#thinking about being dug up in thousands of years and becoming a symbol of the human conditions of love and mortality

[inkymaws]

a shared grave is the only heaven i need

[honey-minded-hivemind]

The results are in for Fusion!Reader's components' colors, and they are:

Sapphire!Reader is a blue sapphire, and Pearl!Reader is a peach pearl!

I think that's kinda perfect, in a way. Cool and warm, cold and hot, ice and fire mixing together to form the perfect temperature and tones. Now, as for shades of their gem color, I'm thinking something like this:

Sapphire!Reader is a velvet-like blue, a swathe of navy and royal, whereas Pearl!Reader is a pale golden peach color, something between pink and orange, not quite one or the other...

(Warning: Mentions of abuse, torture, and possible death/rewrite of characters)

Sapphire!Reader would definitely have a poofy dress at first, with a symbol belonging to a Diamond (for this au, I'm making Logan a Diamond), Black Diamond's symbol, to be exact. Pearl!Reader would be the personal Pearl to Orange Diamond (Victor). Both Sapphire!Reader and Pearl!Reader are broken after being rejected by the two Diamonds, as well as the other pearls and sapphires, not to mention the personal entourage of their Diamonds, and then the entire courts... It's one of the reasons they decided to go where Homeworld hadn't dug their claws in, a little planet far away in a galaxy of untouched planets: Earth...

They (them?)... Their fusion has to pick a name, and what better name than something of immense beauty and perfect luster than... Nacre?

It's a new name, but they're a new gem, and experiencing the wonders of Earth, it's-

Breathtaking.

Inspiring.

Glorious...

This is what the Diamonds, what their courts, what every gem considered ugly? Saw as dirt beneath their feet? This planet is... it's beautiful.

And they're going to do what they can to keep it that way.

Making friends with humans and their civilizations (becoming a deity in some regions), having feasts and dances and lessons (accidentally starting a few cults), building ice sculptures and pressurizing sand into glass, using the particles to sculpt cities on the frozen coasts of tundras (built an entire city into a glacier, as well as making smaller villages on beaches around the different continents). Earth has so much to see! So much to do! And these odd creatures, these "humans", are the key. Are the answer.

Look at how they form families, choosing to love one another and raise new humans and share amongst their communities. The way they try to snuff out disputes, having councils and parliaments and courts, so everyone can have a voice. The food they make, evolving over each century, each eon, new culinary masterpieces and herbs and-! (Earth I Steven Universe might not have had? as many wars or fighting or civil disputes? Plus the contents were a bit weird. And they didn't exactly have, certain states? and countries? So I'm going off of that).

Yet as the decades, centuries, eons pass, they never change. Yet the humans do. They live for barely a blink of an eye in a gem's eye/s, and... It adds a whole new meaning to caring about others. Of showing you love and admire them. Because they won't be there forever, and where they go after their bodies pass, the gems can't follow, can't see... Nacre (Fusion!Reader) does their best to take care of whatever humans they meet, paying visits to many, helping the descendants of some of their first friends on the planet, making new friends with others, helping out those who may need extra hands and future vision...

But all good things can come to an end.

It's only been awhile, about six thousand years... No gems had ever come to Earth... Nacre had lived in peace, always near beaches where they can watch the water, hear the wind and birds, smell the salt and spray. It's on one of those beaches they're poofed.

Waking up, Nacre is- gone. They aren't Nacre at the moment, they're back to Sapphire!Reader and Pearl!Reader, and they're trapped. It looks like a lab, possibly an entire base, and neither one of them can get out from the tube/chamber they're in. Until in walks... a gem?

A gem, one who stares at them with nothing but contempt. Hatred. Who informs them that as they are traitors to the Empire, to the Diamonds, they will not be missed, so are free to be used in their experiments. And so begins the worse decade of their long lives...

