#spontaneous disembowelment

[anakindoodles]

Inspired by @tranakin-skywalker 's idea of Vader merging with his younger self after dying except is mind and body

[gallusrostromegalus]

Hello again, apologies if this has already been answered, but which captains get along the best? Any unlikely friendships within the gotei 13?

I did a post on some of the friendships in AEIWAM but I'd like to elaborate on a few of them so:

Less than a year after the events of Turn Back The Pendulum, Widower Sojun Kuchiki died, and a teenage Byakuya was orphaned.

Now, Byakuya wasn't totally alone in the world- he still had his grandfather and the rest of the Kuchiki clan, but that sort of ended up being the problem. Ginrei was massively overworked as captain of the 6th, and had to ask Byakuya to step into some of his late father's roles early, like taking a diplomatic trip to some of the clan's land holdings up North. A largely boring and scripted event, but an important one and good practice for the future Clan Head.

-So of course, it immediately went catastrophically sideways when a rival clan attacked and attempted to kidnap the Kuchiki heir, shutting down the portal system to prevent support from the Seireitei arriving in a timely manner. Young Byakuya, already doing poorly from the grief of losing his father, suddenly found himself alone in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by enemies and hopelessly outnumbered.

Unfortunately for the rival clan, just because the portals were down didn't mean that other shinigami weren't in the area.

The memory is burned indelibly into Byakuya's mind.

It was a blazingly hot, almost painfully bright bright summer afternoon, the sun gleaming off the blades of his would-be assassins. They were good, and had separated Byakuya from his retinue, but at least he had managed to buy time for the village and the rest of the diplomatic party to escape. He stood, panting, holding the blank asauchi sword that had not yet been called to host a zanpaktou spirit, between himself and the leader of the strike team. All around him, spears and Kido Spells were trained on his person. No escape. Nowhere to strike that wouldn't immediately get him killed.

Despite there not being a breath of wind in the valley where he stood, something was causing the Alarm Bell at the top of the valley to ring, making Byakuya look up-

The sun was behind the leader as he was saying something about how their contract didn't actually specify that they had to keep him *alive* so how about he be a good boy and come quietly before they decided he was more manageable dead, but Byakuya wasn't actually paying attention.

Behind the leader, the sun seemed to be having some kind of spontaneous Eclipse. Or at least, there was a dark spot in the middle of it that seemed to be rapidly expanding and surely that can't be righ-

Sharp

It wasn't even a word, more an impression in his mind that something was hurtling in his general direction with the intent to disembowel, and not even centuries of Noble Breeding to be stoic in the face of peril could stop Byakuya's entirely correct prey animal instinct to duck and cover.

The blast from the impact would have been enough to pin Byakuya to the ground anyway, given how it scattered half the strike team and the dust blinded the rest. Byakuya felt the interloper's feet strike the ground on either side of where he was curled into a defensive ball, and the string of invective was too fast to parse but the way his rough voice echoed in Byakuya's chest left no doubt to his meaning.

A swing of the Odachi from his impressive wingspan cleft three of the assailants in twain and mortally wounded a fourth. The headless corpse of the leader thudded to the ground behind him, vaporized from the neck up by the flying kick he'd taken to the head. There was a strange jingling noise, the bells of a child's toy, and one of the remaining assassins recognized the chime and spiky silhouette-

"SHIT! IT'S THAT SWORD BASTARD! THE ONE FROM NORTH 80!!"

The remaining assassins started to back up, and Byakuya peered up from where he was hiding under the protective stance of recently-appointed 11th Division Captain Zaraki Kenpachi.

"THAT'S CAPTAIN SWORD BASTARD TO YOU!" He roared back, bristling magnificently and the remainder of the strike team scattered.

Once satisfied they were fleeing and not regrouping, Zaraki reached down with his free hand and grabbed Byakuya by the collar, pulling him to his feet.

"Zaraki-Taicho?" He asked, almost not believing his luck. "How did you get here so fast? The portals are down and even Captain Yoru- Captain Fon's shunpo would take days to reach me from seireitei!?"

Slowly, Zaraki turned his head and actually looked down at the boy, single functioning eye blinking in confusion.

"Byakuya?" he asked, cocking his head sideways. "-The fuck are you doin' out here?"

"BYAKUSHI??" Yachiru shrieked with excitement, popping up from behind her father's shoulder, and scrambling over to climb into Byakuya's bewildered arms instead.

"I- I'm on a diplomatic inspection of land holdings for the Kuchiki Clan. Sir." Byakuya babbled, unconsciously settling Yachiru on his hip, still waiting for his heart to resume a regular pulse and not whatever this live-hummingbird-in-his-ribcage nonsense was.

Zaraki squinted, displeased with that answer. "...Didn't your dad die just last week? The fuck are you doing out here? You should be home mourning or something."

Byakuya's gaze flicked away from the captain, face wan and jaw tense. "I have. Duties." he winced.

"Hf." Zaraki grunted, still displeased, and Yachiru pulled a spare hair tie out of her kimono. "Whatever. Relatedly, where the fuck is 'here', actually? Also- We have a Portal system??" he asked, changing the subject gracelessly but with deep mercy.

"We are in Inuzka, the town inside the Kuchiki Clan's ancestral land holdings in North 41." he answered- Zaraki could stand to be more polite, but Byakuya had to admit he wasn't precisely out of line- He wasn't Clan Head yet, and even if he was, as a Captain, Zaraki still would outrank him. "If you didn't come here by the portals, you must have already been in the area... Forgive my impudence into prying, but what are you doing here? Eleventh Division exercises?"

"I'm fuckin' lost." Zaraki shugged, unbothered by the question. "Tryin' to go see family while they're done here for the summer and I thought I could just follow the Red River up to the headwaters and then I'd be close enough but I must've picked the wrong tributary..." He muttered, folding his arms into his Kosode and reaching out through the neck hole to scratch under his chin, contemplative.

Byakuya blinked in surprise. "I didn't know you HAD a famil-" He started, then slapped his hand over his mouth, mortified.

"HAH!" Zaraki's laugh rang through the empty street and he affectionately slapped Byakuya's shoulder. "Did you think I just fell out of the sky one day? 'Salright, I look like something that got tossed out of Heaven's garbage tip." he grinned, and Yachiru giggled as she braided Byakuya's hair.

"My apologies, sir." He mumbled, face flushed. "-Well, the Gotei-13 *had* a portal system but this was a very coordinated attempt to kidnap me and there was an agent in the Seireitei that sabotaged the portal system, preventing both a retreat and form help arriving. I got the villagers and my retinue safely through before they went down, but I'm not sure how I'm getting back..." he puzzled.

Zaraki frowned into the distance, the hand on Byakuya's shoulder rubbing a slow circle as he considered something. "These duties- sort of a 'go practice yer meetin' people manners' trip?"

"It was supposed to be a routine diplomatic excursion, yes." Byakuya nodded, confused. "I've been here before with- with my father, and we had planned to go together again, so it's not like this was dropped on me suddenly." he muttered.

Zaraki nodded. " 'S summer break for school right now, yeah? Yachiru starts school in September, when do you go back?"

"Um. The first week of September as well?" Byakuya blinked confused.

Zaraki tilted his head to peer down at Byakuya, and gave him a strange grin. "-And you know how to read a map, right?"

"Yes?" Byakuya huffed, starting to get annoyed at this strange interrogation.

Zaraki suddenly dropped into a crouch, single eye level with Byakuya's own, and the boy startled to see that his iris was a pale yellow, like a hawk. The Captain threw his arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close.

"...How d'ya feel about goin' on a REAL Diplomatic Mission?" he asked with a decidedly conspiratorial drawl.

"YEAH! COME SEE BA-SAMA!" Yachiru bounced in his arms with excitement, waving a handful of clover flowers he suspected were being incorporated into the braid.

Byakuya tilted his head sideways, hoping they would make more sense at a forty-five-degree angle.

***

Minutes later, the recently-installed Spirit Phone on Kuchiki Clan Head and 6th Division Captain Ginrei Kuchiki's desk rang.

The elderly head of the Kuchiki clan looked to his even more elderly commander, and then to the piebald clown that was now running the 12th division. Mayuri pressed a button on the strange device he'd hooked up to the Spirit Phone which would allow them to record and track the call, which whirred and clicked, and he listened for a moment into the earphones before giving Ginrei a thumbs-up. Yamamoto nodded as well, and with grave seriousness befitting a likely hostage situation, Ginrei picked up the receiver.

"Captain Ginrei Kuchiki speaking." He spoke, trying to keep the icy growl out of his voice and failing.

"Hi Grandpa!" Byakuya called cheerfully on the other end of the line.

"BYAKUYA?!" Ginrei yelped. "Are you alright? You need to get out of Inuzuka now! The Ozaki clan have-!"

"Oh no, no- they already attacked! I'm fine!" Byakuya interrupted him. "Captain Zaraki saved me!"

There was a moment of very confused silence.

"...Zaraki?" Yamamoto asked, stepping in to speak into the receiver as well. "What's he doing there?"

"You gave me leave to go see my family and tell them where I live now, remember Boss?" Zaraki grunted.

"HI JI-SAN!" Yachiru called as well.

"...Well that worked out nicely. What a stroke of good planning on my part." Yamamoto nodded and Mayuri rolled his eyes.

"I- Thank you, Zaraki-taicho." Ginrei said, bewildered but genuine. "...Where are you now?"

"I'm calling from the spirit phone in the town council building in Inuzuka." Byakuya explained. "If I may grandfather, about me getting home-"

"It's going to take at least three months to get the portals up and running again." Mayuri grunted, disappointed that he was not getting to test out his new spirit phone tracking invention.

"...Three months?" Yamamoto glared.

"Don't glare at me like that!" Mayuri huffed. "-With anybody else in charge a blast like that would have taken the system out for good, but *I* build in redundancies! Which are. also damaged. but not obliterated! Urahara hadn't backed up SHIT, if this had happened last year-!"

