#the former are the Angry Bastards (often with a death wish)

[mycological-mariner]

I only have 2 characters:

Ones I create wanting to slap in the face and then later on want to hold gently and ones I create wanting to hold gently and later on wanting to slap in the face

[fabricated-misslieness]

Hey, can you do a Dazai x Port Mafia Executive Male Reader. Where reader is Dazai former partner before he gets replace by Chuuya and instead of Chuuya coming for Q and fighting Lovecraft its reader instead. Readers ability is like Shigaraki from bnha.

Dazai Osamu x sadistic!male reader

Ngl I was a little confused cause the last time I watched bsd was months ago.

Also made the reader sadistic because yes. i forgot the reason

Part 2

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 3859

Warnings: Mentions of suicide (Dazai stuff ofc), angsty boi

“You want me to pair up with this rookie?” You gesture in the vague direction of Dazai. You know he’s there, but you don’t act like it.

Dazai huffs, offended by your words. He crosses his arms. You weren’t giving him the best impression and if you were going to be partners, he at least had to tolerate you enough to keep his head on his shoulders.

“Now, now,” Mori chides with a sweet tone. You don’t trust the guy, he may act kind, but you’re sure he hides something with that kindness. “He’s already a port mafia executive.” You roll your eyes, he was only one of them because he witnessed the old boss handing down his title ‘willingly’. You seriously doubted he did do it willingly, seeing as it was a mere few minutes before his death. That sort of coincidence belongs to a movie.

“Like I don’t know that.” You shake your head. “Fine, fine, I’ll be his partner. I only want to know what he can do. He has an ability, doesn’t he?”

You finally acknowledge his presence, turning to him and sizing him up. Dazai is flustered by the gesture, but he pretends to act calm and collected, something that works with that young poker face of his.

“Yes--” Mori is interrupted by the executive himself, who is eager to show off.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai replies, uncrossing his arms. “But what’s yours?”

You furrow your eyebrows. Abilities are wide and unique, ranging from psychological to physical to straight magic. Knowing your ability could be a part of his ability. You were to work together so he’d know either way, but at the moment, you wanted to know his weaknesses.

“That’s valuable information.” You crack your knuckles and stretch, pretending to prepare for a fight.

“No fighting in my office.” Mori reminds you. “Or the building, for that matter. One of your abilities is particularly destructive, and we don’t know what you could do. Go to the training area if you’re going to fight.”

You give both of them a smirk, “Who says I was going to fight? I was merely enjoying the look in Dazai’s eye.”

Dazai frowned, quickly fixing his composure. It’s true, he was a little intimidated and he did not mean to let it show.

“You’re quite sadistic, aren’t you?” Mori chuckles, shaking his head.

“That’s one thing right about me, boss.” You smile brightly. Dazai furrows his eyebrows and examines you. That smile of yours is sickeningly sweet, almost mocking. You look like a monster, but maybe that was part of your act. He’d know your ability in no time.

“Well, as partners you do have to know each other’s abilities. I picked Dazai specifically for you.” That gave each of them a hint to each other’s abilities, more to Dazai than anything.

You nod letting out a sigh, “Do you have anything you don’t want, Mori?”

Dazai quirks an eyebrow, interested in the peculiar question. Mori nods, nudging forward a tongue depressor, those big wooden popsicle sticks, one he could very well spare.

You pick up with all but one finger, your middle finger, holding it up for both of them to see. “Do you have anything for the debris?” Mori slides a metal tray towards the edge of the table.

“Pay close attention, Dazai.” You give him a glance before looking back at the stick, putting your final finger on it. It disintegrates in a matter of seconds, turning into pieces so small that they look like ash. “What’s yours?” You turn to him.

Dazai seems to shrink under your gaze, but he keeps a stoic look. “Put your hand on my arm.” You raise an eyebrow. Does he wish to experiment with your ability or is it part of his?

You put your hand on his arm, once again with all but one finger. You don’t trust him, that much is clear.

“Trust me.” The look he gives you is genuine, albeit the smile is devilish, though you oblige all the same.

Your eyebrows furrow when your ability has no effect. The skin doesn’t disintegrate, nor does it fall apart as usual. “That is my ability, No Longer Human.”

“And that is why I paired you two up.”

You huff a little angrily once you realize. His ability stops other abilities, what triggered it you didn’t know, but that wasn’t the most important thing for you. He paired you two up to have him be your control. You don’t need anyone to control you and you don’t want anyone to control you. You want to do you and you do not want this boy to hold you back.

You open your mouth to protest but Mori interrupts you. “This is my decision and mine alone, you cannot say otherwise.” As much as you want to mess up his pretty face, you couldn’t disobey the boss.

“Fine.”

As time grew on, Dazai had become a friend, though sometimes he felt like more than a friend. Despite your early refusal to the idea, you’d really warmed up to each other.

Dazai, the young bastard, was also quite the prick at times. Though you couldn’t really complain about his age since it turns out you’re within the same age range. While he was a prick, he was also caring, as you’d come to learn.

Sometimes he’d hold your forearm when you were touching something, even though over the years you’d built up the habit to not use your middle finger. Every time he did so you would laugh and it would somewhat fluster you, you’d tell him you didn’t need it and without fail he would say “Just in case.” It was nice to know he cared, and the other little gestures he would perform were even nicer.

You were known for being a little sadistic, taking joy from inflicting pain for no reason. When he’d hold you back from attacking some random lackey at the time it would make you angry, but a few minutes later you’d be grateful for it. After all, that lackey wouldn’t be very useful with an injury.

Though sometimes even he couldn’t hold you back. When you’d start a fight with another executive just for your enjoyment, he was quick to be there and keep you in touch. Perhaps you did need control after all.

The other executives were rather thankful for Dazai, as you chose someone to pick on every week. Something you hated about Dazai was that he was immune to your mockery. He got used to it from your partnership and he couldn’t be hurt by your ability. But you supposed it was for the better, the other executives were starting to get really annoyed by you.

Except everything changed when Nakahara came along.

Although your partnership was relatively new, you found comfort in each other’s companies. You protected each other’s weaknesses and complemented each other’s strengths; so when the news came along that Chūya would replace you as Dazai’s partner, both of you were a little ticked off, per say.

Dazai’s first impression on the newer rookie didn’t help their relationship. Chūya annoyed him to the very ends of the Earth and he did not want him to replace you. It wasn’t just Chūya either, he’d grown very fond of you. Sometimes he couldn’t even fight without you; He was used to you being there to back him up, though this detail he would not tell you.

In time, you didn’t look like the monster he’d thought you were in his first impression of you. You actually looked sweet.

Your smile, which for everybody else would be sadistic, turned out to look more endearing to him. Everybody caught onto the fact that the smiles you’d directed at him weren’t the smiles he’d show others. Somehow you hadn’t realized it, but he had.

You’d grown to like him, dare say crush on him, which was something you denied. His triumphant smile after the end of a mission and the jokes he’d make as you fought were always the highlight of your day.

None of you wanted to give up the other.

“This is his decision and his alone, we cannot say otherwise.” You mocked, making Dazai snicker. The fact he used the same words was quite ironic, really. 

Tomorrow marked Chūya and his first mission together, so you’d dedicated this day to each other. Dazai did not look forward to tomorrow, and as much as he wanted to vent to you about Chūya’s very abundant annoying qualities, you’d both promised not to talk about it.

The news of your separation had made both of you realize your growing crushes for each other. You were no longer in denial, though you loathed the idea… but when you really thought about it, you didn’t loathe the idea. Musing to yourself about hugging him, playing with his hair… thinking about the fact that you did in fact like it made you gag.

As the night neared to an end, your guts told you to tell him. You wouldn’t see each other all that often anyway and if you were never to interact much, at least you would be getting this off your chest.

“Dazai.” You both stared out the window of the HQ, prior to you speaking up you were in an awkward silence. None of you wanted to say goodbye.

He turned to you and you to him. As much as you wanted to avoid eye contact, you thought it might help. “I like you… don’t joke with me.”

Dazai was going to make a joke. It was amazing how much you got to know him in so little time. He smiled, and your hopes raised when you took notice of how it wasn’t pitiful. “I like you too.”

You immediately let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Where’s the big sadistic lion?” Dazai questions, playfully mocking how meek you are right now. His smile seems more joyful than usual, as it should with what just happened.

You snicker, giving him the sadistic smile he’s used to. “I’m right here.”

Dazai was your anchor in the Port Mafia, even when he plead for double suicide with you. Before you were partnered up, you absolutely despised the place. The other executives and the occasional lackeys were fun to provoke but it was almost as if that was your coping mechanism. You often complained about how awful the Mafia was handled with the previous boss, but he would never change anything. He was an idiot up until his very death.

You thought Mori’s recent ‘crowning’ would change your opinion, but it didn’t change it at all. You still hated the place. It was almost as if their only objective was to keep their hands on Yokohama. You wanted more than that, you wanted the whole of Japan to be your turf.

Mori didn’t want that and while he would take the opportunity once presented, he wouldn’t do a thing otherwise. He was perfectly happy with that and you weren’t.

Dazai was the only reason you stayed, but now the reason had been diminishing. You barely spoke and barely hung out. This wasn’t what ‘dating’ was and both of you knew it.

He wanted to try harder and so did you, but with your current situation, you couldn’t. When he wasn’t with Chūya, you were out on a mission. No, you weren’t jealous. This wasn’t Chūya’s fault nor was it something either of you could control. There were various times you debated on breaking up.

Dazai was the only thing holding you back from leaving, so if you broke up you didn’t have to worry about him. But you liked him and both of you would be heartbroken. You never liked thinking about it, but someday, it had to be addressed. That day never came.

The final day you were with the Port Mafia was the day that you had a brush with death.

You’d called for backup, you’d received none. The henchmen you were commanding left like cowards. To think these were the people you’d trained.

One of your big weaknesses was fighting groups of people alone. These henchmen knew that and they’d run. Where were their morals? Where was their faith, their loyalty? Where was their honor, their pride? It was then that you’d learned the Port Mafia wasn’t your place. These people weren’t your people, this turf wasn’t your turf. They were cowards and you were no coward.

Alone and fighting recklessly, you were down. You refused to flee, and that stubbornness was what caused you to nearly die. Luckily, you never crossed death’s doorstep. The people you were fighting presumed you dead the moment you dropped to the ground.

They were fools but a fool you were too to let your emotions get the best of you.

That day somebody had found you on the brisk of death. They claimed to be a spy and they offered to get you help.

Of course, you accept without asking for conditions. You were dying, what else could you have said? The conditions turned out to be joining his organization and feeding them with information or something equally as important.

No longer would you be associated with the Port Mafia. You were glad to leave them. But your only consequence being leaving behind Dazai, the love of your life and the highlight of the day. It was a hard decision to make that was for sure, but it was either this or death.

You felt selfish.

Months after joining them, the so-called ‘Guild’, your heart ached. Leaving Dazai was your biggest mistake but joining the Guild was the best thing that had happened to you since him. For the longest time, you’d wanted to tell him. You never had the guts to. And then you left Japan to join the bigger part of the guild in North America.

In time you’d stopped thinking about Dazai.

The crew was polite, a contrast from the cold lackeys and executives from the Port Mafia. It’s a nice change, one you wish won’t ever change. But maybe the hope of a different life blinds you from how bad these people really are, their underlying motives and morals, their similarities to the Port Mafia executives.

The guild is ambitious, their leader most of all. They have a turf and the turf is way bigger than the Port Mafia’s, something you’re proud about. You certainly feel better about this place than the Port Mafia.

Your sadistic personality never changes either, and while the others are certainly annoyed by it, they handle it in a different way. They make sure you know that you can’t hurt them severely, or there’ll be repercussions. Maybe not repercussions from the Guild’s rules, but them hurting you back. It’s a nice change, one that gets your adrenaline pumping every time you pick a fight.

The only time you did think of him was in your nightmares, the middle of the night. Those nightmares consisted of him calling you a traitor, betrayer, but that wasn’t what hurt you. They played out scenarios of you telling Dazai.

He’d kiss you, hold you tight, ask you where you’d been, question the new stitches and scars… and then you’d tell him.

His face would be ridden with denial. “No. No you couldn’t have! You’re joking, you’re lying!” He laughs, tries to believe it’s a joke, but he can’t get it out of his head that it isn’t.

“It’s not.”

It’s then that he lets out a sob. He trembles, pushes you away from him, looks you in the eye with a look full of betrayal. It’s then that he calls you names, which stated before aren’t what hurts you. It’s how he looks and what he says next that hurts the most, “I thought you loved me.”

That’s when the nightmare ends. You wake up with tears of your own, they’re hot and sting on your cheeks. You furiously wipe them away, but more keep coming.

You sob loudly, which wakes up John and Lucy. They’re the only ones you’ve trusted with your secret, Dazai. They comfort you the best they can but the most they can do is tell you it’s going to be okay or something along those lines. As much as you try to believe them, you can’t.

Dazai becomes a mere figure of your past. You think of him as unreachable, unattainable, as something you should scold yourself for thinking about.

If you could’ve taken him with you, you would’ve.

Learning that you will go back to Japan because of the leader’s obsession with a ‘tiger’ almost breaks you like your ability would.

You hadn’t thought about Dazai nightmares in the past year, but now you remember him again. You begin to regret leaving him, your heart aches again and your nightmares act up again. Everything gets worse when you arrive in Japan.

War breaks out between 3 organizations but the only thing you can think of is the Port Mafia. It’d been 6 years. Could he still remember you?

You don’t care who wins, you just want this whole thing to be over with. It upsets your ‘teammates’, but you don’t care. Once again, you think about leaving the organization, maybe live a normal life. That sort of life feels far-fetched right now and you know it’s something you’ll never have the chance to achieve. But still, you hope for it.

But then you see him again.

The second your eyes land on him you want to run. His eyes land on you and they must look the same as yours.

It hurts, but you have to persevere. “Hey, Lovecraft?” You glance at the man with the strange ability and appearance. “You want to go sleep, right?” You let out a mocking yawn of your own, giving the two in front of you your signature sickly smile.

“Yes.” Lovecraft replies, voice monotone and deep as always.

“Go get John and leave, get to sleep faster.” You nod in the direction you’d seen Chūya knock John towards. Your eyes stayed on the two in front of you. They both act as if they’d never seen you before, which you’re glad for. You don’t know if you could’ve handled seeing the same look Dazai would give you in your nightmares.

“But Francis and... you.” You’d like to think you’d gotten close to Lovecraft, but really he treated everybody the same because of his ‘contract’ with Francis.

“I’ll be fine. I know these guys’ weaknesses, anyway.” He doesn’t question how you do nor does he protest further and leaves immediately. “Quite the reunion, huh?”

“(y/n)..” Chūya growls. He glares at you, something you’d never seen 6 years ago as his senior executive. He never dared to interact with you. He knew he’d be replacing you as Dazai’s partner and knew about your relationship together. If anything, it was out of pity, and that you hated.

“Chūya.” You reply. “How’s the family, the mafia, the kids?” You mock. Chūya all but seethes, he looks like he’s ready to strike.

“(y/n),” Once Lovecraft is gone, Dazai gives you the look you dreaded to see. “H-How--” He doesn’t know what to say and neither do you. Your smile fades, turns into a frown. You don’t want to fight him but you also don’t want him to take on Lovecraft. As much as you liked the guy, he was a nightmare incarnate.

“Dazai.” Is all that you say. The vague response hurts you both.

“Chūya you might want to do that here.”

Chūya looks back at Dazai, shocked and taken aback. “You want me to do that? Dazai, I don’t think that’s needed and you know how shit that makes me feel.” It’s clear he doesn’t want to give into his corruption.

“You shouldn’t underestimate him.” Dazai speaks with experience, and it hurts you to know that he knows that.

“Don’t hurt him too much, we’re dating.”

“You’re still dating?!”

“Technically we never broke up!”

You laugh, staring at the limp body next to you. Chūya is deep asleep, or knocked out, you don’t know. You never really saw the aftermath of his corruption.

“That was a nice fight.” You remark, loud enough for Dazai to hear despite how weak you feel. Chūya had basically broken both your legs and injured you, but at least he hadn’t killed you or put you into a coma. The pain was unbearable for most people, but it was a simple background thought for you.

“It’s been…” Dazai starts.

“6 years.” You finish for him.

“I missed you.” You’re glad to hear that instead of the words from your nightmares, but you’re sure those words will eventually come.

“I did too.”

“You did?”

You sigh, nodding. “There were plenty of errands I had to run around and do for Francis. That rich old guy didn’t do anything himself. I didn’t think much of you, but I never forgot you. I had my own fair share of nightmares about you, they’re all the same.”

Dazai moves you to lean against the bark of a tree. You look into each other’s eyes, and you can tell that his are pleading. “Please stay.”

You ignore his remark, weakly reaching over to feel his coat. “New coat?”

“Yes.” Dazai grumbles, sitting down next to you cross legged. “Answer me.” He pleads again.

“You don’t want to know why I left, first?” Dazai shakes his head, taking your hand in his and squeezing it, prompting a pained groan from you. He quickly apologizes for it.

“I don’t know if I can.” You sigh, rubbing the back of his hand. You were quite touch starved, seeing as you couldn't really hold or touch anything properly. “If Francis wins I’d have to stay with him. If either of you win, I’ll most likely end up in prison.”

“Join me.”

You think back to the Guild. They were inviting and you thought them to be good, but just then did you think about how bad they really were. You’d known all along but you always refused to believe it. You wanted to be there just to escape the Mafia, you never wanted to be there because it was the guild.

“What was it… the Armed Detective Agency?” He nods. “How would that stop me from going to prison?”

“I don’t know.” Dazai admits with a huff. “Just.. please stay.”

“Okay.” You smile at him. Dazai remembers that smile, it’s burned into his memory and he takes note of how it hasn’t changed a bit. He’s missed it ever since you left. “Would they accept me, though?”

“They will, they will.” He says it as if he were determined, but he knows there’s a high chance they’ll refuse.

Dazai pulls you into a much deserved kiss. Long, gentle, sweet, and full of fireworks, it’s almost like your first. The only thing is it’s a little weak on your end, but he can’t blame you.

“Not going to mention sucide?”

“I haven’t seen you in 6 years, at least let me cherish this for another 2 months.”

[phairfantooooom]

Angsty Headcanons That Nobody Asked For

In which you fail. And you die to Belphie. Permanently.

Mammon

He was in denial and refused to believe what his heart was telling him

He was the first to discover you, he is the fastest of the brothers after all

He had raced up the stairs and didn’t even notice Belphie was even there when he barged into the room

When he saw your crumbled body laying on the floor in the attic something in him snapped.

He didn’t even realize he was crying as he clutched you to him. Quietly muttering to himself he begged, he pleaded, for you to wake up. You could yell and scream and insult him for ever agreeing to let you go do this alone but just please wake up.

“You weren’t suppose’d to leave me! You promised…. please…. please just open your eyes…”

When Mammon sees Belphie finally, he connects the dots quickly, as he remembered how Belphie felt toward humans.

“You. You did this didn’t you? You killed them.”

Anger and rage would fill him. And he would welcome it, he’d rather see red than see you not breathing

It’s only when Lucifer comes and stops him that the blinding anger begins to fade. And he hates it.

Mammon would refuse to accept your death and would try to figure out a way to get you back. It’s only when Lucifer sits him down much later on and has a serious talk with him that he finally gives up. It’s not a pretty scene. Lucifer’s heart breaks a bit when he sees just how much Mammon is suffering because of this.

It takes several sessions of talking before Mammon begins to even vaguely resemble his former self

He hoards the stuff from your room and keeps a picture of you in his wallet so that he can at least have a part of you with him always.

In the end he doesn’t truly recover from your death but will pretend he is okay to keep his brothers from worrying

Leviathan 

Was eerily quiet when he saw you laying all too still on the floor

A part of him had clung to the small hope that you could be saved if he got to you fast enough

Memories of all the times he saw you smile and enjoy spending time with him flooded his head and his chest shuddered as a silent wave of despair flooded him

He’d never get to play or spend time with you anymore. He’d never get to watch those romance animes with you. He’d… he’d never…he’d never get to confess

“.....Dammit…. Dammit…”

When he learns that Belphie killed you his feelings toward him become icy.

“You… you killed the human… I hate you. I. Hate. You. You took away the bright stars in my dark night sky. You killed the person I loved!”

He would mourn alone for the most part. Anything you ever gave him will become a treasure that nobody, not even his brothers, would be allowed to touch

Becomes even more of a recluse and eventually stops having pets as they only remind him of when you and him raised one of the fish in his aquarium.

He struggles to get excited about things he would normally enjoy. Ruri-Chan has started to collect dust. His Mononoke Land account hasn’t been touched in months. He no longer goes out for idol concerts.

Time feels so slow and yet so fast. Days turn into weeks and weeks into months. Everyone else begins to recover and he just can’t. He can’t let go of you. You who showed him that little things in life can make him happy, and gave him confidence to pursue coding.

You left a hole in his heart that can’t be filled. 

He doesn’t play games alot anymore, but has instead spent his time slowly starting to build an AI via his knowledge of coding. Anyone who sees it knows it’s supposed to be you, but nobody is brave enough to call him out on it.

Will sometimes cry himself to sleep while clinging onto your old uniforms and clothes, wishing desperately that you would come back to his side. To wake him up from this horrible nightmare.

Beel

Guilt.

So much guilt.

When he finds out what happened he actually struggled to get mad at Lucifer for containing Belphie. 

After seeing you pale and lifeless, it was the first time he had ever felt his hunger vanish. In a way it was worse, as what replaced the hungry was a heart wrenching feeling like no other. He had no injuries but yet it felt as if someone had shoved a hot poker into his heart.

When Belphie gives him the whole “All Humans suck speech” and tries to laugh it off, Beel loses it.

“She wasn’t like them!”

Even as you grew cold in his arms he had gently stroked the top of your head and whispered a sorrow filled farwell into your ear.

Over the course of the coming weeks he would move into your room. Partially because he wanted to be closer to you and partially because he couldn’t stand to be near Belphie.

He does his best to keep your room clean and tidy, while not moving your things out of place. It looks as if you had never left, almost to the point that sometimes he can easily imagine you opening the door and resuming your life here in the Devildom.

His appetite never truly came back, his love of food diminishing as he would remember all the times you and him would cook together. Or when you would treat each other to Hell’s Kitchen.

He visits where you were buried once every two weeks, so he can replace the Lilys he leaves on your grave

Satan

Ahhh. 

Very angry. And gets extremely close to killing Belphie. It’s only through Lucifer’s and Beel’s joined effort that they are able to calm him down to a civil level.

“You bastard of a brother! What the hell have you done?!”

His temper flares constantly at the very mention of Belphie.

He researches night and day to find a way to get you back. No matter the cost, no matter what he needed to do. 

It’s only when Lucifer quietly asks him “Do you really think the human would want you to sacrifice everything just to bring them back?” that his resolve begins to crack.

Of course he knew you wouldn’t want to see him like this. But you had no idea how much it hurt to not have you there.

Every moment you're not there by his side is another moment he has failed you.

Eventually he breaks down due to fatigue and he just cries. He’s frustrated because nothing was working. He’s frustrated that everything is a dead end. He is frustrated that you aren’t by his side.

He just…. he wants to see your smile. He wants to see that soft look you get when you hold kittens. He wants to be able to hold you again….

Eventually He gets a small therapy kitten and he names it after you when he notices that it shares the same color of your eyes.

He vents out his pain in writing, and he writes in as much detail as he can of what he remembers of all the times he spent with you

He wants to make sure, above all else, that your memory thrives even if you aren’t by his side

Asmodus 

Gets very pissy with Belphie

Reasonably so

Doesn’t realize what he is feeling is heartbreak, as he has never lost someone like this before

He misses you dearly, and oftentimes will use perfumes or cologne that reminds him of you

Unintentionally finds himself often reminiscing about you for weeks

One day he sees someone that vaguely looks like you and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

Immediately starts putting the moves on them but quickly realizes the differences between you and them.

The difference in pitch in their voice, the way they walk, the way that their eyes are a different color, the way they laugh. The more he observes the more he asks himself why he ever thought it was you.

He finds himself distraught. This had never happened before when any of his partners left him…. Something had to be done about this.

Attempts to banish you from his mind and goes clubbing.

His plan fails miserably.

Under the dim lights and thudding of the music he almost feels haunted by you, it was almost too easy for him to imagine you sitting and waving at him from the bar with that soft smile on your face.

He gets drunk. Veryyyyy drunk.

When he gets home he ends up just going to Belphie and venting his frustrations.

“This is your fault! Do you have ANY idea how much your actions have hurt ME?!”

Before things could escalate, Lucifer comes and defuses it

After this Amso doesn’t go out socializing anymore. He feels awful everytime he does since you're not with him. And he swears that sometimes he sees you out under the glimmering lights and it reminds him of what he has lost.

He hoards all of the pictures of you he has, and when he has a bad day he goes through them one at a time. 

“Even if you are no longer by my side, I will treasure you always.”

Belphie

Mr. Killer himself.

Could not give less than two shits about who you were and what you hoped to achieve

He would have kicked your corpse an extra time if he had known that you’d made Beel care about you.

When the brothers found him he had at least thought Beel, HIS TWIN, would side with him. But nooooo. Because of your meddling you had made him seem like a monster.

“Stupid human, you had no right to stick your nose where it didn’t belong.”

Didn’t understand why the other brothers held you in such high regard, and didn’t care to learn why

Until one day when he was in the House of Lamentation by himself

Everyone had been invited to a Gala at the Castle. Each of the brothers had been personally invited by Diavolo. Save for him, who was under house arrest for his actions.

