers to not stir conflict. You are persistent though, and if anyone dares to say anything to svarog because he is a 'machine' you are the first to defend him since Svarog certainly would not defend himself from such accusations. (The way you defend him is definitely influenced by Screwllum and how you've seen him handle similar situations)

- You get along well with Clara, you two collaborate on ways to surprise Svarog or find gifts for him. Despite not having any need for these objects Svarog treasures them regardless.

Sam:

- you do not make arrangements to visit Sam as he is the one who initiates your meetings, he does not particularly care what you may be doing. If he wants to see you HE WANTS TO SEE YOU. Of course if you say no he respects that (to an extent, he may get pouty), Svarog and Screwllum know that this is simply the way Sam is and do not object if you have to leave suddenly because Sam wants to see you. Sam is like this because he has the most unpredictable schedule and also does not live in any specific area for you to simply 'visit' which is why he is persistent you meet whenever he is available.

- Sam takes you to different planets each time you meet. Whether its because his next script is there or because he was there prior and wanted to experience the planet again with you. It is especially jarring when visiting a planet with Screwllum and the later again with Sam. With Screwllum you see the very best a planet has to offer, high class parties and accommodations, immediate respect since you are with someone who is essentially a king, whereas with Sam you see the 'real' parts of a planet, the bad and the ugly, the parts that the upperclass would prefer to remain hidden. This is not a bad thing, both experiences are always enjoyable due to those you are with. It is simply interesting how the pair have such extremely different ways to 'experience' a planet.

- Sam is the most protective of you, although he knows what you are capable of he does get between you and anything he deems 'dangerous'. He often picks you up 'bridal style' and carries you around anywhere he deems too dangerous or if he is trying to get somewhere quick.

-Sam brings you around the other stellaron hunters often. You get along pretty well within their group, although Silverwolf questions your taste in men (Sam and Screwllum?? Really now??) As does blade but mainly in a 'really??... this guy?' Kinda way which sam gets defensive about but is quickly reassured by you.

Other:

- Screwllum and Svarog get along well enough, they both respect eachother and have adjacent ideals. Sam is the one they are both wary of. Svarog acknowledges Sam's strength and believes he is capable of keeping you safe but does not enjoy hearing of the dangers you two find yourself in. Screwllum also understands Sam's strength but has less faith in his ability to protect you, due to a history with the Stellaron Hunters he doesn't trust that Sam would put your safety above his own or his ties to the SHs, however he keeps these feelings to himself.

-Sam is the most jealous out of the three, followed by Svarog with Screwllum being the least. With Sam you can't speak of the others lest Sam becomes irritated and possessive. Svarog's jeslousy is much less severe, however he does falter when you speak fondly of the others for too long, he is also insecure due to the fact he cannot take you on such interesting adventures as the others. Screwllum is the least jealous, although he can get jealous occasionally it is never really apparent. He lets you freely discuss your activities with the others and even sometimes offers advice on how to handle the other's personalities from an 'inorganic' point of view.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is all I have so far. Its more of a 'harem' idea rather than polygamy (i could support either haha)

I have NEVER written anything remotely readerxcharacter before so please forgive my inexperience!

[limey-self-inserts]

Soulful gaze for any f/o :3

soulful gaze ୧ ‧₊˚ they say the eyes are the window to the soul. u look fixedly into ur fﾉo’s eyes and see an emotion so raw and undoubtedly pure, so real that it fills your chest with something indescribable. what is that emotion ?

picking up Angor Rot for this one

anyone else might expect the Trollhunter assassin to always have his eyes filled with violence - they're not that wrong. he's lived this life for too long and forced to adapt to it, centuries of calculated murder under Morgana's direction leading to a relishing for the hunt. and if it's not that, it's grim frustration, dealing with changelings and humans and the binding of his soul that leashes him to the commands of whoever wields the damned ring. although that time does come to pass, when he can hold the ring himself, but he certainly can't escape one human in particular (not that he'd want to, despite the grumbling and prodding and The Rituals of training).

look into his eyes at the right moment, the right time, and you find it - loneliness. Angor's been alone for so very long, ripped from his place as village protector to serve a wrathful witch's spirit, forced to become an outcast of all trollkind. he misses his home. his village. his people. even once he's freed of Morgana's control, years of his actions and the regret below those actions leave him reluctant to return to a settlement.

he has a new village now in Avalon, and in time emotions and thoughts will settle, but he can't help the loss of what used to be home in the moments of quiet.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Oh fudge… I just had a very wicked thought… Just TotK killing Link, but then picking up the Purah Pad & over time slowly learning more about this new Hyrule & its people. Their hardships. About Link himself & his dedication to his wife. The realization that he was a person who'd been planning a life with his wife who was the princess, but that said princess was bizarrely humble.

Then, eventually coming across a lock in the pad, then finding one of the last remaining Guardians. Poking at it a bit & the pad until he manages to use his magical prowess to force the locks open… Only to learn so much more than he ever wanted to.

He's suddenly seeing through hundreds of mechanical eyes. He watches as the machines go rushing after people. How they flee, not understanding why their protectors have turned on them. How they vaporize some, often leaving cauterized chunks to fall uselessly & grimly to the earth. How they utterly rip people apart in violent & gruesome displays of unfeeling efficiency. Not just warriors. Children, the elderly, the infirm, women in the middle of maternity, infants & toddlers only aware that the monsters are scary before their bright futures are suddenly & horrifically snuffed out. None were spared. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

Almost everyone was exterminated. He watched how yet another king stood against him, but he did not know this king, he was Hylian, but he did not cower, nor did he back down. He fought valiantly despite the expression suggesting that he knew he’d die soon. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched members of his kin die just as viciously, trying to defend their people as the attacking machines were indiscriminate & uncaring. No matter their age... (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched these metal things scittered like spiders, hunting people down like animals. Watched how so many settlements were utterly destroyed. So total & complete was the destruction that the central area of the kingdom that had once held the most civilization was now the home to only a new one, not even a decade old. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

Not even Hyrule’s oldest, most historic  settlement, one that predated the Zonai by millennia, had been reduced to rubble, now slowly crumbling to dust. But, the worst, by far, was watching these things scurry over the side of the Hills of Baumer to deliver a swift & decisive eradication so complete that no one managed to escape. At least with the others, there had been a handful. But not here… There was… nothing…

This… This was no war. This was cold. This was calculated. This was systematic. This was methodical.