"Yeah, yeah- Hop to." Yamamoto waved.

"Well, since the portals aren't going to be working any time soon and I'm already more than halfway from the city- I had a thought." Byakuya spoke up, voice gentle and sentences clearly enunciated, making sure Ginrei could follow his logic. "It's an awful shame that the Land Holdings Assessment Meeting won't be held this year, but Zaraki-taicho's family is significantly farther north than I thought, and the journey there would take me through several very underrepresented districts-"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT." Ginrei snarled. "I knew it was wrong to send you to the Holdings without an armed escort, I'm sending the Onmitsukido out to collect you this instant!"

"Now hold on a minute." Yamamoto cautioned him with a hand on his shoulder as there was a muffled noise on the other end of the line. "-I know you're worried but-"

"-He's a Kuchiki, ain't he?" Zaraki interrupted on the other end.

"Yes? Of course? What does that have to do with anything?" Ginrei demanded.

"-Future Head of The Clan and Captain, yeah?" Zaraki continued. "He's gonna have to deal with shit like this sooner rather than later. Already dealin' with it! Tryin' to hide him back in the compound won't teach the kid shit."

Ginrei sighed, pushing his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose, perfectly aware of where this was going.

"He's not made of spun glass- hell, he'd forced the assassins into having to siege him to get to him when I showed up. Exactly the correct choice for the options and information he had- But I do think you're right that he still needs an armed escort while he's learnin'. I'm armed, and I'd be Escortin' him." Zaraki offered. "...Actually, he'd be escorting me, I'm lost as hell and Byakuya knows how to read a map. I get more time with my family, he gets- What'd ya call it?"

"It would be an Exceptionally Valuable Diplomatic Experience." Byakuya chimed in.

"Byakuya..." Ginrei groaned. They had coordinated and rehearsed this, Gods help him.

"While I appreciate your concern Grandfather, and no shame to the Onmitsukido, but recent events have shown that sufficiently motivated criminals will try their luck against them." The boy continued, undeterred. "...Wheras Captain Zaraki is well-known in these parts- to the point that the Ozaki Clan's would-be assassins scattered at his mere silhouette. I honestly think that 'Within Arm's Reach of The Current Kenpachi' is quite possibly the safest place I could be in all of Soul Society."

"Kid's got a point." Mayuri shrugged, prodding at his call-tracking device. "Even *I* had heard of him as a fighter when I was still on the outside, and I was operating clean on the other side of the Rukongai! The guards at The Maggot's Nest speculated that if he were ever to cross the law, he might not be arrested because they didn't think that hole could actually hold him. Rather natural that he ended up here- very literally nobody in the rukongai wants to cross blades with him anymore."

Ginrei fixed Mayuri with a horrified stare, gaze slowly shifting to Yamamoto.

"...You're both Captains and privy to classified information, but this does not leave this room." Yamamoto said, covering the receiver and glaring imperiously down at both men. "Zaraki's family, especially his Mother, is someone we very much need to stay on the good side of, and I am NOT going to interrupt communication between them, lest we suffer Her wrath."

"Captain Kurotsuchi was in prison?" Byakuya asked, voice muffled like he'd covered the receiver with his hand as well. "-Yeah, he heard 'a me and I heard 'a him, which is why I ask Akon and *Not Him* if I ever need anything out of the 12th." replied Zaraki.

"...Who is She?" Ginrei frowned. "-And if She is so dangerous, you think Byakuya is the person we want to send as a diplomat to Her?"

"What for?" Byakuya continued, curious. "-Operatin' without a license." Zaraki shrugged.

"How does your mouth feel after saying that, Captain Kuchiki?" Yamamoto asked, voice light and pleasantly curious in a way that belied extreme danger.

"It's f-" Ginrei started and stopped. There was an odd sensation in his mouth, a sting like he'd taken a sip of tea without letting it cool down. "...Why is my mouth burning?"

"You were present for the execution of traitor Soya Azashiro, yes?" Yamamoto smiled menacingly.

"Operating what?" Byakuya asked, puzzled. "-Or anesthetic." Zaraki elaborated. "...Ah." Byakuya winced.

"Yes, the sight and heat of the released form of the Sokyoku is not something I'll soon forget, but what does that have to do with..?" Ginrei stopped as a horrible, terrifying thought occurred to him.

"I still do not entirely understand how-" Yamamoto admitted, patting Ginrei on the shoulder. "But Kiko'o is both Captain Zaraki's Uncle, and quite submissive to his Big Sister."

Ginrei paled.

Mayuri frowned in confusion, trying to work out how that happened, biologically speaking. "-Did Zaraki fucking hatch out of an Egg?"

"You can ask him when he returns with young master Kuchiki!" Yamamoto grinned. "-But that said, you see why I will not do anything that would turn her attention to Seireitei."

"...I understand." Ginrei gulped. "-but he's just a boy!"

"Take heart- You've seen how fond and protective of children Zaraki is? By all accounts, it's something he picked up from Her. Byakuya's youth will serve us all well." Yamamoto explained, uncovering the recciver. "Let him go."

Ginrei grimaced, but nodded and lifted both pieces of the Spirit Phone to his face again.

"-was in prison too, but that's just because his family sucked ass and didn't realize talent when they saw it-" Zaraki was explaining on the other end.

"Byakuya?" Ginrei asked.

"Yes, grandfather?" Byakuya asked, Zaraki's voice stopping like he'd been physically shoved aside.

"This journey will take some time, and I am concerned about your schooling." Ginrei said, never one to give up ground.

"Winter comes early up there, we'll be home well before term starts!" Byakuya assured him. "Captain Zaraki suggested I write to you for your sanity while I was away, but I feel like it would be a legitimate academic exercise to write reports on the lesser-known districts for as well." he offered.

"That is very generous of you to offer, young Kuchiki. I would appreciate Zaraki-taicho's local knowledge of the area in those as well." Yamamoto added, grinning at Zaraki's audible groan on the other end.

Ginrei winced. "Promise to return home by the last week of august, and sooner should any disaster befall you."

"Oh yeah, anyone loses a limb or major internal organ we'll hoof it right back!" Zaraki said, managing to evoke the exact opposite of reassurance, and Ginrei hid his face in his hand.

"I promise." Byakuya said, voice soft and sincere. "I'll write often, and call when possible."

"...Please, take care, Hokushin." Ginrei begged, using the boy's nickname. Public displays of sentimentality were unacceptable, but... this was his only grandson, about to venture deep into the wilds with some maniac!

"I will, Ji-san. I'll be fine, I promise." Byakuya replied, returning the intimate nickname.

"Alright punk, we need to get moving before it gets dark." Zaraki interjected, ending the call with an unexpected social grace. "See you in August Old man!"

"Bye Kuchiki-ji! Bye Jii-san!" Yachiru called.

"Go in good health, and I look forward to both your reports!" Yamamoto dismissed them.

"Didn't catch that Boss, bad line-" Zaraki said, then abruptly hung up, negating any vague hopes Ginrei had about his diplomatic prowess.

"Oh gods- What have I done?" Ginrei cried, hanging up the phone and hiding his hands in his face.

"Well, you've agreed to let your only heir and grandson walk into the most violently uncivilized parts of the rukongai under the supervision of a violent maniac that was raised by birds, and a toddler!" Mayuri explained, unhelpfully.

"Don't you have a portal system you need to be repairing?" Yamamoto glared.

"I'm multi-tasking." the freak of unnatural sciences waved, fiddling with his newfangled 'textual communicator' device. "My point is, loathe as I am to agree with someone like Zaraki, he's got a point. If your little star is going to be captain someday he needs to learn to handle worse than this. He'll be fine, or he wasn't qualified in the first place."

"Keep that name out of your mouth, clown." Ginrei snarled.

"That's the spirit!" Mayuri cheered, pumping a not-totally-ironic fist. "Mind copying me on those reports? That shit's gonna be HILARIOUS."

"KUROTSUCHI! PORTALS!" Yamamoto barked and the captain of the 12th abruptly made himself scarce. The captain-general gently laid a hand on Ginrei's shoulder, and Ginrei placed his own atop it.

"I never had children of my own, so I cannot imagine the depth of your fear, but I can imagine it pains you." Yamamoto sighed. "But that was the right thing to do. He will be fine."

"He will. He has to be." Ginrei sighed, sitting back in his chair. "...though I fear that Zaraki's presence may presence may prove more educational to the boy than any of us intended."

***

"Just a tip for the future-" Zaraki sighed, turning to Byakuya after hanging up. "-once someone agrees to your demands, you don't offer additional incentives. That just makes it a worse deal for you."

"I know that!" Byakuya protested. "-the second he brought up my schooling I knew Grandfather agreed to the trip, but that was also him retreating to the tactical ground of controlling my schooling. The offer of reports was the Opening Salvo of the next battle."

"...Fought the old man a lot eh?" Zaraki cocked a heavy, bald brow at him.

"There are limited opponents for me to practice diplomatic sparring on." Byakuya shrugged. "...but yes, he is a prickly old sod."

Zaraki barked a laugh and shook Byakuya's shoulder affectionately. "Alright, where the fuck are we, actually?"

"We're... Here, in Inuzuka Village." Byakuya pointed to their location on the large map on the wall of the village hall. "I'm not sure where in North 80 your family is-"

"Way up here, on the coast." Zaraki pointed out. "So... Oh, we did pick the right tributary!"

"I told you so!" Yachiru rolled her eyes, adding more clovers to Byakuya's braid.

"Lessee- We should raid this place for anything useful first, but we need to get moving soon so we're somewhere high before it gets dark, but... Oh hey, is this Saikoro the place with the big gambling house?" Zaraki asked, tapping a point on the map just upriver.

"I believe so?" Byakuya nodded.

"...Ya wanna learn how to shark at pool?" Zaraki grinned the same conspiratorial grin.