Boredom struck and he found himself wandering around the house looking for something to do when he strolled past your room.

When the brothers were home they never allowed him to go in. They feared that he would destroy your belongings, and they would lose the last remaining things that were proof of your existence here in the Devildom.

Smirking to himself he made his way inside without a care in the world. Sure the other brothers may have cared for you, but he sure as hell didn’t.

He snooped around your room for a bit before sitting down at your desk.

“How boring…. don’t you have any secrets in here…?”

As if granting his wish he saw a leather bound notebook sitting behind a bunch of Devildom Law textbooks.

Quickly reading through the contents of the smaller book he realized that it was a Journal.

Completely filled with your private thoughts.

Believing he had struck gold he took the Journal back with him to his room and lazily sprawled out on his bed. All he had to do was just dig up whatever disgusting trash you were hiding and then he would be once more in everyone’s good graces. After all it’s not as if some stupid humans privacy matters to him.

And so he read.

And read.

And read.

He firmly believed that you had to have been hiding something, some dreadful secret. But the more he read, the more he began to have this strange feeling in his gut.

Your entries were normal, er well normal of a student going to a school full of demons, and occasionally you had placed photographs of some of the events you talked about.

One of them was a TSL competition with Levi. Another was a selfie of you and Beel at Hell’s Kitchen. There was a keychain stuck between two pages from a trip with Mammon, Satan, and Lucifer to London. There was even a candid shot of a pillow fight with Diavolo and Asmo.

Forgetting that this was your life written in ink, he read more and more about the lives his brothers had led in his absence.

It wasn’t until he laughed at something you wrote that he realized how comfortable he had gotten with the idea of you.

He nearly trashed the Journal after he realized that.

But…. something stopped him.

A while later he’d resume reading. Curious about your adventures… and…

He wanted to know what you thought about him.

Before long he found the entry where you had written about him and he felt his breath hitch.

Why did your opinion of him matter so much?

His fingers touched the inked lines and his jaw clenched as he read the last entry.

You had trusted him.

You who had held no prejudice against demons had trusted him wholeheartedly.

And what had he done?

He had killed you, without a second thought.

He had even enjoyed it.

The dam he didn’t know he had been hiding behind broke, and all the regret he had been burying since he had started reading your Journal had suddenly rushed to the surface.

He hadn’t noticed he had been crying until he saw the wet blots hit the paper and smudge your words.

“I…. what have I done…. I’m so sorry….”

Lucifer

The calmest of the brothers

Outwardly, at least

Internally he wanted to rip out Belphies throat because how dare he

Doesn’t express how much it hurts to have lost you, he needs to be strong. Both for himself and for his brothers.

The tragedy of being the eldest is that he was the role model. His actions would reflect on himself and his brothers. So his reactions are more forced rather than natural.

Diavolo often tries to coax Lucifer into opening up about it but fails everytime. 

“If you really cared, you would bring her back, Lord Diavolo.”

Tension between Diavolo and Lucifer gets… bad. The anger and growing resentment toward the heir of the throne only got worse with time, and eventually Lucifer stepped down from his position with Satan taking his place.

He often goes to your old room and locks himself inside, thinking to himself. The brothers are actually a bit nervous every time this happens because they expect that this time Lucifer will finally snap and they will have to deal with an enraged Avatar of Pride. But it never does so it relieves them and makes them stressed at the same time.

But eventually...

It happens

Diavolo comes by to collect the remains of your belongings, with the intent of sending them back to the human world, to your family and friends

Lucifer sees him collecting your stuff and he fucking snaps

“If you value your life you will cease this at once.”

Before Diavolo can summon Barbatos to his side, Lucifer had managed to grab the prince by the throat. His form had changed to that of his demon self, and his eyes were mad from grief and anger.

There is a brief moment of struggle on Diavolo’s behalf followed by Lucifer leaning uncomfortably close with an aura of unbridled fury.

“You will bring her back, I know you are able to. And you will. Why? Because if you don’t I will rampage through this kingdom of yours until there is nothing but ashes left in my wake.”

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Treasure- Part 1

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Kim Hongjoong (Ateez)

Word Count: 3,565

Genre: Fantasy AU, Pirate AU

Warnings: Language, Violence, Some Smut, Mentions of Blood

Summary: For her entire life, Y/N has always been at the disposal of the men who treat her like she’s less than human. Her father was an alcoholic and her mother is unable to support the two of them after his death. Years later, Y/N feels stuck and there’s nothing worse than feeling trapped in your own home. However, after being kidnapped by a gang of ruthless pirates, Y/N finally gets her first chance of freedom and she very much likes the way it tastes even if that means playing with the heart of the notorious pirate captain whose affections become more and more obvious every day.

When I was younger, my mother told me stories about the ocean goddess Amphitrite whose husband, Poseideon, commanded the endless tides and waves. She was a jealous lover, envious of the women Posideon would often bed, resulting in demigod children which he treasured and kept safely hidden away from his wife’s thirst for vengeance. But children can only be controlled for as long as their curiosity remains sated, choosing the comfort of land instead of that deep-spirited desire to return to the water. Eventually, his demigod children could no longer resist the call and that’s when Amphitrite would rise from the deepest trenches, commanding the ocean to overhaul boats of brave sailors, thunderous power splitting the ships in half while the demigod children lose themselves to their father’s perilous domain.

But Posideon grew angry with Amphitrite’s actions, demanding that she leave his children alone or else she would be banished to the Underworld where his ruthless brother Hades prevailed. Bitter and disappointed, Amphitrite sought a new solution to the problem of her husband’s illicit affairs. Amphitrite decided to try her luck on land and she lived amongst the humans for many years. One day, while she was wandering a distant shore, Amphitrite fell in love with a gorgeous sailor whose long, silky hair and endless sea-green eyes commanded her deepest affections. The sailor, who never realized her true identity, also fell for the mysterious way he felt drawn to the woman who climbed aboard his ship. He promised that he would do anything to please Amphitrite and the clever goddess requested that the sailor track and kill the children of her unsuspecting husband. So, with a crew at hand, the love-struck sailor spent years at sea burning the ships of Poseidon’s demigod children, earning him the nickname of “Pirate” for his bloodthirsty crimes at the behest of Amphitrite....

“I think that’s enough for one night,” my mother would say, noticing the way my eyes grew wider despite the fact that I was meant to be sleeping.

“Are there pirates here?” I would often ask my mother once she was finished.

“They’re only stories, my dearest,” my mother would reply, holding me close at night while my gaze wandered the darkness, searching out the window with a mixture of fear and trepidation, wondering if a pirate would sneak through the window with blood dripping from his blade.

But that was my childhood and, as the years slowly passed away, those stories grew as distant as my memories, lost to the powerful effects of time. I grew as tall as my mother, discovering her features whenever I would look into a mirror. I also inherited her passion for storytelling and would often sit on the hills overlooking the brilliant sea imagining myself exploring the distant lands that the maps at school promised would hold all sorts of possibilities.

Sadly, my dreams of leaving the island became less and less of a possibility as the realities of life replaced the fantastical wanderings of my imagination. When my father eventually died and left me alone to deal with my despondent mother who could no longer take care of herself. She would usually sit in the living room throughout the day, looking out the window at nothing in particular. It was a miracle to hear her speak, and I knew that my mother had become nothing more than a shell of her former self. To take care of us, I was forced to leave school which only dampened my curiosity in the study of Astronomy and the brilliant stars that always inspired me when I was younger. 

I would always miss my youth because now, at the tender age of 21, I had nothing left of the Spirit that once fueled my every hope and desire. I walked through each day dreading the possibility of another, watching everyone else around me move through their lives like the waves washing up on the beach, there at one instant and then gone the next. Leaving for a distant land in the small ships that frequently visited our small island. But nobody liked to stay forever because the human instinct to explore and conquer was present in every man and woman. Sadly, I’d never get the chance to satisfy mine.

Trapped here, like the fish brought in at high tide, to suffer through an endless cycle, wishing to escape to the stars because only then could I be truly free.

“You’re a little slut, aren’t you?” the heavy-set man groaned at my ear, thick hips pounding against mine with bruising power.

“I’ll be whatever you want,” I responded robotically, gazing at the ceiling and creating constellations out of the boards.

It was the same every night, depending on what sort of customers were drawn into the hostel. The owner, an older gentleman with greasy, balding hair, would accept payment for our services, setting aside a gold token or two if he was feeling generous towards his whores which only ever happened when the place was full. Our best customers were merchant ships full of drunk and horny sailors looking to forget about their unfortunate circumstances and stick their uncut cocks into whatever comfortable hole they could find. 

“It’s good business,” the owner would croon, gathering us girls together around him. “My sluts make me good money.”

I would always hold my tongue at the term because, despite the fact that it was true, the connotation still struck a nerve, especially considering how my father had treated my mother. He would often come home at night completely wasted, slapping my mother like she meant absolutely nothing to him. Yelling obscenities while requesting that his slut get him something else to drink.

My father had passed away years ago, but my mother took his loss a lot more than I was expecting considering his treatment towards her. Her eyes lost the light I had cherished as a child, spending her days gazing out the window in my father’s old armchair while I was forced to find work. And those young girls like me who were unable to stay in school on the island could always find work at a whorehouse, selling her body for enough money to buy food and pay rent. That’s all that mattered to me for survival, but it still didn’t satisfy my wildest imaginations, dreaming of escaping to a place far away from this horrible island.

My client for the evening let out a deep-throated moan, cumming inside and I winced when I felt him lean down to kiss my forehead, the gesture far too intimate for my comfort. “I’d buy you again a heartbeat,” he told me sincerely while I impatiently waited for my shift to finally end.

I was usually a lot stricter about the type of contact I allowed. However, these days, I usually endured far more than I used to back when I was still new to the services required of me. Skittish around the older men touching my body or afraid to even ask the other girls for advice. I’m sure some of those clients took advantage of my innocence, but that had since worn off and I was nothing if not completely stoic when it came time to satisfy another customer.

I was still often ignored by the other girls, especially since men usually preferred me because of my younger age. There was only so much that makeup could hide before the body itself bore its secrets in the wrinkles creasing one’s forehead or the bulging veins in a girl’s thighs and arms. My body was still soft, enjoying the effects of youth before those looks would inevitably become lost to a steady decline.

But then again, most men didn’t care since they were usually drunk and reeking of desperation when they entered the hostel. “Sell me your best,” they would often request of my boss to which he would simply signal whichever girl happened to be closest at the time. It was always unfortunate when it was someone simply looking to negotiate their pay so that they could feed their family.

I walked down the stairs from my room with heavy steps while trying to ignore the new ache between my thighs. Carefully, I avoided the lingering patrons while taking a seat at the bar. Someone had discarded a glass from earlier, but I didn’t care about whose lips might have touched the rim, downing the rest of the nasty-smelling liquid without care. “Don’t look so down, kid, you’re too young for wrinkles.”

I offered Wendy, the kind hostel bartender, a small smile. “Any news on how many ships are coming into port tonight?”

“Heard a lot of rumors today,” she said, toweling off another glass. “It might be a pretty busy night. You know that makes the boss happy.”

“But it also means a long shift for me,” I said. “I can only handle a few old bastards a night before I feel completely numb in my legs.”

“Try stretching,” she suggested. “Good business means you might get paid more.”

“Still won’t be enough,” I said, barely acknowledging one of the other hostel workers who had suddenly joined us at the bar.

“Sounds like someone should have stayed at home if she ain’t on her best game,” her nasal voice informed me.

“I don’t do much of the work.”

A snort of laughter. “That’s true. You might be the best of us at spreading those pretty thighs.”

I gritted my teeth together as I signaled for Wendy to refill my glass. “This coming from someone who’s always chosen last by the clientele.”

Barbara paused next to me, spine rigid. “Watch your mouth, little girl. We don’t talk that way to anyone, got it?”

“Whatever,” I muttered darkly, eyes narrowing as more men started to walk into the hostel, eyes shiny with evidence of their desires which I would have the obligation of fulfilling.

“Work hard,” Barbara snapped at me before wandering out onto the main floor sporting her best smile.

I glowered in her direction, surveying the crowd with disinterest. “There’s a big group,” Wendy remarked, nodding at the door.

I spun around in my chair, holding tightly to my glass as I discovered the boisterous crowd of relatively young sailors who had just entered the hostel.  It was a large group of men, clothed in ragged attire barely held together by worn stitching, black-toed boots scuffing the floors. They were loud and obnoxious, clearly oblivious to decorum. They wore matching black masks and hats, overcoats thick as they carried themselves with an air of superiority. “They don’t look like regular sailors,” I remarked loosely to Wendy, unaware of the consequences of my words until a few moments later when the leader of the group suddenly confronted my boss who had been talking with a few regulars.

“How many do you have here?” the masked man demanded, flaming red hair contrasting with his pale skin.

“H-how many of what?” my boss asked, cowering back as he took in the sight of the gangly crew.

“Whores,” the red-head said, surveying the hostel with interest, eyes pausing on me for longer than I would have liked.

“Tonight?” my boss spluttered. “I got six working the floor.”

“We’ll take all of them,” the red-head said. 

“I don’t know if I have enough rooms to accommodate that many pairings! If you could just-”

“Not here,” the red-head sighed impatiently, turning to look at one of his partners. “Am I not speaking English, San?”

“It sounds like it to me,” the one named San pondered, gaze thoughtful as he considered my boss. “Did you not hear him, old man? Give us all of your whores.”

“W-where would you take them?”

“Onboard, obviously,” the red-head snapped. “The crew needs some new entertainment.”

“They got bored of the last ones,” a deeper voice joined the fray belonging to someone whose eyes crinkled at the sides with mischief. He was undoubtedly smiling beneath that unusual disguise.

“Hurry up, Mingi, Captain’s not gonna wait all night!”

“Those girls aren’t leaving this hostel,” my boss said, standing straighter even as his shoulders fell against the heavy gaze of Mingi, tall form looming in a dominant fashion.

In a split second, Mingi pulled a gun from the belt around his waist, aiming directly at my boss’ head. The entire hostel grew silent, all eyes watching the impending situation with fear evident in their dilated irises. “What did you say?”

“Alright, alright,” my boss said, waving his hands like a lunatic. “You can use them for one night.”

BANG!

I heard a distant squeal when his body finally hit the floor, but I was too caught up in my unexpected self-satisfaction at seeing my slimy boss bleeding out against the wood I had spent hours cleaning last night. “He said six,” Mingi growled, glancing back at his men. “Take whichever six you want, including her,” he said, pointing in my direction. “We can save her for the captain.”

His words were the catalyst for the sudden action of the other men, swords drawn from their scabbards as they ran at the crowd with excited cheers as if the prospect of attacking innocent civilians was too much to anticipate. Screams filled the hostel, men and women alike running in opposite directions in their desperation to escape. “Pirates!” someone shouted and the word sent a shiver down my spine as I met the gaze of the man who had murdered my boss in cold blood.

“The Captain will like you a lot, girl,” Mingi said, nodding appreciatively as he openly appraised me like I was particularly worthy of his attention. Around us, the other girls were sobbing and pleading, struggling in the grasps of the pirates who had since taken them hostage, pulling them towards the door of the hostel which I once associated with long nights struggling to sell my body to the highest bidder. “Are you gonna give me a hard time like your friends?”

“They aren’t my friends,” I retorted coldly, surprising the pirate standing before me.

“You’ll be coming with us.”

“I understand,” I said calmly, gazing out across the now mostly vacant hostel, a few bodies littering the floors covered in blood. “I’ll go with you.”

Mingi smirked, gripping tightly to my upper arm even though it wasn’t necessary, leading me out into the chaotic streets like I was nothing more than a common dog for him to command. The island itself was a complete mess, townspeople running through the streets cursing and yelling, trash loitering the sidewalks, children mindlessly glancing around with wide, confused eyes. And through it all I managed to keep myself together, vaguely wondering what my mother might be doing at that moment. But it never crossed my mind to beg this pirate to allow me one last chance to see her. It didn’t matter that my mother depended on me to take care of her because, for a fleeting second, I could only think about how unfair it was that I was stuck with a mother like her who could no longer protect me from harm

The dock was glowing in the distance, lanterns lighting the worn pathways leading to different ships anchored at port. I had only been to the docks a few times in my life, mostly to help my former boss whenever the hostel received a large delivery. Nevertheless, it still managed to fill me with a sick feeling of hope that maybe one day I could find myself a ship willing to take me far away from the island. Somewhere warm and inviting where I could study Astronomy and remember all the delicate patterns I had once memorized when I was still a young and impressionable child. 

Of course, being kidnapped against my will was certainly not the way I envisioned leaving the island, especially when it involved pirates. I studied Mingi from the corner of my eyes. How many people has he killed? Would I be just another body to add to his list?

Such questions were useless to consider because fear was the last emotion I needed to feed into right now, paralyzed with the wide-eyed desire to run or fight and protect myself. I would stand no chance with these pirates, especially Mingi who was taller and strong, leading me to a ship that stood in contrast to the others anchored down. The ship in question, with the name “Precious” painted onto the side of the hull, was larger than any boat I had ever seen docked at the bay. It was actually quite beautiful, dark sails trembling in the breeze while the forlorn flag at the highest point indicated that it belonged to the pirate order. But that was just the ironic contradiction of the ship because despite its outward appearance, the men who commanded her wheel were nothing short of barbaric. A nasty breed of man who plundered the seas and killed without remorse.

I stumbled up the narrow plank, glaring at Mingi from the corner of my eye as he continued to push me onboard. The other girls were already kneeling, hands tied behind their backs as they suffered from various states of undress. I glanced down at my disheveled skirts, grateful that they at least covered my legs. “This one is for the Captain.”

“But she’s the youngest!” another voice complained, glaring almost enviously at the other girls.

“For. The. Captain,” Mingi repeated, jerking me to the right. “You can do whatever you want to the rest of them.”

I glanced back over my shoulder, wincing when I saw one of the pirates dig his fingers tightly into Barbara’s dark hair. “You should be grateful,” Mingi growled at me. “The Captain doesn’t like to share.”

“I don’t feel grateful,” I hissed back at him, completely unprepared for the accompanying slap as my head twisted to the side.

“You won’t talk to me that way,” Mingi said, shoving me against the wall, fingers tightening around my throat. My lungs were screaming for air, toes hovering above the deck, hands scratching against his impossible hold. I was gasping, desperate for air while my mind screamed at me to fight back, but I was powerless against his predominant strength.

“Is this one mine?”

My feet landed on the floor and I dropped to my knees, breathing in the air like it was the last time I might be able to do so. “It might not be worth it, Captain,” Mingi spat. “She’s got a mouth on her.”

“Is that so?”

I was slowly recovering from my temporary brush with death, lifting my gaze to locate the mysterious Captain I was now meant to serve. He wasn’t as tall as Mingi, but he was somehow far more intimidating, wearing all black from the mask hiding his face to the boots echoing against the deck. His hair was a strawberry color, delicately framing an angular face that might be handsome if it didn’t belong to such a despicable person. “Tell me your name, whore,” he demanded.

I swallowed hard against the raw ache in my throat. “Y/N.”

The Captain nodded. “Mingi, you can leave the two of us now. Go enjoy the other girls.”

Mingi obeyed, albeit reluctantly as he trained those suspicious eyes on my recovering form. “Aye, sir.”

I watched him as he walked away, fingers massaging my still-tender throat. “Does it hurt?”

I carefully considered the Captain. “He tried to kill me.”

“You shouldn’t mouth off,” the Captain said, nodding towards a door. “Come inside.” I bit my tongue, withholding a sharp retort as I did as he directed, brushing off my skirts. “My private quarters,” he said, shrugging off his thick overcoat while I examined the dozens of candles lining the mantlepiece. 

“Will the others be hurt?”

He paused at my question. “Does it matter? You can’t do anything to help them.”

“I just want to help myself,” I told him honestly, brushing my fingers across a rather ancient looking bookcase.

“Then this should be easy,” the Captain said, tearing off his mask. “You can be good for me while I fuck you.”

I took a moment to admire the Captain’s features, far more delicate than I was anticipating with dark, thoughtful eyes. “I’ve been doing that my whole life, Captain.”

He smirked. “Then this should be second-nature to you.”

I bristled at the insinuation. “Maybe I’m tired of being treated like a whore.”

“Why else do you think you were brought onto this ship?” the Captain asked, tone growing hostile.

“I was forced to come aboard,” I said. “By that bumbling idiot who tried to kill me.”

“And I could do the same,” the Captain said, drawing a gun from the holster hanging off his belt. “Get on the bed.”

“I’d rather die,” I told him honestly, staring down the silver weapon to meet the Captain’s narrowed eyes. “Kill me instead.”

A chuckle escaped from between his lips. “So that’s what you want? I could always force you.”

“I’d fight back.”

“But I’m quite strong, love,” he said with a barely distinguishable accent. 

“It wouldn’t be easy for you,” I said. “Didn’t you say you wanted someone easy?”

The Captain was quiet for a long time before he re-holstered his gun, crossing his arms in a closed-off manner. “Then perhaps a few nights in the brig will change your mind.”

[where-s-all-blue]

Hopeless Heroes AU

Hero Pack

Sanji/Stealth Black/King

Stealth Black has been out if commission fro the past two years (presumed dead by the public) as he was training with a former hero known as Crimson Leg.

He returns under the name "Prince", wearing a prototype of his new suit as Usopp isn't yet done calibrating the finished version to fit his needs.

People start to talk about how similar Stealth Black and this new hero are, causing Sanji to panic and claim that the members of Germa 66 are obviously older as they are taller (they wear heeled shoes to make people believe that they're taller).

Prior to Stealth Black's early retirement, he and Hunter had a fight regarding who deserves to be saved as the previous had been raised to think like perfect Germa soldier while the latter holds all life equally valuable.

Sanji must return to his previous role as Stealth Black momentarily as Germa 66 is threatening to reveal the secret identities of the heroes.

He accidentally reveals that Prince and Stealth Black are the same person to Hunter in the process.

Due to his new suit having a crown at its chest, the public starts to refer to him as King instead of Prince much to his embarrassment.

His entering code is 0302, which just so happens to be his birthday, March 2nd.

As Vinsmoke's questionable treatment on its servants and family members is revealed, Sanji is placed onto a safehouse known as Sunny, Hunter is tasked with guarding him.

Zoro/Hunter

Upon his friend Kuya dying from falling down the stairs, Zoro realised just how fragile humans are and thus he swore to become a hero who'd be able to help everyone.

His mentor is hero known as Hawkeye, who found him practicing sword fighting on his backyard. To this day the sword hero has no idea how Zoro got past his security system nor where his parents are, thus becoming his guardian.

He transferred into a university in France, which just so happens to be the same one Sanji attends to, accidentally becoming Mr Popular due to his exotic background, athletic nature and street smarts.

As he meets Prince, he can't help but to think of Stealth Black and wish him to return. He even talks about how he misses the guy to Prince, who's literally trying to keep the fact that he's Stealth Black a secret.

He's angry at himself for not being able to accompany Stealth Black on his mission because of his cover nearly being blown. He has to make up a good diversion while another hero makes an appearance as Hunter at the same time (it's Bartolomeo, who has learned most of his signature moves).

When Sanji is moved into the safe house, Hunter accompanies him the whole time, learning that not all Vinsmokes are entitled bastards.

Hunter's ability is to cut anything and nothing if he so desires, he also can create several wind styled attacks with them along with something that is called an Asura. The latter is still an incomplete technique.

Perona has accidentally called Hunter her older brother in presence of Nami, which led to both him and her quickly make up a lie about him being Zoro's older half brother of whose existence the greenette has no idea of existing.

Zoro keeps a journal about these lies to ensure that he doesn't accidentally contradict himself.

Ace/Fire Fist

Son of a former (now deceased) heroes, Roger and Rogue, the previous having been a powerful fire ability carrying hero.

He became active as a young teen upon loosing his cool.

He was used as a test subject of project REVIVE which was supposed to be used to research the abilities of the heroes who'd died in hopes of producing one day a new generation of heroes with matching abilities along with a series of pills that were supposed to be used to suppress hard to control abilities, help with mastering them and to switch into another one if the holder' s body wasn't capable of withstanding the original one.

This project was over seen by Steel Fist Garp, who was mortified to learn about the science ward of the time (provided by the United Countries and the Royal family of Vinsmokes) using children as test subjects. He broke all of the test subjects out, providing them with happy families. The test subjects who survived were Ace, Sabo and Chopper.

Sabo/Chief

The wide assumption is that he is Ace's twin brother who just so happens to take after Rouge.

He found out about his ability to control fire during a mission where both Ace and Luffy were hurt very badly.

As Sabo was used in the project REVIVE, his hair changed colour from its previous golden yellow into the same strawberry blonde as Rogue's had been.

Although he was released from the facility by Garp, he wasn't done with being a test subject as his power hungry family continued tests in secret until Dragon (a hero during that time) broke him out at the request of Doctor Kureha.

Luffy/Rubber Man

Originally a water-air powered individual, but as he ate one of the prototype pillers, his DNA was warped turning him into a rubber man.

Though Garp was offered the ability to turn him back into what he'd originally been, the retired hero claimed that it was a good thing to have his ability change as now he couldn't be connected to Dragon nor his wife.

Luffy's mother was a former villain with water based ability. Dragon broke off of the hero union in favour of becoming a vigilante.

Shanks/Red

One of the rare heroes without super powers.