This was a massacre. This was genocide! (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched as that same knight, Link, he'd killed before was shot down protecting Zelda.

He watched as a power unlike any he'd seen before rushed from her. Yet it seared him in a way that was so terrifyingly familiar in a way that made his bones ache.

He saw her lock them both away.

Then, he saw a horrific, mutated part flesh, part machine, part malice facsimile of himself. (Thoughts & feelings, please? Especially on see such a twisted mirror of his own ambition.)

He watched the boy defeat the horrid abomination. Then just… proceed on with his life. He watched the boy live & love. He watched him interact with the people. He watched him find joy in his simple life. He watched the boy marry his princess & effectively become king, yet live humbly & happily as they helped to rebuild what was lost even without stonemasons. He watched them be hopeful & make plans. Plans for their future together. Plans to expand. Plans for a family... Their family.

He watched them slowly build Hyrule back up from the ruins. He saw hope. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

And then…

And then, he saw himself, his actual self, from the perspective of the Purah Pad.

He saw that he was the source of all that destruction. He saw that that malicious hatred sprung forth from his own corpse.

That he’d been what killed so many without thought or purpose. Without point. (Thoughts, feelings, & reaction, please?)

He jumped as he heard a familiar voice. Turning, he saw the boy, now a shadow of himself, all tinted in green. Motes of viridian flame dancing around him as he stared at a butterfly that had landed in his outstretched hand.

“Sometimes… We want something so much…”

Without even looking up at him, the knight crushed the butterfly in his hand, cruelly & without mercy, causing the king to flinch. “That we destroy it utterly in our pursuit of it…” (Thoughts & feelings, please? Especially to the subtle-not subtle accusation.)

With that, he turned & walked off. “Keep that in mind, because I don’t think that this conquest of yours will be quite as rewarding as you’d hoped…” Before disappearing entirely.

(Overall thoughts, feelings, & reactions, please? I’m hoping for dread & anxiety & just this slow, creeping horror as grim realization dawns on him what his obsession had done, but whatever I can get.)

I need an entire animation of what I just read.

Like WHOA! This would be great to watch??? The inital arrogance? The realization? THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT? Ughhhh the horrors of ambition and war! Witnessing Ganondorf become self aware of his crimes and actions! Making him watch what his actions wrot! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

YOU TRULY HAVE SOME INGENIOUS THOUGHT PROCESSES MY DEAR! AHHHHHHHH

Please, if anyone has any animating talent, please make this. I need this. It's gunna haunt my daydreams for a hot minute. MMmm...

Good work!

***********************************************************************

This scenario you've painted for Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf is deeply haunting and emotionally complex, plunging him into a profound journey of self-realization and horror as he confronts the consequences of his own ambitions.

Initial Discovery and Curiosity: When Ganondorf first picks up the Purah Pad and begins to explore its contents, he might feel a mix of curiosity and cautious interest. The device, clearly a relic of the new Hyrule, would be both intriguing and foreign to him. As he starts to uncover more about the people of this new world—about their struggles, hopes, and the heroes who rose to defend them—he would initially see it as just another means to understand his enemies better. Learning about Link's dedication to his wife, the princess, would only serve to deepen his disdain at first, viewing it through the lens of his own ambitions and desires. To him, Link might seem naïve, overly sentimental, and weak.

The Lock and the Revelation: However, as he forces the locks open and begins to access the more hidden aspects of the Pad, his feelings would start to shift. The sudden, overwhelming flood of memories and experiences—seeing through the eyes of the Guardians as they slaughtered the innocent, witnessing the cold, mechanical genocide—would be a shock to his system. The sheer brutality, the indiscriminate nature of the slaughter, would horrify him. For a moment, he might not even recognize that these were events set into motion by his own malice. He would watch in stunned silence as these metal monstrosities obliterate everything in their path, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the destruction.

Witnessing the Massacre: As he watches the systematic extermination, the horror would settle deeper within him. Ganondorf is no stranger to war and bloodshed, but this—this was different. This was not a battle between armies; it was a slaughter, an unfeeling, calculated extermination of an entire civilization. He would feel a cold dread creeping up his spine as he realizes the totality of what happened, the sheer scale of death and suffering that unfolded because of the very forces he unleashed. The sight of children, the elderly, and the helpless being torn apart with such ruthless efficiency would make even him recoil. This was not the honorable conquest he sought; it was something far darker, something beyond his control.

The King and the Gerudo: Seeing the king of this Hyrule, standing firm in the face of certain death, would strike a chord within Ganondorf. This king, though Hylian, showed a strength of character that Ganondorf could not dismiss. There would be a grudging respect, mingled with a deep-seated anger—anger at seeing a king who could inspire such loyalty and defiance, anger at seeing that even this king could not prevent the destruction. And when he sees members of his own kin, the Gerudo, falling victim to the same merciless machines, his anger would turn inward. The Gerudo, his people, who he sought to elevate and protect, were now victims of the very power he unleashed. This would be a bitter pill for him to swallow, one that fills him with a mix of shame and fury.

The Mutated Facsimile: The sight of the mutated, part-flesh, part-machine abomination that was born from his own malice would send a shiver down his spine. This twisted mirror of himself—this grotesque manifestation of his ambition—would horrify him. For the first time, he would see the true cost of his desire for power, the way it warped and corrupted everything it touched. The abomination is a reflection of what he could become, what he has become in some ways—a creature driven by hatred, devoid of humanity or purpose beyond destruction. Seeing Link defeat this monster, only to move on and continue living his life, would be a painful contrast. Link, despite everything, found a way to live, to love, to rebuild. Ganondorf would feel a deep, gnawing envy and resentment, but also a growing realization that Link possesses a strength that he himself lacks.