This time, Byakuya nodded enthusiastically.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 4)

Summary: On one of many nights, Sevatar reflects on his feelings for you.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, violence, predator/prey

Word count: 1538

Author's note: there's nothing sexier than when a space marine who doesn't know what love is wants to kill you~

Song: She Wants Revenge - Red Flags and Long Nights

You can occupy my every sigh You can rent the space inside my mind At least until the price becomes too high

You are small and fragile as a mouse. You could easily be squeezed and crushed. Until your eyes become bloodshot and the air disappears from your lungs. The human body is viscous and fleshy. How many people lived their lives, dreamed, suffered, were living souls until they found themselves in the skinning pits?

Sevatar could do the same to you. Squeeze the life out of you and hang your skin around the ship like curtains. But then he will lose the peace that he has not felt in recent decades. He will lose you.

The last thought sits unpleasantly on the tongue. Sevatar has already allowed himself to become sentimental towards his distant relatives. Of course, if they were them. That's what he didn't expect, that he would worry about his little toy.

Nice and gentle. Small and fragile. Yes. That's what you were. Your whole image and the way you behaved, moved, took him far away. Far away in the rainy rain as black feathers swirled around him. But at the same time you brought a completely new feeling. To which he could not find a word.

It's a distraction. No, the first captain could lie to himself as much as he wanted, but this was not so. He still performed his duties properly. Even better. Now he could fully concentrate on them without thinking about his Gift. After all, you were always on hand to relieve stress.

And that's not to mention the sweet smell of fear. Eyes full of tears and unspoken pleas from soft lips. Quiet sobs in the depths of the night, when Sevatar had the idea of ​​playing with you. Complete dependence and submission to him and only him. The tattoo adorning your shoulder beckoned and tormented his thoughts. How could he resist licking the cocktail of ink, his blood and your sweat?

The primarch should not have waged a joint campaign with Fulgrim. The Nostroman language was already considered beautiful and sophisticated by the inhabitants of the Imperium. Now the Night Lords have picked up words from their fragrant cousins. Why so many words when everything is simple?

You are his servant, and he is your master.

Yes, it's simple. You are afraid of him, but he enjoys fear. Then why does he see in your eyes a plea not to stop, but to continue? Why do your moans of pain sound different at some moments? Why do you look at him as if he were your Emperor? The man only grinned at this funny comparison, which would give many mortals and Word Bearers a heart attack.

But that’s how it was. You depended on him because it was necessary. Because you wanted it. You liked it, he could feel it. He still remembers your eyes full of gratitude when he took revenge for you.

"Thank you"

Sevatar still sees this picture in front of him. You, trembling and tired, sit in a dark corner. Waiting for him. You cry from the pain that the mortal bastard (and Sevatar's hands squeezing your shoulders) caused you. Your pleading look. Your whole body, face, covered with someone else's blood that you shed. He would like to see you like this more often.

Never before had Sevatar enjoyed tormenting mortals so much. He did not deign to have the warden and the rapist disemboweled by his hand. But he was watching. Watching at the judgment. Punishment. Retribution. Sevatar did justice in the most perverted form.

"Thank you"

A spontaneous desire to tear out someone else's heart came to mind completely unexpectedly. As a child, the boy had to eat all parts of corpses. It was rare that he could take anything for himself, because all the homeless children he came across were weak and had nothing. Now he did not need trophies except for the skin on his armor.

So why don't you get the trophy you deserve? He will laugh at your reaction. Besides, you served the Night Lord. And at least the first captain liked your kind face and didn’t want to spoil you. You still needed to understand at least a little about the values ​​of your Legion. So that you could serve him better, understand, obey, open up -

"Thank you"

Your gratitude sounds like a parasite in his brain. This is how maggots usually find dead flesh and cannot stop eating it until there is not a piece left. Here's the same one. You are slowly eating away at Sevatar’s brains, forcing him to think about you.

Maybe Sevatar should get rid of you? Cut out the tattoo with the skin and send you to free floating. Until other Night Lords find you to have fun with you if you don't do a good job. Or one of them will realize how pretty you are and take you into his service.

No. He won't let this happen. You are his. You belong to him.

Your tears, your fear, your doom, your prayers and hope. It all belongs to him. Sevatar promised to take care of you. He was supposed to protect you. The tattoo was supposed to scare away your tormentor. But you had to defend yourself.

You didn’t say a word about this to Sevatar. And could you even blame your master for anything? But what the first captain didn't expect was gratitude. How something in you breaks and you, intoxicated by the feeling, put yourself in the hands of a man, trusting him in everything.

"Thank you"

Sevatar looks away from the ceiling and looks at the mattress at the far end of the room. You're having such a good dream. Surely you are now dreaming of the warm sun and the spiers of Terra which you will never see again. Not noticing the gaze of the Night Lord.

You are tender and fragile compared to him. Too kind and naive for this Legion. Too strange for the Imperium. The man did not know and did not want to know whether you were a hidden psyker. But even if that were the case, you would become even more dependent on the first captain. Only he can hide you from his brothers and the Black Ship. After all, you are so defenseless.

He wants crush you.

No, Sevatar did not want to kill you. And yet, lately he had a strange desire to squeeze you. A hot feeling, similar to anger, settled in his body and mind. He became even more fierce in training. His brothers were already openly avoiding him so as not to end up broken on the floor.

His obedient Terminators, his brotherhood say nothing, blindly carrying out the will of the first captain. But they noticed a change in him. They noticed that he was haunted by an obsessive thought, which Sevatar still could not throw into action. For now. He just didn't know what to do yet.

But the primarch clearly laughed at him. He knew what an unusual situation Sevatar found himself in. Konrad Curze sometimes looked at the Space Marine with such anticipation that any mortal would feel uncomfortable. Sevatar was only annoyed by this. He was devoted to his gene father, but sometimes it was difficult to be with him. He feels not like the first captain, but like a mother hen.

Sevatar will not ask Konrad Curze what is happening to him. Will not ask for advice. This type of relationship between Primarch and Space Marines is common to other Legions. Moreover, Sevatar, unlike his brothers, did not hang on every word of the primarch with anticipation. He was devoted to him, but he did not love him. If this feeling was even in his blood.

The man looks at your figure again, peering into your calm sleeping face. An entertaining spectacle. Calming. And yet the thought of your tears and moans seeps into Sevatar's mind again. Filling all the brain cells, leaving not a single space.

He would crush you under himself. Grab you in his arms. Lick his mark on you. Eat you. Subdue. Dominate.

These feelings, not inherent to space marines, no longer let the man out of his tenacious clutches. He should go to the Apothecary and get rid of them. Heal and start seeing you as a piece of meat. But he won't do it. Because he couldn’t and didn’t want to.

The white teeth of a predator sparkle in the darkness. A smile typical of a corpse appears on his face. But still sincere. There were few moments when something could amuse Sevatar, captivate him, or simply make him happy. But you did it.

The words of a mother from the distant past envelop the man like a blanket. A small clue that sheds light on his new feelings. Good girls always love bad boys. And vice versa.

And Sevatar was bad, right? There were no good people among the Night Lords. Only monsters, murderers and sadists who fulfill the Imperial Truth and bring peace to the worlds of people. Facade, nothing more. But you were good. And you will remain like this forever. He'll take care of it. He will shed as much blood as necessary. If only you were nearby.

[nhescio]

Okay I have a visceral need for a hannigram time travel fic but instead of the typical Will or Hannibal fix-it, the person that time travels back is none other than Frederick fucking Chilton. Like imagine Chilton wallowing around all crispy and stuff after being human torched wondering what he’s done to deserve everything he’s been through. And when he’s finally okay enough to be discharged from the hospital to go home, an anvil falls on him or smth. And as he’s lying there incredulously, he’s like, yknow what? Im not even upset about this. I think Ive suffered enough near death experiences. Please just let this one put me out of my misery. And as his eyes finally drift shut, he hears an alarm blaring in his face. An alarm from his phone. His phone which, when he goes to shut it off, displays an impossible sequence of numbers— the plastic screen shinning with a date from four years past.

So after freaking out and confirming that he is indeed in the past, (and weeping in joy over his unmutilated body) Frederick does the obvious— he packs his bags, pays a visit to the bank, and gets on the next available flight out of the country.

And then his plane crashes and he dies.

But of course he doesn’t die because that seems to be a common theme in Frederick Chilton’s life!

So he’s jolting out of bed again to that same alarm and he tries not to tear his own face off (not that he would ever actually do that cause he knows how easily he could lose that precious face). And (after a few more tries) since this time loop bs isn’t letting him run away, he does the next best thing— phoning the FBI with a tip so that they would investigate Hannibal Lecter and put him behind bars for good. But of course Hannibal somehow finds out and discretely shakes the FBI off his trail while simultaneously sending one of his murderer protégés after Frederick. And so not even a month passes by before Frederick finds himself dying and waking to that infuriating alarm again.

And he keeps going through different loops trying to avoid being “murder tableau of the week”, but failing miserably every time. After dying for what feels like an infinite number of times, he’s realized two main consistencies. Number one, he can’t personally expose Hannibal Lecter as the ripper if he doesn’t want to be gutted, and two, the sooner Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter begin their weird courtship, whether from Frederick’s deliberate meddling or from ripples of unrelated actions, somehow he’s left with much less blood and chaos in the aftermath. In one incredible timeline, Frederick even managed to only sustain one life threatening disembowelment for three years before accidentally making a rude comment about Will Graham’s lack of a social life, thereby leading to a cold death in the Atlantic.

After this revelation, he vows to get Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter to bang each other as soon as possible for the sake of his own self preservation— going through elaborate plans like befriending and recruiting the FBI’s forensics team, or snapping Jack Crawford out of his obliviousness so he’d bluntly give them a nudge, or even once flirting with Will Graham himself to get Hannibal Lecter jealous (note: that attempt did NOT end up well).