Lost his arm while trying to keep Luffy safe while visiting one of the factories that produced the hero suits and gadgets; he quite literally stick his arm between two gears to keep the kid from getting hurt and had to have it amputated as a result.

To the public, he's an intriguing mystery.

Those who don't work with him, see him as laid back and carefree guy, but when you see him step on the field, you'll immediately know that shit just got real.

He's one of Roger's former pupils.

Red works behind the scene, pulling the strings and covering for the younger heroes.

His family is so well hidden that even if you'd know who he really was, you could only trace him back to the heroes. The closest you'd get to a family would be Luffy, but do you really want to risk having Steel Fist, Dragon, Portgas Twins AND the Surgeon of Death attack you on sight?

As the head of the intelligence, nothing gets past him, if something feels amiss, he'll have it checked.

While his identity isn't a secret, somehow people still fail to believe that he's one of the strongest current generation heroes.

Mihawk/Hawkeye

One of the strongest heroes current generation has to offer, the guardian and mentor of Hunter.

Sword hero, whose abilities have been honed to the level where no matter what he yields, he can cut with it.

He has once used an actual banana in place of a blade during an emergency with rather fruitful results.

Prefers to work solo, but has made an exception for his ward.

Came to adopt both Zoro and Perona upon finding them from his backyard with no explanation for how they got there and who are their parents.

Celebrates the duo's birthdays on the days he found them.

Seems to live only with protein shakes, smoothies and fruities due to being literally too busy with being the only hero with common sense around here.

This has led to an ongoing joke about him being a fruit bat styled vampire.

His habit of sleeping in a coffin (it came with the house and he sure as hell won't be spending anymore time with people than the bare minimum) isn't helping with the vampire image.

He used to work in a team with Buggy and Shanks, there was even slight rivalry between them where they kept score on saved civilians and beaten villains. This came to an end upon Shanks' loss of an arm.

Buggy/Clown

Came from a poor family which led him to retorting to crime as a means of survival.

Was taken in by Roger, who helped him to break out of the villain circle and inspired him to become a hero.

His former ability was so destructive that he asked to be given the still work in progress medicine, but it made him sick and mentally unstable for a long time.

He used to be in the same hero team as Hawkeye and Red before starting to work solo and eventually taking an apprentice himself.

He grew up in a circus where his parental figures were thieving clowns (literal clowns), as a sign of respect and to not forget this past, he incorporated certain elements from that into his hero suit.

He's seen as the grumpy uncle by the young heroes.

His literal vibe is: *high beeper goes off signalling that there's a fight nearby* Buggy: *loud tired groan*

Jinbe

Water powered hero, who's also partially a shark.

Specialises in ocean missions.

He's in charge of public relations thanks to his calm personality and rationality.

Feels responsible for the fact that he didn't recognise Arlong's villainous tendencies fast enough.

The martial arts instructor for the new heroes who usually haven't yet found their own style or have no idea how to protect themselves.

Jinbe is literally his hero name, not a single person knows what his actual name is.

Coby

A new hero, whose mentor is Steel Fist Garp.

He's highly durable and happens to have similar affiliates as Garp, hence he was the perfect protégé for him.

He's supposed to become the fourth member of the ASL and balance their often dangerous antics. He's already proceeded to befriend the youngest member of the team, Luffy, while Sabo and Ace are still uncertain of what to make of him.

Currently, he has no hero name of his own as he is following the tradition of allowing the public name him. However, if Shanks' prediction is accurate, he'll end up with a name similar to both Garp and Ace.

Germa 66

Six member group which prides itself in high level technology and super powers.

Is made up from the Royal family of Vinsmokes.

Judge, the leader, is a hyper intelligent man with naturally high durability and strength.

Reiju was genetically altered to be capable of manipulating toxins.

Ichiji was altered to be able to control fire.

Niji's genetic manipulation led to his ability to cut electricity.

Sanji is the only one without any alterations thanks to his mother's ability to destroy unnatural elements, though it was only for one child. He's naturally durable and has high intelligence, which sadly isn't seen as a super power by his father.

Yonji's strength was amplified to ridiculous levels.

All of the Vinsmokes are naturally blonde, but their raidsuits create a coating that protects their heads, which happens to make them appear to have different hair colours.

Sora, former hero before passing away, was a support styled hero, who could nullify toxic combinations and technology.

To protect the team from being affected too much by the "lower level heroes", they have been banned from being paired with heroes who do not "match their level". Sanji, who was seen as the unnecessary part of the team was the only one who was allowed to meddle with other heroes and even then he had to write extra reports about his team mates and the mission.

Germa 66 is known to be very picky about those who are saved, preferring to keep only "important people" such as politicians safe.

Their methods are often questionable and the rest of the heroes judge both their views and the said methods.

[alistonjdrake]

Part Eight: Queen of Whores

Queen Luca Breacher Mother to: Prince Argus Born: Year 1742 after the fall of the Saints Died: Year 1770 after the fall of the Saints

When she disappeared from the court in 1763, it was because she was pregnant and had a child she raised in secret. Luca is not the first mistress to ever later become a queen, but she is the first to have married King Frederick in a secret ceremony while most of the nation was still mourning Queen Brandye, before she’d even been buried and the first to turn from maid, to mistress, to queen. 

Luca Breacher was born into humble means. She was born in Arbay, West Kells. Her mother died giving birth to her and her father was content to raise her on his own. He worked in the legal counsel, was a bastard of either an unnamed Kellish noble or any random (Arbay was once a city that thousands passed through per day), and never married again after his wife died.

Luca’s family was very small but they were close. Her father doted on her and gave her all he could afford. He was her sole educator but he taught her all the skills she needed to survive. When Escan first had an interest in the nation and as rumors grew of the madness of Princess Regent Marie-Françoise, he helped her learn both Escan and Oskyi in case she would need it. He taught her simple math and how to read. 

Luca was a talented singer and full of wit despite the gaps in her education. She could be stubborn and willful and often especially strict with herself. But none of the violent temper she would be famous for as an adult appeared in her childhood. Anyone who knew her, knew her as a pleasant and pretty child. 

But Luca was never content with Arbay. She always wanted to travel. She always wanted more than what her father could offer her. At 17, she left home. She spent time with traveling merchants, forcing herself to learn different languages and about commerce as well as worldly topics and gossip. She became the maid of middle-class families, always ones with young children who had tutors so Luca could listen in on their lessons. She went to Graza Palace on recommendation but Luca’s goal was never to remain a maid. 

King Frederick’s reputation is known in many circles. By the time Luca arrived in 1761, he had fourteen paramours he saw routinely and every piece of gossip Luca had picked up over the years got increasingly salacious and detailed about their treatment and lifestyles. She went there in the hopes of catching his eye and climbing out of the serving class.

And she succeeded. 

Luca Breacher would reign with an iron grip as a tenured mistress. Even after being excluded in public life in 1763 to have her son, the future Prince Argus, she would exercise great authority over King Frederick’s love life. Although living away from the palace in her own manor outside of Graza, he would make frequent trips to visit her and she still lived a lavish lifestyle. 

Being a mistress had its benefits but by the time Luca had Argus, she had her sights set on something higher. King Frederick often married off his former paramours but Luca's reputation made her unwanted. She could be violent, prone to rages, jealous, vile, and angry. But she was also known for her beauty. Still, it was not enough and she believed the only person who would marry her and could give her the life she wanted (and now she had a son to think about) was King Frederick. 

Her job and grip on him were made harder by their formal separation and she was in constant fear of slipping out of his mind completely. Luca would enough sneak back into the palace to surprise him, much to his dislike, but she made it very clear she was not to be forgotten. 

Their marriage in 1768 came to a surprise to many. Most had thought she was gone for good or were shocked by the sudden appearance of a new prince. Luca was crowned queen her son was legitimized. 

Queen Luca and King Frederick’s relationship was stronger than ever. The people closest to him would say they’d never seen him as happy as the day he introduced his new queen and son to court. They made a handsome little family but the strangeness was not beyond anyone. In 1768, King Frederick’s oldest son, Prince Cidro was only six years younger than his stepmother. A fact King Frederick delighted in. His health declined over the years and he was not as physically active as he used to be. He was becoming prone to random spasms and pains, and having a young and “agile” wife was something he was heard bragging about. Queen Luca quickly took his place at social gatherings, and she brought with her several younger members to the court as so many were phasing out and leaving public life as they got older. 

Queen Luca was never ignorant of the things people said about her but she made it almost impossible to loudly criticize her. There was one instance where two noblemen got into a fight with a Royal Guard over calling her a “whore”. Queen Luca walked in on the struggle and threw down money to bet on who would win.  When she overhead her ladies gossiping about her, it’s said she beat them with her brush handle. 

If not terrorizing the population of the palace, she was shocking members of the council. King Frederick was impressed with her economic knowledge and quickly placed her in a relevant committee. At this time, Prince Sebastian was slowly retiring from his duties in helping King Frederick govern (a place that would be taken by Prince Leonides) and King Frederick was giving out his duties to others. Including Queen Luca. This came as a surprise as everyone knew she had no formal education and yet would often speak over others when it concerned important matters. 

King Frederick had great trust in her even if she was quite controlling. She did not allow him to have other paramours. He did try and Queen Luca was known to either scare them off or pay them to leave court. If King Frederick caught wind of her interference they would argue, but Queen Luca once bragged that she had never entered an argument she didn’t win. Even if she was in the wrong. 

This held true for her relationship with King Frederick. There were sour moments, explosive moments, and yet he never treated her to the same scorned treatment past queens received. He forgave her quickly and was even rumored to have crawled on his knees and begged for her forgiveness.

Queen Luca is famous for how she came she started her career in Graza Palace’s social circles. She is known for the promiscuous nature of being a mistress but in her own words she claimed several times to have only ever been with King Frederick. The rumor mills still turned about all the things she could have gotten up to whenever King Frederick was away, and Prince Argus did not look like his father to most. Luca was not ignorant of the damage these rumors did to her reputation or her relationship with King Frederick. She took it upon herself to directly challenge the accusers. 

In truth, the two of them had a very tense relationship. They fought often. King Frederick jumped back and forth between being enticed by her behavior and greatly irritated by it. Queen Luca was good at winning him over and silencing criticism but everyone in Escan hated her. The common people did not like her, seeing her as vain and selfish, foreign, and someone who forgot their humble roots. The noble class did not like her seeing her as a social climber with a violent streak who had beaten several ladies-in-waiting, a woman who had been found sitting on King Frederick’s lap, and grown men. She was either judged for not taking a motherly role for the Harver siblings or turned into a scandalous figure whenever she was seen too close to the oldest princes.

She spoiled her son and likely gave him all the fine things she only dreamed of having as a child. She and King Frederick did attempt to have other children but unfortunate circumstances occurred which only proved to further divide their relationship as gossips came up with theories. Anything from Queen Luca hiding products of affairs from him, to being cursed and unfit, to somehow causing it herself. This put a reasonable strain on them both and King Frederick started to spend less time with her. He was also getting sicker, could be confined for days at time, or was often occupied with matters of continuing to take over the Rhine or dealing with problems throughout the empire. 

As a mistress, Queen Luca was considered a break from the stresses of the empire King Frederick had built. But as a queen, she became another stressor. And she had become a hypocrite, throwing herself into a rage if King Frederick so much as looked at someone else. The two started to avoid each other.

When Queen Luca was assassinated in 1770, there were so many suspects because she had spent her entire time as queen making enemies. Some even suggested King Frederick had planned it because she had finally done something unforgivable. But it should also be said after her death, King Frederick took mourning very seriously and said he would not marry again. He would say he was heartbroken but at this time he was also separated from his brother Prince Sebastian for the first time since his coronation and had been unable to have another child as he had wished. 

Her killer was never confirmed to the public and some of said it’s because the Harvers and the council decided it best to not make it public in case it resulted in further strife. And the rumors that King Frederick had wanted his wife died softened because he kept on his promise and did not marry again.

For three years. 

[ceies]

Thorfinn - Where he came from and where to go?

I’ve watched Vinland Saga last week and started giving my opinion on the show recently. Since it’s all still on the forefront of my mind, I like to talk a little bit about my first impression of these characters. So “First impression” because I only watched Vinland Saga once, but I’ve rewatched certain clips, read a few short YouTube-comments and … spoken with people about it (mostly fawning over Askeladd tbh :D). So, this is not just my first impression after watching the show, but it is also influenced a little bit by the ideas of other people. However, as I haven’t actually gone and read any other characterizations before… there may be a lot that I’ve missed there may be a lot of questions I have that are long answered within the fandom or there may be some interpretations of these characters, that are not shared in maybe more thought-out and well-researched Characterizations.

So Spoiler Alert!

Synopsis:

In the first episode Thorfinn is just six years old. He lives with his father, mother and older sister in a small village on Iceland. His father is former and now retired warrior and as such admired by the whole village. He is in many ways what not just Thorfinn but many kids and young adults in the village aspire to be. Thors’ friend Leif is a sailor who has traveled all the way to “Vinland” (essentially Canada, I think) and tells inspiring stories to Thorfinn and the other kids. Thus, Thorfinn grew up dreaming to become a warrior like his father, traveling to the fabled “Vinland”, conquering the seas and going out on his own adventures.

The chance for an adventure comes sooner than expected, when Thors old comrade Floki and his Jomsvikings come to Iceland to demand that Thors joins the war between Denmark and England. Thors who has little choice in the matter agrees and thus, the whole village breaks out in excitement for the upcoming war. A war Thorfinn, intends to join.

When Thorfinn finds his father’s old weapons and draws the dagger being enraptured by it’s “Beauty”, his father talks to him about “Killing”.

“You have no enemies. Nobody has enemies. There is no one who it’s okay to kill.”

Thorfinn doesn’t understand these words, yet, and the next day he sneaks out onto his father’s ship to join the journey to Norway and possibly the war in England. However, before they ever reach Norway, they are attacked by a band of Vikings. Thors being the “larger than life” powerful warrior that he is, fights the pirates/Vikings with his bare hands, then challenges Askeladd, the leader, to a duel demanding that in case of his victory all of his men go free. Despite Thors easily overpowering Askeladd, the pirates don’t honor the duel and Thorfinn is promptly taken hostage.

To protect his son and men, Thors gives his life and dies in front of Thorfinn. Some of his last words were:

“A true warrior does not need a sword.”

Thorfinn is devastated by that loss. He does not understand how his father who was so much more powerful could die. He doesn’t understand why his father refused to kill and is now dead himself. What he does understand, is that his father’s murderer Askeladd still lives. Disregarding or simply not understanding his father’s words, the young child swears vengeance against Askeladd, sneaks upon his father’s ship that the pirates take as spoils and screams his intention at the enemy.

Shortly after the Pirates land in England, Thorfinn gets his first chance at revenge. He stands over a supposedly sleeping Askeladd, sword raised over his head… and then he hesitates, steps back, and leaves. The next morning, he challenges Askeladd to an honorable duel, stating that as his father’s son, he would go the honorable way.

Of course, young Thorfinn stands no chance against Askeladd, but after another few encounters between Thorfinn and the band of Vikings Askeladd offers the boy to join his men, proof himself on the battlefield and then duel him again as often as he liked.

In the following years, Askeladd puts Thorfinn to use. He sends him on increasingly more difficult tasks, many of which could have easily ended in the boy’s death. Slowly killing his way through England, Thorfinn grows up into a teenager. By the time he is sixteen he’s a much changed and stronger warrior and he finally gets another chance to duel Askeladd……..

The Father, and the Father’s Killer

Thorfinn grows up from a six-year-old bright and happy child full of dreams of adventure, with a loving family, and a peaceful home to a teenager obsessed with hatred and vengeance, growing up on the battlefield while drowning in guilt.

What is very apparent early on is that, while Thorfinn focuses his rage on Askeladd who murdered his father, in his most desperate moments he also and maybe even to a greater extent blames himself for his father’s death. He was taken hostage when his father was all but winning the duel. He had snuck onto the ship against his parents’ wishes. Had he not been there, maybe his father would have lived. Another aspect that he feels guilt over – although this is hardly addressed until midway through the season – is that he left his family behind. While his father is dead, his mother and sister still live on Iceland. A slightly older Thorfinn has a dream of his father, telling him to come home and protect his family, only for the dream to turn into a nightmare when the village and is attacked and his father is killed all over again, while Thorfinn is powerless.

He often dreams of Thors. In these dreams he always turns into a child again. His father gives advice that is very true to Thors’ actual character. It is quite obvious from this that Thorfinn knows his father would not want him to pursue revenge and kill Askeladd. It’s something he has known from the beginning, even if he does not understand exactly why his father is like that or what it means to be a “true warrior”. Thorfinn listens to his father, but ultimately, he does not follow. There are some things even dream-Thors does not tell his son. Things he “has to learn himself”. As those dreams in my opinion are just that: dreams and not otherworldly visions, this seems to suggest that there in fact are many things Thorfinn does not know about his father even subconsciously. He knows his father would not want him to pursue revenge, but he does not understand why. The fact that Thorfinn always reverts to his six-year-old self in those dreams I think means that he never grew up from that moment. He might have physically aged, gotten a lot stronger and a bit smarter, but he is internally still that same small child devastated by his father’s death. In ten years, he never moved on, he never got to properly mourn.

Instead he focuses all his hatred on Askeladd, obsessed with revenge – which seems to be the very reason he is never able to move forward as a character. Over the years, and at the end of the show this is painfully apparent: Thorfinn did not grow. He got more badass, but he never changed. He is the same angry boy, only maybe with every year a little bit angrier a little bit more lost in the darkness.

When Leif finds him years later, he does not even recognize the happy and bright young boy within the hateful teenager he meets.

To Thorfinn Thors is an anchor. He is his idol, who he aspires to be. It is his father he thinks about when he imagines a warrior, a true warrior or the concept of honor. It is because of his father that he decides to seak revenge the “honorable” way in a fair duel instead of a dagger in the dark. In many ways Thors is a bright beacon in Thorfinn’s life. He is his idol and it is him whom he turns to in his dreams. However, Thors is not just the Anchor he can rely on… maybe more so he is an anchor to drag him down further into the darkness. Because it is Thors death that Thorfinn focuses on more than his lectures. It’s his pursuit of revenge that he will disregard even Thors most fundamental ideas for.

Thorfinn knows, his father would not want him to kill… and yet he kills left and right. Thorfinn knows his father would want him to go back home, and yet he spent 11 years growing up in war. And all of that happens because of Thors even more so than “in spite” of Thors.

This show very much explores the idea of “Killing the Father”. And Thorfinn is stuck in stasis: His father is dead, but he cannot let go. (This is in stark contrast to Canute, who can let go of Ragnar.)

The other relationship that is most important in exploring Thorfinn’s character is Askeladd. Askeladd is for almost the entirety of the season Thorfinn’s sole focus of his hatred. While in the beginning, he still shows anger and resentment against characters like Bjorn – who were very much also responsible for the way his father died – at the end of the day, it seems to be just Askeladd who he is obsessed with.

Askeladd at this point is an adult, and a lot stronger than Thorfinn, so of course this young kid is no threat to him. But smart, conniving and pragmatic bastard that he is, he knew immediately how to use this revenge-obsessed boy to his advantage. Thorfinn is essentially willing to do everything to get Askeladd to agree to a duel. He also seems to have little concern for his own safety, while simultaneously being a crafty and increasingly strong warrior. Askeladd can use this kid to his maximum potential and soon Thorfinn grows into the most effective and powerful weapon Askeladd has at his disposal – short of his own intellect.

Thorfinn… is somewhat aware of the fact, that Askeladd uses him, but until the very end he never quite understands how much he is using him. Thorfinn does all these things, because he truly believes it will lead to his vengeance. But Askeladd goes along, because he knows for a fact, it never will – or only in many, many years when Askeladd is already old and weak.

To Askeladd Thorfinn’s revenge is a ridiculous game. It’s something that is quite obvious in the Anime from the start, but it hits even harder when Askeladd finally spells it out for Thorfinn:

Thorfinn is a slave to his revenge. And thus, he is a slave to Askeladd. And that without even really knowing.

Because physically there is nothing hindering him from just leaving Askeladd and going home. But he can’t. The weirdest situation is when Thorfinn talks to a slave girl about how he is no slave – when he very much is in that meaning of the word – but if he were he would kill his slaver – which he is very much trying to do… at least that’s what I thought at first. Later Askeladd spells it out: He is in fact a slave to his vengeance, a slave to Askeladd… but he never really tried to kill him. Because if he had, Askeladd would be long dead. All Thorfinn is doing, is playing a ridiculous game because he is terrified of “liberating himself” as that would force him to finally acknowledge his own guilt.

Apart from that hatred, ultimately, there’s another deeper relationship between Askeladd and Thorfinn. This is something the show, as well as both characters involved try to hide and deny for the longest time, but also the type of relationship you know has to be there. Askeladd essentially raised Thorfinn for 11 years. He did that through the harshest means, demanding traumatizing and horrendous things of him, turning him into a murderer, ridiculing him, beating him to a pulp and readily abandoning him on the battlefield. But he still raised him, he spent 11 with this boy watching him grow up from child to man. Thorfinn grew up with Askeladd as his closest and really only relationship, as an adult to learn from. He did that kicking and screaming, spewing hatred and anger… but he did spend 11 years growing up under Askeladd.

Of course, between the two, eventually a relationship would form that went deeper than just superficial pragmatism on one side and deep-rooted anger on the other. Ultimately, they would grow to care for each other. This is of course something both denied, even to themselves. There are a few moments like when Askeladd looks at Thorfinn and suddenly realizes how much he had grown, that seem to hint at that growing relationship, but it is well-hidden within these characters. As long as Thorfinn is obsessed with revenge he can not let himself care for Askeladd and as long as Askeladd sees such a useful tool in Thorfinn he cannot quite acknowledge that he would regret his death.

Shortly before Askeladd’s death Thorfinn can finally let go of his pursuit of vengeance. There is a short scene when Thorfinn stands in Leif’s boat staring at a bird. This is one of the scenes that I’ve been thinking about the most. It reminds me a little bit of a scene in Episode 7 when the war was put on halt and upon questioned what to do now, Askeladd said they would “do what the birds do”. So maybe, I thought, it meant that with Thorfinn having given up on his revenge and no real purpose where to go, staring at the bird take flight made Thorfinn remember that moment and “take flight himself.” I don’t know… if somebody has a good interpretation of that scene: Help me out!

I don’t think Thorfinn went to find Askeladd. Instead, I think that Thorfinn upon wandering through the town heard the commotion and realized something was happening. However, when he saw Askeladd die in front of him, it was obvious that he cared. There is still part of him, that I think is attributing the pain that he feels upon the loss of his “mentor” to his now forever lost chance at revenge. But it is telling, that Askeladd even somewhat needs to remind him that they are supposed to be enemies.

When Askeladd dies Thorfinn not just ultimately loses his purpose that had kept him going for the last 11 years but he also loses a person that was quite close to him, even if he utterly hated him. Thorfinn is devastated.

I think it’s interesting to mention at this point, that consistent with his character so far, the first reaction he jumps to after Askeladd died was again revenge, attacking Canute. After that however, the moment when he is dragged away from Askeladd’s body, he in his last act of the season let’s go of his dagger.

This is so important, because while I assume it means that at this point, he finally let go of his revenge- because it is ultimately lost to him – and the last 11 years… He also let go of the last momentum of his father So, maybe this is a way of him saying that he can let go of Thors now.

As this is supposed to be a characterization of Thorfinn not Askeladd, and since it’s already very long I won’t go into detail about Askeladd’s relationship with Thorfinn (so the other way around) nor what Askeladd maybe thought when he saw Thorfinn in the finale nor what he maybe meant with his words… that will all be part of a possible later, and possibly even longer Askeladd-post… But I want to finish this trying to guess where Thorfinn may go from here:

So… Thorfinn I think is at this point ready to properly mourn his father. He never did this, because he was never really willing to accept his death. I see him letting go of the dagger, not just as him letting go of his hatred and vengeance, but also him slowly getting ready to let go of his father. Finally, 11 years after his death. That said, that probably won’t be easy. I don’t really know that much about the process of mourning, but I’ve heard about the “five Stages of Grief” and if this is in anyway like that… he has been stuck in the “Anger” phase for the longest time. So, I think it’s possible that in a second season he may be stuck for a while in the bargaining and/or depression stage… And I think, we will probably have to go through the same process now, regarding Askeladd.

The way Askeladd died was in a way similar to how Thors died, as in “he seemed to do fine in battle, then Thorfinn appeared, creating an opening for the killer”. So, I don’t think he will be stuck on “Anger” the way he did for Thors’ death, because I think he is old enough to ultimately understand what has happened and why. He did have a short outbreak of anger here, and he may not like Canute anymore – if he ever did… but ultimately, I don’t think he will stay angry at Canute. However, I think in the next season Guilt might be a rather unfortunate companion, even if again he probably knows intellectually that it’s not his fault. This fits because it also is what he has to now deal with in regard to Thors’ death.

If I understand my (very shallow and quick) google search on the Five Stages of Grief correctly, that would be part of the “Bargaining” stage.

Askeladd’s last words were more or less:

“How do you want to live your life? Don’t stay here forever. Go ahead, Son of Thors. Go beyond. Become a true warrior, that is your real fight.”

The way Thorfinn looked in this scene, the question “what to do after Askeladd’s death” never crossed his mind. So even when he joined Leif…it wasn’t really so much a conscious decision of “this is what I want to do” but rather… just following Leif around.