Electrical torture until they poof. Testing ice and magma on their gems. Using various gen tools on them, seeing which ones cause the most damage. And that cursed gem is always taking notes, always typing down whatever information they find, muttering about survival rates and organics and how soon they can get off this forsaken rock... One day, it seems they've finally found a final test. One that leaves both Sapphire!Reader and Pearl!Reader scared.

"I've tested everything I could think of on you two clods of mud. From how long you can last until you poof, your withstanding to various elements, the size of your gems, how your light forms react to shards... But I've discovered an odd case- Where a gem can be inserted to an organic. Which makes me rather... curious, what would happen to you. My answers will be logged in and sent to my labs at Homeworld, where I can hopefully show it to the Diamonds one day. It's a shame, really... A Sapphire, running away with a Pearl? HAH! You served the Diamonds directly, yet not even their brilliant, pure light could burn out your disgusting flaws. Well... Perhaps, this will..."

In a flash of light, there's a rejuvenator, and just as fast-

They're gone, poofed into their gems.

And the mad scientist of a gem pulls up the needed formulas and organic matter they need to begin. Honestly, who would have thought one could bond a gem... to an organic vessel? It's almost pebble's play, using the humans bits of DNA to make a small host, nothing more than a small being fit to become a servant to the Homeworld Empire... They even made a gem/organic hybrid before this, kept locked in their private lab back on Homeworld, a creature that they tried giving powers to, forming an imperfect replication of a Diamond (they shudder to think of how blasphemous it was, to do such a thing. But a possible pawn, any new asset to the Empire, is too good to pass up... Even if it's an... imperfect being...)

Soon, after months of incubating the small squishy earthlings, they get to insert the gems of those two traitorous gems into them... And finally... it's done. Their work, their newest creations, done. With the rejuvenation of their gems, thst hopefully got rid of any residual flaws, while with the organic bodies, they're controllable and easy to discipline... If only they weren't so... loud. Why do small oragnics scream so much? The wailing? The need to be warm at all costs? Constant nutrients (because they'd die without it)? It's tedious...

Preparing to go home, they soon find a call from Homeworld, their manager having sent them a message, to call off the project, lest the Diamonds shatter them if they found out... And suddenly- it seems like another project scrapped. Wasted. This was a revelation! A scientific breakthrough! And they had to cancel it?! But... they don't want to scrap these two potential pawns...

"Yes, my Demantoid. Peridot 5XS signing out," they reply, and then they leave the two subjects near a human dwelling... That should suffice, the creatures feed the weaknesses of others. So, if they're lucky, the other earthlings will keep their two newest subjects alive... Hopefully the two will still be alive when they return... They're not done with them yet...

(Surprise, the other gem/human is Laura! Because what better way to introduce her, and have the X-Men and Brotherhood gems learn that fusions are gems, too, and are worthy of respect?)

(Sorry if it was a little intense, but... well, yeah, we now have gem/humans Sapphire!Reader and Pearl!Reader...)

[shmothman]

Judgement | Forgiveness

Part Sixteen

Previous Chapters

AO3 Link

Tags: @veethewriter​

Volo reads aloud from the newly found scroll, nearly bouncing on his toes with excitement. “When that pokemon was born, intelligence bloomed among us, enriching all our morrows. When that pokemon was born, emotions bloomed among us, giving us joy and sorrows. When that pokemon was born, willpower bloomed among us to act and not to wallow.” 

“The lake guardians,” you both say at the same time, smiles bright. 

“This is just like the other legends about them,” he says, eyes flicking across the page as he re-reads. Then he looks up, to the cave wall in front of the hole Ursaluna dug. By the light reflecting off the snow outside, you can see that there is another set of hieroglyphs here, just the like ones near the Heights Camp—and you’ve seen more of these murals in your travels besides: the Moonview Arena, the Shrouded Ruins, the Stone Portal. When Volo first showed them to you, you hadn’t recognized many of the symbols, but over the course of your adventure, they’ve become familiar to you. Cresselia, Regigigas, Braviary... you’re sure now, as Volo once said, that each letter or word is represented by one of the legendary or noble pokemon of Hisui. Here, you also recognize Kleavor, Arcanine, Giratina, Manaphy, and... Avalugg, perhaps? Though there is one you can’t place...