And one day, after a shocked text from his “Sassy Science Matchmaking Squad” group chat proclaiming that Hannibal and Will, lovingly dubbed Hannigram by the group, had spontaneously quit their jobs and run away to Europe together, Frederick suddenly realizes he hasn’t been stabbed or burned or maimed or drowned or disemboweled once! He thinks back to his early success in this timeline— silently high fiving with Beverly and Jimmy (Zeller, the spoilsport, had refused to partake) while voyeuristically watching Will and Hannibal shyly having their first kiss in the shadows of a filthy crime scene. In fact, he didn’t think anyone in their immediate circle had been stabbed or burned or maimed or drowned or— well you get the point.

And as one year turns to two to four to eight with no word from Hannibal or Will except the occasional postcard, a sort of cautious optimism starts building in Frederick’s heart. The years continue to fly by until one day, Frederick finds that his hair has turned a snowy white, and that his legs are too weak to support his aching body. He tries to take in a breath to laugh but it comes out as a wheeze. He’s at the end of the line once more, but this time at the end of a healthy, fulfilling life. His only wish is that he’s finally allowed to move on. And as he feels his life slowly drifting away from him, Frederick wonders if he’s accomplished whatever divine mission that godforsaken time loop had wanted him to complete. It really feels like he did the best he could this life, preventing every possible death on the East Coast by sending Hannibal and Will packing early. Sure, he feels bad for the poor suckers in Florence or Paris that were probably flambéed for a pretentiously fancy brunch, but realistically, those two would always leave a body count no matter where they went.

All Frederick wants now is to pass in peace. With a heavy sigh, Frederick willingly closes his eyes one last time, content to move on into whatever lies in the beyond.

And he dies. For real this time. Woohoo!

The End

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

OC in fifteen

Thanks for the tag @space-writes!

Rules: post 15 or less lines of dialogue that describe the personality or essence of your OC - the less context the better but you can include it

So I realized when making this Picrew post I didn't have any post like this for Akash!!

Which shocked me because he's one of the faves????

I am CHANGING THAT

People must know that I love this kid!!!

Already did OC in fifteen for Lexi, Robbie, and Noelle!

Akash Singh (TSP)

...Akash bowed midair and gestured toward the entrance. “Milady.”

“...The APTA room should be right across the hall from the mystery section. [...] I remember because when Alii first come here from Ceteri, their powers are a mystery.”

(after a racist bullying incident) “Like, dude, there’s a whole other stereotype of Indian Americans who’re neurologists or something. Like, get with the times, pick a better insult. I could be loaded for all they know. I’m not, but I’m also not on financial aid, so they’re stupid.”

Akash smirked. “Kinky.”

“And I believe you. [...] Why would you make it up? That’s weird, I agree with you.”

“A child means someone between infancy and puberty,” Akash confirmed. “He definitely has hit puberty. Do you want me to tell you about the erection he got—”

“You kick pretty high, for a short person.” I cringed. “Didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It was supposed to be a compliment.”

“You want some disemboweled innards served directly in the flesh sack?”

“When you feel velociraptor, you’ll know,” said Akash.

“Who said I wanted spontaneous?!”

“If you were a worm, how long would you be?”

“It’s all good,” I said. “So long as we’re trauma-dumping....”

“Eh. This is something that has to be done. It can’t wait any longer, and I’ve been a coward.”

“I see why you like your sweater; it’s good to cry in.”

(Robbie was a supporting role in a play) “I think Chorus Member #4 was my favorite,” Akash quipped.

Tagging @little-peril-stories @gottestod-writes @cowboybrunch @herrmannhalsteadproduction @mysticstarlightduck @eccaiia @mk-writes-stuff @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @stesierra with no pressure + ANYONE WHO WANTS

And @blind-the-winds I know you're running out of characters with enough dialogue but I'm tagging you cause well I like your tags you don't have to do this lol

Or you can make it an OC in five or something

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester who of course get special privileges to tag games if they want

[unknownteethtaker]

🥰❤️💖✨ Just GirliePop Things: Being quite literally moments away from spontaneously disembowelling myself ✨❤️💖🥰

[goodshipskypirate]

This particular scene kept nagging at me because it felt so familiar and then it dawned on me: Parasite Eve.

The video game, particularly.

Now I wonder, can the Fleshmancer do pretty much what Eve does? He absolutely seem to have no limits to the level of organs, flesh, and bones he can cut, rearrange, and disembowel to his heart's content. His boss fight certainly seem to imply pretty heavily that he can conjure or reconstruct flesh at a molecular level.

What I am saying is, could he spontaneously combust people into flames just by fucking with them on a cellular level? Can he bloodbend ala Avatar the Last Airbender/Legend of Korra? Aephorul's abilities are so interesting because a lot of Big Bads don't really have The Power Of a Deranged Surgeon as their chief power, but thinking of the implications? If he had not made that deal with Resh'an to leave the Solstice Kids alone (and presumably any associates of theirs), what's to stop him from exploding their heads? What's to stop him from skinning them and still keeping them alive so they could continuously suffer? This is assuming he hasn't already done so in the worlds he has successfully conquered.

It's yet another neat bit of implication in Sea of Stars, that a man who so desperately tried to restore his humanity, including psychically, after the Elixir of Life peeled away his youth, wound up as this. Horrifying.

[bebepac]

The Vampires Live On: Part 2

I thought this was too good not to use it given my choice of using eye color to identify a very key characteristic of The First Family. Heh heh heh :)   

I am participating in @choices-november2022​  day 1:  “All is Well”  which will appear in bold.

In case you missed the first part:   The Vampires Live On

The Book: TRR Word Count: 2618 Ratings and Warnings:  Teen / Mention of character deaths,  blood Pairings:  Liam (Richard) x Riley (Alice) Summary:  Alice begins to get acquainted with her “new” life.

Song Inspiration:  Golgotha Tenement Blues by Machines of Loving Grace

Original Post: 11/1/22 at 5:21PM EST.

I have seen many horrors in my life. 

Bodies torn limb from limb, disemboweled, beheaded, but nothing prepared me for what I saw that night. NOTHING in my whole existence of walking this earth in the days or in the nights. I had never seen anything like it.

  I do not consider myself an overly emotional man, but the scene displayed before me would have brought me to tears, even if She hadn’t been a part of it.  Beautifully tragic is the only way I can describe it.  It almost didn’t seem real; it was like some sort of cruel artistic masterpiece.

The moonlight breaking through the trees 

illuminated the pair as if it was casting its light down from the heavens above only for them, to show me their infinitely beautiful souls; living angels had lost their lives that night.  The twin sisters’ lifeless bodies lay next to each other, close enough that their hands were linked. They were true mirror images of each other.  Alice was holding the wound to her neck with her left hand, Clara was holding hers with her right.  Their free hands  locked in an eternal grip showing their connection to each other in life, and in death.  The true love these sisters displayed for each other  in such a horrific moment, such pure unconditional love for each other, who had shared everything, including their mother's womb from the moment of conception that  even at the point of death, they reached to comfort and hold each other.  Clara's eyes, though devoid of life, were still fixed on Alice.  I had to turn away for a moment from the scene to weep,

 because in that place you could still feel remnants of the sister’s love  for each other, imprinted in that spot where the two died together.

I  closed Clara's eyes, and touched her face; the face she shared with her younger sister.  Her beautiful face was stained with blood and dirt, and cheeks were still wet with tears, not for herself, but for her sister. I took my handkerchief from my breast pocket  to wipe her face clean.

"Fearless Clara, you were so very brave. You saved her long enough for me to get here. I'm sorry that I could not save you too. I’m so sorry." I whispered to her wishing she could hear me.

The next part, I didn't want to do. I pulled Clara's hand free from Alice’s grip, I kissed her hand  before I lay it to rest at her side.

"Thank you for your sacrifice.  I promise you, it was not in vain.  I will take care of Alice for you, for eternity. She is now part of the First Family, my family. You will not have to worry about her wellbeing. I will keep her safe."

I kneeled at Alice’s body next.  

“I’m sorry you will not be able to say a proper farewell to your sister and your friend.   But we must leave the country immediately to ensure your safety.”

In only a few minutes the wound to her neck was already starting to heal, and the coloring of her skin was beginning to change. Alice’s eyes were closed, I opened them.  Spontanous healing was only the start, the other changes within her body had already begun, her eyes were no longer brown, they had turned gray, symbolizing she was residing in the realm of the dead for the moment until her transformation was complete.

I scooped her limp body from the ground to my arms, and ran to my home in that area.  Our maids and servants were shocked by the sight of me, covered in blood, carrying what appeared to be a dead woman.

“My Lord what has happened?”

“She was attacked, her party she was with, murdered.  She needs to be bathed and dressed in clean clothing.  Then we must  prepare to leave.”   The two maids carried Alice out of the room being discreet as they always had been. They were trusted servants of The First Family.

“Where are we going now?  What did you do?”  

“Sister.”  

“That is her isn’t it?  The mortal you’ve been keeping time with.  You turned her?”

“She was attacked Sister.  She consented to the gift I could give her. She would have died otherwise.”

“You should have let her. That’s why she was born a mortal being. They live to die.”  

“Alice is special.”

Katherine let out a knowing laugh.

“Because, she awakens the fire in your loins?”

“I could not let her leave this world, and leave me in it without her. I had to do it.”

“Why Brother?”  

“BECAUSE I LOVE HER!!!!!  We need to make arrangements for her family and then we must leave this place.”

Katherine nodded.  “Alright brother, I will aid you in what you ask, but I’m picking the place this time.”

The Awakening

The hunger had me almost incoherent.  After dressing, Richard helped me out to the backyard where it appeared a party was going on.

“Where are we?”  

“We’re in Greece. More specifically Oia Santorini.  My family has homes on every continent, in most countries. Safe havens for us.  The people here are our subjects, loyal and have pledged allegiance to the First Family.  Pick one of them to join us. Ignore the music playing  and listen to their heartbeats. Find the one that beats a song that is just for you.”  