So, because the show is called Vinland Saga… I do think, that ultimately, he will join Leif to get to Vinland or explore some new ocean. But… not now. At the moment, I think he has to do some soul searching which… so far he wasn’t the quickest in developing and growing internally, the guilt for Thors’ and Askeladd’s deaths will probably further drag him down – so I think it will be a while until he makes the decision what he wants to do. If this decision will then be going to Vinland or whether he first decides to do something else entirely I do not know… But the way I’ve come to know Thorfinn I would not be surprised if he needed a big junk if not the entirety of season two trying to just overcome his guilt and finding a new path forward.

That said, even if he now still wanted to go with Leif… which I assume maybe he would want to do that, just because it’s the only option he has and the only person in the town he really cares for… I think that would be difficult because he just attacked Prince/King Canute. So… he’s not going to die… but I’m pretty sure this will have consequences and he will be punished in some way… I’m kind of… unsure what punishment that would be, but as I have spoiled myself a little bit by seeing a picture for the second season where he was in chains – I assume the punishment will be slavery. Everything else doesn’t make much sense anyway, I guess unless they want to mutilate him… which… would be unfortunate since we spent so much time building him up as this badass duel-wielding warrior.

Thorfinn as a Main Character:

The funny thing about Thorfinn in his role of main character is, that through long stretches of the first season he doesn’t feel like the Protagonist. Don’t get me wrong, the Anime makes it quite clear that he IS in fact the main character, but since he does not change much at all between episodes 5 and 22, he seems somewhat “less exciting to follow around” as a character. While I was always hyped to see him fight somebody, midway through the season Canute and Askeladd stole the show. They seemed so much more exciting and so much more interesting to follow around. Both characters were also far more active in the story, while Thorfinn was just lagging behind. Not just in terms of character development but also in terms of the plot that was now unfolding. For the most part – excluding the emotional highlight of Thorfinn’s breakdown over Askeladd’s death – story wise Thorfinn wasn’t needed for the finale. Overall it felt like Thorfinn got less and less relevant for the actual plot the closer we got to the end of the show. Of course, he had moments in between, and especially the last three episodes did wonders for his character development, but still during these episodes I felt like the story didn’t care about him. It wasn’t about him. And the part oft the plot that he cared about (the revenge arc) was something nobody else – not even Askeladd really cared about.

This is difficult to put into words because… Thorfinn still got a lot of shine even in the last episodes. He was always a focal point in the show. But it’s like Thorfinn follows a character-centric story, that focuses entirely on his development and how he processes his father’s death, how he learns to let go of his pursuit for revenge, how he grows up and becomes an adult… while everybody else and the rest of the world follow a very plot-driven story of “We need to decide the succession of the Danish throne”. And this is a plot in which Thorfinn as the main character has no investment in whatsoever…

The one character that brings and holds these two separate stories together is Askeladd. So, I feel like over the course of this Saga we will probably watch Thorfinn grow from young child to old age and follow him through whatever development he goes through in that time. In that sense, he is the main character. But it also feels like what happens around him, is not always or maybe even not at all about him and the individual arcs or seasons may prominently feature other characters as a second “seasonal main character”. In that sense, “Thorfinn is the main character of the Vinland Saga, but this is Askeladd’s Arc… or maybe even Canute’s Arc”.

Of course, it could be that I’m wrong and this is only the case for the prologue, because it is a prologue and Thorfinn is still young and once he is older and more powerful and has a new agenda, he will be able to shape events more actively himself.

Over the course of the Season there were a few times where I did not particularly like him as a character, where I found frustrating or even a bit annoying, but I always understood his anger. As far as main characters with revenge-arcs go (which is not a character-arc I normally care about), I think this is my favorite handling of this particular character type. What I also really appreciate is how while in this season this character is stuck on revenge and he is stuck on revenge for a long time, it is also obvious at the end, that this will change. And since this is the Prologue, I have high hopes that maybe in the future we will see more of a “redemption type” story unfold. As normally if there is a main character in pursuit of revenge, it seems like moving past that and giving up on it is the major thing the story is about. Here with Thorfinn, him giving up on revenge is already happening in the Prologue. So maybe I’m too optimistic about where this story will unfold, but I’m looking forward to following a character who has already given up on his revenge before the main story is even really starting.

[multiverseofmiracleshq]

Following the attack against the United Nations the Island of Krakoa and the Avengers knew that they could no longer wait to confront Osborn once and for all. Arriving at a press conference at Citi Field, Osborn’s true colors were revealed before he was subdued once and for all. Just becuase that fight ended, however, doesn’t mean that the war is over.

THIS IS THE OFFICIAL COMPLETE CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC

OSBORN: ”Please-- please.” Norman raised both of his hands to the crowd gathered around to quiet down the overlapping questions being thrown at him. Plastered across his face was an easily faked solemn look, the corners of his mouth pinched down just slightly to give off the idea that he was troubled by the events of late. He let a few seconds pass, and then slowly let his arms fall to his side. “Tonight, I will answer your questions to the best of my ability and with all of the facts we have so far. What happened at the UN was a tragedy-- one that I am finding quite difficult to process. The attack lead to a huge loss of life, and I want the nation of Krakoa to know that despite our disagreements, the President is saddened by the losses. I still have hope for a future where we can work together, and during this time of grief I want that to be as clear as ever.”

EMMA: To put it in simple words Emma Grace Frost was fucking livid. Her anger had been boiling under her skin ever since she had come to with a broken nose because Kate had no choice but to literally sock her back into her right mind. Before it was embarrassment that had settled over in an unsettling restless buzz. The humiliation had been shoved to the back of her mind now by debris and broken glass. They had killed her daughters. Three blonde beautiful ( albeit bitchy ) telepaths who had already known death too well felled in one burst. They had killed Kate. Kate. Her Katherine, the prodigy she hadn’t meant to take but loved fiercely all the same. Kate hadn’t been her first choice for the Red Throne, if she was being honest. After being turned down by Ororo and her daughters she had taken a chance and it had worked better than anyone could imagine. She had sat with burning eyes in front of the three remaining Five, two of which she and Scott had resurrected to Nation-X and the other her former student. The children had shook, wracked with the sorrow over their missing friends and those they had lost. They had seen Emma upset before but this was different. She was different. Hands had quivered as she had unearthed the black fabric from the back of her closet. A simple request had been for Scott to leave her be as she prepared for the confrontation they had planned. Dead eyes had stared in the mirror for far too long, her mind knowing that the she had worn black before and it was time to once more. They had made hushed plans with the Avengers with quieted voices under wary eyes. They were tired. Bone fucking wary. Another day, another war. As the various groups began to arrive on the field the glowing light from one of Illyana’s discs revealed a group of mutants. Although it was humid out diamond failed to bend to any temperature and there was an icy detachedness that allowed Emma to step first from the light and onto the field where heels sank into the grass. Her armor had always been made of her own skin, of her own determination. When she kicked Norman’s teeth in it would be a Versace clad platform that did the damage. “Saddened by the losses.” Emma was unable to keep the drollness from her scoff. “There’s quite a few of us who are sad, Norman, and I doubt you’re one of them. I know we’ve been having a lovely little song and dance but I hope you know that your game ends tonight.” As she spoke she had made her way closer to the platform, black clad arms crossing over an exposed diamond chest. “I’m prone to believe that you don’t deserve a last word, but I’ll allow you one anyway. You have sixty seconds.”

OSBORN: "Miss Frost." Norman's tone shifted. He kept his body still for the reporters, but his face hardened as the telepath approached. "Did you not just hear me say that someday, I still hope to see us work together? It's what I've wanted since the beginning, but you make it far more difficult than it needs to be." From behind his podium, he glanced over Emma and the others with her before allowing himself a short smirk. "I am the President. I believe that means I have as much time as I'd like. You and your friends will have to wait."

STEVE: “Show’s over Norman, we’ve got the proof we need to show everyone who you really are.” Steve stepped forward, stopping a few feet away. “You brought people back just to use them as inside men and then triggered the explosion that killed a handful of mutants just to hide the truth behind you really are. That ends today, whether you like it or not.”

SCOTT: Death was something he was tired of knowing. Scott followed behind in Emma’s wake, his shoulder’s square and his back straight despite the heavy feeling in his chest. He wanted to sit down —- he wanted to escape to his home on the moon and sit in his chair and stare out of the window at the Earth. The burning hot rage of revenge was mild at best, a small candle wick instead of an inferno. Sure, he wanted to make Osborn pay for his role in the bombing, but his grief had become so overwhelming that it had simmered into a quiet numbness. Still, he hadn’t let Emma or the other mutants handle this affair alone and he would do his part to remind Osborn that he was playing with something more dangerous than fire. Stopping a few feet behind her, he swung his gaze up to meet Osborn’s dead stare and he remembered the blast he sent towards Nathan that hit Osborn instead. He had to admit, he wished it would have been more intentional then.

RAHNE: Rahne was furious. Anger bubbled in her chest and her vision became tinged red the more everyone spoke. Her friends were dead - and it was all Osborn’s fault - but now was not the time to act. She had to wait, hope things could somehow be worked out diplomatically, despite how much she knew that was not possible. Clawed fingertips dug into the palms of her hands as she focused on remaining in her half shifted form despite the rush of frustration and anger clouding her judgement.

SAM: Okay, so they were doing it. The scene was nothing like when they had first been resurrected and came to the battlefield against Thanos, the sparks from the sorcerers portals snapping against the dust and debris. This time there was no wry on your left or charged moment when Mjölnir connected with Steve’s hand. It was Sam who had the shield strapped to him this time as his wings folded as boots hit the ground. Emma was handling the showboating but that was fine. It wasn’t Sam’s thing anyway. Osborn had crossed way too many lines way too long ago but they had kept pushing without shoving hard enough to do something. Now he had lost a teammate, children their mother and a mother her children. Steve spoke and Sam watched, just like he had done so many times before. A part of his mind reminded that he was Captain America now. He needed to say something on behalf on everyone that couldn’t because of the smug looking bastard in front of them. “You happy now, Osborn? You’ve arrested us, manipulated us and murdered us. I can’t stand here and call myself Captain America if you’re the one in front of this country. How hard you going to make this?”

OSBORN: Norman's immediate reaction to Steve's accusations was a scoff, and then he leaned forward at his podium to grip both sides of it as his glanced moved to Scott and then Sam. "Happy? No, not quite. Things haven't exactly gone to plan. And now my heartfelt press conference has been interrupted by so-called heroes who claim that I have some.. sinister motive. I wouldn't expect anyone to be happy when being threatened like this. Especially after an attempted assassination." He shot another look to Scott before moving out from behind the podium. "This is nothing but a stunt. All of you-- the X-Men, Avengers, all the little teams you like to tote around-- you have a tendency to act dramatically when it is not required. I suggest that you all pack up and leave before you say anything you regret."

ILLYANA: She was feeling like a traveling party bus at this point with how often she was moving people, but Illyana couldn’t complain. Her invitation to the bloodbath had been unresponded to. If she hadn’t been busy being a Combat Captain of Krakoa in its ridiculously titled glory she would have been at the U.N. and a subsequent pile of ash. Instead she was leaning on the Soulsword as the tip dug into the overly expensive astroturf of the field. She had never been to an American ball game. Sam ( Guthrie ) had wanted to go with the group but it seemed incredibly stupid. Now he was dead and she debated feeling bad but decided not to.“Bad news,” the corners of her lips tugged down at Osborn’s suggestion. “I’m their ride and I think we should all stay. Sorry.”

CAROL: What a complete and utter disaster. As Carol touched down, she was just as angry as the rest of them, her emotions manifesting as a barely visible glow that surrounded her body. It took everything to stay by Sam and not land directly on that stage to end this now and boy -- it was a hard impulse to suppress. When Osborn responded, Carol bit her tongue, and not in response to his warning. She truly just wanted to spit fire. "We should end this here." She said in Sam's direction, even though she had a sneaking suspicion what he'd say. "Green light and I'll take the heat."

PIETRO: Pietro had been through a lot. The death of his parents, excruciating experiments at the hands of Nazi’s he didn’t know were at the head of them, and then he died. Yet, by far, the worst thing to date, was the death of his twin, someone who he’d not even existed without in the womb, yet alone life. The telepathic message she inserted into his brain at the moment of her death—he felt it in the very root of his being, as if the very breath in his lungs had been ripped from him. He suddenly chucked the bottle of asgardian ale in his hand at Norman, and through blurred vision, he yelled “Go to hell—you’ve played your little game for long enough. You deserve to rot.”

SAM: There was a small nod in Carol’s direction and a hint of relief he hoped she could pick up on. He wanted to be one who jumped the gun but if there was one thing being a Black man in modern day America had taught him it was that you had to stop, assess and move smartly. Maybe that made him a shitty superhero. Sam hadn’t really learned to balance his various identities yet but he was working on it. Then the Maximoff kid was yelling - Sam had smelled the liquor and made the mistake of ignoring it out of respect for his grief - and it looked like things were going to take a turn. It was inevitable but sooner than he had thought. “Not yet.” He spoke in low tones under his breath to Carol. “Not yet.”

OSBORN: Carol and Sam were whispering-- Norman made a note of that. Then a split second later he was dodging a flying bottle of alcohol. It missed him, but when it hit the ground next to him the remaining drink splashed up onto his pant leg. He groaned in annoyance, then straightened his spine and pulled down on his suit to rid it of wrinkles. "Per usual-- a dramatic outburst." Something was going to happen, and soon. He was ready. But he was content to avoid the confrontation for as long as possible. Playing the part had become fun, and he wasn't quite ready to drop the act. "Anyone else have something to say? Hm?"

CAROL: Carol swung a glance at him, her gaze narrowed and frustrated. Balling her fists, she kept her feet planted. Sam was her stop and go, someone she respected in such a high regard that when he called the shots, Carol would take a step back and listen. Drawing in a breath, Carol met Osborn's gaze. "How many more is he going to kill before we take his head off his shoulders?"

CRYSTALIA: Somehow Crystalia had gotten stuck with evacuation duty. Maybe it had something to do with her teleporting dog, and while she hated the stupid humans touching Lockjaw and ogling him she also knew that it would be rude to let them stay in the stadium when a fight was inevitable. After the last round was removed, both Inhuman and Inhuman dog materialized in the field to see the bottle being thrown. “That’s how this is starting? Her gaze moved from the white haired speedster to the smirking asshole in the suit. “We’re throwing things at one another?”

EMMA: “His head can stay on his shoulders.” Emma’s voice was quiet. “See, death isn’t scary anymore. We don’t fear death because it was conquered. What people like you deserve is far worse.” With lips pursed together, the blonde let the diamond slowly recede until it slipped down her skin and revealed pale flesh. It was only now that she registered the dampness of the air even if it didn’t bother her. She had carried the Phoenix Force on her back, after all. This heat was nothing in comparison. “I’m afraid your sixty seconds are far past up and there’s some people you’ve recently hurt that would like to have a word with you. Scott, darling, would you like to begin?”

SCOTT: They'd discussed this privately before they'd arrived with the rest of the mutants. They'd debated the consequences and discussed other options. But Scott had heard the pain in her voice and he was sure his was just as heavy. Scott was tired of letting weak men pretend they were strong and put on a show and murder their people and so, when his name filtered through the frustration and reached his ears, Scott didn't hesitate. He depressed the lock and his visor lifted and this time, the blast was deliberate and aimed right for Osborn.

PIETRO: Despite his inebriated state, Scott’s blast still fired slowly. Pietro watched it and thought—what a great time to hit him. Frankly, he wished he’d thought of it sooner. Bolting forward, he accelerated to a solid mach 5 speed and swung right for Osborns face. At this point consequences no longer mattered to him.

RIPLEY: With the shit that Osborn had pulled it seemed like it was a no brainer that the Avengers would roll in to square up at his next appearance. Had they been smart they could have used it as a trap, but instead some of his Avengers and X-Men were waiting in the vicinity to see what happened. When they started attacked she had slowly lowered herself to the stage to watch the events in mild amusement. Carol would come from her ass later and while Ripley was really ready to actually kill her tonight she wanted to play the game for a little bit. In all honesty Ripley may have been able to do something to help Norman but she just let him get wrecked.

OSBORN: Scott moved-- Norman's eyes flicked over to him as the mutant's hand raised and that's when the persona was dropped. He barely had the thought to lift his arm and prepare to block the blast before he felt a fist meet with his jaw. Since it was from Pietro, there was no way he had seen that coming and instead of being in the line of fire he was pushed a few feet to the side. As he stumbled down, feeling the punch resonate, Norman caught himself with one hand and watched as Scott's blast flew past him. From his crouched position, Norm lifted his free hand and traced his thumb along his jawline where it was pulsing from the hit. He glanced to his thumb after he lifted it away and noticed the traces of makeup left behind. "Interesting." After pushing himself to his feet, Norman took in a deep breath and slicked back the hair that had been knocked loose and turned back to the crowd of Avengers and mutants. "I don't think you'll be needing that proof anymore." His true face was peeking out from underneath the makeup along the bottom of his face-- just enough to be seen. "I am exactly who you say I am. And you know what.. I have been itching for this fight for a long time now." The smirk stretched wider across his face, and then the sound of metal pieces clattering together could be heard as he lifted a hand and aimed a newly formed repulser at the crowd. "I'll let my Avengers take care of you--" The comment was directed at the drunk speedster to the side of him. "Because I've got better things to do." And then he fired a blast, not aiming for anyone specific.

PIETRO: To be honest, he hadn’t expected that. He glanced down at his fist and then back at Norman, whose ugly face was more so than usual. The green peeked out from beneath the smeared flesh tone and whatever was left covered his knuckles. Was he really that drunk or was that real?

VALKYRIE: She had brought the pegasus merely because she could. Val was tempted to leave the Midgardian's to their infighting but it was likely that Loki would be there as well so her absence seemed negligent. Royal duties and such, after all. As soon as the hooves connected with the ground the Valkyrie slipped off the steed and promptly lurched to the side to avoid the blast as the pegasus flew away.

YOUNG JEAN: They had killed her. Or, at least, her future self she had diverged from. With Betsy and Jean gone they were short telepaths and the Cuckoos were who knows here. Emma couldn’t use her telepathy while in diamond form but seemed reluctant to drop it. Even though she was an adult the younger ( and now only ) Jean still found herself looking around for either  Scott or Logan. Osborn had a telepath on the premise but she couldn’t place him.

ERIK: Both he and his son were mourning their loss in.. different ways. Showing up to this confrontation drunk was certainly not how Erik wanted to present himself-- but he could at least relate to the impulse of punching Osborn in the face. Once Norman aimed to the crowd, Erik lifted himself off the ground and flew over to his son. To his frustration, the tech on the President's arm couldn't be manipulated with his powers. Erik had hoped Stark's material hadn't gotten into his hands, but he wasn't that lucky.  "Pietro." Once he landed again, he walked over to him. "I would applaud your decisiveness if you weren't being foolish."

YOUNG SCOTT: The repulser went straight into the crowd and despite the rallying cry they were all there to make, Scott didn't want to replicate the sorrow on his older self's face. Grabbing for Jean, he pulled her towards him, away from the chaos that ensued. "We shouldn't stay here." It wasn't like him to abandon a fight right when it began, but he had a primary concern and that was not to start a war with Osborn.

PIETRO: The disappointment in his voice triggered a deep rooted memory of the man who raised him, one that he’d considered his real father until a few weeks ago. For a flash of a second he felt guilty, and then the part of his mind that recalled his disdain for Erik quite clearly, straightened his spine. He lifted his chin to eye him. “Too bad I don’t care what you think.” he said. “You’re welcome by the way—“ he motioned to the bastard that was Osborn “Now the world knows he’s as a madman just as we have.”

YOUNG JEAN: “He killed her, Scott.” One hand clung to Scott’s arm as the two moved in tandem back a few steps. “I have to be here.” Even though they no longer shared their telepathic connection a few thoughts still passed from one mind to the other as Jean shook her head. “It’s our fight. They put me in a freaking freezer for a month and that’s nowhere near the  worst of it. I can’t leave.”

YOUNG SCOTT: Scott's gaze went between Jean and the stage and he squeezed her arm tightly, but he didn't urge her back any more. "Exactly. He killed her, he killed a bunch of us and it was easy for him. He won't stop there." He knew by the serious tone in her voice that there was no getting Jean to safety. They would stay, wouldn't they? "You can't die on me again."

NORMAN: That was the goal-- start the chaos, let it ripple out through the crowd. Everyone he was facing would have to be wary of reporters fleeing the scene and make sure they didn't get hurt. Not that he cared, but they did. After sending out another random blast, Norman let out a cackle and reached for a few of his pumpkin bombs-- because what was the use of holding back now?

EMMA: It probably had to do with her close proximity to the so called president that put Emma near his assault. Someone had to get smacked by his blast but she had enough time to return to her diamond before it hit her. Although it knocked her over it didn’t hurt and for that Emma was glad. Or, she would have been if her mind wasn’t laser focused in her desire to wipe Norman out. Still, the attack meant that flesh was exposed for a moment as Emma picked herself up and wiped grass from her knees. Erik was in discussion with his spawn and her cape snapped as she stormed over to the two. “Wanda’s dead. That’s terribly sad. I feel for you both, truly. But this is not the time for family matters. Erik,” Emma angled her body so that Pietro was slightly blocked out. “I know you are upset about Lorna, but I also lost a daughter. Three, but that’s not the point. You and I agreed he should die but I think we may have to settle with bringing him into custody. Can I count on you for more than a few half ass attempts right now?”

ERIK: Erik wanted to be annoyed-- scratch that, he was a bit annoyed. Out of all his children, Pietro was the one he butted heads with the most. But right now wasn't the time or place for a meaningless argument. "Wanda wouldn't want you to get yourself killed going after a madman while intoxicated. Have you thought of that?" He replied, then turned to look as Osborn shot another blast. It hit dangerously close to Emma, but there was no surprise on his face as she got up without a scratch and made her way over to them. Taking in a sharp breath, Erik's face twisted at Emma's suggestion. Silence hung in the air between them as he struggled to come to terms with it-- but Emma was right. As much as he wanted Osborn to be put down for good, there was always a logical choice that had to be made. He gave her a nod. "You know you can."

YOUNG JEAN: “You and I have a strict no dying on each other policy, remember?” Her head snapped up to see the sky fill with circular objects and there was a telekinetic shove before they were sent flying in the other direction. Maybe she could have used better precision but there  was a lot going on and there was no way two Jeans were going to blow up within three days of each other. “We need to help. I bet Erik and Emma can tell us how.”

EMMA: Looking at Erik, Emma had to resist the urge to block off her telepathy. Her diamond form had its perks but it was also too easy to misuse it. She had been in Erik’s head. Emma knew her way around but she had gained respect for the man that she hadn’t always possessed. “We will make this right.” Her words were a promise. “He doesn’t get to take them from us. But for now,” her shoulders rotated to once again allow Pietro to join in. “You need to get your shit together and come sit at the adult table. Our best chance at taking down this egotistical joke is together.”

YOUNG SCOTT: Scott just stared at her for a minute, the hesitation clear in the lines of his face. And then finally. "You're right. I just don't want Osborn to be the reason I lose you too." Too, as in Scott losing Jean. It almost felt like they were doomed to dance like this forever. "I just wish there was another way." But yeah, she was right. What would running from this do other than leave their friends to fight alone?

ILLYANA: Illyana had mostly been moving around the perimeter of the field as they all began to fight. If you could call it a fight, that was. Mostly it seemed like it consisted of Pietro being drunk and acting out while everyone else stood around debating doing something instead of actually doing anything. As Emma spoke to Erik the telepath sent a discreet message to the younger blonde mutant. One disc later and she was hopping to suck a few mutants into her pull and deposit them into a section of the field. “You’re all being useless,” her gaze trailed over the likes of Laura, Remy, Quentin and some of the original X-Men. “And the best way to get over being sad is toppling dictators. So, get on it.”

ERIK: His jaw was tight as he listened to Emma and focused on the President, watching his movements carefully. He saw Jean and Scott and various mutants scattered about. And then Norman turned his attention towards them-- an unsurprising move, considering the lot of them were just standing around at the moment.

OSBORN: Easy targets. The drunk mutant was surrounded by a few others now, and they didn't seem very invested-- so Norman decided to change that. Lifting his blaster again, he waited for the short high pitched hum to finish as it charged before firing it directly at them. "Get your heads in the game, friends! It's never wise to be caught standing around!"

YOUNG JEAN: He was being cute but there was no way in hell that Jean was going to back down and they both knew it. “Have a little bit of faith here. I can participate in a major fight without dying along the way.” She wanted to quip that even if she did die she could be brought back, but with the Five broken up it there was a sobering possibility that it may not be possible. The idea that Jean and the others were actually gone wasn’t a reality that Jean wanted to face so she just traced the lines of  Scott’s face instead. “There isn’t.” Her voice was firm. “I love you, Slim. Let’s stop talking now and get this over with.”

REMY: He hadn’t accepted the original invitation — not that he’d gotten one, and he wouldn’t have anyway. As much as he wished to confront the child napping, mutant killing monster that was ~their president, Remy had stayed behind with Dawn, watching the small child go through the motions, completely and blissfully unaware of what happened to her mother. He’d stayed on the couch, keeping an eye on Dawn who’d been smashing toys together at her place on the floor, and he hadn’t really moved. Not unless needed. It was a cold state to exist in, and it was one that had only grown since he’d learned the news. And found out that resurrection was impossible. It was the aid of Lorna’s aunt and Illyana’s lack of behest ( it truly was a dull motivation ) that finally got Remy to his feet, where he put one foot in front of the other and felt as hard stone turned to too soft grass. As the sun hit his eyes, he had the staggering thought that he didn’t want to be here. In the chaos, in the fight. It was loud and cumbersome and it immediately drowned out his thoughts of Lorna, filling his mind with necessary but unwanted cues from the field around him. Sucks when your body didn’t want to die, but your mind didn’t care. “T’is is the B team?” he laughed, though the sound was dull. “Glad t’ see we finally made it.”