You look to Volo. “Is this one the same as the others? The story of the legendary hero? Searching for the fragments of Arceus?”

Volo pauses, and you realize: wasn’t that once the two of you, searching for the plates? At every step, it seems you’ve been replicating the journey of the Ancient Hero, with Volo at your side. You blush.

He recovers quickly, clearing his throat. “I believe so. They are difficult to translate, but given that they use some of the Nobles, the pokemon that traveled with the Ancient Hero... as well as the fact that Cresselia, here, and Regigigas, here,” he points to each of the pictograms, “were pokemon who gave you the plates...” He trails off, tapping his chin. 

“Do you think this cave was an important spot?” You ask. “If there’s a mural here, too...” 

“Perhaps,” he agrees, “though perhaps many of these hieroglyphs existed, hundreds or thousands of years ago, and this is merely one that remained because it was sheltered.”

“Like the earliest cave paintings,” you say.

“Precisely. I don’t know for sure, though. We’ll have to look around more!” 

He sounds incredibly excited to do so.

You smile. Volo gives the scroll one more read before carefully rolling it back up and stowing it in the pouch you found it buried in: it’s unlike the pyxis the first one was inside, and you think it only survived the elements this well because it was buried in the frozen, rocky ground of the cave. As you turn to Ursaluna, offering her treats for her hard work, Volo begins to make a sweep of the cavern, though truthfully, it’s difficult to see beyond the mural, as the light outside is beginning to fade.

“You’ve spoken with the Lake Guardians,” Volo says, tracing his hand along sections of the rocky walls. “I know we talked about it... before, but... do they lend much credence to the tales? Emotion, Willpower, and Intelligence?”

Volo hadn’t gotten close to them, when you battled them, received their aid, their plates. When you caught them. He had said, back then, that it was too dangerous for him, but you know now that that had been a lie. He had probably actually been afraid of their psychic abilities—they would have been able to tell he was being untruthful. But that’s in the past, now. Maybe you should bring them to meet him in person, sometime...

“They do,” you say. “When we were trying to make the Red Chain, they had trials for me. Mesprit asked about my deepest emotions. Azelf made me prove my willpower. Uxie tested my intelligence about pokemon. And when we came back, when I was entrusted with the plates... they were fierce in battle. Good at predicting my moves.” He already knows all of this, you had regaled him with the tales—though, admittedly, you hadn’t had much time to talk about Uxie before you headed for Mount Coronet. “I don’t know if they were really the ones who brought those qualities to humans, but they certainly embody them.”

“Well,” Volo says, smiling as he gestures with his pointer finger in that way he always used to. “All legends contain at least some truth.”

You return his grin, humming your agreement. It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?

A cold wind blows into the cave, bringing the autumn chill inside, and you and Volo both shiver.

“It’s getting late,” you say, trying to rub warmth into your arms. “If we want to get back before nightfall, we should call Wyrdeer.”

Volo takes one more look around the cavern with a frown. Clearly, he doesn’t want to leave yet, but it’s only going to get colder at night, and even with his Arcanine by your side, you don’t particularly want to sleep here. Besides, you’ll be able to find this place again—you’ve already marked it on your map, and you’re sure Ursaluna could lead you again if you needed her to.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

---

At first, Wyrdeer wasn’t too keen on letting Volo ride him with you—but with enough reassurance (and bribes, in the form of the grain cakes he favors), he’s bounding across the frozen tundra with you both on his back, Volo’s arms wrapped around your middle as he hangs on for dear life. It’s still snowing—though much lighter now than it was earlier—and the cold flakes sting your face as Wyrdeer races toward the Avalanche Slopes, the sun already hidden behind the mountains, casting the snowy valley in shadow. 