“How do I….”  

It was almost like Richard's simple suggestion had made it happen.  I could no longer hear the music, yet the people were still gyrating to its rhythm.

There was a symphony of heartbeats around me.  Some fast, some slower, and then one seemed louder than the rest.

“You found one.” He whispered.  

I pointed to a gorgeous woman dancing alone as she spun in a white dress. She was enchanting.  

 When Richard nodded in her direction, she immediately started walking towards us.  

“As have I.” He motioned in the opposite direction and another woman began heading in our direction.  

Richard led us back inside, followed by me, the two women trailing behind us.  

“Would you mind waiting here for a few moments darling?”  He gently stroked the cheek of the woman of his choosing, I felt a slight twinge of jealousy.

“Anything for you, my Lord.”  

“Perfect.”  

We walked into the sitting room with the woman of my choice.

“Have you been a part of the First Feed?” He asked the woman.

The woman surprisingly looked at me as her heart immediately began to race.

“No, My Lord.”  She stammered. She looked at me again.

“Are you afraid of me?” I timidly asked.

“No, My Lady, not at all.”  She smiled at me in an attempt to reassure me, but I knew that she was lying.

Richard spoke to the woman in a soothing tone, and immediately her heart rate began to slow again.

“Would you like some wine to relax you a bit?”

“Yes, my Lord, that would be rather enjoyable.”  

As she sipped her wine, Richard spoke to me.

“I am speaking to you now at such a low level that she can’t hear it, but only beings like us can decipher.”  

I watched the woman who was still drinking her wine, glancing casually around the room.  

I lowered my voice and spoke back to him.  He nodded in affirmation.

“You are picking this up quickly like it’s second nature for you. A first feed is difficult for a new vampire because they are unable to control their thirst.  They can accidentally kill humans because they feel so starved.   You feed only until their heart starts to slow. You never drain a human dry because they will take you to death with them.  We can only survive on blood that is alive, that is being pumped through a living heart.”

“I understand.”  

“I’ll be here with you the whole time.  I’ll be listening to her heart too, and will remind you when to stop.”

I nodded.

“Are you ready, My Lady?” She inquired.

The woman stood setting down her empty wine glass. She slid her dress off her shoulder, and brushed her hair to one side giving me complete access to her neck.  I grabbed her neck and in an uncontrolled manner beared my fangs.

She flinched.      

“Gently Alice.  With the transformation, physical strength is something you carry with you in spades now.”  

I lessened my grip on her neck.  

“Better.  Do you see the pulsing vein in her neck?  That is where you bite her. Whenever you are ready.”  

The pulsing of the vein was mesmerizing. I licked my lips; this hunger felt like no other. I couldn’t wait any longer.  I had to taste… her.  

When I bit into her neck, she whimpered.

The taste of the blood was rich, nothing like I had ever experienced in previous human existence.  I pulled her closer to me, tightening my grip on her, continuing to feed off her life force.  Her heart still remained steady.  I felt my own body relax in this place with her where I felt like only her and I existed.  She. Was. Delicious.

“Alice stop.”  

I heard him, but I didn’t want to, instead I held her tighter and sunk my fangs deeper into her skin.

The woman cried out in pain.  I felt her grab my shoulder digging her nails into my flesh, but I did not feel any discomfort.

“Alice, that's enough.”

I was greedy and wanted more, so I continued.

“ALICE STOP!!!!”  Richard screamed, pulling me away from her.  

The woman stumbled backwards away from me falling to the floor.  

I hissed at him.  

What in the world?  I hissed at him like an animal?

“I don’t know what came over me.  I’m sorry.”

He gently caressed my face. “It’s alright Alice, these are new feelings for you. It’s difficult to control, I know, and I’m here for you Love.”  

“Is she alright?”  

I glanced down at the woman that was now sitting on the floor disoriented.

“All is well.  She will be fine.  She needs to eat, and rest.”  

Richard called for maids that removed the woman from the room.

He smiled at me.  

“Now it’s my turn.  I want you to watch, and listen.”  

He opened the door and held his hand out to the woman, she took it walking into the room.  

“Are you enjoying this evening’s festivities?”  

“I am My Lord, it’s always a very lively time when members of the First Family are here in attendance for the gatherings.”

“I’m sure it is.”  

Both him and the woman laughed.   He was so charismatic, and charming as he spoke, and she was fawning all over him.   Was that how I was with him?  Maxwell had said he looked like he fancied me, but he looked like he fancied her too.

The woman leaned in to kiss him but instead, he turned her face away from him exposing her neck.  

“My heart belongs to another.”  

He whispered as he bared fangs.

I watched him be gentle with her.  I had been savage and bruised the woman.  He caressed her skin with what looked like a feather like touch, almost like a lover.  When her heartbeat started to slow, he pulled away immediately.

“Thank you for your gift to me.”

“You’re welcome, my Lord.”  

“Now go, get some nourishment for yourself, and enjoy the rest of the festivities.” 

“I will My Lord.”  

She did a little curtsy to him walking by me and she smiled.  

“My Lady.”  

I nodded to her.  

Richard wiped his lips. And smiled at me.  

“Now that we have both fed, and you can think clearly, I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”  

“Do you fancy her?”  Why was the first question that flew out of my mouth? What was I thinking?

“No. I said there was another that has my heart. She is frequently part of my fantasies in both the dream and waking world.”  

“Oh.”  

Richard smiled. Why was he smiling like that?

“Why are we here?”

“For your safety, we had to create distance between you and your old life.”

“I need to go back, my sister needs to be buried…. Her…. Maxwell…”  

“Do not worry about it,  while you were healing I made arrangements for your sister and her paramour to receive burials reminiscent of a Lord and a Lady.”  

“I need to be there.”

“You can’t be there.”

“Why not?”

“You died Alice.”

“I’M RIGHT HERE!”

He nodded,  he took my hand leading me over to the couches.  

“I understand your anger, pain, frustration, and also desire to be with them. Alice, I came to that first show out of sheer curiosity. I had heard rumors of twin witches that used their femine wiles and love spells to charm men into giving them money.”  

“We are not witches.”  

“I know, and if you go back now, how are you going to explain the blood, Alice? The amount of blood you lost, would not have someone walking around after it.  And you don’t even have a scratch on you. How would you explain surviving the attack to your party?”

‘I…….”

“They saw you leave with them, they knew you were together, and you were miraculously the sole survivor? They could even pervert the events to say it was you that killed them all.”  

“But that’s not what happened Richard?”

“Alice, they wouldn’t care, because they’re human and with that comes fear of things they do not understand.  If you weren’t a witch before to them, you would be one now, 

and they would burn you for it.  I’ve seen it happen too many times.  Your life as you knew it is over. Alice Hughes is dead. They don’t have a body, but they saw how much blood you lost.”  

“But what is this life for me now? 

 I sustain myself on blood alone? That’s all I need?”  

“Your life can be anything you want it to be.  Yes, you sustain yourself on the living’s blood. You no longer require conventional nourishment.”  

“You always ordered spirits.”  

“That I never drank, but would gradually get rid of in movements too fast for the human eye to see, to appear that I was.”  

“Will I ever be able to return home again?”  

“In time, when the people that knew you are dead. You can’t risk being recognized by any people you currently know.”  

“Will you teach me how to fight?”  

"Alice, I won't let anyone hurt you, you are safe with me."

"And I believe that Richard, but that's not why I need this."

“Why do you want to learn?”  

“Because, I don’t want anyone else I care for to die for me, ever again.”  

Richard wiped my tears away from my eyes and I embraced him.  

“Yes, I promise I will teach you everything I know about combat, and I have friends that can help. But I will always protect you because I care deeply for you Alice.”

I pulled away from him to stare him in the face.

“You care for me?

“I do, and if you had decided to follow your sister into death, I don’t know that I would be able to have walked this earth one more day, knowing you are not on her.”  

“You really care for someone like me Richard? I’m poor, I’m an orphan. I have nothing.”

“Someone like you?!?!? You are amazing in every way Alice Hughes!!!!!!  How did you not realize?  I went there every night just to catch a glimpse of you. And paid a small fortune for you just to sit next to me.  When you screamed for help, I heard you, and I ran as fast as I could. I care for you. So much so I want to tell you my real name, as I know yours.  My real name is Gabriel Rhys.”

“And how long have you walked this earth…. Gabriel?”  

“Over five hundred years.”  

[strings0fcontrol]

Hannigram – Post-Fall (5)

"Will," Graham corrected, feeling the heat beneath his shirt teetering on the edge of explosion, while his armpits grew damp with sweat. Nevertheless, his voice retained its steadiness. He had made his move and now awaited a response.

Initially, no words emerged, but the line held steady, refusing to disconnect. Will had half-expected Bedelia to hang up, but her insatiable curiosity outweighed the risk of missing out on the sole opportunity to glimpse the impending threat that surely lurked on the horizon.

It evolved into a silent standoff, a contest of endurance in which he couldn't discern the passage of time. They provided each other with a peculiar form of companionship, their mutual loathing palpable in the silence, yet they remained dependent on the other's presence in this strange, unspoken alliance.

And then he heard it—a subtle inhalation, the precursor to her impending words.

"My patience for your twisted sense of humor is wearing thin," she cautioned. "Tell Hannibal that I hope he chokes on a pea. And the same goes for you, Will."

"You believe Hannibal would resort to prank calls?" Will interjected with a question that momentarily caught Du Maurier off guard, prompting her spontaneous response: "I'd assume it would be his style."

"Doctor Du Maurier, I assure you, this is no prank call," Will's voice came through with greater clarity this time.

"Then you have my attention, Will. Make it worth my while, … while I contemplate whether I should listen to you or disconnect," Du Maurier probed, her tone laced with cunning.