LAURA: With less people readily available they all had a shift in responsibility. Laura had heard what Emma was planning but she had been waiting on a call to see if they needed to try and storm C.R.A.D.L.E. again. When Illyana came she didn’t have much choice in the matter though and as they were more or less dumped at the scene light eyes looked over Remy’s ragged form. He looked rough but she would’t comment on it. “Or the reserves.” Her claws popped out as Laura flexed her fingers. Before she could say anything else there was a sound that grated against her senses and she lunged forward to smash her body into Remy’s to send them both flying to the side and away from the blast.

EMMA: The plan was simple. They’d beat Norman Osborn into submission and Emma would smash his brain into a billion pieces so they could take him into custody where he’d spend eternity drooling on himself. That being said, simple plans always had complications. One moment they were discussing about how to move and the next there was a hot flash as an attack smashed into the group, sending them all toppling. Had she had any indication or warning Emma would have encased herself in diamond but instead her body got tangled up in Scott’s and she hit the ground hard, head cracking into the turf.

CAROL: The blast was loud and immediate, slamming into the core ground with such force it dispersed them in odd directions and shoved them hard into the ground. Carol’s helmet came down to cover her face and just before her features were obscured, she gave Sam a knowing look. It was time. With a one track mind, Carol pushed off into the air and did what she did best — she sent continuous blasts straight for Osborn while also flying straight towards him. If she had to, she was going to tackle that man and slingshot him into the moon.

SAM: The second the mutants went down Sam was airborne. His wings unfurled before he launched himself upwards. The metal tightened around his body so he could do a barrel turn and fling the shield towards Norman’s head. “Consider this the green light, Cap.” He spoke over to his com to Carol even though they were both in the sky. The shield ricocheted back and he managed to keep it in his grasp even though the shockwave reverberated up his forearm. “Give me some kind of confirmation that you guys on the ground are okay and able to rally right now.”

TONY: Tony wasn’t able to get a shield up in time to block it completely, but he tried to get it out in front of both him and Nat. He was wearing a suit-- a real Iron Man suit-- and was getting real annoyed at the tech Osborn was wearing on his arm. After being knocked back a bit, but still able to get up, he groaned. “I know it’s rude to ask someone to give a gift back, but that guy is driving me crazy.” He felt guilty enough that he had unwillingly let the President have a custom made suit-- now it was in their face.

SCOTT: The ringing in his ears was deafening, drowning out all other sound around him. Picking his head up, Scott was careful opening his eyes. At the moment, he couldn’t feel much, especially not if he were still wearing his visor. When the grass tinged red, Scott let his eyes fully open and immediately, the world began to spin. He couldn’t tell where he was in time and space, just that he was still in the field, though he couldn’t tell when, either. Were they still fighting Osborn? There was a weight on his chest and he tried to look down to distinguish it, but when he picked his head up, he got hit by a wave of nausea that flattened him again. Finally, he resigned himself to looking at the red tinged sky and after what felt like centuries, he finally managed to see the tangle of limbs that were spread around him. And that Emma was the weight on his chest. Gripping her shoulder, he said her name though he couldn’t hear it through the muffle in his ears. He just knew she was unresponsive and another weight dipped in his chest. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Scott caught Emma in his arms and looked to find the other mutants who had been taken out by the blast. “Emma come on,” he could finally hear himself say. “We need you.”

NATASHA: There was an unshakable feeling that this was her fault. Even though she was just one piece in the puzzle Natasha thought of Wanda going up in flames and her stomach turned. Natasha had died to save the world and been resurrected to help get her friends murdered. She had been on the sidelines watching Steve and Sam but her body instinctively snapped to fold against Tony’s. She stumbled alongside him before flicking her Widow’s Bites on and pulling her batons from her back. “I feel like common rules of courtesy don’t apply here. I have a lot of things to say and none of them are nice.”

ILLYANA: Being knocked on her ass was never something Illyana enjoyed. Her teeth were bared as she pulled herself to her knees and looked at those around her. “Do I need to move her out of here?” She asked Scott before focusing on Erik, Nate and the others. “I get you close enough and you end this. Can you do that?”

OSBORN: There was always a trick up his sleeve. When the blast knocked everyone back, Norman had a chance to get his glider out. He moved to block Sam's shield, sending it back to him. Carol started shooting at him and he was able to dodge the first few, but as he moved there was shot that landed at the worst angle when he tried to block it. It hit his glider and knocked him straight off of it-- Norman landed with a harsh thud into the grass. He flipped onto his back as Carol got closer, aiming his blaster at her even though his vision was a bit blurred from his impact against the ground.

CAROL: Seeing Norman crash land had Carol reigning her powers in, her body going into a nose dive to reach him faster. Just as she’d anticipated, Osborn fired a blast at her and Carol instinctively fired one back, the clash of energy sending a shockwave in both directions. It immediately knocked her off course and she was back on the ground before she could readjust long enough to stay in the air. But she was close to Osborn. Only a couple of feet away. She walked towards him. “It’s over.” she raised her fist, charging up another blast. “Surrender now.”

RIPLEY: Everything was falling apart. Ripley had kind of expected it but knew she couldn’t stick around. As Carol approached Norman it seemed like a perfect getaway. There was no air kiss goodbye or snide comment. Star just turned and flew away. It wasn’t being a coward. It was waiting for a better opportunity.

LAURA: Her skin was already regrowing from where the blast had burned it off after taking a direct hit to ensure Remy didn’t. As Scott clutched Emma her head hilted to the side, trying to listen to the breathing and heartbeat. “Not dead.”

ILLYANA: “Slap her.” Illyana suggested with a one shouldered shrug. Why were all of their telepaths unable to keep it together? “Think fast, Scott.” She tilted her head towards where the Avengers seemed to have Norman against the rails. “We’re running out of time.”

TONY: “Yeah, alright-- I’m sick of this.” Now was the perfect time-- Carol had Osborn well distracted and well covered, but that blaster on his hand could still do some damage. He shot Nat a quick point before moving over to her. “Here, take this--” He handed her a small gadget, then pointed at Osborn. “Once I get that blaster pointed away from Carol, shoot his tech. That should disable it-- will disable it.” Yeah, it will. It will work. Before waiting for much of a response from Nat, Tony flew a bit closer and shot a blast close to Norm’s head. It caused the President to turn in surprise, moving his repulser away from Carol and giving Nat the window to fire.

ERIK: Erik took the opportunity to use his powers to grab various metal scraps from around the field and the seats and send them over to Norman once his tech was turned off. He bent then around the President’s arms in multiple places and then dug them into the turf, pinning the man in place so he couldn’t get up.

NATASHA: In the day since their mind control had been exposed Natasha and Tony had sat together with heads bowed. It was violating. It was wrong. She ached to fire off a few rounds and stretch her legs at the barre, but instead she had listened to Tony go over the schematics of a machine he had created at a breakneck speed. He had built the latest model of Osborn’s suit and he could take it down. The tiny device was fashioned above the Widow’s Bite on her arm and as Tony and the others got Norman properly subdued Nat began to fire it up. She waited until the moment a signal was given and then there was a buzz and a slight tingling sensation in her arm as it activated. Norman’s suit fell apart then, the lights flickering and dying out. As the machinery locked, Nat looked up to give Tony a nod of affirmation. “Looks like it worked to me.”

OSBORN: Norman had his arm pointed straight up and over at Carol, matching her glowing fist. He was still in a bad position, back flat against the ground. But he could still fire. He debated it. But before he made a decision, a strange shock of energy shot up the arm covered in tech and he felt it grow heavy and lose power. His ears were still ringing with the sound of static as he felt his arms being pinned down. It was a futile attempt, but Norman struggled against it.  “Shit.”

SCOTT: Scott gave Illyana a look before refocusing on Emma. “Come on,” his tone was urgent. “You’re really going to let Osborn take you down, come on.” When Emma didn’t stir, he almost had to take Illyana up on her offer, though it wouldn’t have been him. But hey, it was that or a bucket of water, wasn’t it? “You’ve got ten seconds to open your eyes before someone ends up ruining that.” he brushed her hair out of her face, periodically looking put to make sure the Avengers had Osborn occupied. “Or someone ends up breaking your nose again.” it was a light joke — a very, very, light joke.

EMMA: Gods, did her head hurt. Thoughts were pulsing around her in synch with her headache and at Scott’s comment one eye fluttered open and then the other. “I will lobotomize you, Summers.” She rasped out before blinking a few times against the fog. Roused from what would later be diagnosed as a bad concussion, Emma took a second to center herself and look at Scott’s face, hidden by his hood and visor. A plan. They had a plan. Osborn was somehow on the ground and it seemed like Erik had done his part so it was only fitting that Emma would do hers. She was unsteady as she rose to her feet and used Scott for stabilization as she teetered on high heels towards Norman was pinned down. Crouching so that blonde hair nearly brushed his face, Emma resisted the urge to vomit and hoped instead she looked as intimidating and badass as she knew she was. “I hope you realize now that I am a woman of my word who holds true to her promise. Enjoy your new normal, Normie.” One finger tapped against his forehead then, a telepathic blast obliterating all clear thought. She wouldn’t kill him. He was a proud man, someone too full of himself. Even Emma thought that and she loved her reflection like  Narcissus did his. This little mental prison would be agony for one like him. Her own head throbbed but as his eyes glazed over and his mouth went slack Emma had a moment of satisfaction before she tumbled backwards out of her crouch. “I win.”

SCOTT: Scott was there, supporting her at a distance while she worked on Norman. He could tell that she’d been just as rattled by that blast as he, except now she was using her abilities and that would just further drain her. When she was done with him, Scott caught her against him and eased them back, away from the Avengers that were circling. “You did enough.” he said, a hidden thank you underneath. “It’s time to go home.” Home, whatever that meant for them.

ILLYANA: “I hope he likes wearing diapers.” Illyana snorted as Emma finished. She waited until Scott had the telepath in his arms before she moved forward and raised her sword. “Home is anywhere but here.” Her hair was getting frizzy and her shorts were sticking. Russia lacked humidity, thankfully, and even though Illyana had bounced from there to hell to the states she refused to acknowledge this climate as her own. “Yes, you won. You can put your tits away now.” The words were said with love but coupled with an eye roll. As her portal lit up Illyana, Scott, Emma and the few other mutants in the vicinity vanished from view.

SAM: They had gotten there. It was decidedly a rocky path but Sam reminded himself to be happy about the end goal. Osborn was no longer an immediate threat and somehow - surprisingly - he hadn’t been murdered. They had done it the right way. One day they could try and reverse Emma’s work so he could stand trial but in that moment Sam was content with shifting some of the metal bindings Magneto had fastened and hauling Osborn upright even though he immediately slumped over. Glancing over at Erik, Sam tipped his head in thanks. “Tell Emma we appreciate it. We appreciate all of you. We couldn’t have done this if we weren’t working together. And about your people... we’ll have everyone look for Hope and Eva. Wanda’s --- she’s a friend.” Teammate. Had been for years. “I’m takin’ him to the Raft. You need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

ERIK: Erik stopped a few paces back as Sam gathered Osborn. He was tense as he watched, still slightly hung up on the fact that the now former President was still alive and Erik allowed him to be. But Emma's words had gotten to him. Perhaps being around people like the Avengers had started to get to him as well. Or maybe it was starting to grow closer to his daughters, then watching them die. Whatever it was, it made him feel strange. But when he offered a thankful nod to Sam in return, he felt oddly proud that a conversation between the two of them could happen. Things were different. But that was good. "Thank you." His words were soft but sincere. "And I will, once she's in her right mind again." Then he turned to gather and leave with the rest of the mutants.

SAM: There wasn’t much left to say. Calling H.A.M.M.E.R. agents wasn’t an option but there were still some good S.H.I.E.L.D. agents he had on speed dial. They arrived shortly after Magneto left, tying Osborn down before carting him off even though he was obviously incapacitated. As his vacant twisted face rolled out of view Sam tried to shrug off the image of the green. They still had a lot to do. C.R.A.D.L.E. needed to be instantly dismantled and H.A.M.M.E.R. wiped out. There was also the issue of the murdered mutants. But when Sam tried to think about it all his head spun. He needed war and rest. More rest than his five hours he was getting. Once the agents began to clear the field Sam lifted up in the air with the weight of the shield on his back along with the stress of what was to come.

[kyokkou]

𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 | part six. late shōwa (1926–1989) era

☼ part five. ☼

                    ❝The promise that dissolved in the wind will someday cross time                     “We’ll meet again” – a lie whiter than the snow and the clouds❞

          AN EMPTY HOSPITAL BED was all that greeted him today. The formal surrender was to be signed, and Kiku was gone. Hikaru didn't take him for a coward who would run away-- he always said he would die before surrendering to anyone, though. Perhaps he had made good on the threat of death... but personifications could not simply die. It took years of illness and eventual fading away-- didn't it? That was what he had heard, and it was within the realm of possibility. Kiku was very ill, and didn't seem to be getting better, and now Hikaru was feeling similarly nauseous-- which he immediately blamed on his panic at Kiku's disappearance.           HIKARU WOULD HAVE TO GO in his place; as far as anyone knew, there was only one of them, anyway. No one would know the difference, and he had suffered enough physical injuries from the air raids that he could surely pass himself off as the same one who had started this destructive war. He broke his promise to me, and now he's gone. I don't know whether to be angry or upset. Or... terrified at what comes after this, Hikaru thought as he trudged down the corridor. What he didn't know was that Kiku had already gone home.

          THE PAIN SEEMED TO DRAIN from his body that morning, before the first light of dawn. He couldn't be sure, but it probably went to Hikaru; and that meant he would be suffering alone, at home. Their home had not been destroyed by the relentless air-raids, tucked away just enough that the bombing raid on the Imperial Palace in Tokyo had not touched it. Just having to walk past that was enough to make Kiku wish he was still unconscious from pain. This was his fault. Everything he had worked for had been undone, and there was no one to blame for it but himself. And, certainly, he didn't deserve it-- so he thought, at least.           THEIR HOME WAS EMPTY save for the two dogs, who could be heard shuffling about in one of the rooms. With all of the new people coming by, their behavior had become skittish-- though he called out, they didn't come running like usual. No answer, either. Hikaru was nowhere to be found after a quick run-through of the home. He must have already left for the day, and maybe they had already passed one another. He would just have to wait until Hikaru returned, and apologize for not being there later. Hopefully this wouldn't cause too much trouble-- after all, he knew Hikaru half expected him to find a reason to avoid attending the formal surrender.           WHEN HIKARU RETURNED, Kiku immediately went to meet him. Hikaru looked right at him, as if looking through him, and sighed. Like usual when they weren't on the best terms, Hikaru didn't say a word; instead, his attention was directed to the dogs. It was to be expected; all the times he'd disappointed Hikaru were like this. Kiku was quick to shrug it off and sit in the main room while Hikaru made a modest dinner. Even when he was angry with Kiku, Hikaru wouldn't let him starve.           EXCEPT FOR THIS TIME. Kiku watched as Hikaru sat down, alone, with only enough to eat for himself. When he didn't immediately begin eating, the now-former empire anticipated what he might say and leaned forward over the low table, reaching out tentatively to touch Hikaru's cheek... Only to feel nothing. In a moment of slight panic, Kiku tried again, this time trying to move Hikaru to look at him. He was nothing but a projection-- or was it Kiku? Had he disappeared, just like his empire?           HIKARU DIDN'T ACCEPT IT right away; at least, that's what he thought. That he must have been hallucinating all sorts of things; that his reflection in a mirror was Kiku, or that he was still in his room, the scent of incense and tobacco lingering as if he was just there. Every time he looked, there was no trace of him. Reiji would come by sometimes, and sit there for hours by himself; Hikaru didn't have the heart to tell him to leave. He simply fed him and let him be on his way, always making sure to tell the little aircraft personification on the days that Alfred was meant to come over.           THOSE WERE THE DAYS HE HATED THE MOST. Without fail, whenever he showed up for a visit, it ended painfully for Hikaru. Physically, and mentally; it was always something he wanted to forget, the way he felt like a prisoner in his own home-- it had gotten better since the occupation ended decades prior, but it never truly stopped. The younger nation was like night and day with him; kind before sunset, but a real bastard once the lights were out. Hikaru rarely ever went into that guest room as the years went on, but there were some nights-- every so often-- that the American would run out of the room screaming, claiming Kiku was threatening to behead him. If only-- Hikaru caught himself thinking, while pulling his yukata a little bit tighter around his body.           THE MORE TIME THAT PASSED, the more Hikaru wondered if he was going to crumble; the hallucinations were so frequent now that he found himself waiting for them, just to be able to see Kiku again. And then, just when he let his guard down, something moved in his peripheral vision; just as quickly, it was gone. On the especially stressful nights, he found himself habitually walking down the hallway to Kiku's room, wondering if he'd be able to open the door instead of just standing in front of it until he fell to his knees, crushed by the weight of his own despair. He assumed tonight would be much the same. The past few months, it seemed like he did it every night.           WERE THE HALLUCINATIONS GETTING WORSE? Hikaru had gone down the hall as usual, but the door was open tonight, and there was a silhouette barely visible in the near-complete darkness of the room. Impossible-- no one should be in here; no one even knew where this home was, even if they could go trespassing this far into grounds of the Imperial Palace. Hikaru felt like a zombie as he slowly went into the room and reached up to pull the cord of the overhead lamp. Kiku was there before him when the room was illuminated, and yet, he couldn't even react; his eyes had lied to him so many times before, this wouldn't be any different. Kiku would disappear like always.           ❝YOU SHOULD BE SLEEPING, not wasting your time in here...❞ Kiku mumbled, reaching out to touch Hikaru's cheek and expecting to just pass right through him, as it had been for the past forty-four years. Hikaru, meanwhile, was frozen; for the first time in all those years, he could finally hear Kiku's voice again. It must be my imagination, Hikaru thought, leaning into the touch. For being nothing but a hallucination, it was more like a dream. Surely, he'd wake up with the same stinging sensation in his eyes, and would have to settle for the warmth of his pets to keep him company.           ❝I JUST MISS YOU, more than anything.❞ Hikaru couldn't believe he was responding like this; but there was no dreamscape to collapse this time, and the way it felt to put his own hand over Kiku's hand was what finally snapped him out of the tired and apathetic daze he'd been in. When he looked back up at Kiku, he looked just as stunned at what was happening. ❝You-- where have you been?! Why did you leave? You said you would protect me--❞           ❝I NEVER LEFT, I've been here this whole time! You couldn't see me. I tried to tell you, I wrote you so many letters on whatever I could find, but you just collected the paper and put it away without reading it!❞ Kiku argued as the two of them pulled away from one another. Hikaru was clearly upset, and it made Kiku feel instantly guilty for raising his voice like that. He hadn't done that in... forty four years.           ❝THOSE WERE BLANK, so I put them away... this whole time? You've been here, but I couldn't see you... which means you could see me.❞ The realization that he had seen everything that had been done to him was enough to make him overcome with nausea, and Hikaru immediately turned away in humiliation. Kiku didn't say a word; of course he had seen it. Every time Alfred was over as the years went on, he would stare at him until the sun came up, wishing nothing but terrible things to happen to him. He'd never admit it to Hikaru; he assumed he'd get scolded for it-- the sword and the beheading threats weren't necessary, were they? Besides, he knew he could get away with it; no one could see him. He was gone, as he had no purpose as the Empire of Japan. It didn't exist, and neither did he.           HIKARU COULDN'T BELIEVE that Kiku would even want to embrace him after everything he had seen; and yet, he was now being held closely. Neither of them were imagining things. After all this time, why was he now allowed back? It was the one question both of them were not sure they wanted the answer to, as if knowing would somehow drag Kiku back to whatever limbo he had been trapped in. That didn't stop the former empire from bringing it up, though.           ❝I CAN'T IMAGINE WHY I'M HERE AGAIN, because you've done well without me. You don't need me. In trying to give you an ideal life, I ruined everything, and you've had to deal with the burden of it all. Hikaru--❞           ❝DON'T SAY ANYMORE, I don't want you to disappear again. I can't do this alone, I don't think I can go on like this. I need you, Kiku. I don't care what happened then-- I don't want to be alone,❞ Hikaru pleaded, trying to hold back all of the emotions that threatened to overflow at any moment. ❝We'll just have to find something for you-- if that's all it is, there must be something... that can keep you here so I don't have to be alone again.❞                      ❝I DON'T KNOW IF IT WILL WORK, but it's worth a try if it means I can be by your side again.❞ As the two of them sat talking, long past the sun had risen, His Majesty the Emperor departed their world.                                                 PART SEVEN COMING SOON!

[minervacasterly]

With the Heart and Stomach of a King, She was a Rock that Bent to no Wind: How Queen Elizabeth I used her femininity to her advantage.