The Final Realization: When he finally sees the truth—that he was the source of all this destruction, that his corpse was the catalyst for the horrors that unfolded—it would be a moment of soul-crushing realization. The knowledge that his hatred and ambition led to such senseless death, that he became the very thing he once sought to conquer, would leave him reeling. He would feel a deep, suffocating sense of guilt and horror, a dawning understanding of the true nature of his legacy. This was not the glorious conquest he imagined—it was a legacy of death, of genocide, of suffering.

The Confrontation with Link's Spirit: When Link's spirit appears before him, tinted in green and surrounded by motes of viridian flame, the finality of the situation would hit Ganondorf like a hammer. The knight’s words would cut deep, the subtle accusation forcing Ganondorf to confront the truth he had long denied. The casual cruelty with which Link crushes the butterfly, mirroring the way Ganondorf crushed Hyrule in his pursuit of power, would send a wave of cold dread through him. Link’s parting words—“Sometimes… We want something so much… That we destroy it utterly in our pursuit of it…”—would echo in Ganondorf’s mind, leaving him with a deep, gnawing anxiety. The realization that his conquest, his obsession, has only brought ruin, not just to Hyrule, but to himself, would fill him with a profound sense of dread.

Overall Reaction: Ganondorf would be left standing in the aftermath of this revelation, feeling the weight of his actions pressing down on him. His once unshakable confidence would be shattered, replaced by a creeping horror as he understands the full extent of what he has done. The dread and anxiety would grow within him, the realization that his obsession has led to nothing but destruction and emptiness gnawing at his very soul. The once mighty king of evil, who sought to rule over all, would now be haunted by the knowledge that he destroyed the very thing he sought to conquer. This realization would not just weigh on his mind—it would crush his spirit, leaving him with a hollow sense of loss and regret that he can never escape.

In the end, Ganondorf would be left to ponder whether his pursuit of power was worth the cost, whether the conquest he so desperately sought was truly worth the destruction it wrought. The creeping horror of realizing that his ambition led to nothing but ruin would be a bitter, unrelenting torment that he could never escape.

[purgeturbia]

i've been working on something for... quite a while. i'm not ready to share the whole thing yet (read: it's not even close to being finished), but this part of it, while mostly unedited, can stand pretty well on its own, so have a little bit of smitten obi-wan. as a treat.

*eta bc i forgot the first time: ~2k, canon-typical mentions of death but nothing graphic, mostly fluff

the rest of the work is not like this.

-

XXXVII. START WARS AND BURN CITIES

When he and Cody and the 212th had liberated planets from the Separatists — although he muses, now, that they had not done much liberating at all, if the end result was the desolate fear-space the galaxy has become — there had often been more time spent cleaning up the aftermath of their battles than there had been actually fighting. The machine of war was not a tidy one, and Obi-Wan hated to leave innocent people in a worse state than he had found them. 

Often, during these pseudo-recovery times, he was excluded from the physical labor. Cody tended to push Obi-Wan off into the command tent to fill out the hundreds of forms that came with successful completion of a campaign, saying, “There are thousands of vod’e, sir, and only one of you,” but Obi-Wan saw it for what it really was — a chance (an order) to rest “for once in your kriffing life, General.”

Obi-Wan, after the first few campaigns, never argued. Crash would be on his ass for trying to help with cleanup anyway, and he did so despise being hauled to the medbay. 

Though his stack of requisition forms and reports to write and casualty lists was always far larger than he cared to admit, Obi-Wan was, despite his field ban, never one to sit idle in command after a battle. He would, instead, crank out as much flimsiwork as he could before his body began to ache with the stillness of it all, and then he would mingle with the troops. The shinies, especially, were emboldened by his presence among them. They were so young, even the veteran troopers, and anything he could do to ease the pain of a life defined by war was an obligation, even if it was just a kind word here or there. 

He was never content with the mental state of his men. Even after a decisive victory, or a battle with minimal casualties, or a skirmish with none at all, there was a sharp edge to their presences in the Force. Their hands shook ever so slightly and their smiles were never quite genuine and their eyes were constantly moving, observing, calculating. 

The war lived inside all of them, himself included. The thing was, though, that Obi-Wan had had those few glorious years, before Qui-Gon and Bandomeer and Melida/Daan and the rest of his life that had come crashing down around him and never stopped, where there was no war in his bones. 

His troops had been born with the war in them, and that was a pain he could not take away.

Even so, he would move through the camp like a fish through water, dropping hands to pauldrons and calling greetings across the expanse of tents. He would bring rations and fill canteens, and linger around medical looking for tasks until Crash told him to stop lurking and go bother somebody who would appreciate it. He’d always wiggled his eyebrows afterward, though, and told Obi-Wan very dramatically where Cody had gotten off to, so it was easy to see that he was never truly upset. Obi-Wan, in return, would blush about sixteen shades of red and very pointedly stalk off in the opposite direction of wherever Cody happened to be.

It was on one such occasion, on a forested planet Obi-Wan can no longer remember the name of, that he had turned away from Crash (and, he’d thought, Cody), only to stumble upon his commander preparing to direct half of Phantom Company through the process of removing a fallen tree that had crushed a house and blocked most of the packed-dirt road stretching through one of the little settlements they’d come planetside to defend. Obi-Wan could have moved the tree himself in a matter of seconds, but. Cody had told him to stay out of the cleanup, and one of his least favorite things in a time with many unpleasantries was upsetting Cody.

So he’d lingered on the outskirts, observing. Phantom acted, of course, as a well-oiled machine, and though fierce pride for his men bubbled up in his chest, Obi-Wan allowed himself a moment of indulgence. He leaned against a still-standing tree just behind the houses across the way from the crushed one, and watched Cody work. He was a study in professionalism, in genius, even when faced with a task so simple as moving debris. Cody burned with a focused intensity that matched the sunburst on his armor as he paced around the tree, and they had spent long enough nights hunched together over sims and holotables that Obi-Wan could easily guess the questions being mentally asked and answered in quick succession: how heavy is the trunk? How many troops do I need to lift it? If we apply more leverage here, will the house be more damaged or less? 