"If you hang up, you'll be left with uncertainty for the rest of your … remaining life. I can't fathom a greater form of torture, but it's your choice," Will countered. "You can inform Jack, or you can engage in a conversation with me and explore the possibility of reaching an arrangement that benefits us both."

"I'm listening," Bedelia conceded, her tone tinged with resignation. 

"Is Jack also listening?" Will inquired.

"No," came the succinct reply.

That was a satisfactory response. It suggested that Hannibal hadn't surfaced yet, hadn't reached out to Du Maurier or shared any details with her either. Assuming she answered truthfully and this wasn't an elaborate trap set to ensnare him. Jack's cunning was undeniable, yet there lingered the possibility that, at this juncture, he had veered into the realm of paranoia.

"Is Jack aware of our location?" Will pressed.

"No. I'm beginning to question the purpose of this conversation," Du Maurier countered. "You've asked two questions, and I've provided two answers. Now, it's your turn." She paused, and the moment congealed into a heavy lump in Will's throat. "Is Hannibal with you?"

Her question carried a calculating edge that sent an almost chilling sensation down Will's spine. His head drooped, a nervous smile exhaled from his lips. He hesitated, inching closer to the speaker, yet his throat remained constricted, rendering him mute.

"No," Du Maurier had already spoken for him. The silence spoke volumes, rendering any response unnecessary. Will detected another sharp inhale on the other end of the line.

"Where is Hannibal?" she inquired, maintaining her composure, but her voice quivered with emotion. He could almost taste the tears welling in her eyes.

Once more, he found himself unable to articulate a response, and Bedelia comprehended the implication.

"You don't know."

The realization was a harrowing one, a waking nightmare for them both.

Nightmares were best relegated to the recesses of the unconscious mind, for when they materialized into reality, they had the power to disembowel a person's very soul.

Many had ventured into the enigmatic realm of dreams, but it remained a domain where most of the collected data proved as unreliable as believing in zodiac signs or the concepts of alphas and betas.

They were enjoyable to manipulate, these categories, serving as frames for our identities, allowing us to grasp the outlines of our own existence. Humans relished classification, yet some aspects of life eluded our comprehension. Regrettably, this encompassed much of our minds—the very apparatus through which we perceived reality. Our minds had a talent for tormenting themselves with questions that appeared too vast to dwell within such a confined space. What are we? Who are we? Questions served as a kind of supernatural compass, mapping the terrain of our mental landscape. We use our hands to feel the contours of physical objects, but how do we explore the unfamiliar? Through articulation. Questions were like probing fingers, seeking to grasp the essence and form of that which we struggled to articulate before our eyes.

What if we extended our grasp toward something beyond our categorization? What if our inquiries remained unanswered? A mind starved of understanding would, over time, toxify itself with madness. It would dissect itself, relentlessly carving away at its sanity with increasingly precise questions until there was nothing left to dissect and consume. A serpent consuming its own tail.

And now, here he stood, a Leviathan, the sea serpent, the Morningstar, a deity incarnate. The unyielding Hannibal Lecter, his hands bound and his gaze fixed upon the lifeless canvas of Will's countenance, repelling all of his inquiries with silence. Silence composed the cosmos' most haunting melody.

Days would pass before he could muster the strength for a trip to the hospital, and his unwavering stare at Will yielded no answers. Clutching his glass of wine, a sip briefly redirected his gaze from the somber window to Chiyoh, who observed him with a disapproving look, her attention fixated on the wine as if she wished her thoughts could shatter the glass. In this state, alcohol might not be the ideal solution, but it was the one that maintained his tenuous grasp on sanity. It provided just enough numbness to help him endure his weakness.

Icarus, the son of Daedalus, was born into the care of a skilled craftsman and inventor. Their imprisonment on the island of Crete by King Minos led Daedalus to create a means of escape for himself and his son: wings fashioned from feathers and wax. Daedalus issued stern warnings to Icarus, cautioning him against flying too close to the sun, which could melt the wax, or flying too low, where sea spray could weigh down the wings.

Icarus, however, succumbed to overconfidence and disregarded his father's advice. He ascended ever higher toward the sun until the wax eventually succumbed to the heat, causing his wings to disintegrate. The consequence was a fatal fall into the sea, where he met his demise through drowning.

Will, in contrast, had chosen to clip his own wings mid-flight, sparing them from a tragic end akin to Icarus's plunge. Instead, they found themselves ensnared by the sea's embrace—a merciful one, perhaps, or was it a cruel twist of fate, denying them a more poetic conclusion?

He refused to leave Will's side except when the necessity of a bathroom break compelled him to. Chiyoh provided him with frequent updates while maintaining a vigilant watch over the perimeter. He knew that eventually, either Jack or Alana would locate them, but the peril of moving Will in his current condition outweighed any immediate need for relocation. It marked the first time his mind had ever felt so wearied and burdened. Though he had endured profound despair during his time in Italy and after—stemming from the act of killing Abigail, leaving Will behind, his subsequent incarceration, and the knowledge that Will had attempted to forge a life without him—none of that anguish could compare to the weight that now pressed upon him. Every feather on his wings had melted away.

He had no desire to stir, to engage in thought, or even to draw breath, and the idea of food left him queasy. The sole tolerable indulgence remained the morning's coffee and the evening's wine, while the IV fluids provided the essential sustenance.

For a fleeting moment, he entertained the idea of indulging in the flesh of the Great Red Dragon, as if the act might breathe life back into him. Yet, he swiftly recoiled at the thought of savoring the spoils without Will. This was their communion, their sacred honeymoon. He couldn't partake in it alone.

Within his mental palace, he resided solely in the vast chamber devoted to Graham, cataloging and arranging every precious interaction they had shared. It was a personal museum, a secret sanctuary where he could navigate the exhibition of their shared moments. These solitary excursions within the chamber served as his lifeline, just enough to keep him tethered to sanity and breathing.

He sipped from the same brand of coffee Will drank, and later, the same brand of wine that Will had once gifted him. It was an echo of the bottle that had met its demise within these walls, just a few days past.

The world around him appeared frozen in time. Paradoxically, the vast universe continued its relentless dance of motion.

However. There might be merit in the notion of partaking in the Great Red Dragon's essence. His gaze shifted toward the kitchen. Will might be unable to eat conventionally, but he could absorb the essence through the IV fluids.

Hannibal set the glass aside and painstakingly rose to his feet, his injured side causing him to limp as he made his way to the kitchen. Chiyoh's attention heightened, a subtle shift in her posture betraying her uncertainty about what to anticipate. Nevertheless, she remained steadfast at her post, keeping a vigilant eye on Graham even as Hannibal disappeared from her sight.

She could hear the music, a sign that his ideas were once more dancing within his mind.

[barstoolblues]

you see me leave the house whimsically with an umbrella and no coat and think oh what a true rain lover 😊 staying dry and enjoying the cool wet air! but in reality im heading for the bins to dispose of disemboweled rat guts that spontaneously generated on the carpet

[bobrosenbaum]

Resistance - Street Protests, Hadera, Israel, July 2023.

Today is a sad day, and an apparently necessary day in the history of our young and historically-liberal nation.

Today the extreme-right governing coalition in Israel's parliament used the brute power of their majority to take what appears (for many of us) to be a nose dive into an authoritarian form of government, in spite of broad, vocal and sustained opposition from minority lawmakers, a large percentage of its citizens, and scores of leading judicial, national security, diplomatic, economic and business community members.

THIS IS NEW for little Israel, which throughout its first 75 years of hard-won (and miraculous) independence, created governments that have nurtured and championed a progressive democracy, focused squarely on the multi-colored sensitivities of its citizens. Today's vote formally shifts this often-fragile governing balance into the conservative realms of religious autocracy and fundamentalism, and with considerable force.

This vote now prohibits the Israeli Supreme Court from using a somewhat esoteric judicial measure called 'reasonableness' as a means to overturn government appointments and decisions, a Court practice that has been used sparingly but dramatically in recent years. The first likely outcome of this change will be the firing of the independent Israeli Attorney General, who has been a thorn in the current government's side since its election. A second likely outcome of the change will be the installment of the charismatic religious leader (and twice-convicted tax felon) Arieh Deri as the government's Minister of the Interior and Minister of Health. Other possible outcomes of the change include such fateful policy decisions as outlawing the current Palestinian Authority and ruling that Jews who move to the West Bank are, by law, guaranteed more rights than native Palestinians (i.e., apartheid).

To say simply that this change was opposed by some Israeli citizens is the understatement of 2023.

For seven months straight, hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of concerned Israelis have regularly left the comfort of their homes, screens and cars for street corners and intersections, protesting the governing coalition's step-by-step program to disembowel the country's judicial system.

There is no other spontaneous national movement in Israel's history that can be compared to this protest, in breadth, scale or effectiveness.

It appears that it will take every ounce of our nation's legendary strength, soul and courage to avoid translating this political shift into a potentially devastating civil war. At this moment, there is mainly only anger and disgust on both sides of the political divide.

THE FALLOUT FROM today's vote has yet to be seen and felt, but it is hard to be optimistic about the results. The predictions from many corners of the Israeli and global community are apocalyptic: massive shifts of capital away from Israel's high-tech 'startup nation'; resignations en masse by members of the Israeli military reserve forces; a dramatic reduction in American diplomatic and economic support, a rainstorm of new claims by anti-Israeli political, legal and civil groups; unprecedented waves of emigration by young people, progressive families and citizens with liberal mindsets – the list goes on. We shall see.

Anyway you turn it, today's vote 'winners' are also the losers – in fact, our elected leadership's inability (and perhaps disinterest) in arriving at a realistic compromise solution on judicial system reform has made all Israelis the losers.

The need to rise above the inflammatory rhetoric has never been more urgent. We need to take a breathe and focus on the basic motivations for this government's race to weaken the Israeli judiciary system and ask ourselves the question: 'Why?'