"Though the sex to which I belong is considered weak, you will nevertheless find me a rock that bends to no weak."~Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland, Governor of the Church of England and longest reigning monarch of the Tudor Dynasty.Translation "do not mess with this bad ass Queen B!"There are many quotes that you can find of Elizabeth I that are simply kick ass and help us understand what she was all about. She used her femininity and the status quo regarding women in power to her advantage and she was often pragmatic on issues of religion and foreign policy which ensured her a successful and long reign.That's not to say that she was flawless. Several historians have been critical of her policies, pointing out where she erred. However; we have to remember that we are looking at these events in retrospect, something that these figures didn't have the advantage of.Queen Elizabeth was born in September of 1533, known as Princess for less than three years before her father annulled his marriage to her mother so he could marry again and sire a son. Elizabeth's only defendant during her childhood years as a royal bastard was her half-sister, the Lady Mary who also became a bastard after their father annulled his union to her mother to marry Elizabeth's. Mary didn't get along with Anne but she came to love her little sister and it was thanks to her advocacy that she was brought back to court and given new clothes after she outgrew her old ones.Elizabeth Tudor had less than an ideal life after that. Relying on her words and silence to keep herself out of trouble and enemy lines. Sometimes she was successful, sometimes she wasn't but one thing is clear: Seeing queens, including her cousin and stepmother, Kitty Howard, fall and annulled, taught her a lot. In her biography on the Tudors and Stewarts and Kathryn Parr, Linda Porter states that it was Henry VIII's last wife that taught Elizabeth everything she needed to know about female power. Kathryn Parr used her intelligence, her love of books, fashion, and cordiality to make herself into a powerful figure that was eventually appointed Regent (the only other one of Henry VIII's Queens to be given that position besides Catherine of Aragon) during his absence.Fast forward to Mary I's reign. Edward VI's reign had been troubling for Elizabeth. Always a lover of fashion and cordial behavior, she soon learned how easy it was for someone to stain her reputation, even when she was an unwilling participant of Thomas Seymour's courtship.While some blame Kathryn Parr for letting this go, it is unclear just how far Thomas Seymour's attentions went. Sources, whether primary or secondary (written many years later and from supposedly eye witnesses accounts) suggest that it did go that far. Elizabeth would wake up earlier than her stepmother and her last husband so Thomas Seymour wouldn't sneak up into her bedroom. When Kathryn Parr died as a result of childbed fever, Thomas Seymour began to conspire against his brother and in no time he found himself in the Tower with a head short.Elizabeth was questioned along with her former governess, Kat Ashley whose husband reprimanded her for her encouraging Thomas Seymour's advances after his wife had died.It is unclear what role she had in the Wyatt Rebellion or in the Grey-Dudley Protestant Regime before that. One thing is clear though, her words were her shield and her silence, her most deadly weapon. By distancing herself from the Grey-Dudley regime, she convinced her sister that she wasn't her enemy. Indeed, she even played a major role during her coronation, riding on a carriage of silver trappings with their former stepmother, Lady Anne of Cleves. But come the Wyatt Rebellion, she was questioned and so where her servants. Elizabeth never forgave her sister for this transgression. It was Philip of Spain, Mary I's husband's intervention that saved her.One can only imagine the stress that Elizabeth went through being lodged in the SAME rooms her mother once was lodged in for her coronation and later during her imprisonment as she awaited her death. When Elizabeth got out she was put under house arrest and carefully watched.During Elizabeth I's reign there were rumors that Margaret Douglas was responsible for Mary I's treatment of her half-sister. It is unlikely that Elizabeth I believed some of her cronies who spread these rumors in an effort to tarnish the Countess of Lennox reputation. There was very little truth in them. Mary I's actions were her own but like her, Elizabeth I couldn't afford to put all the blame of her. A House divided was bad for business. When Mary I rallied the commons and her noble supporters against Jane Grey and her supporters, she laid the blame of Edward VI's actions at their doorstep (especially on John Dudley, given that he had no royal connections unlike Henry Grey who was married to her cousin, Frances Brandon). And Elizabeth I was angry with Margaret Douglas at the time for having conspired against her to wed her eldest son to the Queen of Scots, so she was going to use whatever weapons she had to levy them against her.Elizabeth I's view on Mary's actions can be best examined by what she told the Count de Feria when he visited her at Hatfield, where most of Mary I's court had gathered, eager to please their future queen. She told the Spanish Count that she owed nothing to her sister seeing as she had served her loyally and she (Mary) had rewarded her loyalty by accusing her of the most heinous crimes and locking her in the Tower.While Margaret Douglas rose through the ranks of favoritism after Elizabeth was cast out of Mary's inner circle, it is unlikely that Mary would have ever considered doing what her half-brother did. In spite of her reservations towards her sister, she knew that in order to keep their grandfather's legacy going, another Tudor had to take the center stage and the best way to achieve that was to allow a peaceful transition of power so Elizabeth was kept in the line of succession. On November of 1558, eight months after Mary I had made her will, Elizabeth I became Queen. Like one of her namesakes and her great-grandmother, it is said that she received this glorious news while she was under an oak tree and as soon as she was given the ring of state, she quoted one of the psalms."This is the Lord's doing and it is marvelous in our eyes."Elizabeth Tudor became the second Queen Regnant of the British Isles on Sunday, January 15th, 1559.he day began after Elizabeth made her way from the Tower of London, dressed in crimson parliament robes walking on blue cloth which had been laid for her all the way to the Abbey. The Spanish Ambassador, Feria, refused to be present but the Venetian Ambassador,Schifanoya was there and he reported everything he saw. According to him and other contemporary accounts, as Elizabeth made her way to the Abbey, there were stages erected for her that depicted once again her noble lineage through her father and his parents, and included Henry VIII’s collections of tapestries -especially one depicting the Acts of the Apostles based on the designs by Raphael. This symbolized the late Tudor monarch’s devotion and Bess further emphasized hers after she emerged from a curtained sector where she changed into her new clothes, and then was led by the Bishop of Carlisle to the stage where she was proclaimed Queen.The customary question was asked. If the people would like Elizabeth to be their Queen or not, and the people cried “Yea, yea!”. Then the trumpets sounded, the organs were played and the bells rang and Elizabeth and the Bishop descended to the altar where she knelt before it to hear the sermon and then took the oath.After this was said and done, she withdrew to the traverse to change for the final part in the ceremony, the anointing. She emerged wearing a kirtle of gold and silver. Prostrating herself before the altar, leaning on cloth of gold cushions, she was anointed on the shoulders, breast, hands, arms and forehead.Three crowns were placed on her head, after which she was completely arrayed in gold and to everyone who was there, she seemed indeed, seemed not human but like a golden figure, an icon, almost god-like as her father always tried to appear.Elizabeth ever the pragmatist, had intended to create a hybrid of the Protestant Church her brother had enforced on the population and the Marian Catholic reformed Church her sister had also tried to enforce. As Starkey explains:“It was now time of the coronation mass, which followed, with Elizabeth’s personally enforced innovations. The Epistle was read twice, first in Latin and then in English…. Then the bishop brought the Gospel. This too was read twice, in the old liturgical language and again in the Tudor vernacular, which has, to us, become almost as remote, beautiful as the Latin. Elizabeth now repeated her gesture of the day before and kissed the Bible -and, it is safe to guess, the English one.”Furthermore Jasper Ridley adds in his respective biography of Elizabeth:“After he [Bishop of Carlisle] had crowned her, a Mass was held in Latin; but the celebrant, her chaplain, spoke the words of consecration in English and did not elevate the Host.”The Coronation pardon was then given and the Queen traveled from Westminster Abbey to the Palace Great Hall to enjoy her coronation banquet. As she passed the great crowds, she greeted them with that same smile from her accession and it won them over again.Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland continued with most of her half-brother and half-sister's policies while expanding the Protestant agenda. As previously stated, in matters of religion, Elizabeth I took on a pragmatic approach, not wishing to voice her support of the Netherlands or the Dutch, or even the Huguenots in France since they believed in a Republican government and hardly recognized the authority of a King over his or her subjects. Her animosity towards John Knox, the infamous radical Protestant preacher in Scotland stemmed from his controversial pamphlets published in 1558, the year she succeeded her half-sister, in which he condemned female monarchy. While John Knox tried to justify his remarks by stating that his attack was an attack on Catholic female monarchs and other women in power, and not exclusively on her, Queen Elizabeth I didn't let him so easily off the hook and during the remainder of her life, he wasn't allowed to step on English soil.Elizabeth I however, recognized his usefulness against her royal cousin, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots and when the latter interests no longer suited her own, Elizabeth I covertly supported the Protestant lords and religious leaders against her.During her last years, Elizabeth I began to disagree more and more with these types of radical preachers. She saw them as dangerous to the institution of monarchy. Parliament's powers had been expanded with her father, and while she relied on them, the two often clashed. Most of her lords sympathized with these radical preachers and when Elizabeth I wanted to punish them by giving them a harsher sentence, they intervened, guaranteeing they wouldn't be executed or spent a long time in prison.Another area Queen Elizabeth I clashed with her subjects was on the issue of her royal cousin. Fiction often portray them as enemies and while they were, for some time, Elizabeth I seemed favorable to the idea of Mary, Queen of Scots succeeding her AS LONG as she married someone that Elizabeth I agreed with. She even sent her favorite, Robert Dudley but this option for Mary Stuart was too scandalous.Why?Because Queen Elizabeth I declared that the best way to ensure a happy union between the two was to move in with her. And as Anne Boleyn played by Natalie Dormer said in the Tudors, you can't have three people in a marriage. You just can't.Tired of waiting for a clear response, Mary, Queen of Scots accepted her other royal cousin's proposal to marry her eldest son, a handsome young man who was also a Stewart through his father and like Mary, descended from Princess Margaret Tudor via her second marriage to the Earl of Angus. The marriage as we all know, was disastrous and ended in tragedy. Mary was blamed for his assassination and in short time married one of his other alleged assassins, the Earl of Bothwell. Bothwell ended up abandoning her and her unborn children when the going got tough and when she was surrounded by enemies and former allies, she miscarried her twins and capitulated to her captors, abdicating in her son's favor.Queen Elizabeth I wasn't directly involved in King James VI of Scotland's upbringing but she received many reports regarding the young King. When the King heard of his mother's sentence, he appealed to the Queen in a way that didn't seem to side too favorable of her, but Elizabeth I ignored his request.In what has been described as one of Elizabeth's clever ways of excusing herself off her royal cousin's execution, she wrote to Philip II of Spain and other monarchs that she never intended for things to go this far and were it had been truly up to her, she would have never signed her execution warrant.The truth is, she did sign the execution warrant and she wasn't coerced or forced. Like with half-sister's actions, Elizabeth I's actions were entirely her own. However, her royal cousin's execution always haunted her. It was a difficult decision to make because she was one who valued royal authority above all else and this action set a precedent for future monarchs to be held accountable to their subjects. Elizabeth I's last years have been under heavy criticism. The truth regarding the Armada's defeat is as much clouded in mystery as it is in propaganda. In the first episode of her documentary series "British History's Biggest Fibs"; historian, Dr. Lucy Worsley describes how successful the Tudor regime was in pushing their agenda and having their version of events become the official story.In his book entitled "Armada", the late Garrett Mattingly aptly described the events based on primary sources, letters and other documents, that resulted in the disastrous Spanish navy's defeat. For one, the Spanish vessels were terribly large which made them slower. The English ships were poised to shoot everything that moved and wasn't English and given the horrible weather, it was easier for them to hit their target.During this time, Elizabeth I gave her most famous speech at Tilbury where she said that while she had the "weak and frail" body of a woman, she had "the heart and stomach of a King" and a "King of England" at that! Like her father, Queen Elizabeth was a good public speaker and like her mother, she was subtle enough to know how to handle foreign emissaries, promising them nothing and also denying nothing.As a lover of fashion, she knew the power behind it and used her public image to replace previously beloved religious figures among the Catholic population. It was during these years that she came to be known as Virgin Queen, and using biblical and classical imagery that compared her to Deborah, Esther, Athena, Artemis and Hera, she used her status as an unmarried woman to become a pseudo-religious icon.But not all was well in paradise. As she got older, her ladies and noblemen began to mock her and considered her efforts to become a nationalistic and religious symbol ridiculous. Some even went as far as to laugh behind her back and Elizabeth I responded equally by mocking them and humiliating them after they refused to obey her orders and tried to outshine her by wearing expensive bright colored gowns.Elizabeth I did her best to cope with loss as she had done with other obstacles. The loss of her longtime favorite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester affected her greatly and so did her stepson’s betrayal, Robert Deveraux, the Earl of Essex. Before she became 50, her councilors once again continued to pressure her into making a royal marriage and while she continued to make vague promises to would-be-suitors, it is possible she might have entertained a married life but decided against it. Entering marriage would have meant giving up most of her freedoms. It would have meant that the question surrounding female monarchy would have come up again, with some of her husband’s potential foreign allies ruling in his favor, or worse, once she had a male heir, he would have moved against her in the same fashion as Mary Stuart’s last two husbands.Elizabeth I always refused to name an heir. She always gave vague promises, and at times denied nothing nor promised anything, being as subtle as her mother and as you would expect a highborn lady to be. The reason why Elizabeth I never wanted to make her choice of an heir official, regardless of whom she favored at one point, was because she had seen how courtiers had flocked to her like vultures once they realized that her half-sister Mary I wasn’t going to live any longer. Elizabeth I was tired of political intrigue although she continued to fight the good fight and take on her enemies.It was also during her last years that she looked for new allies. Catherine de Medici was one of her strongest allies/rivals, someone who deeply admired Elizabeth. It is possible that Elizabeth I also admired her. What other foreign woman who’d been previously scorned and mocked had achieved so much in so little time following her husband’s death and her sons’ ascensions? As Charles IX became more insecure, Catherine convinced him to appoint her Governor of France. This gave almost unlimited powers, allowing her to give orders in her son’s name, in spite of the fact that he had reached his age of majority long time since then.But regardless of their personal feelings, they were always set these aside in favor of their position and (in Catherine’s case) their offspring.Catherine de Medici had no qualms to act against her enemies, especially her former daughter-in-law’s maternal relative, the Guises who went as far as to encourage Protestant lynching when Catherine sided with Huguenots, including one of their leaders, Jeanne III of Navarre. "... Catherine de Medici had every cause to regret the bull against Elizabeth. Her goal, after all was the reduction of tension, not its increase. On 8 August 1570 the Treaty of St Germain finally brought peace: freedom of conscience and freedom of worship limited to certain locations ..." (Sarah Gristwood, Game of Queens)The St. Bartholomew Massacre left a bad taste in everybody's mouths, including Queen Elizabeth I and her councilors. Mary, Queen of Scots' execution had been the catalyst for the Anglo-Spanish war. Following the end of the Valois dynasty and the end of the Bourbon with the late Jeanne III’s son, Henry IV, becoming the new King of France, France once again became England’s ally. Henry IV thanked Elizabeth I for her support but as time went on, he sided with the major Catholic powers forming a Holy League against Elizabeth I that sought to depose her and install Philip II’s eldest daughter, Isabella Clara Eugenia.Not cowed by her country’s forced isolation, she looked to the Middle East for potential allies. The woman who made this alliance possible was none other than Safiye Sultan. Like Catherine de Medici before her she had risen through the ranks due to being her husband (Murad III) chief wife and their son’s regent. And also like the former Governor of France, in spite of Mehmed III reaching his majority, she was still an influential figure who refused to let go of her position as her son’s consultant and adviser. She greatly admired a woman like Elizabeth I who used her single statues to bolster her image, and present herself as a virtuous, nationalistic and religious icon and an ideal substitute for the Virgin Mary -a figure whose cult had been very popular in England. When Elizabeth I became frustrated with her son, she wrote to her mother knowing that Safiye was the true power behind the throne. The two women exchanged gifts and letters, with Safiye congratulating Elizabeth for her victories and he gracious behavior towards her.“…both Murad III and Mehmed III’s reigns notoriously, was ruled mainly from the harem. Elizabeth had employed very similar tactics on Barton’s advice six years earlier in 1593, using Safiye as her intermediary in an attempt to influence the direction of the Hungarian war. At that time, her letter had been accompanied by a few handsome gifts, paid for by the Levant Company. These consisted of a ‘jewel of Her Majesty’s picture’ (possibly a Hilliard miniature) set with rubies and diamonds, three great tilt plates, ten garments of cloth of gold and a very fine case of glass bottles, silver and gilt.” (John Guy, Elizabeth I: The Forgotten Years)Elizabeth I spent her last years looking back at her triumphs and failures, ridding herself of potential rivals and refusing to assure her councilors of anything that would reflect her personal opinion regarding who her successor should be. But she must have sensed the end as she once again saw the courtiers beginning to flock to James VI of Scotland, eagerly waiting for her to give her last breath.Elizabeth I sponsored many artists and play writers, including the famous William Shakespeare whose plays greatly contributed to the English language and gave us many phrases that we still use today. One of her favorite plays was Henry V because of the character of Falstaff. She found him the most likable of all of the play's characters. Like one of her ancestors, she began to identify with Richard II whose excesses led to his deposition and was the catalyst behind the wars of the roses that ended with the destruction of the Houses of Lancaster and York and the Plantagenet Dynasty.At she was quoted to have said: “I am Richard II, know ye not that?”Elizabeth I didn't like the way Richard II had been -and still was- portrayed and her opinion might have influenced Shakespeare to make him into a pitiful character.Besides considering his treatment of his subjects unjust, there was another reason why she might have identified with Richard II. Like her father, she firmly believed in the divinity of Kings and took her role as Head of the Church seriously. When she was told her sister had died and was presented with her royal ring, she quoted one of the psalms, saying that “this is the lord’s doing and it is marvelous before our eyes.” As God's representative on Earth, an act against her was an act against the Almighty. And also like her father, she shared his dislike for those who questioned royal authority. Despite the various plots and opposition against her, Elizabeth I endured but she knew her time was coming and she prepared for it. On February 1603, she settled her affairs regarding her officials in Ireland, ensuring that the next monarch would have complete control of that Isle and that there would be no more disruptions from Catholic rebels or rogue officers. Nevertheless, she refused to appear weak before her ministers insisting that nothing was wrong with her.On the 24th of March 1603, Queen Elizabeth I died at Richmond Palace at the age of sixty nine. Ironically it was the same place her grandfather and founder of her dynasty had died ninety three and eleven months earlier.Elizabeth I’s Funerary Procession took place a month later, on the 28th of April. She was carried from Whitehall to Westminster Abbey where she was laid to rest on the Lady Chapel.“It was an impressive occasion: the hearse was drawn by four horses hung with black velvet, surmounted by a life-sized wax effigy of the late Queen, dressed in her state robes and crown, an orb and scepter in its hands; over it was a canopy of state supported by six earls.” (Alison Weir, The Life of Elizabeth I)“Westminster” Chronicler John Stow wrote, “was surcharged with multitudes of all sorts of people in their streets, houses, windows, leads and gutters, that came out to see the obsequy.” After the Mass had ended, her household servants broke their white staves and tossed them at her tomb to symbolize the end of their allegiance.Truly, it was a sight to see and also a reminder than it was the end of an era. Gone were the days of the Tudors, now it would be the Stuarts who reigned.She was buried at the Lady Chapel that Henry VII had ordered be built for himself and his descendants, at Westminster Abbey. It was in this place where her paternal grandparents and great-grandmother and half-sister were also buried.Three years later, King James I decided to rebury her in a different vault and honor her memory by building a magnificent burial. Unfortunately, this monument didn’t include an effigy of the Queen’s sister, Mary I who was reburied with her.The plaque on her tomb reads the following:“Consorts both in throne and grave, here we rest two sisters, Elizabeth & Mary, in hope of our resurrection.”Queen Elizabeth I remains one of the most celebrated figures in English history and considered one of the best monarch in world history. Often she will be reduced to a mere caricature in which she is either an angelic figure who could do no wrong or thrown off that pedestal it in favor of the other extreme that depicts her as Europe's greatest prostitute or as a boy. The "Bisley Boy" legend was first popularized by none other than Victorian and Gothic writer, Bram Stoker. Bram Stoker was fascinated by the legend and took it seriously. A few years ago, a mystery writer said that it was possible she could have been a man and what was his reasoning behind this?Nothing, except the usual "she didn't get married and she never had kids with her favorites". Here's a thought for these people: Do some research! Read the primary sources and then read well-researched books by historians and biographers who've also written extensively on this topic.In Anna Whitelock's biography on Queen Elizabeth I's court, "The Queen's Bed", she quickly debunks this bogus story by offering us an insight of what court life was like. Just think about it.Elizabeth I was surrounded by women day and night. As Queen Regnant, she was dressed by her ladies and undressed by them. She was even attended during her bath. Don't you think some of them would have noticed she was a man if indeed she was? I know people love a good conspiracy once in a while but come on!Also, just because she didn't get married and possibly wasn't intimate with her favorites, doesn't mean she was a man. Her reign was unique given that she refused to marry, but given her past experiences and how England wasn't (fully) used to the idea of female monarchy, we can see why she chose to take this route.Elizabeth I's reign continues to fascinate many people and it is proof that sometimes the impossible can become possible.She became Queen when she was twenty five years old. Her reign lasted forty-four years, outlasting that of her father and the other Tudors.Known as “Glorianna”, “Good Queen Bess” and “the Virgin Queen” for her refusal to marry, she also had one colony in North America named after her. She is the third longest female monarch in English history and to some, one of the most important women in history. In his biography on Elizabeth I, David Starkey says that what differentiated her from her sister was that while Mary “aimed for a heavenly crown; Elizabeth aimed for an earthly one.”Sources:1. Elizabeth: The Struggle for the Throne by David Starkey2. The Life of Queen Elizabeth I by Alison Weir3. Game of Queens by Sarah Gristwood4. Elizabeth I: The Forgotten Years by John Guy5. Tudors vs Stewarts by Linda Porter6. Katherine the Queen: The Life of Katherine Parr, Henry VIII's last Wife by Linda Porter7. The Queen's Bed: An Intimate Account of Elizabeth's Court by Anna Whitelock8. Tudor by Leanda de Lisle9. The Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Borman

[incursionofthedamnedrpg]

Name: Klaus Mikaelson Birthday: May 14th (1000+) Species: Original Hybrid Lookalike: Joseph Morgan Availability: Open

Personality

Klaus has always been described as sadistic, careless, paranoid, manipulative, jealous, obsessive, volatile, and selfish. And none of these descriptions are far away from the truth either. He has no regard for human life and likes to find pain for them in any way he can. Most would think he had no moral bone in his body which would make him the opposite to his older brother, Elijah. Despite these traits, he has proven to be protective of his family and a few others and some of the more vicious traits have softened somewhat since the birth of his daughter. No matter what he wishes to believe of himself, he isn’t pure evil. There is an emotional side to Klaus, though he very rarely shows it to others. He tends to keep his inner turmoil to himself. He is the “bastard son” which makes him a failure to his family. On the inside, he is rather lonely and believes he doesn’t need people to love him if he can make them fear him. Klaus is power-hungry and driven, wanting to be the alpha male. He believes that death is not a punishment but an easy way out, so he rarely grants death to those who wish for it.

Past

Klaus Mikaelson was born to Esther and Mikael in the Middle Ages. Little did he know, he was really the son of a powerful werewolf family when his mother had an affair. He grew up with his siblings: Finn, Elijah, Kol, Rebekah and Henrik. Back then, along with the rest of his family, he was human until his younger brother Henrik, was killed by werewolves when he and Klaus went out into the woods on a full moon. For this, he blamed himself for his youngest brother’s death and seemed to grieve more than the others for what he had done. Esther, being a witch, wanted to prevent this from happening to the rest of their family. She used an immortality spell which was bounded by Tatia’s blood. Tatia was the one girl that Klaus loved as well as his brother, Elijah. He got jealous when Elijah looked to be winning the girl so he would step up the competition but this ended when Esther killed the poor girl. So when the Mikaelson’s drank the blood laced alcohol, Mikael killed them before killing himself so they could become immortal. But this turned out to be a huge mistake. They required blood to live and fed off the locals when the sun was not out. Esther charmed their daylight rings to allow them to walk in the day and the Mikaelson’s burnt down the White Oak Tree which was the only weapon to destroy them all. But on a full moon, Klaus began to turn into a werewolf after his first kill, to reveal himself as a hybrid. Esther made a spell to supress Klaus’ werewolf side using Tatia’s blood and he could not be unbound without the help of doppelganger blood.

For over a thousand years, Klaus had traveled around the world looking for the doppleganger to break his curse. However, he was tipped off that there was a new doppelganger that was currently in England where he was and so he searched for the girl who could break his curse. He found her and seduced her, planning the ritual to kill her but when she caught on to his plans, she fled and got herself turned into a vampire. Angry, he located her family who disowned her and slaughtered them. Soon, Klaus found himself in New Orleans with his family - along with their newest adopted member, Marcel Gerard. He made New Orleans into a town which he could build up and make great but was soon run out when Mikael tracked him down to kill him and his siblings, and New Orleans was left in Marcel’s hands. Over the next centuries, he slowly began to dagger his siblings in order to keep them safe from harms way. In recent times, he heard about the latest doppelganger and used her to fulfill his ritual to make him a hybrid and his siblings soon became undaggered - some by him and others not.

After breaking the curse that bound his werewolf side, Klaus’ main priority was to create more hybrids. Elena Gilbert being turned into a vampire hindered these plans, but he had bigger issues at hand: namely, Hayley Marshall being pregnant with his child. Though it took time to accept that it was even possible, the fear of becoming a father has driven him to more extremes as he fights to protect her and the baby. Hope Mikaelson had a rather tumultuous first twenty four hours of life, during which her mother was killed and subsequently turned into a hybrid. The entire Mikaelson clan vowed to protect her, a duty which became more complicated with the arrival of Kai Parker, who set his sights on the Mikaelsons with disastrous ends - the siphoner linked his life to Hope’s.

Present

When it became clear how much danger Hope was in while living in Mystic Falls, Klaus sent Hayley and Hope away in hopes of protecting them while he made Mystic Falls a safe place for their daughter. Though Kai had been sufficiently dealt with by being locked in a prison world of the Gemini coven’s creation, Klaus has been hesitant to allow Hayley and Hope to return. He has put in a lot of work in both New Orleans and Mystic Falls, trying to make amends with Marcel and his siblings, knowing that they would be needed in order to protect Hope from the threats that still lurk in the shadows. In particular, the information he has received on Murchadha and their interest in supernatural rarities does not make him any more willing to allow his tribrid daughter to return into a town Murchadha has made their own.

Connections

Rebekah Mikaelson, Kol Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson

His family. He loves them but is awful are showing how much they mean to him and often betrays them for getting close.

Hayley Marshall

His daughter’s mother. Had a rough start, but now she is one of the few people outside his family that he trusts.

Elena Gilbert and Katherine Pierce

They are the doppelgangers whose blood he requires in order to create more hybrids, and he wants to use them both to achieve that end.

Lucien Castle

Former friend and first vampire he ever sired. Doesn’t trust him.

[wildcardwriting]

FFXV: Before Crisis Cor #4

[Final Fantasy XV]

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FFXV: Before Crisis Cor on AO3

Lacus: Ignis uncle, and former adviser to Regis before he was removed from the position. Made up a name because Ignis’ uncle was never named.

Weskham: I have no idea what his actual position was before Crownsguard, but I’m going to go with butler based on the few lines of dialogue I saw from “A King’s Tale.”

Lathyrus: Gladio’s grandfather and King Mors’ shield. The name means perennial pea flower. Made up a name because Gladio’s grandfather was never named.

King Mors: Regis’ father, and the grandfather of Noctis. FF15 canon.

XXxxxxXX

Drabble #4:  When Cid is Bored....

XXxxxxXX

When Cid is bored, he tends to wander off.

He'll enter random rooms and scoff at any and all tea drinkers he sees, and eventually, eventually he'll end up at the one place, Regis says he shouldn't go--the Citadel Training Rooms.

Now, there are a lot of reasons Cid shouldn’t go to the training rooms, but the majority of the reasons boil down to the fault that Cid is himself and he tends to come off as rather…blunt when put next to the children of nobles. This isn’t a bad thing (most of the time), but Cid just tends to piss an awfully lot of people off. People, who have opinions that Regis would prefer not to deal with, but just for the sake of protocol and for the sake of his kingdom he had to.

However, on this particular day, Cid didn’t feel like dealing with either Regis or that stick in the mud Lacus and figured the best place to blow off some steam was to go to the training rooms.

He was right.

XXxxxxxXX

Born on the outskirts of Duscae on the edge of the new wall, and formerly guarded by the old wall, Cid's life out in the borderlands was anything but easy.

Ever since the wall had been reduced by the late Queen Regina life had gotten harder.  Much harder. Instead of having to only worry about paying his bills and making sure coyotes didn't go through the trash cans they now had to worry about demons.

Lights had been installed around what little was left of Hammerhead after the mass exodus of people and Taka's Diner started handing out missions to passing hunters. It wasn't a perfect system but it was working well enough that people could sleep at night,  even if getting goods, such as food and medicines from the capital was now twice as hard because of shipping costs.

Cid though had lived through that turmoil through stubbornness and pure unflinching grit. He went out with his father constantly fighting against both desert monsters and demons alike to put food on the table. He bled for years and there were many days where he lay in bed too tired to sleep and his bitterness towards the royal family ate at him. His father was the same way and even though he could see the hatred growing in his kid's eyes he didn't say anything. In some ways, he didn't want to, because when the wall was reduced, they had lost so much.

He wasn't anything like the majority of people who staffed the Citadel or the stuffy nobles and it showed. Oh he still hated them and they hated him, especially because he managed to gain a prized position at Regis' side, but now that he was living in Insomnia and working among them, he saw things a little differently. Most of the stuck up idiots in these places were more ignorant of the pain that people suffered from the people beyond the new wall than actually malicious. So he decided to correct the idiots in his own way by beating the collective snot out of the pampered children of nobility every so often.