It struck Obi-Wan then that he had not had time for fanciful things like poetry since the war’s beginning — but then again, maybe he didn’t need it. Maybe it had been right in front of him all along.

It was in the midst of this realization that he was pulled out of his thoughts by a presence at his elbow. When he turned, it wasn’t a clone, as he’d been expecting, but one of the locals; a wizened old woman leaning on a painstakingly carved wooden cane. She was not looking at Obi-Wan, but at the troopers as they worked. She was looking at Cody.

She had spoken before Obi-Wan could. “Strange, isn’t it.”

He waited a beat, and then another. She was silent beside him. “That would depend on what it is, I suppose,” he said eventually.

She laughed, though it was more of a huff than anything. The indulgent sort of laugh that comes from a person who knows a joke has been made but who doesn’t really feel like laughing. “All of this. The war, the clones. The Jedi, leading them. You’re not meant for this, are you.”

It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it. “You know,” he murmured, “you’re the first person … outside of all this, to notice that.”

She laughed again. It was no more sincere than the first time. “Am I really on the outside, Master Jedi?” she asked. “Are any of us?”

Obi-Wan knew she was right, so he merely inclined his head. Cody was positioning Phantom around the tree. It looked like his plan was to heave it up and over the houses and the road using applied leverage from the base, and dismantle it for lumber once its position was no longer an immediate problem. It was a good plan, very practical, very Cody, and Obi-Wan couldn’t quite keep a small smile from creeping across his face. 

He startled when the woman spoke again. “Is it worth it, then?”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed and he hummed, confused. To protect the innocent, of course the war was worth it. He wasn’t meant for it, none of the Jedi were, but he would fight it a thousand times over to save those who could not save themselves. Why would she ask him that? Why else would he be here?

He felt eyes on him, then, and turned to see the woman finally looking at him and not at his troops. Something in her face reminded him of Yoda, like she had lived a dozen of his lifetimes and known more than he could ever hope to learn. “Is it worth it,” she repeated, and continued, “for him.”

All of the breath left Obi-Wan’s body in a rush. He suddenly felt exposed, uncovered, though he was sure of his safety in the saber hung at his belt and his trusted men not forty meters away. Little gods. Two words was all it took to undo the great Negotiator. But he supposed nobody had ever come so close to his soul with two words before. He was, for the first time in a very, very long time, unsure of what to say.

“I —” he started, and stopped just as quickly, because he’d been about to defend himself, but there was no need to defend in a battle that was already over. He settled on, finally, “He is … very dear to me.”

“You would not have met him without this war.” Something in her voice was sharp, and he knew the words he spoke next would determine whether he passed a test she didn’t even know she was setting. “He would not even exist.”

He chose his response carefully. “No. But sometimes I think — perhaps it would have been a gift, for them, to never have lived at all.” He took a deep breath, steadying. “They have never known anything but war. They were bred for it, raised on it, and now they breathe it and eat it and it haunts their dreams. As much as the idea of it pains me, a galaxy without him in it, he would not exist without his brothers, and they would not exist without the war in their bones.” He turned back, toward Cody, who was helping lift the base of the tree, readying to swing it out away from the road. “How can that be worth it? The misery of millions for the happiness of one?”

The tree was suddenly standing again, propelled into the sky by Cody’s careful placement of force and the sheer brute strength of battle-hardened troopers. It wheeled above them for a moment, rotating, before crashing into the ground and sending up a cheer from the men. Obi-Wan was caught momentarily in the sunbeams of Cody’s victory smile, radiant, glorious, beautiful even from a distance. 

“You love him,” said the woman.

To hear the words out loud tore at something in him. He would never be able to say them himself, but he’d stopped denying the truth of them long ago. “Yes,” he said simply. “He deserves more than this, better than this. I would never wish this existence upon him, and in another life I would never claim this war to be worth it just so I might have the honor of —” the word loving stuck viscerally in his throat and he swallowed around it, “of knowing him again.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms tightly, wishing he had thought to bring his robes with him then, if only for something to do with his hands. Cody, having finished delegating the deconstruction of the tree, had spotted the odd pair and was heading over, bright with his success. 

The woman, looking at Cody and then back at Obi-Wan, huffed that strange not-laugh again. “If you win this war, Master Jedi, will it have been worth it?”

With Cody striding toward him, Obi-Wan was stuck between the sensations of a heart full to bursting with the pain of a love he could never truly have and the gut-punch realization that maybe, someday, he could. He barely managed to gasp out an “Oh, I —” before Cody was upon them, saying, “General, sir, I thought I told you to stay at camp,” but his smile betrayed him, and Obi-Wan found himself grinning back, breathless, and for a brief moment there was no war and no winning and no losing; there was only them, together, and the galaxy was theirs for the taking.

Now, the surface of Tatooine is dark and chilled. Wind whistles around the hut on the edge of the Dune Sea — a sandstorm will hit in the next few days, and in the morning they’ll need to start preparing. The memory of that woman comes back to him, unbidden, and he clings tighter to Cody, wrapped in his arms on Obi-Wan’s lumpy old bed. He thinks of Anakin, as much as it hurts to, and of the thousands of fallen Jedi, and of every clone forced to take the life of innocents, their bodies their own but not their minds. The war lost him everything, everyone, and everywhere he’s ever loved. But little gods. Cody is alive. He’s here, and safe, and they’re together again, his sunshine returned to him. Obi-Wan hates himself for it (hate leads to the dark — please, stop, please), but the worst parts of his soul are screaming it: maybe for this, this small salvation in the ruins, everything had been worth it after all.

[bite-of-witchcraft]

The Hexblade

Fallen leaves crunched beneath the soles of Amelia's boots as she moved through the dense forest of Drustvar, her eyes diligently scanning her surroundings. Miles away from any road or settlement, at the foot of the mountains that divided the providence. Trees loomed tall overhead, casting a dappled shade on the forest floor. She could hear the sound of a babbling brook nearby, and the rustle of leaves as small animals scurried about.