You would be shivering, but Volo is holding you so tightly in your too-small saddle, you can’t help but feel warm, the snow practically steaming off your burning cheeks. It’s difficult to think beyond the grip he has on you, the press of him against your back, solid and warm, the rapid thump of your heart and his. He isn’t enjoying this mode of transportation, but you have to admit, you wish it would never end. Besides, even in the cold, you love the feeling of the wind that rushes past you as Wyrdeer leaps over every obstacle in your way, clearing boulders and pitfalls alike with ease, and it isn’t long before the clearing that houses Volo’s hut comes into view.

Though, as you approach, a familiar, terrifying sound rings out through the valley, and even Volo, who up until now had been hiding his face against your back, sits up straight with a gasp.

A Froslass’s cry.

Wyrdeer skids to a stop at the edge of the clearing, spooked by the eerie, icy sound, and you and Volo quickly slide off his back, poke balls at the ready—you try not to think about how much you immediately miss his warmth behind you.

“That’s the Froslass from the ruins,” Volo says lowly, brows furrowed. “What’s she doing here?”

She sees the two of you enter the clearing and lets out another ghostly cry that sends Wyrdeer running, and she begins to glide straight toward you.

You widen your stance. She’s a rather strong pokemon—you fought her once before—but no match for the two of you. “She seems agitated,” you say.

Volo puts out his hand, stopping you as you reach to release your pokemon. He shakes his head and takes a step in front of you.

“She doesn’t usually attack unless she’s provoked,” he says seriously. “I think something might be wrong. Let me talk to her.”

At once, you’re taken aback. It’s not like Volo to confront a pokemon head-on like this; or, at least, it isn’t like the Volo you used to know—the Volo who always let you make the risky moves, content to sit back and watch. 

Until he wasn’t, of course. 

You watch as his posture eases: his gray eyes still wary, but his shoulders relaxed, downplaying his height as Froslass approaches, the wind nearly howling now as her snowstorm rises around you. She stops just before him, floating motionless above the snow.

“Froslass,” Volo says, nearly bowing his head. “What’s wrong?”

Her cry sends shivers up your spine, ice through your veins, and she looks behind him, directly at you. Just like when you fought her at the ruins, her piercing gaze cuts right through you like the wind of a blizzard, and her ghostly presence—as well as the rapidly plummeting temperatures around her—makes your teeth chatter. Still, you place your hands in front of you, showing that you have no intent to harm her. 

She seems satisfied with this, though still agitated, and looks back to Volo, she cries out once more, at once turning and fleeing back the way she came.

For a moment, the two of you are shocked still. But then Volo is hurrying after her, sinking slightly into the deep snow with every step, and you’re running after him, both of you entirely sure that Froslass needs help.

The rising wind isn’t entirely Froslass’s doing, you think, but her agitated state certainly isn’t helping the weather as the growing shadows darken the snowy landscape. Night will be here soon, and you need to be careful not to lose Volo—the ruins are close to his hut, but not close enough that you won’t be in danger if either of you end up alone in the snow and unable to see. As you catch up to him, you take his gloved hand in your own, and he nods at you, slowing just slightly to allow you to keep pace with his longer legs—together, you pursue Froslass over the icy slopes, following the sound of her eerie cry.

When you arrive at the ruins—the odd piles of rock and snow, left forgotten in the ice—Froslass glides in a circle, yelling wildly, and you can immediately see the problem: what used to be a stone wall has collapsed, and you can just barely see a Snorunt trapped in the rubble. Without preamble, Volo calls out his Lucario, and you call your Rapidash to light the area. Froslass seems unhappy at the fire pokemon in your midst, but if you can’t see, you’ll never be able to free her Snorunt, and the daylight is fading fast. 

You and Volo kneel at the rubble. Most of the rocks are small enough to lift, but you have to be careful: the pile could shift if you move the wrong rock, and Snorunt would be crushed. 