Because learning to fight from the safety of a tutor was a far cry from struggling in life and death battles, and if he needed to break a few noses and or limbs well that's just the prices these little wimps would need to pay—

He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of a certain little brat from across the hall.

Jogging over to the kid, he smacked him on the back.

"What are you doing here brat?" He asked ignoring the slight frown that Cor had and the way his hands nearly went to the training sword on his waist that he carried everywhere. (It was a compromise after the third fight Cor had been in, and he had to have special permission but he had something to defend himself with if the shitty nobles decided to take another swing at him.) Cor stuffed his hands into his pockets instead and leveled him with an angry glare.

Cid smirked back at him. God, how he missed honesty from people. The Citadel had ruined him for honest folks and Cor was like a violent spunky cat he never he needed until he was stuck babysitting Regis in the royal fucking palace.

"Training," Cor muttered trying and failing to get any distance from the gunner. Cid was a crafty bastard on a good day and Cor could not understand why the elder man felt the constant need to mess with him.

Cid's smirk went up two notches on the mischievous scale.

"Sounds fun. But you know kid, I know something that will really make your day." Cid said slinging an arm around Cor's shoulder's and leading him away. (Even as Cor fought him for every step. How he wished he had more weight to throw around so this wouldn't be an issue.)

"What?" Cor bit out, wanting to be anywhere but here.

"Well, you see..."

XXxxxxxXX

"What. Happened?" Regis bit out at the two as he was handed yet another stack of complaints and bills.

"A fight," Cid said stealing some bread off Regis' plate. (Both ignored the disgusted look Lacus sent both of them.)

Regis had bearly been served dinner when Lacus had come storming in with both Cid and Cor covered in bandages and lectures them in rather loud tones. At first, Regis had thought it was something rather small but the longer Lacus went on about training room protocols and policy and what not, the more Regis feared for his sanity.

He had just taken care of appeasing yet another noble family.

What had the two done now?

And just why? Why?

He had just finished his paperwork!

"Regis you better be drooling because if you're crying again, I'm throwing a pillow at you." Cid cut in through Regis thoughts.

Regis did the only thing he could to retain his sanity and started banging his head on his desk.

Lacus scoffed at the three of them and walked out slamming the door behind him.

XXxxxxxXX

(King Mors enjoys every second of this trainwreck and Lathyrus is taking bets.)

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FFXV: Before Crisis Cor on AO3

[oldkindandtheverylastofyourkind]

JonxSansa Remix 2017 Day 6- Hamilton and Eliza

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

           Let me tell you what I wish I’d known

           When I was young and dreamed of glory

           You have no control

           Who lives, who dies, who tells your story

The fallen leaves cracked under the boots of the former Lady of Winterfell as she slowly made her way to the crypts beneath her home. She found herself coming here more and more often as yet another winter approached. It would be her tenth winter- and something told her- her last. She had come here often over the years to visit her deceased family members- her father, her brother, her sister, her son. Today, however, she was here to visit her husband, Jon Snow.

Every other founding father story gets told

Every other founding father gets to grow old

But when you’re gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame?

Who tells your story?

After Jon and his allies had prevailed in the war for their future, Daenerys Targaryen had been unanimously elected in Westeros’s historic free-election. For the first time ever, every citizen in Westeros, from the high lords in their castles, to the common people in their modest houses, had chosen their ruler. The Mother of Westeros, as she had affectionately been known as, ruled the country wisely for twenty years before deciding to step down to spend the rest of her life in peace at her home in Dragonstone. Sansa could not imagine a ruler that could have been more admired, respected, and revered than their first elected-ruler, Daenerys Targaryen. She would forever be known as a Mother to her country.  

           Those twenty prosperous years under Daenerys’s rule had been tumultuous, but mostly happy ones for Sansa and her family. After the War of the Dawn, and Jon’s true parentage had been revealed, he and Sansa had married to rule as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. There had been some talk to crown them King and Queen in the North, but in the end, they decided to trust Daenerys and the democratic process. They believed Westeros would be stronger if it were united as one instead of split up into seven different kingdoms.

Jon and Sansa were deeply in love and thrilled that they no longer had to be ashamed of their true feelings. Arya had been a bit hesitant, but she was happy that Jon would be in her life as her brother once again. After their wedding, children soon followed. They had four children, two boys and two girls. The first-born had been a boy which Jon and Sansa enthusiastically agreed to name Robb, after their dearly departed brother. Sansa would remember the feeling of holding her son in her arms for the first time for the rest of her life and beyond. Sansa loved all of her children equally, of course, but Robb was particularly special to her simply because he was her first.

That’s why it had hurt her so deeply when Robb died as young and as tragically as his namesake. Robb was nothing if not an honorable and dutiful son. When other boys started calling the Lord of Winterfell an adulterer and Robb a product of incest, he knew he had to challenge them to a duel. When Robb came to his father seeking advice, Jon had told him to be as honorable as his grandfather by laying down his weapon to settle the dispute. This advice, which Robb followed to a T, ended up costing him his life.

In her heartbreak and grief, it took Sansa months to forgive Jon for the part he played, but forgive him she did. After all, part of the reason she loved him so much was that he was always as honorable as her Lord Father. Always. It wasn’t long before Jon found himself involved in another duel. This time Jon himself was defending the honor of the newest ruler of Westeros, Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island. In his bid to be as honorable as Lord Eddard, Jon was struck down by Cersei Lannister’s sole surviving heir who believed that the seat of ruling in Westeros belonged to him by right.

I put myself back in the narrative

I stop wasting time on tears

I live another fifty years

It’s not enough

For months after Jon’s death, Sansa was angry at the Old Gods for taking away her eldest son and her husband within such a short amount of time. But she realized that she didn’t want to spend her remaining time mourning them. She wanted to do something productive. She wanted to feel connected to Jon even if he was no longer with her physically. She wanted the entire world to know of his accomplishments, as well as his bravery and kindness. So, she dried her tears and steadied herself for what was to come next. She had so much to do.      

I interview every soldier who fought by your side

She tells our story

As her bastard brother, and then her cousin, and finally her husband, Sansa always knew that the man she loved was capable of great things. But she was only one person and she only knew one side of the story. To truly understand her husband, Sansa knew she would have to dig deeper. She talked to Sam Tarly, the Maester of Winterfell, and asked him to tell her everything he knew about Jon. She traveled North to the Wall to talk with those former brothers of Jon who remained. She traveled South to King’s Landing to talk to Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister, Missandei, and Grey Worm. She talked to anyone and everyone who had any experience fighting with or under Jon - Tormund Giantsbane, Davos Seaworth, even Gendry Waters, her sister’s husband. But of course, the person Sansa relied on the most relies on to tell her every detail about Jon was her brother Bran, the Three-Eyed Raven.

I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writing

You really do write like you’re running out of time

Sansa also spent days and nights buried in Jon’s solar reading everything he ever wrote. Every letter, every correspondence, every decree, every personal journal entry. Sansa could not believe how much Jon wrote. Almost as if he knew his time was limited.  

I rely on Angelica

While she’s alive, we tell your story

She’s buried in Trinity Church near you

When I needed her most, she was right on time

Despite telling herself that she came here to visit Jon, Sansa found herself lingering in front of her sister’s statue and getting lost in another memory as she was so apt to do these days.  

One night, as Sansa is reading through yet another correspondence between Jon and Daenerys Targaryen, her sister enters the solar. Sansa is so wrapped up in reading every word Jon ever wrote that she doesn’t even look up. Arya sits on the floor next to Sansa and takes her hands in hers. This is what finally makes Sansa look at her sister. Arya can see how blood-shot her sister’s eyes are and the bags under them that Sansa cannot hide.

Arya sighs and whispers, “Sansa, you don’t have to do this alone. I may not have been married to him, but that doesn’t mean I loved him less. After all, in a way, he was mine before he was yours.”

Sansa just looks at her blankly.

Arya continues, “Let me help you tell his story. I want to make sure his legacy is preserved, too.”

As realization dawns in Sansa’s eyes, her lips spread into a smile. She pulls her sister into a hug and whispers, “Thank you, Arya.”

As Arya pulls back, she asks, “So, can I help you sort through this reading material?”

Sansa thinks for a minute before replying, “Actually, have you ever talked to Gendry about what happened North of the Wall?”  

Arya had died ten years ago from a fever. It wasn’t traditional for statues to be made of family members who were not Kings in the North or Lords of Winterfell. However, her lord father had broken tradition by having a statue made for his deceased siblings Brandon and Lyanna. Sansa had felt that Arya had done so much for their family and for her in particular, that she deserved to have a statue made of her just as much as their aunt and uncle, if not more. And so Arya Stark would forever rest beside Jon in the crypts underneath Winterfell.  

And I’m still not through

I ask myself, “What would you do if you had more time?”

The Lord, in his kindness

He gives me what you always wanted

He gives me more time

Sansa had scoured the North to find a skilled artist who actually knew what Jon had looked like. She didn’t want a repeat of her father’s statue. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life staring at a piece of rock that did a poor job of imitating her husband. This slab of concrete was a poor substitute for Jon’s warmth, his comforting smile, and the crinkle in his eyes. Still, it was all she had left. As Sansa looked into the stone eyes of the freshly made statue for the first time, she wondered what her next move should be. She whispered into the quiet air of the crypts, “What would you do if you had more time, my love? What should I do with mine?”

I raise funds in D.C. for the Washington Monument

She tells my story

I speak out against slavery

You could have done so much more if you only had time

Sansa travels to King’s Landing to ask the newly elected ruler, the son of Lady Brienne and Sir Jaime, to commission a statue celebrating Westeros’s first elected ruler, Daenerys Targaryen.

“My Lord, my late husband believed in Daenerys’s vision for this country. She brought us back from the brink of ruin and established the peace and prosperity that we are still enjoying today. Across the Narrow Sea, she ended the inhuman practice of slavery in the area that is now known as The Bay of Dragons. I beg you to build a statue in King’s Landing to honor her and her achievements.”  

“Lady Stark, the efforts of your husband and aunt have not gone unrecognized. Moreover, my mother has warned me repeatedly to never deny Sansa Stark anything, lest I want to start a fight that I will most surely lose. Your request will be granted.”

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell our story?

Sansa sits alone in her solar one evening staring into the fire, trying to think of her next project. What did Jon love the most? Me and the kids, Sansa thought bitterly as tears threatened to come to her eyes. But, then, the answer came to her. Jon’s most passionate cause. His biggest complaint about his own life. Of course, it was so simple.

I establish the first private orphanage in New York City

I help to raise hundreds of children

I get to see them growing up

In their eyes, I see you, Alexander

I see you every time

Sansa establishes the first private orphanage in the North, as well as helps to clean up the ones in King’s Landing. Sansa knows how lost Jon felt growing up, not knowing his mother, and never being able to be a true son to his father. Jon was lucky to grow up at Winterfell, but he still felt alone in his youth, even in a castle as large and crowded as Winterfell. Sansa wondered if he would have felt more at home with other orphans or other bastards who didn’t have a place in the world- just like him. The idea makes her sad, but happy at the same time.

The orphanage, called Winter’s Children, was built in the only city in the North, White Harbor. Sansa was needed at Winterfell, still being its lady, but she spent as much time at Winter’s Children as she could. She loved meeting the children and watching them grow up and eventually leave to make their way in the world. And she always saw Jon reflected in their eyes. At first, she only saw Jon’s lack of direction, insecurity, and anger. But as the children grew, she saw Jon’s kindness, strength, bravery, and perseverance. In those moments, she felt closer to Jon than she did when she started at his statue in the crypts. She was wrong when she thought that Jon’s lifeless statue was all she had left of him. As long as Jon’s spirit was alive in these children, then he was, too.

And when my time is up

Have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

Sansa stood in front of Jon’s statue for nearly an hour before she spoke.

“Hello, my love. For fifty years, I have tried my best to make sure people remember your name centuries from now. You are the most incredible person I have ever met and all I want is for your accomplishments to be recognized. And I’m not sure I did enough.”

“You did.”

A new voice cut through the empty crypt.

Surprised, Sansa gave a squeak and jerked back.

“Sorry, Sansa, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Sansa turned to her side and saw a familiar figure slowly approaching her. He was very large and very round with a strong white beard. He had become a dominating figure from the boy who came to Winterfell so many years ago.      

“That’s alright, Sam,” Sansa replied to her friend.

They stood in silence for a few minutes before Sam said, “Jon would be so proud of everything you have accomplished.”

Sansa turned her face to look at him. “I certainly like to think so.”

“He would. No doubt about it. History had its eyes on you two and the world will know your names.”

“I hope so,” Sansa said.

Then, Winterfell’s Maester pulled something from behind his back.

“I want to show you this,” he said.

“What is it?” Sansa asked.

“I’m calling it A Song of Ice and Fire. It’s the story of Westeros around the time of the War of the Five Kings and the War for the Dawn. It’s the story of your family and the Lannisters and the Targaryens. It’s the story of Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister, and Sansa Stark. Through this book, the world will know his story. Yours, too.”’

“Mine’s not important,” Sansa said.

“It is,” Sam urged. “It’s more important. Jon Snow was a great man, but you proved that women don’t need husbands to accomplish great things. You will be remembered by history, not as Jon Snow’s wife, but as a hero in your own right. This book will make sure of it.”

Sansa started to cry as she threw her arms around the maester.

“Thank you, Sam,” she whispered against his beard. “Thank you so much.”

I can’t wait to see you again

It’s only a matter of time

Sansa Stark died in her sleep that night. She died as she lived, surrounded by those that loved her. But the North’s daughter was never forgotten. Thanks to A Song of Ice and Fire Jon Snow and Sansa Stark went down in history as two of the North’s most legendary and loved historical figures.

Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

[9r7g5h]

Remember All - P12

Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess

Overall Rating: T+ (Rating subject to change)

Genre: General

Summary: Given another chance, left with her memories of their first time through, Gabrielle knows there’s only one option for her- let Xena live. Whatever she had to do, whatever she had to change to make sure that would happen, Gabrielle was willing to do it.

Words: 4,237

AN: Updates might be a little bit slow for the forseeable future. I'm trying to figure out where the plot goes from here, and while I have some major things planned, I need to figure out how to jump to them, you know? But I am actively working on it, and will hopefully figure things out soon. Until then, please bear with me and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Xena.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, ???

They stayed for another week. A week of celebration and excitement, of feasts and drinking and merriment- though nowhere near to the levels the Romans had been, everyone still on tense guard for any who might wish to do them harm. But still they celebrated, just glad for the first official win they could call their own.

With Londinium theirs, fully stocked and easy to defend, Boadicea had already begun planning. It wouldn't take long to move her entire army into the safety of the city, finally forsaking the caverns for now. From the city, they would easily be able to begin sending out raiding parties, coordinating and organizing strikes that would slowly, over the course of many months, begin to drive out the Romans. There was still a long road ahead of them, but with the largest, best fortified fort now theirs, it would be possible.

She tried to convince them to stay, offering Xena command of half the army- she had earned it, earned it and Boadicea's trust back, after so long of it missing. She had offered them a home, someplace not safe, no, nor an easy life to live, but one that would allow them to fight the Roman bastards, perhaps even with a greater chance at Caesar. While there was no guarantee, Boadicea was sure he would return, especially once he heard about the death of his friend.

Xena disagreed.

"He'll be angry," she pointed out that first night, after Boadicea had had the bodies removed from the commander's lodging and the blood as well washed from the wooden floors as was possible. Which it wasn't- still a large stain coated the floors from where the wood had absorbed his blood. A stain they all did their best to ignore, but still, Gabrielle could feel everyone's eyes flicker to her whenever they were first drawn to the stain. Even after she had cleaned up, changed into a spare set of clothing one of the women had been able to offer her while her own clothes were cleaned- a soft shirt, a long skirt, so close to what her mother used to wear, Gabrielle had almost felt young again- she knew what they were all imagining.

Already the kinder soldiers were beginning to hail her as Andarta, Andraste, different names for their goddesses of war and victory falling from their lips whenever they saw her. Because none of the others knew it wasn't her blood that had covered her, believing the illusion of her slit throat, but still she lived, and they had won without a single casualty of their own.

The more fearful named her Ankou, claiming their god of death had taken female form to walk among them, just bidding her time before she dragged them all into their graves. Because who else could walk away from death so easily?

For those who did know, still they stared. Stared and wondered at the girl standing before them, wearing borrowed clothes as she stayed close to Xena's side, trying to figure out how she had managed to defeat Brutus, supposedly one of the Roman's greatest swordsmen, with only a nick.

Even Xena seemed unable to focus entirely, her gaze constantly finding Gabrielle, constantly drifting to the bandages that had been wrapped around her throat, everything about her tensing with rage whenever she did. It was clear she wanted to fight something, do something to fix the fact that Gabrielle had gotten hurt, but there was no one to fight. The Romans had been locked away, awaiting interrogation, and the person Xena truly wanted to get her hands one was already dead, his body already moved to the giant pyre the soldiers had built for the dead Romans outside the city.

But as if feeling Gabrielle's discomfort with the stares, Xena tried.

"He'll be angry to have lost Londinium," Xena said again, drawing everyone's attention back toward her, "but Caesar will believe this to be Brutus' loss, not his own. As far as he'll see it, his destiny is to continue on to the rest of the world, and come back to Britannia when he has the council's favor again. Until then, it's safe to say he won't be back; there might be someone else, but not Caesar. As for Brutus..." She gave a little shrug. "To Caesar, alive he was a piece to be ransomed. Dead, at least we don't have a prisoner to bargain with."  

"It's too bad we don't," Boadicea said with a sigh, shaking her head. "I know you did what you had to do, girly," she continued, addressing Gabrielle, "but someone like him would have been worth his weight in dinars, or at the very least information. It's good the rat bastard's dead, but it's too bad his worth goes with him."

All Gabrielle could do was shrug. She wasn't going to apologize, wasn't going to look ashamed of what she had done- she had done it to keep Xena safe, and her mission had been a success so far, even with its setbacks. Brutus' blood was on her hands, but she could live with that.

"Oh well," Boadicea finally sighed, giving a small shrug of her own. "At least we have the city. And you two are sure you don't want to stay? It might not be Caesar, like you said, but there's sure to be a long line of Roman bastards that would look pretty wearing a souvenir from your chakram there, Xena." She nodded at the weapon hanging from Xena's belt, as if mentioning it would be enough to convince Xena to stay.

Instead, Xena just glanced over at Gabrielle once again and shook her head, an understanding light on Boadicea's face, even if it was clear she disapproved of her response.

"It's been a long time since Gabrielle and I were home," Xena replied verbally, making it clear to everyone else listening what her decision was. "It's time we paid some friends a visit."

"Fine," Boadicea said, giving her head a little shake, though the small smile she gave Xena was real. She was annoyed at losing their help, but clearly she understood. "I would suggest you stay at least a few more days, until we can clear a path to the nearest port town. There'll be Romans crawling all over the countryside, and while I'm sure the two of you can handle yourselves, a few more days wouldn't hurt."

Xena agreed, if slightly reluctantly, and so they stayed. Stayed for another week, taking part in the celebration that marked the beginning of the Roman's fall, at least in the minds of the soldiers. There was still much to do, much more to come, but the first battle they actually stood a chance at winning had been won. For most, that was enough.

For them, it was a chance to rest, for Gabrielle's wound to heal, and for them to avoid talking about everything going on their lives.

Xena tried. By the gods, did she try, and try persistently. Despite these kinds of conversations- ones that were deep, that actually discussed their thoughts and feelings and fears- not being her forte, she tried. Tried to talk to Gabrielle about the fact that she had just killed someone, tried to offer comfort and support and love. Tried to bridge the gap currently between them, that Xena could feel, even if that wasn't Gabrielle's intention.

Because she wasn't pulling away, not intentionally. No, Gabrielle was well aware of what Xena was trying to do, well aware of what her intentions were, and Gabrielle appreciated them, as much as she didn't need it. Xena thought her bothered by the blood that covered her hands, by the first life she had had to take; believed that was why Gabrielle often separated herself from everyone else, wasn't sleeping as much, was spending more and more of her time quiet. While part of that was true- she had a new name on her list, a new face that haunted her nightmares, as rare as said nightmares were, and while she didn't regret killing Brutus, she did regret that he had had to die in this life- for the most part it wasn't.

She was already used to the kill, already knew what it felt like to have someones’ life end because of your own actions. In this life, she had just been waiting. Waiting for it to crumble, for the illusion of innocence she had been able to build for this life to shatter. Now that it had, she found herself unbothered by it, even if Xena believed otherwise.

No, the explanation for her withdrawal, for her silence, was so much simpler: much like Boadicea, she was planning.

Callisto, the northern Amazons, the Vikings, and Japa. Lao Ma had laid out right before her exactly what needed to be changed, what needed to be fixed, before Xena began to forgive herself of the worst of her sins. Everything else could come with time- those had been on a larger, less personal scale, fighting and killing and hurting people Xena never knew the names of. Those would have to be fixed with kindness and love, helping and protecting those who remained from those who wished to follow in Xena's former footsteps. Those would be sins that would hover for as long as they lived, unable to be fixed with a single action that would right the former wrong committed.

But those four, those four Gabrielle could plan. She could manipulate, reorganize, use her knowledge of the future to ensure the best possible outcome came about. So, for that week, Gabrielle planned.

They would go to Greece- she did miss home. She had tried to be better in this life, sending more letters and copies of her scrolls to Lila and her parents, keeping them in the loop of what was going on with her life better than she had last time. But even still, she had barely been able to receive a letter in return, her and Xena's movements never steady for long enough for one to reach them, and she was curious as to what was going on. A few days of rest with them would be nice. And she knew Xena missed Cyrene just as much as she missed her own family, so a few days in Amphipolis as well.  

A visit to the Amazons was also in order- while Ephiny was more than capable of ruling in her stead, Gabrielle couldn't help but worry. Ephiny had died at Brutus' hand, and while Brutus was dead, dead and turned to ash, she still couldn't help but worry. Would Brutus' death here be enough to push an early invasion into Greece, thus putting her friend and people in danger? Or would it delay it, Caesar unwilling to push forward without his biggest supporter? She wasn't sure, so she wanted to find out. A rest among the Amazons would be nice, and would be a great help to calming her fears.

And Solan. She knew he was alright, knew, now, he would live happily among the centaurs, but still she wanted to see him. Wanted to confirm with her own eyes that he was alright, that he was safe and sound and no harm had come to him. She wanted her own sins to lift, and seeing him would do wonders to help with that.

They would have to stay for a bit, at least until after the Persian invasion had been turned away, until after Tara had been set straight. They would end up in Rome, would face Caesar (though whether or not it was safe, Gabrielle had to wonder. Caesar knew, he would remember the last time they had been in Rome and its consequences, so Gabrielle wasn't sure. Perhaps some form of preventative measure, keeping them all safe? Something she would need to spend more time thinking about), and they would save the peace statue before it could be melted down and sold. Adventures that had gone well in their last lives, friends she was excited to remeet- it would be simple and easy, at least for a little while.    

But after Greece, they would go north. The Vikings would be the easiest of Xena's sins to confront and fix: Grindl would still be young, Grinhilda not yet so far gone as to try and use the ring again, both of them still contained within the caves and just waiting for something to change; it would, theoretically, be easy. Not simple, no- they would still have to convince Grinhilda to believe in herself, to refind the humanity she thought she had lost, to win back her previous form from the ring. They would have to root out the evil that had grown among the Valkyries, and they would have to return the ring to the Rhein Maidens.

It would be hard, but she already knew. She already knew what they would have to do, what they would have to go through. And, perhaps, it could be done without losing more time. Without lost memories and sleeping spells and years spent waiting for a return unknown if it was going to come.

It was, perhaps, the sin with the least number of variables. Not much would need it change; it would all just take place a couple decades earlier. It would be the easiest of the sins still to come.

But after Greece. They were both tired, both ready for a short visit home, both ready for a chance to rest.

By the time the week was up, Gabrielle was settled. With a plan in mind that at least addressed the near future, she was ready. Ready to leave Londinium, ready to face the future that stood before them, a future she had the knowledge and will to bend into a shape she saw fit. She was ready for what might come.

And it showed. Her mind set, the future a plan laid out before her, it was easier to focus on the now. To slide her hand into Xena's and lean into her side, a movement that took Xena by surprise- after the first few days of Gabrielle shutting down any conversation she tried to start, Xena had let her be, just checking to make sure she ate and at least got a few hours of sleep. Unwilling to force Gabrielle to talk, she had thrown herself into helping Boadicea plan her takeover, her reacquisition of her home. But now she just smiled and tugged Gabrielle close, releasing Gabrielle's hand to wrap her own around her waist instead to hold her near.

Held her near as they stood with Boadicea in the commander's room, a large fur rug covering the floor a few feet away, as they examined the map that would show the cleared route to the sea.

"This is one of our biggest port cities," Boadicea explained, tracing the line with her finger. "If we can get and keep this route, we'll be able to bring food, weapons, men, everything we need to make sure we can survive and get back our home. We've cleared it out as much as we can, but I can't say how much longer it'll stay clear. It would do you good to leave soon."

Xena said something- Gabrielle wasn't sure what, her gaze instead focused on the trail Boadicea had drawn for them to follow. A familiar trail that Gabrielle recognized, a trail that went by a crudely drawn square in a forest surrounded by hills. A square that she knew would be ruins, information she had gotten from Boadicea herself.

Ruins that, now that they were going to be close, she had to see for herself.