As she approached an old, dilapidated cabin, she couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. The roof was caved in, and the windows were boarded up. The wood of the cabin was rotting away, and vines had grown up the sides, wrapping around the structure like a snake.

The old, weather-worn structure looked like it had been abandoned for years. She carefully pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, her free hand hoving just above the few potions strapped to her satchel. The interior was musty and dark, with cobwebs clinging to the corners. An eerie atmosphere that did little to sway Amelia from exploring what was left of the single-room cabin.

Her boot nudged a broken and charred wicker idol on the ground, one crafted not from Heartsbane but older, one Levana Addington. Amelia had chased rumors and folktales of this ancient woman, a practitioner of Drust witchcraft during the Order of Ember's absence and long before The Mother had formed the Heartsbane Coven. After three years of searching and countless wrong cabins and ruins, she had finally found what remained of the Grand Witches' hideaway.

Uncorking a vial no bigger than her pinky, Amelia drank the bright orange fluid. Her eyes burned for several minutes as she winced in pain, forcing them shut and pressing her palms into the sockets. She doubled over just as the pain subsided, and blinked rapidly as the pink hue of her eyes shifted into a feline-like shape. The cabin appeared blurry but things that were once hidden could now be seen. Despite the decades that passed there was still magic in the wards, weakened over time but still a threat to a trespasser's life if one carelessly walked upon the runes. A faded shimmer of an illusionary spell lingered beneath a window across the room, a spot in the floorboard where something had been hidden.

With utmost caution, Amelia proceeded towards her destination, ensuring that her every step was both calculated and precise. Her ultimate goal was to uncover a cache of ancient knowledge, a tome of spells and hexes believed to have been lost to the ravages of time. As she approached the location, she planted her boots firmly on either side of the illusioned floorboard and drew her wand, her long skirt pulled to one side. With a flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation in a language unknown to most, Amelia cast a simple but effective dispel. The fake board shattered and dispersed into nothingness, revealing a small wooden box that had been hidden away amidst the dirt and cobwebs.

As she confidently sheathed her wand, a smug smirk crept upon her face. She knelt down with an air of authority and claimed her prize. Gently blowing away the thick layer of dust that had collected on the wooden lid, she opened the box with trembling hands. Her heart pounded with anticipation as she peered inside, eager to see the treasure that awaited her. However, instead of a tome or a grimoire, she found a large, silver needle that had been transformed into a dagger. The blade was adorned with an ominous skull at the guard, sending chills down her spine. Disappointment washed over her as she inspected the blade, her lips flattening with frustration. She muttered under her breath as she continued to examine the weapon before finally noticing the folded parchment tucked away inside the box.

With gentle care, she delicately unfolded the note, wary not to damage the brittle and aged parchment. Her initial disappointment was quickly replaced by intrigue as she poured over the sketches of the dagger's intricate design and meticulously detailed notes regarding its forging process. Amelia scolded herself for hastily judging the Hexblade; it was evident that this weapon held more power than met the eye and could even prove to be a more valuable bounty than an old hag's grimoire. Despite the noticeable absence of the three bone-carved charms that typically adorned the pommel, the instructions for creating them appeared relatively straightforward and could be replicated using modern-day methods.

With a sense of satisfaction, Amelia firmly clasped the lid shut, ensuring that the precious artifact was securely stored within. She held it carefully under her arm, mindful of its age, and made her way methodically out of the crumbling cabin. After years of fruitless searches and chasing rumors and legends, it was a thrill to finally have something tangible to show for her efforts. The excitement within her grew as she pictured herself back in the comfort of her own home, delving into the intricacies of the ancient weapon she had just acquired. With a determination to unlock its secrets and harness its full potential, Amelia couldn't wait to get started.

(The Hexblade was designed by Magical Kaleidoscope on Twitter)

[bethanydelleman]

Do you know if dowries for wealthy families were usually predetermined standard amounts, or whether it was some function of income / number of daughters?

Looking at Pride and Prejudice alone, it seems that it’s about (income x 3) / # daughters: Mr. Bennet’s 2000 gives each girl about 1000 pounds, and Darcy’s 10,000 gives Georgiana 30,000.

I feel like that’s the wrong way to go about calculating a dowry, since I’m sure if Darcy had another sister she would also get 30,000, but I’m not sure how it was done, and some (light) research didn’t help.

Short answer: it seems like many women’s fortunes are made up of their mother’s former dowry, split between them. This may be added to, but the wealthiest unmarried women in Austen’s novels are usually from small families (or have few sisters), meaning less division of the original fortune took place. 

Long and kind of rambly Answer:

First, we must remember that the #1 rule of Jane Austen finance is Never Spend the Principle. These people for the most part are living on the income of generational wealth. A good portion of this wealth is in land, but some is in investments. They never spend that money. (Also, a lot of the time, they literally can’t spend the principle, it’s in trust and protected by legal agreements)

When a woman marries, her fortune can be, and it seems like often is, preserved for her children in the marriage articles (legal agreement made at the time of marriage, similar to a will). We see this with Mrs. Bennet. She brought £4000 into the marriage, one additional thousand must have been supplied by the Bennet family, resulting in a safe £5000 for the mother and daughters. Now if Mr. Bennet was prudent, he could have reinvested the income on that fortune, resulting in very healthy dowries for his own daughters, but if course he didn't. (I have a whole post about that here)

Now here is an interesting point, the £5000 set aside for Mrs. Bennet and her daughters is not already divided. This means if the Bennets wanted to tempt a man to marry one of their daughters, they could offer the full £5000 as one daughter’s dowry. However, that isn’t what we see most commonly in Jane Austen’s novels; we see equal division. But we do see many fortunes that are not released until the death of both parents.