And we need now more than ever to proactively engage fellow Israeli citizens in 'the other camp' and ask: 'Why?'

The answers we hear – if any – are not likely to move us into their camp. But as long as we continue to ask 'Why?' we also continue to see our adversary as our brother or sister, a human being with thoughts, feelings and needs not unlike our own, and we can sustain Israel as a people of compassion and shared possibility in place of surging irrational violence and bloodshed.

This is not the first time we have seen the mosaic components of our people disagree so emphatically over the direction our government is taking – Israeli history is full of such moments. This is also not the first time we have so deeply feared and castigated 'the other camp'. But this time, the price of abandoning our compassion will be the continued existence of our nation.

[caesarsaladinn]

hi hello im studying classics and whether or not caesar was a baby born via caesarean section is unclear to my knowledge, but some academics think it's likely.

words like Caesar, caesarian, caesura, etc. come from the latin root 'caedo, caedere, cecidi, caesum' the primary definition of which is 'to cut'

the term caesarian section almost definitely comes this word as it's, the cut midsection birth style, and some people think that Caesar was called Caesar because he was the result of that kind of procedure! or that someone in his family was, his dad was also a Caesar iirc. which, tbh, wouldn't be out of line with roman naming conventions which are fucked up, seriously, fun reading.

TLDR; Caesarian section comes from caedo, Caesar comes from caedo, but Caesar /also/ might have come from Caesarian

the name Caesar dated back long before him, and even by Pliny the Elder’s day (~80 CE?) the etymology was unclear—Pliny suggested it came from caeso and had been adopted because someone in his patriline had been delivered that way (as you said!).

intuitively, it feels like something that would come up in the sources, so I’m skeptical that he was—the procedure was (almost?) always fatal and super gruesome, and a story about a well-bred lady getting disemboweled would make for a great anecdote or a poetic origin story for the father of the empire. I know Suetonius has a reputation for including that kind of sordid stuff.

but the false etymology is still pretty widespread, and if we’re positing a world in which he was spontaneously reconstituted from atoms and is basking in his fame, he probably wouldn’t deny his family a little bit of extra glory even if it wasn’t true.

[rebelwheelsnycpoetry]

The Men O'Finne

by Michele Sommerstein I see, the Men O’Finne. I saw with my own eyes, with this flapper in flare, worse, than the tyranny of the marmoset worse, than the swallow trapped in the thick tartar swamps worse, than the disembowelment of the romping platypus These druids, enslaved to the bulbous bouffant enslaved, to the crustacean trollops with their torso backwash, squirming into the crevi, of their existence and strife

Searching for the creature they called Somniferous to add what he can, to their … bouillabaisse de resistance! Take one spoon, and you too shall be doing the Charleston, the Coochie Coo with a Skexsis, eating Gelfling tapioca wondering if there is a delicatessen, that only serves croissants.

And what of the squid and crumpet marching towards you? Their feet like fate! Screaming sphincters! They will surely ask: “Are you the barracuda? The lupus who watooseyed into the buttocks with your cutlery, and ever sassy glob and charm?”

“No, I am the rump of a dustbunny, mortal and vermilion I am the frolicking wastrel, the Bruja in the rough!”

And you recall the ephemeral sphinx that once told you it was spontaneity and lies that broke the asparagus tall like trees or was it Nietzsche, and his temptous spleen spewing philosophical hairballs like a hysterical weinersnitchel, pickle and spam!

No matter The squid and crumpet are marching closer, with their Celtic leiderhosen, wiggling with persnickety Their anti feetbed weaponry, swinging like a giddy orangutan, and knoosed swine!

And the fantastical zeppelin funded by the river Styx wiggling through the clouds of Macadamia through it’s highlandic gazebos, and refined rutabaga cuisine, struck every heart of the enslaved druids as it crooned the bubonic anthem “Oh plethora! Oh plethora!”

“The crumpets and squid are marching closer, can anything help you now?” screamed the flapper aware “This must be thee large and pendulous haunting faux pas, the Dali Llama spoke of!”

No, in these times of Pneumatic Renaissance… these times of iconhood, and the dying Rococo… where the Cannibals eat the Lovecrafts the Toboggans and try to copulate it is all a mistake, indeed

Schenectady! Infamy! The squids and crumpets attack you like the epidermis, that smothers the bones And so you die in the arms of the flapper who slowly whispers “Merde…”

[laufire]

Last Line Tag Game

I was tagged over a week ago by the lovely @merfilly (ty!)

Here’s the Desperate Housewives-Supernatural crossover I’ve tried to stop myself from writing xDD:

Life in Wisteria Lane, despite some of its habitants’ best efforts, was peppered with incessant interruptions of even the most carefully constructed routines.

Some of those interruptions were little more than inconveniences: a housewife’s wishes for a romantic night in were thwarted by the unannounced visit of her smothering mother in law, or a working mother’s best laid schedule went down the drain when her child had to stay sick at home. These women managed to juggle this annoyances according to their abilities and emerged victorious, one or two ruffled outfits at the other side at most.

Other interruptions were plenty welcome: the visit of a half-estranged child from college, even suitcase-full of dirty laundry, or the spontanous expensive dinner from a husband desperate to make up for his inattention.

But there were those that went beyond inconveniences. Interruptions that wrecked the peaceful passage of time in Fairview; that changed their simple little lives and tore apart their understanding of the world.

Like when my friend Lynette’s husband appeared disemboweled in the streets, eyes still open and a dropped bag filled with formula tore from his fingers.

tagging (no pressure): @nectargrapes @missbrunettebarbie-writer @starry-sky-stuff @bombshellsandbluebells @angelfishofthelord @heaven-ecologist @grapecaseschoices @inkbleeder @lesbiancommodus @donnas-troia and anybody else who wants to try their hand at it, just mention me ^-^

[shallowbreaths]

I take a sip of brandy, and I read your words describing how we met. I’m not sure I would describe it the same way. I despised your pretty boy image, your casual pet names for everyone you met, your all too casual approach to life in general. It was aggravating. I had spent MONTHS slowly winning over the office staff, they were nasty to all salespeople but me, and they hated being treated disrespectfully, so I slowly wore them down. I was allowed in the office! Other salespeople were not welcome there... it was a point of pride... I was something more. Then one day as I stood there talking to them, you waltzed in. They threw looks at one another, and I knew your demise was close at hand! You sauntered into the lion’s den, completely unafraid and I tried so hard not to laugh. You walked into the office manager’s office and asked her to do something. She looked so pissed! But she let out a deep sigh and said, “fine.” You never noticed the clipped tone. You turned and said, “Thanks, Pumpkin.” Pumpkin! You fucking called her pumpkin!! What the hell would possess a twenty year old to call a woman near fifty, pumpkin?! Oh the glory of it! You’d be disemboweled publicly, and I would return to my status of “the good one”. I was shocked that you left the office without a word from them. I had no idea what I was witnessing. You left, and Linda, the office manager, sprung to her feet and rushed out.

Perhaps I wouldn’t see a public execution, but I WOULD be around for the private plotting for what would happen “the next time...”. They had simply been unprepared for your impundence! They were strong and violent women! I had only through great cunning and strategy escaped with my life and earned a place of trust among them. I would gladly throw you into the volcano as a symbol of my great respect.

Linda shrieks, “He called me Pumpkin”

Michelle and I both respond with, “I know!” But clearly Michelle KNEW something I did not, because as quickly as my fervor started, my confusion took over when Michelle said, “oh my God! That was so fucking cute!” And Linda started fanning herself!

What? They liked this? No! This was unacceptable! You referred to her as a gourd! Yes, it’s a rather popular gourd, particularly around the holidays, but it is still a gourd! It was unsolicited! You had been trespassing! And quite frankly, it hardly seemed age appropriate!

I have watched so many women drop at your feet because of this thing they say you have, this, “charm”. It is obviously dark magic, this charm you possess, because it breaks hearts, and spreads legs, and leaves me completely stupefied. I don’t understand it, but being a well raised christian boy, I don’t think “charming” people is a good thing. I’m quite certain it involves eye of newt and bat wings... who even HAS such things? Clearly, you! It was much like a force field. Where I would think of a joke and excitedly share it only to hear crickets and see the evil eye cast upon me by every woman in sight, YOU could do no wrong! A stranger would come in to look at a car and wind up giving you a blow job on the test drive! How does this happen? Perhaps if I knew a girl quite well for a decade or two I could risk saying, “your breasts look quite lovely.” Meanwhile I observed you telling complete strangers, “show us your cones!” Cones! I would be sooo embarrassed, and then they would!! I’d be too erect to even function. The spontaneity of it all, the lack of decorum... it would be arousing every time I thought of it, which was often, but when I brought it up to you, you’d hardly remember.

So how did two diametrically opposed men become fast friends? I suppose it was Connie, your on and off girlfriend that I probably would have amputated my toes in order to be around. She was breathtaking! You treated her like shit, as you did all women quite frankly, but who knows, perhaps in time you would tell her to show me “her cones” and she would. That would be excellent. Or perhaps you’d ruin it with her, and I would grow slowly upon her like fungus and perhaps in our forties we might go out for coffee together, and then who knows what hijinks would ensue!

You two fought one day, and she stormed off, you too stormed off. I followed you, ready to blast you with both barrels for treating such an incredible lady as you did. You walked out the side door. It was raining. Why would you walk out the side door? You were wearing silk pants, and the rain could destroy them! You constantly worried about such things, and I would mock you for it, so why walk outside in them? I followed you out, I wanted to know why it didn’t matter, perhaps I’d still yell at you about Connie. We’d see. I’d let the moment take me where ever felt right. Without warning, you dropped to your knees in a puddle, put your hands over your face, and began to bawl. I don’t break down in public, I want to be seen as strong, but I knew that pain... I wouldn’t have thought you did though. I also knew being alone in that pain was Hell, having it rip from you in front of people was a nightmare, and not knowing what they thought of the display of weakness was a dishonor I could never live with. There truly was only one solution. I dropped to my knees next to you and put my arm around you. I hoped you wouldn’t think it was “gay”. You seemed to have strong emotions about “gay” things. Instead you put your arms around me, and I held you as you cried. In truth, I don’t think I ever contemplated what was “gay” again. I suppose that moment was as questionable as two men could get without kissing, so I knew “gay” was beyond that, meaning holding my male friend as he cried was ok... maybe even good. There it was though... friend. I’d thought it. I’d felt it. So here I was, kneeling in a puddle with my friend, holding each other as he cried over Connie. God forgive me, I would still love to see her “cones”.