It didn't take long for them to set off; they were already packed. Gabrielle had been ready to go for a while, ready to go back home and rest. Their bags filled with some of the supplies the Romans had had, her clothes returned to her cleaned, knives- not her sais, for neither Boadicea’s army nor the Romans had anything like that, but still knives that, for now, worked well enough- tucked into her boots, she was ready.

All they needed was to ready Argo, and they left with Boadicea's thanks, left heroes to her men.

They both road; Xena wanted to cover as much ground as she could, always on high alert for any Romans that might show up. The faster they could get to the port city, the faster they could be free of this island, the better. But...

"Xena?"

For a moment Gabrielle thought Xena hadn't heard her, not over the sound of Argo's hooves keeping up a steady canter, eating away at the miles. But, after a few moments, Xena pulled on the reigns, bringing her down to a trot- slow enough for them to hear each other, to have an actual conversation. Glancing over her shoulder, Xena raised her eyebrow in question, an answer to her call.

"That temple, the one Boadicea said was destroyed? I want to go there."

"Why," Xena asked, turning back to stare into the forest before them. It was getting towards noon- they had been traveling for a while, having left at early dawn. They would need to stop soon, give Argo a break; she wasn't used to traveling with two, and while she had yet to falter, her breathing had become hard. Her head turned slightly to stare into each new part of forest, searching for a good place to stop. "I thought you were glad it had been destroyed?"

"I need to see for myself. Xena, I... I just need to see it."

"A vision," Xena asked, once again falling into their normal dance and game, Xena trying to figure out what Gabrielle knew without having to press too hard for the future.

"A dream." And perhaps it was the sheer relief in her voice, but Xena, soon after, pulled Argo to a stop. Without a word she slid off the horse and held out her arms, a gesture Gabrielle accepted- she slid off the saddle into Xena's arms, resting her head on Xena's chest as Xena's arms folded around her, held her close.

"Gabrielle..." Xena said slowly, her one hand coming up to run her fingers through Gabrielle's hair. She stayed quiet for a long moment- and Gabrielle knew exactly what she wanted to say. Knew she wanted to broach the perceived gap between them, wanted to mend the supposed wound she felt had formed.

Gabrielle instead lifted her head and kissed her, a long, slow kiss that left them both breathless.

"I'm alright, Xena," Gabrielle said, laying her head back on Xena's chest, Xena's fingers once again running through her hair. "Killing Brutus shook me, but..." She let the words trail off, taking a deep, almost shuttering breath before continuing. "My visions told me I would do so. I've always know that's where our paths would meet, and I accepted the consequences of our lives together a long time ago."

She didn't tell Xena that yes, in her “vision” she had killed Brutus, but she had killed him what would have technically been years from now. That she had killed him not here, in a room in Britannia, but instead far from here, on a ship in Egypt. That she had killed him after he had killed Ephiny, after he had helped to destroy Caesar, after he had decided to continue to expand Rome beyond Rome's borders, making him a threat.

That world was over, so what was the point?

Instead she just held Xena closer, because right now Xena was alive, and that was good enough.

"I've been thinking about the future," Gabrielle eventually said into the silence around them. "About where we should go next. We should go home for a while. To see our families, the Amazons. Then maybe we can go north. I've heard about lights, rainbows that dance in the sky. Could we go see them, after we go home?"

For a moment Xena stiffened- and for a moment Gabrielle felt guilty about her trickery, knowing exactly what was running through Xena's mind. But a moment later she relaxed, the hand that had been running through Gabrielle's hair stilling, instead just pressing Gabrielle closer.

"Of course," Xena said, bending down to place a kiss on the top of Gabrielle's head. "Of course. Anything."

They continued to stand there for a long moment, holding and being held, until Argo reminded them of her existence, nickering and nudging them. She wanted to move on, move on or officially rest, neither of which could be done just standing there.

Xena kissed her one last time before they climbed back into the saddle, once again setting off at a steady canter.

For two days they traveled, constantly on watch for any who posed them harm, sleeping in shifts for nowhere near long enough, traveling as fast as they could push Argo without harming her. They didn't talk much- there weren't many words they needed to say. Little conversations that filled those few empty hours- about the north, about what of Gabrielle's visions she wanted to share, about how glad they both would be to be home. But nothing too deep- they were saving those for when they were safe, when they were home.

For two days. And at the end of the second day, they camped just a half mile away from the temple.

"We'll go in the morning," Xena promised as they settled in. It had already been dark by the time they found the clearing, and while it was close, Xena didn't want to take any chances. There could be any number of dangers waiting, and she waited to approach it in the light. "Are you sure you want first watch?"

Gabrielle just nodded. She nodded, didn't say a word, and the moment Xena slipped into sleep, slipped away.

It was just like Boadicea said- rubble scattered the ground, only the slightest impressions of a foundation left. Everywhere she stepped, stone and mortar shifted under her feet, crunching slightly as she tried to avoid the worst of it, avoid cutting her skin or tearing her clothes on the sharp edges that jutted from the ground. There was just enough light- the destruction of the temple had cleared the surrounding area as well, trees torn out and bushes removed, leaving the arena open, nothing to block the quarter moon above her.

The stairs were still there, cracked but stable as she climbed them. Climbed them into the open area that had once been walled, into the arena that had once been the temple of Dahok. Pillars had been toppled, creating new corridors for her wander, but it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to change the place that had haunted her nightmares for so long, that had tortured her for so many years. That had spilled into her waking moments back in that other life, that had turned her life into hell.

It only took a few moments longer to reach what had once been the center. To reach that larger inner room, where, in her last life, everything had fallen apart.

It was gone. A mallet had been taken to the alter, scattering shards across the floor, leaving nothing but powder, few pieces large enough to truly understand what it had once been. The alter she had found herself sacrificed upon was gone.

She wasn't sure when she fell, nor was she sure how long she just knelt there, staring at the destruction that had been wrought around her. Stared in the silvery light, her fingers almost mechanically playing with the dust, just watching. She didn't think- she couldn't find the words, even within her own mind. She just sat there and stared, absorbing the absence of evil that had once permeated this place.  

It was almost beautiful.

Gabrielle started as something skittered behind her- some creature that had come to call the destruction home. She wasn't sure what it was; even though she had turned at the first hint of noise, it had quickly hidden behind one of the pillars, leaving only an impression of something unfamiliar in the almost impossibly quick glimpse she had caught. Wiping her cheeks- when had they become wet? When she had started to cry?- Gabrielle pushed herself to her feet, shaking away whatever spell the loss of this place had cast over her. The moon was high- Xena would be awake soon, expecting to take over for her watch. She would have to get back before she did.

Gabrielle stood- and paused as something caught her eye. Even though the alter itself was gone, still the raised platform it had once stood upon was there, ever so slightly obscuring the other side. Where something was.

Gabrielle stepped forward, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side as she peered around the dais-

And froze as the skittering sounded behind her, close this time. Froze as she stared at the skeletal hand that laid on the ground before her, a skeletal corpse wearing an outfit- blue, even in the moonlight, even partly decayed and dyed with blood, still parts of it were blue, held together on the corpse with the golden rope wrapped around her- an outfit she remembered so so well.

Froze as a soft, rasping voice whispered "Hello, Mother."

[vtheobscurial]

Don’t You Worry

“He doesn’t love you, my young fire witch,” whispered the very Devil by her ear with the saddest of expressions, yet, the most sinister of eyes as he watched her from behind. Vallmon was not one to keep truths to himself, not when it came down to those that he had gained an inch of care for and as unfortunate as that may have been for Esme, she was in his inner circle. “But don’t you worry about a damn thing,” he spoke again in a low whisper that was only meant for Esme to hear in a room filled with life. The music was loud, the cheering was overwhelming as it stung her eardrums. Every which way she settled were only met with the happiness around, a feeling she had long forgotten and as much as she tried to gain it back, the further it dissipated and turned only to wishful thinking. She’d always known that happiness was not something to grow attached to, she had been cursed from the moment she took her first breath. She knew now that it wasn’t her former Supreme title, it was her and no one was to blame but life itself as it played Russian Roulette and it just happened to have been her getting shot.

“Tell me, my dear Dark Lord, do you get your jollies off by being the literal Devil on the shoulder?” Esme asked as her piercing hazels Vallmon’s constant ever swirling hues – a lively brown to golden yellow with the only times that it stopped was when he grew angry and they turned pitch black with fury like no other. He didn’t keep Esme around just because of her pretty looks, no, he kept her alive and well kept for because she challenged him at every turn, and it made him feel…alive but it also angered him as he filled with such misery. Slowly, he rounded her figure, with each breath he took, his eyes never leaving her lithe figure with a mild of arousal at everything she had to offer the man. It was no surprise that he desired the young witch, she was a sight and a well-won trophy. “Maybe,” he replied with a teasing tone as he practically purred the very words out, finally meeting her gaze as he now stood tall in front of her. “But there’s truth in all in which I dare speak.” He made a damn good point and even Esme couldn’t deny it even if his words were used as salt to an already opened wound. She both hated and loved this, the taunting realism that only the Dark Lord could provide her emanated a silent need in her. It wasn’t because Esme enjoyed it, but it was the only way she knew that she was still very much alive – the pain his words caused in her was a reminder that she was still standing and there was time to pick up any of her shattered pieces and glue them together, but only sometimes. This evening, however, was not one of those moments. Everyone knew that she was broken, the damage caused by her first death was irreparable despite how hard she had tried when she first came back. Dying, going to Hell, coming back, it was one Hell of a story for those she told but every time she had forgotten to mention the emptiness she felt inside to avoid the pity party they were sure to throw her way. The physical Hell was nothing compared to the new Hell she had been subjected to. She would happily take the old Hell over this one any day because at least there, she knew exactly what she was dealing with when she was truly alone and not surrounded but feeling lonely. But here? Back on earth with the people, she thought she loved and loved her back? No. That was hard. Even harder watching as each of them began to turn their back on her which only made that hauntingly void grow with every day she awoke. Nothing felt right anymore, nothing felt real. It was as if she were looking through a hazy glass more than half of the time and the more she tried to break that damn glass, nothing happened. While everyone looked at her, they couldn’t really see her, not anymore anyway. They all promised that things would change, that everything would be okay if she just kept going but it was just a lie the others told her to make themselves feel as if they were helping, but they weren’t. They were making everything worse. Nobody knew how she truly felt. They didn’t know everything she had gone through. They couldn’t feel the emptiness. It had been her story for so long that now it was just a script, something others would nod through and tell her how brave she had been and how much they admired her. It was funny to her, it was, and it wasn’t. Just a mixture of confusion that seeped through her every essence because she didn’t know how to handle it and move on. “You want to know what I think about your truth?” Though she spoke in calm, something she’d only recently acquired though not completely calm but as there was a hint of dread to her tone that would take the joy out of everything she ever spoke. The witch had grown bored, with everything and everyone around her and nobody was trying to do anything about it but simply watch her and deal. “I am a firm believer that you can shove it up ass and go torment some other sad bitch,” cold and bitter as it was, it hadn’t been the first time she had said this to him. Anyone else that ever spoke to the Dark Lord as Esme did would be facing serious consequences, but it only seemed to excite the man, an exhilarating wave went through him as his lips parted in a crooked smile. “Unnnnnf,” his pitch low with a growl of approval as it rolled through his throat. “If my heartbeat and my emotions allowed me, I think I would be experiencing not only a broken heart but rejection,” there was no doubt about it, Vallmon was not like any other Demon she’d ever met. He was sarcastic and bulletproof to the max which caused a roll of her eyes as she watched him sway back-and-forth in his overly expensive white suit. Most would believe that the Devil would be wearing some dark and gloomy colors, but this bastard liked to wear white just to shit on big Daddy up in the sky. “Rejection would take effort, I just don’t care,” Esme flashed a half-dead smile his way in a mocking form as she shifted in her standing position. “Out of a room filled with so many dying fans, you come to the one that just doesn’t care. Why?” A room filled with people she easily tuned out, she was tired of attending these party’s and she thought she was done with them when she stopped being Supreme. From the corner of her eyes however, she could see Eira dancing away with her werewolf boy and at least one of the twins were having fun. “Because I want to dance,” Vallmon offered his hand with a smile, though the genuineness of it could be questioned. “No.” “Now you’re not going to be leaving poor ol’ me with my hand hanging, are you?” If she had felt the need to look at him at this very moment, she may have caught the fleeting frown across his face. “Because I don’t want to,” she replied as her eyes caught the eyes of his wife, Lilith who was now staring at Esme with a look of disapproval. It wasn’t because she was the jealous type but more so for Esme disrespecting her husband at such an event. As much as Esme wanted to ignore that and walk out of this dance, she knew it wouldn’t go over too well. “Fine,” she spoke again with a defeated sigh as she reached to take his hand, giving him a quick bow. Dancing hadn’t always been something Esme enjoyed doing, least not sober though she had been told that she was good at it. Dancing to her, was the same as exposing vulnerability while lowering her guard down and she pretended that she was as normal as they came. She remembered being the little girl that would step on her father’s feet and staring up at him as if he were the greatest man alive as he moved both to the sway of the music playing. So many years looking up and admiring the man and yet, she couldn’t help him when he needed it the most. Her mother would be in the kitchen cooking one of her inventions as she peeked around the corner and smiled to herself. Eira would be somewhere in the home and then come running out of nowhere and jump on Esme, causing their tumble and as much as Esme wanted to cry for ruining her father-daughter dance, she would wrap her arms around her younger twin and laugh it off. It only reminded her of a time when things were perfect and she hadn’t yet been touched by the cruelty of the world around her when her parents shielded her from it all because it was their duty. But they were long dead and couldn’t shield her away from life anymore. Vallmon took Esme in his arms, one around her small waist and the other lacing fingers through hers as he led with each step. It had seemed as if the entire room had gone silent for a moment, a new audience that Esme was not fond of, but it wasn’t often that the Dark Lord took someone in his arms for a dance. It was evident in her shifting eyes with each turn and whirl they took. “Keep your eyes on me, focus on me, not them,” suggested the male Devil but it did hold a demand behind it. Esme obliged, eyes settled back on him to avoid the rest of the crowd to witness their banter. Though after some time, they all went back to their positions and the party continued. It felt as if they had been on the dance floor for hours, songs would change, and they would be doing the same dance over and over without so much as a breather. The air had grown softer, lighter in density and just as it had settled, she took her first real breath only to have noticed that Vallmon had some due in the matter. Everyone had vanished, the music felt distant and she could feel the warmth of his body entering hers. “Why are you doing this?” Esme finally broke the silence when she found her voice once more. She was a bit taken back from this gesture, she was only another of his slaves tricked into believing that she had her free will. She had learned a long time ago that it wasn’t the case but there wasn’t much to do about it, she had already contracted her soul away. “Because I like you,” he said simply and for once, he meant the weight behind his words. It wasn’t often the Dark Lord did anything without something for him at the end. In the end, he would get something out of this, but it wasn’t just for him, it was for the Dark Conclave as a whole. He knew Esme was a ticking bomb, a volcano waiting to erupt and take out everything and everyone in her path, it was only a matter of time and he needed to stop that before she ruined his plan for Soteria. Esme raised a brow to his answer, skeptical as always from all the things she had been told before, nothing was ever what it seemed. People just didn’t do kind things for others, people were full of hate, anger, and envy. “I’m serious. The Great Dark Lord doesn’t help someone else just because he likes you. What is in it for you?” “Company.” He said after a few seconds of thought as he twirled her around. “You’re hung up on a guy that took off on you and you could use some company.” Esme broke out in laughter, an involuntary action on her part. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you but I don’t.” There was a hint of annoyance in his eyes, in the way his lips wavered, and his eyes roamed her face. It was no secret in the sadness in them, he could see the dying spark in them and as selfish as he was, he couldn’t allow for that burn to disappear. “You got your heartbroken, and as much as that sucks, it happens but time to suck it up,” there was no point in sugarcoating the fact, better he said it than someone else. “Oh, because the Dark Lord knows a thing or two about heartbreak?” She didn’t want to hear it, she knew, after all, it was her going through it for the hundredth time. She tried to break their touch, to end this dance and their conversation but he held on tighter. “You’re going to listen to me now,” his eyes narrowing down on her like a dart seeking its bullseye, let it not go unheard that he tried a nice way. “It wasn’t the first time and it sure as Hell won’t be the last time. People are fickle and don’t realize when they have something good in front of them until it’s too late.” Despite what others may think, Vallmon knew of the pains of heartbreak, of believing he had it all and then watching it slip through his hands. Being subjected to absolutely nothing, to feel worthless and mocked for it. Of being called the bad guy for wanting to be different, free. His Father breaking his heart when he banished him to earth and that was the most pain he’d ever been in. Knowing that he would never feel that amount of love no matter how hard he sought it from everyone else. Esme fell silent, choking back a creeping sorrow from the back of her throat. For the first time, someone had finally said it and didn’t pity her. Her eyes stung from unshed warm tears which she refused to allow loose, crying was one thing but crying in front of your master was an absolute no. You just don’t show weakness in that variety when it came down to this man or he would give you something to really cry about. Vallmon could tell that his words struck her, and this was a good thing, for him anyway. “You still have a mission to complete and if your emotions ruin this for me,” their dancing took pause, still holding her close and he reached the hand that had been entwined with hers, softly caressing her cheek. “I will personally check you and everyone you love back into Hell and rip you apart myself, for eternity.” The threat was real, and Esme knew this as her head held high, her own eyes narrowing on Vallmon with the weight of the threat on her, but she knew better than to test him. He wouldn’t just take her, those she still loved would fall prey to this predator and it wouldn’t have been the smartest move on her part, at least not yet. “So my dear fire witch, don’t ever let me catch you moping about because the next time, it won’t be a talk you’ll get from me,” a wide smile took hold of his lips, showing the malicious in his features and for once, Esme felt his coldness directed towards her as she nodded her head in acknowledgement all while her breathing had taken a pause. “Good girl.” With that, reality struck once more. They were back in the same room as the crowd, the music playing loudly in the background as Vallmon kissed her forehead and walked back in the swarm of followers, a much chipper Devil.

Story between 2 of my characters. Obviously, Vallmon being my portrayal of the Devil and Esme, my favorite bean ever.

[giraffles]

Ready To Go

it’s day six! we’re almost done! today’s prompt is “favorite minor character” and specifically, not an arcadia crew member. it’s zero. it’s always going to be zero, he’s my fAVE.

set in the Lights Will Guide You series, set before Keep It Low, and featuring zero being a dad and daiba being angry c: 

Ready To Go

"Sir," Ishikura wheezes, "We have a problem." "A fun problem?" Harlock answers before Zero can get a word in, "Or a problem-problem?"

you can also read it here on AO3!

"Sir," Ishikura wheezes, "We have a problem." "A fun problem?" Harlock answers before Zero can get a word in, "Or a problem-problem?" "Problem-problem, I guess?" Ishikura parrots back, "Nevermind, it doesn't matter, just please come with me." If he didn't sound so distressed, Zero would have said it could wait a moment. But instead he hands the half constructed sniper rifle off to Rai and follows Ishikura from the room. He means well, even if he's excitable, but he knows better than to burst in like the sky is falling. Unless something is actually wrong. "What happened?" Zero asks as he keeps pace beside him. They're only a few scant hours from raiding a terrorist cell, so it's the worst time for a distraction. There are still preparations to be made, plans to double and triple check, and trigger happy former-pirate-mercenary-whatevers to keep in line. If they've been compromised, then the past two days of grueling set up and utmost secrecy would be for nothing. "It's-- well-- complicated," Ishikura admits, "Someone hacked into the stockhouse." "Someone what," though their arms stockhouse was basically a glorified mobile safe, it shouldn't have been hacked of all things, "That's impossible." "I know! But someone did, we found it open and--" "What's missing?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" Zero pauses, "They didn't take anything?" Ishikura stops just before the tent, which is guarded by other team members, one of whom was sporting a black eye. Zero feels like there's a lot more to this story than he's getting from his subordinate’s ramblings. "They must have sent a kid in to do the dirty work," Ishikura goes on to explain, "We caught him trying to carry out an anti-tank gun." That more than anything else is deeply troubling. Children should never be anywhere near war and bloodshed, but the world doesn't work like that, and all too often they get thrown into the line of fire. If there's one thing that bothers Zero the most about this job, encounters with kids would have to be it. Angry yelling pours from inside the makeshift prisoners tent. He thinks he recognizes some of the words. “Good lord,” Zero can't help but be shocked when he finally enters, “How old are you?” The scrawny kid handcuffed to the chair sneers at him. He can't be more than maybe fifteen, with dirty blonde hair and fierce eyes. Zero has picked up enough Japanese between Kei and Harlock that he catches curses being spat their way, and colorful ones at that. The would-be thief also has the marks of a struggle, between a split lip and blooming bruises, and he would feel worse if he hadn't already seen the guard outside.   “He won't tell us anything,” Acceluder says to him, “And he pretends he doesn't understand English." As if to prove a point, the teen pointedly looks away, becoming very interested in the ceiling. Zero knows better. "I can handle this. Go help Marina." "But sir--" "Just trust me," Zero insists, "But send Kei over, would you?" Ishikura is obviously not okay with leaving him alone without any backup, but it's not as though they have a dangerous agent being held there. They're just a child; no matter how much fight or determination they've gathered up. And he has a feeling that the usual intimidation tactics aren't going to work. (God, not that he wants to submit some kid to an interrogation in the first place, but they have to find out who disabled the security computers.) Maybe if Zero has him by himself, he can show that they're not in any danger, and get some actual answers out of the boy. Ishikura and the others relent, leaving to find ways to be useful or to send Kei in his direction. Zero drags a chair over. "What's your name?" He asks, but the kid huffs and glares at him. Zero also refuses to believe that he doesn't comprehend English, but he tries Spanish and German just for kicks, which elicit a blank response. "Where are you from?" He tries again, "Do you live nearby? The closest town is a pretty long walk." Silence ensues. The kid refuses to make eye contact of any kind. Zero sighs.   "Listen, no one is going to hurt you. I can't help you if you don't help me--" "I don't need your help!" They snap back at Zero, flushing red as they realize their mistake. They clam up immediately.

Their tiny prisoner refuses to say anything more until Kei rolls in on the scene. She raises an eyebrow as Zero explains the situation, and throws a few lines of lightning fast Japanese at the boy. He sticks his tongue out at her. "I really just need to know who hacked the system," Zero grumbles, "And who wanted the weapons in the first place. We can let him go after we’re done here." "No promises," Kei says, "But I'll do my best." She shoos Zero off to a far corner before stealing his seat and chattering away. Part of him wishes he'd made more of an effort to learn the language half of their ragtag team was fluent in, but it was easier said than done. He picked up most of his interpreter skills through osmosis anyway, rather than dedicated study, and he'd had other priorities lately. Priorities that mostly consisted of making sure Harlock didn't do anything extra stupid. While Kei talks, Zero pretends not to be interested. Kei has the boys attention anyway, which allows him to observe their body language unhindered, and he watches them begin to unravel. For all their vitriol, they look tired and hurting. Zero doesn't think it's an act. Not with the way they've reacted so spontaneously, without control. If some shadowy organization is employing him, then it's not as though they've given him much training. Which also isn't good; that means the kid is just a disposable pawn to someone. The thought makes Zero increasingly angry. "He says he did it." Kei pipes up. "Did what?" "Disabled the security system." "That can't be right," Zero frowns, "I need to know who actually gave him the program--" "I said I did it!" Both of them stare at the kid. "I did it," he repeats, "Your encryption codes are shit." "Then who were you stealing the weapons for?" "Me." "Why on earth does a twelve year old need an anti-tank gun--" "I'm fourteen!" They all but yowl, "And I'm going to kill those bastards if it's the last thing I do!" Kei is trying not to laugh, but Zero can see her shoulders beginning to shake. He wonders why these things always seem to happen to him. 

It takes a lot of yelling (from the teen, not from them) to finally learn that he does have a name, and a somewhat reasonable purpose for trying to jack armaments from them. He goes by Tadashi, and refuses to give a surname, and when Zero asked where his parents were, he point blank stated they'd been murdered. Apparently he's here on a quest for vengeance against the perpetrators, who he thinks are also the terrorist cell their own team plans to move on. Though Tadashi had intended to try to attack them as a one-person army. Just thinking about how that could have gone wrong alarms Zero immensely. "We can't just leave him here." "No," Marina agrees, "But we can't just let him run off to his death. We'll keep him here until we're done with this mission." Zero can't argue with that. Still, he wishes there was something more they could do than just drop him off back in town, to leave him with local authorities and hope he could find his way. It reminds Zero that for any good they do in the world, there's still so much they can't change. There are too many things for them to fix by themselves. He entertains the idea of maybe bringing Tadashi back with him, but rejects it just as fast. The life they lead is no place for a child, no matter how grown up he insists he is. 

"Sir," Ishikura comes to him again once they're back on U.S. soil, "We have a problem." Zero clamps his hand over Harlock's mouth before he can say anything. "What is it now?" Ishikura makes a face, and in the distance familiar screeching can be heard over the white noise of the airport. "You can't be serious." Except Marina and Acceluder are dragging Tadashi along, who's struggling for all his worth, but also half frozen and shaking like a leaf.   "He hid in the landing gear," Rai shrugs, "He's lucky he's not dead. Immigration is going to have a fit, though." "Holy shit," Harlock on the other hand thinks it's hilarious that they have a hypothermic stowaway, "That's badass." "It's illegal," he sighs, but is pulling his coat off to hand to the trembling boy, "But I guess we're stuck with him now."