For example, here is Anne Elliot’s fortune: “a small part of the share of ten thousand pounds which must be hers hereafter”. Anne’s dowry is most likely in trust, unable to be touched by her father. However, the wedding articles probably give him a life interest and since he needs the income, she doesn't get it right away. Anne will probably get her money upon her father's death. This amount is most likely Lady Elliot’s dowry, divided between her daughters. Henry Tilney is getting a similar inheritance: Of a very considerable fortune, his son was, by marriage settlements, eventually secure. But it does not go to Henry until his father dies. John Dashwood inherits a similar fortune from his mother.

You can see here why it’s a problem if you marry someone who is penniless and you don’t have a big income! Mr. Bennet doesn’t have a big fortune to start with so he really, REALLY needed to save...but even Darcy is going to have to be prudent to give his daughter’s sufficient fortunes down the road having married the poor Elizabeth Bennet. Marrying for wealth wasn’t only greedy, it’s about maintaining this generational wealth. If too much leaves in dowries, you get into trouble. Or you have to provide less money and your daughters don’t marry as well as you desire.

Some of the large dowries we see are from trade: Caroline Bingley’s 20k, Sophia Grey’s 50k (the future Mrs. Willoughby), and Augusta Hawkins’s 10k (the future Mrs. Elton). Lady Middleton and Mrs. Palmer are the daughters of a tradesman as well. This is important because this money is new, which a lot of old families desperately needed after getting into debt. Many properties were entailed, meaning they could not be sold. If you got into debt, it was hard to get out because you can’t sell anything. And for families in trade, well-educated and wealthy daughters had a good chance of marrying up.

So, Georgiana Darcy’s fortune may well be the money that Lady Anne brought into her marriage. Importantly, Georgiana is an only daughter. I actually doubt if she had a sister that they would both have 30k, they might have 15k or 20k each. The wealthiest women we see come from very small families, like the wealthy Caroline and Louisa Bingley, Emma and Isabella Woodhouse,  Anne de Bourgh, and Miss Morton, the only daughter of Lord Morton (S&S). Even Agusta Hawkins is one of only two children. Which makes sense because it’s hard to save, but it’s easy to just take the dowry and pass it on, which if you are an only daughter works out great. If you are Catherine Morland it might not work so well.

Further reading (though I must note this article has a misquote from P&P)

Also, Wives & Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell really gets into the problem of generational wealth and gentry slipping into poverty. Makes for an interesting study (The Hamleys of Hamley are the family)

[cryptid-aac]

Since IG people are STILL denying that what is happening in Palestine (for the past almost century btw!) is a genocide, here is what the UN says about when something becomes a genocide:

First, a genocide, as defined by Raphael Lemkin, who coined the damn term, is the destruction of a nation or of an ethnic group" by means such as "the disintegration of its political and social institutions, of its culture, language, national feelings, religion, and its economic existence"

Now, of course, people were pissy with that definition so restricted it to "acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group"

Now, let's go into the specifics of it

- Killing members of the group

Check.

This isn't even close to all the deaths, considering this has been going on since 1948 and this doesn't even taken into account the people the IDF has killed since Oct. 7, 2023

- causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group

Do I seriously have to go in depth? Do I have to show you the pictures of mutilated children? Or maybe somehow this picture from June 6th, 2023 (see how it's still before Oct. 7, 2023?) will show it

- Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part

Check. Children are starving. Humanitarian aid is being murdered for daring to help civilians not be murdered through way of starvation and sickness.

(source of picture is CBS)

- Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group

Check. Children has been abducted by Israeli soldiers. The picture below is from 2010. This child's "crime"? Throwing stones. 10,000 children held in "military detention" for the last 20 years.

Also. Just... This entire article by Save The Children

Now. What about intention? Surely they "didn't mean to kill hundreds of thousands of civilians"

Uhm. Let's see what some officials have to say

Agriculture Minister Avi Dichter told Israeli Channel 12 over the weekend that the war would be “Gaza’s Nakba,” using the Arabic word for “catastrophe” that many use to describe the 1948 displacement of roughly 700,000 Palestinians who were expelled from their land in what became Israel.

“We are now rolling out the Gaza Nakba,” Dichter, a member of the right-wing Likud party, said Saturday, in comments widely reported by Israeli media. “From an operational point of view, there is no way to wage a war — as the Israeli army seeks to do in Gaza — with masses between the tanks and the soldiers,” he said. Pressed on his use of the word “Nakba” to describe the situation in Gaza, he said again: “Gaza Nakba 2023. That’s how it’ll end.”

Oh. Well.. that's just one person surely-

A week before Dichter's comments, Israeli Heritage Minister Amihai Eliyahu sparked outcry after he suggested that dropping a nuclear bomb on the Gaza Strip was “one of the possibilities” in the current conflict.

Oh. Uhm- well that's just two people-

Israeli Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, a prominent settler activist, raised alarm himself earlier this month after calling for the creation of "sterile" zones in the West Bank in a letter he sent to Netanyahu and Defense Minister Yoav Gallant that was shared with Israeli media. Such zones, he said, would block Palestinians from entering certain areas and bar them from harvesting olives close to Israeli settlements in the enclave.

The letter came during the annual olive harvest, with olive farming a primary source of income for many Palestinian farmers in the West Bank. They also came during a surge in settler violence against Palestinians in the area that has drawn growing expressions of concern from the United States and the U.N.

In one such case, an olive farmer, Bilal Saleh, was killed while tending to his olive trees earlier this month, his family told NBC News. An elderly couple also told NBC News they were attacked by settlers last month without provocation while collecting olives in the West Bank.

Okay but surely the leader of the government isn't okay with-

Benjamin Netanyahu, Israeli Prime Minister:

“We are the people of the light, they are the people of darkness… we shall realize the prophecy of Isaiah.”—October 25, 2023

“You must remember what Amalek has done to you, says our Holy Bible”—October 28, 2023

“We’re facing monsters, monsters who murdered children in front of their parents…This is a battle not only of Israel against these barbarians, it’s a battle of civilization against barbarism”—December 24, 2023

Okay but what about the president?