You were yin to my yang. You were expression to my restraint. I loved cracking you up. I loved seeing how far I could push a moment where you would understand where I was going but others couldn’t be sure what was happening. Our life was more often than not, an inside joke between us, and then me creating a story to explain the joke to others off the top of my head that would ALSO make you laugh. I miss my friend. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you went to jail, but you were too self absorbed by that time to make room for me. I didn’t even know. So I didn’t know when after two years of silence you started trying to contact me again, why you were doing it. I shouldn’t have ignored those calls. You died young and prematurely on your mother’s kitchen floor, with the entirety of your life fitting within one small room. Your book being your great masterpiece... you were more like your father than I ever dared say. Now you’re gone, but your words and your feelings for me survive, and there is a beautiful sweetness to their terrible sting. I miss you brother.

[calendille]

I was tagged by @venwe ! and @zealouswerewolfcollector !

ao3 name: Kalendeer

fandoms: The Silmarillion, formely Asoif (am planning to go back to it after A Feast of Ashes to finish that fic that is only missing it’s last chapter lol).

number of fics: 20 on AO3!

fic i spent the most time on: A Feast of Ashes, soon to be 100k!

fic i spent the least time on: The Singing Man

longest fic: A Feast of Ashes. AO3 says it’s over 100k but in fact it’s just a bit lower (there’s a mid-fic summary inside).

shortest fic: Fight or flight

most hits (3660), most kudos (130), most comment threads (129), A Feast of Ashes

most bookmarks (25): Istaril and the Staff Dancer

total word count:      270367 according to AO3 but I do have some original stories in French that are, of course, not here.

favourite fic i wrote: A Feast of Ashes of course come up high, I don’t think anyone spends so many words on something they don’t like. For shorter stories, the Staff Dancer always.

fic you want to rewrite/expand on: The ward of Casterly Rock. It is actually not 13k like on AO3 but 34k on FF.net, and it’s missing its last chapter and an epilogue, which is ridiculous. So I am planning on finishing it once Feast of Ashes is done.

share a bit of a wip or a story idea you’re planning on: This is from a story called “the Archer and the King”, and I don’t know if I will ever finish it, so here is the beginning under the cut.

Tagging: @arianaofimladris, @amethysttribble, @cycas, @snowflake-sunflower

I have no parents, but I used to have a son.

He was a bright, delightful child, named after the brightness of fire. He laughed like water hitting rocks and lived like any day was worth it.

One day he disappeared, along with Olue’s boys. The Shadows took them while they were harvesting berries north of our camp. We thought them lost forever, cried to the cold stars and buried their belongings.

And then one day, the Bright Rider came, and we listened to his words with hearts singing, for the Rider told us our sons were in Mandos and we would find them back in Valinor. We toiled through the long March, through the abandonment of half our people. I lost my wife to the beauty of Endorë, and Olue his brothers Elue and Elmo to the deep woods. Despite grief and guilt, we crossed the wide sea toward the smiling faces of our sons.

In Valinor we found Light, peace and safety; we did not find our children. The Shadows had twisted their spirits beyond recognition. We visited them once, at the frontiers of Mandos, and never came back, for fear and disgust of what we saw.

I was barely relevant in this land of peace. My name is Tall-Bow, Swift-handed, in the tongue of my people Oruacano Tyelcompar. I am of the Unbegotten, of considerable height compared to my kin, crowned with hair the color of foam and eyes dark as a stormy sea. I am renowned as the best archer of the Lindar and have won most of the friendly competitions held in Valinor since our arrival. I am the head of Olue’s royal guard; not that it is of any use in Valinor. Until the Darkening I was an object to be displayed for ceremonies.

Now, I stand tall and stern behind King Olue’s shoulder, towering over Prince – no, King Fëanaro Curufinwë. His haughty features and burning eyes are carefully controlled, but his policed air is nothing but a fragile mask, barely hiding the churning grief under his skin. Each gesture is studied, each expression mastered, in way more fitting measured, stern Nolofinwë than the usually spontaneous High Prince. He sits with elegant nonchalance, flanked with the standing, rigid, tall body of his first son. Maitimo Nelyafinwë is as unarmed as I am, but we are both intended to look menacing.

“You shall not have our ships,” King Olue (Olwë on Fëanaro’s tongue) pronounces. “Nor shall we ferry your people across the sea.”

“You renounce your friendship in this hour of our need, then,” interjects Fëanaro. The mask cracks into a white, toothy, predatory smile. “Yet you were glad indeed to receive our aid when you came at last to these shores. You were grieved and empty handed. You would be dwelling in huts on the beaches, had my people not carved out your haven and built your walls.”

I cannot see my King’s face, but Olue is a placid and reliable elf. He must be calm and unreadable now, his skin soft and unwrinkled by anger.

“We renounce no friendship”, Olue answers as father would to his son. “Is it not a friend’s duty to warn his companion of his own folly? And when the Noldor welcomed us and gave us aid, your words sounded quite different. In the land of Aman we were to live as brothers and neighbors,” he reminds him with soft, controlled words that doesn’t seem to appease Fëanaro. “But as for our white ships: those are no gifts from your people. We learned that craft from the Lords of the Sea, from Uinen and Ossë and Ulmo, while it is unknown of even the greatest of your masters. The white timbers were shaped by our own hands, and the white sails were woven by our wives and our daughters. Therefore we will neither give them nor sell them, even to a friend. For I say to you, Fëanaro son of Finwë, these are to us as are the jewels of the Noldor: the work of our hearts, whose like we shall not make again.”

At these last words the Noldo’s face twists as if in pain. A dangerous glint seeps through his silvery irises, quickly smothered under the fragile pretense of calm and self-mastery.

“I hear you,” he pronounces, his voice dripping with disdain, and those are the last words Fëanaro and Olue will ever say to each other. The noldorin prince leaves in a flourish of blood-red fabric, his cloak billowing behind him.

Silence fills Olue’s study, disturbed only by the crackles of lamps. The King stands, glides to the windows with measured, slow steps. The song of the sea caresses our ears with the promises of Ulmo’s guidance.

“Fëanaro will come for the ships. He is fey with grief, led by anger, and always lacked moderation. He will come armed and determined to wrench them from our hands.” The winds blows through his pale hair and the sheer curtains. Olue’s words ring colder in such a peaceful night. “When he does, the mariners shall not resist. Fëanaro is to be allowed to occupy the decks. We shall not be accused of violence against he or his kin.”

He turns toward me, indecipherable.

“Once Fëanaro will have taken the ships, you will shoot him.” To my widening eyes and shocked mouth, he answers: “Fëanaro is leading his people toward ruin.  He is leading himself toward ruin. The Lord of the Sea sent me dreams potent with foreboding, whose biding I cannot ignore. Melkor is a Vala. Neither Fëanaro, nor any of his kin are and will ever be able to bring him down. If Fëanaro is sent to Mandos, then Nolofinwë and Arafinwë will be able to convince their people to go back to Tirion and wait for the Valar’s counsel.”

Sent to Mandos. As if killing the new King of the Noldor amounts to sending a child to sit in a corner! And yet… I am deaf to Ulmo’s songs, but Olue is not. Whose orders are those? My King’s or Ulmo’s?

“You speak of murder.”

“With great pain, and thinking only of his own welfare and that of his people. We both know that death is not the greatest peril awaiting them in Middle Earth. What fate shall Fëanaro find there? Shall we let the sons of Finwë meet the same end as our own boys? His people are safer in Valinor. The sacrifice of Fëanaro’s flesh is a necessary evil to save his soul.”

The shade of grief over his son haunts his eyes still. His was silver haired, just like Earwen. I can remember the softness of his golden skin, the pinkish lips and the baby-talk he still used. The memory of Olwë’s child awaken my own, those of a little body with his mother’s dark hair and my turquoise eyes, huge with youth. I see them laughing in my mind, until these laughs turn to cackles, their smiles into mouths like open wounds, their eyes delirious and hungry.

I see what monster Melkor will make of Fëanaro, his beauty twisted and grotesque, his naïve aggressiveness turned into genuine, blind and hateful destructiveness, his brilliant mind broken into slavery. I see monstrous darkness towering over the kneeling sons of Finwë. I see them strangled by chains and their children displayed flayed and disemboweled around their weeping bodies.

I turn in disgust and wrench myself from Olue’s stare. The apparition lingers etched into my retinas.

“The Lord of the Sea sent me these visions. We must act according to his wisdom, as genuine friends to Finwë. Despite Fëanaro’s clamors I do not deny our friendship. I do not forsake Finwë, he who welcomed us with open arms when we came here wracked by grief over my brother and plead with the Valar to allow us to see our sons. I do not forget our last conversation either. Before he exiled himself to Formenos, Finwë took time to explain his reasoning for abandoning his people for the sake of his firstborn. He had faith in Nolofinwë’s abilities to rule and none in Fëanaro’s chances to withstand the storm. He considered his firstborn a child, unable to live without his firm guidance, emotionally crippled by Queen Miriel’s death. Can we let a child lead the Noldor in these times? As brilliant as Fëanaro is, he is no King. He has no grasp of diplomacy and does not hold the heart of his people. His place is at Finwë’s side and in the caring arms of his mother.”