Isaac Herzog, Israeli President:

“It’s an entire nation out there that is responsible. It’s not true this rhetoric about civilians not aware [and] not involved. It’s absolutely not true. … and we will fight until we break their backbone.”—October 12, 2023

(^ very weird thing to say about a population that is overwhelmingly children and old people)

“We will uproot evil so that there will be good for the entire region and the world.”—October 15, 2023

Just for "fun" here's some more stuff by our "favorite" finance minister:

“We need to deal a blow that hasn’t been seen in 50 years and take down Gaza.”—October 8, 2023

Although it is important to note that Smotrich’s incitement quote was a day after Hamas’s attack, Smotrich has since doubled down his narrative. On December 31, while speaking to Army Radio, Smotrich pushed the idea of displacing Palestinians. “If there are 100,000 or 200,000 Arabs in Gaza and not two million Arabs, the entire discussion on ‘the day after’ will be totally different,” he said. “[Gaza] is a nice place, [Israel should] make the desert bloom, it doesn’t come at anyone’s expense.” Elsewhere, he has noted that he does not see a distinction between Hamas and the Palestinian Authority, which nominally runs the West Bank. “I don’t see a big difference between Hamas and the Palestinian Authority,” he said on November 4. “The Arabs are the same Arabs.”

Also some quotes by Bismuth:

“We must not show mercy to cruel people, there is no place for any humanitarian gestures—we must erase the memory of Amalek”—October 16, 2023

Even more quotes by different officials:

“Erase Gaza from the face of the earth. Let the Gazan monsters rush to the southern border and flee into Egypt, or die. And let them die badly. Gaza should be wiped off the map.”—November 11, 2023 (MK Galit Distel-Atbaryan)

“Gaza won’t return to what it was before. We will eliminate everything.”—October 13, 2023 (Yoav Gallant)

“Now we all have one common goal—erasing the Gaza Strip from the face of the earth. Those who are unable will be replaced.”—October 7, 2023 (Nissim Vaturi)

“All the preoccupation with whether or not there is internet in Gaza shows that we have learned nothing. We are too humane. Burn Gaza now, no less!”—November 17, 2023 (Nissim Vaturi)

“Bring down buildings!! Bomb without distinction!! Stop with this impotence. You have the ability. There is worldwide legitimacy! Flatten Gaza. Without mercy! This time, there is no room for mercy!”—October 7, 2023 (Tally Gotliv)

And let's just say, in a magical fucking world where this isn't a genocide, guess what? It is still violating THE FUCKING GENEVA CONVENTION.

Attacking hospitals and other medical units is prohibited under the first Geneva Convention, and that protection extends to the wounded and the sick, the staff of those establishments and ambulances. And that protection doesn't end unless those establishments are used by a party to the conflict to commit an act ... harmful to the enemy

"oh but the lists!! The lists!" Oh you mean the fucking calendars?

Directly targeting civilians or civilian objects is forbidden. Intentionally attacking personnel and material involved in humanitarian assistance is a separate war crime as long as those providing the humanitarian aid are civilians.

I don't think I need to go too indepth about this

So yeah The Israeli government are committing genocide AND war crimes.

[midniightspecial]

𝙸𝙵   𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝙸𝚂   𝙰   𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃   ,   𝙸   𝙰𝙼   𝙶𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝚃𝙾   𝚂𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆   𝙸𝚃   .   𝙸𝙵   𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝙸𝚂   𝙰   𝙶𝙾𝙳   ,   𝙸   𝙰𝙼   𝙶𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝚃𝙾   𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴   𝙷𝙸𝙼   𝙲𝚁𝚈   .

⸻ ( emilia clarke, 32, cis woman, she/her ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that MINA HARKER is a HISTORIAN that works in SECTOR 5. According to the file, they’re a mutant with the power of PORTAL GENERATION. That must be why they’re AMBITIOUS and CALLOUS. If you ask me, they remind me of the teeth which snap white as the moon and ask why must i bite? a hunger at war with a prayer to be consumed and needed, it’s hell on earth to be heavenly, leather clad fingers for shall these hands ne'er be clean? girlhood is like godhood; begging to be believed. They are affiliated with THE MUTANTS’ SOCIETY.

basic information :

character name: wilhelmina harker

nickname (s): mina

face claim: emilia clarke

mutation status: gen ii

birthday: october 30th

sexuality: bisexual

moral alignment: neutral good

occupation: historian

work sector: sector 5

affiliation: the mutants' society

3 positive traits: ambitious , resourceful , resilient

3 negative traits: callous , unforgiving , calculating

biography (optional): coming soon

questionnaire :

how do they feel about living in sol city ? have they always lived there or did they travel from another settlement ?

mina  has  lived  in  sol  city  all  her  life  ,  and  knows  nothing  beyond  the  quiet  life  her  parents  wish  her  to  lead  of  marriage  and  family  .  she  hungers  for  more  than  this  ,  mistrusting  of  this  place  and  how  perfect  it  feels  .  she  has  a  habit  of  feeling  unsafe  at  the  best  of  times  ,  a  rebellious  nature  which  sees  her  venturing  further  into  the  city  ,  a  hunger  for  truth  and  for  knowledge  which  drives  her  .

do they trust the council’s leadership ? why or why not ?

no  ,  but  mina  doesn't  trust  any  organisation  led  up  only  by  humankind  .  she  keeps  quiet  about  it  ,  because  she  knows  what's  good  for  her  —  but  she  has  never  trusted  them  or  believed  that  they  work  for  what's  in  her  ,  or  anyone  else's  ,  best  interests  .

if they chose their sector and profession , why did they make that choice ? if they didn’t, why not ? were they happy with their assignment or not ?

mina  has  long  craved  the  sort  of  work  she  does  now  ,  that  of  collecting  knowledge  and  storing  it  away  for  later  use  .  she  chose  her  sector  for  these  exact  reasons  ,  and  is  perfectly  content  in  the  work  that  she  does  .

what’s one object that they always keep on their person ?

a  gold  ,  heart  shaped  locket  with  a  picture  of  her  little  sister  .

(mutant only section)

what is your character’s ability ( or abilities ) ?

portal  generation  .

are they gen i or gen ii ?

gen  ii  .

what can your character do? what are their strengths ?

mina  can  open  a  hole  in  the  universe  connecting  two  non-adjacent  locations  .  this  may  be  done  in  a  very  neat  manner  ,  such  as  connecting  two  doorways  in  the  universe  ,  or  it  may  be  done  very  sloppily  like  breaking  a  rift  in  the  space-time  continuum  .  they  may  use  dimensional  manipulation  to  tear  a  tiny  hole  through  two  universes  ,  use  spatial  manipulation  to  overlap  two  points  in  the  universe  or  a  wormhole  connecting  those  two  points  .  this  is  another  form  of  teleportation  .  mina  can  create  a  portal  that  also  allows  her  to  teleport  alongside  people  or  direct  their  attacks  .

this  ability  may  come  in  the  form  of  a  "portable  portal",  which  allows  mina  to  make  instant  holes  in  anything  the  circle  can  be  stuck  to  .  offensively  ,  mina  can  create  vortexes  to  suck  in  objects  .

what can’t they do ? what are their weaknesses ?

portal  negation  is  a  direct  counter  .  portals  may  become  unstable  .  portals  may  lead  to  a  different  yet  dangerous  location  .  has  limits  for  the  distance  ,  number  and  /  or  size  of  the  portals  .  mina  may  not  always  have  the  power  to  close  the  open  portal  ,  allowing  others  to  also  gain  access  .  some  portals  require  manual  closing  behind  them  .  if  left  open  ,  enemies  may  freely  travel  through  and  follow  mina  .  portal  redirection  can  divert  travellers  and  appear  somewhere  not  of  their  intention  .  if  portals  close  while  mina  is  part-way  through  ,  it  can  easily  bisect  them  regardless  of  their  indestructibility  .  if  mina  wishes  to  travel  to  a  certain  area  that  said  place  would  be  unavailable  due  to  the  portal  being  shut  down.  if  there  is  an  alternate  reality  entered  from  the  portal  ,  the  enterer  just  has  to  ask  to  go  back  . 

is there anything else you’d like to specify about them ?

coming  soon  .

[marjorie-guest]

[female and she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [MARJORIE GUEST]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [BRIANNE HOWEY]. You must be the [THIRTY FIVE] year old [DANCE STUDIO OWNER]. Word is you’re [POSITIVE] but can also be a bit [JEALOUS] and your favorite song is [PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BY SABRINA CARPENTER]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [FISHER'S COVE]. I’m sure you’ll love it!

@aurorabayaesthetic

tw: age difference (implied), tw: cheating, tw: abuse (implied)

Basics Name: Marjorie Guest Age: 35 Occupation: Dance Studio Owner Residence: Fisher's Cove, Aurora Bay

Personality: Marjorie’s personality is a study in contrasts. Outwardly bubbly and engaging, she exudes an infectious energy that draws people in. However, beneath this veneer lies a core of steel—a remnant of her survival instincts from her pageant days and tumultuous marriage. Her charm is deliberate, often masking a calculated approach to her interactions. While she is warm and approachable, there’s a guarded side to her, shaped by a lifetime of strategic maneuvering and personal reinvention.

Background: Marjorie Guest’s journey from Memphis to Aurora Bay is one marked by dramatic shifts and hard-won success. Born into a working-class family in a gritty part of Memphis, Tennessee, Marjorie’s early years were defined by financial hardship and limited opportunities. Her parents, struggling to make ends meet, often argued about money, and the household was marred by tension and instability.

From a young age, Marjorie was determined to escape her circumstances. She realized that her beauty and charisma could be her ticket out. By the time she was a teenager, she had already begun competing in local beauty pageants, where her striking features and graceful demeanor began to catch the eye of judges and sponsors. Her relentless drive paid off when she won the Miss Tennessee title. This achievement was not only a personal triumph but also a crucial stepping stone to a broader stage.

Winning Miss Tennessee was a turning point. It opened doors to new opportunities, and Marjorie seized them with a combination of ambition and strategic thinking. She leveraged her pageant title to secure a position with the renowned Rockettes in New York City. The high-profile role allowed her to refine her performance skills and further cement her status as a prominent figure in the entertainment industry. Her time with the Rockettes was marked by rigorous schedules, demanding rehearsals, and glittering performances, but Marjorie thrived under the spotlight, using every moment to build her personal brand.

While her career in the limelight was flourishing, Marjorie’s personal life was taking a significant turn. She entered into a high-profile marriage with a wealthy and influential businessman. The union was initially celebrated as a fairytale romance, complete with luxurious parties and high society events. However, behind the scenes, the marriage was fraught with challenges. Marjorie’s husband was controlling and unfaithful, leading to a turbulent relationship marked by public scandals and private betrayals.

After years of enduring the complexities of her marriage, Marjorie faced a major turning point when she decided to leave. The divorce was messy and highly publicized, involving lengthy legal battles and a significant financial settlement. Though the divorce was a painful chapter, it also marked the beginning of a new era for Marjorie.

Her departure from her past was also marked by a dramatic severance from her family. Feeling that her rise to fame and fortune demanded a complete break from her previous life, Marjorie made the difficult decision to cut ties with her mother and siblings. The final contact she had with her family was marred by betrayal; her mother attempted to extort money from her, exploiting the family’s strained relationship for financial gain. This act of desperation and dishonesty left Marjorie with feelings of deep resentment and emotional scars, further solidifying her resolve to distance herself from her past.

With her divorce settlement in hand and a fierce determination to forge her own path, Marjorie relocated to Aurora Bay. In this new chapter, she established herself as a dance studio owner, creating a space where elegance and discipline intertwine. Her studio quickly became a hub for the city’s elite, drawing in students and patrons who admired her success and sophistication. Despite her polished exterior, Marjorie remains a figure shaped by her past struggles and triumphs, carrying with her the lessons and scars of her journey as she continues to build her new life.