“Lucario,” Volo says. “We need to get Snorunt out of there. Can you help us move the rocks?”

Lucario gives a grunt of affirmation, and the three of you set to work, Froslass hovering anxiously by your side.

Though it isn’t long before the pile starts to become precarious. Trapped inside, Snorunt whimpers: part of it is already caught beneath a rock. You signal for Volo to stop.

“Wait,” you say. “I have an idea—do you have Spiritomb with you?”

Volo nods, reaching for the poke balls at his belt. When Spiritomb appears, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, his mere presence enough to make you anxious. Despite his creepiness, though, he’s a dependable pokemon, and you’re thankful he’s here to help.

“Have him use extrasensory on the rocks on the inside, the ones directly over Snorunt,” you tell Volo. “If he can keep those from collapsing, we can move the rest off the top without hurting it.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and Spiritomb floats into the air, using his ghostly powers. You watch with a slight feeling of vertigo as a purplish energy surrounds him, and then the rocks, and Spiritomb concentrates.

Quickly, you, Volo, and Lucario continue to toss stones away from the pile, and it isn’t long before you have a large enough gap to see inside—Snorunt blinks up at you, and Volo is able to reach in enough to free it from the rock it’s trapped beneath. He wraps his arms around it and pulls, and as Snorunt is yanked free, the pile of rubble collapses, Spiritomb’s powers exhausted.

Volo falls to the ground, the injured Snorunt held safely against his chest, his brow beaded with sweat and coat a mess of dirt and snow.

And you all sigh in relief, chests heaving.

Froslass hovers nervously around you as you kneel at Volo’s side, taking a potion from your bag and spraying Snorunt’s injured side. With a small cry at the sting of the spray, Snorunt shakes itself, and Volo sits up, cradling it in his arms as you look it over for any other injuries.

“Looks like it’s going to be just fine,” you conclude with a smile at Froslass, then at Snorunt, then at Volo. 

Volo lets Snorunt out of his arms, and it waddles over to Froslass, who gives another chilling cry—though you think it’s one of gratitude.

“Thank you,” Volo says to Lucario and Spiritomb, recalling them, and you stand, patting Rapidash on the nose before holding your hand out to Volo.

He takes it with a sigh and a smile, and you pull him back up. Most of the light is coming from Rapidash’s flaming mane, now—the snowclouds above obscuring the moon and stars as the last of the sunset slips below the horizon. With Froslass calmed, the snow lessens once more, but although Volo drops your hand, he stays close as you make the trek back to his hut, his arm brushing yours as he walks.

“How did you know something was wrong?” You ask, after walking in silence for some time.

“I told you that I’ve been to the ruins several times now, yes?”

You nod. 

“I always bring food for Froslass and the Snorunt. It’s our exchange… and because of that, they wouldn’t attack me without reason. I like to think Froslass understands what I’m doing there, even if she doesn’t quite like it.”

You smile. Maybe Volo sees it as a transaction, the food he brings in exchange for time spent poking around their home, but you think the pokemon may see it as an act of trust, of kindness. Food is scarce in the Alabaster Icelands, and competition fierce. For Volo to so often help Froslass and her Snorunt like that… they must have developed a liking for him. Enough so that he was the first they went to for help.

“You’ve made friends,” you grin, and you think, in the low light of Rapidash’s flame, that his cheeks go redder.

He’s quiet for a while more, but when he speaks again, his voice is far away. “Legend has it that Froslass is a pokemon inhabited by the soul of a woman who died holding a grudge. The power of that grudge turns her into something new, something malevolent. I don’t know how much I believe that every Froslass is born of such sentiments, but… it makes me think about the grudges I hold.”

The night is silent but for the soft crunch of snow underfoot. 

“I’ve thought about it a lot, now,” he continues. “My life has been dominated by the grudges I hold, the things I cannot move past. I thought that…” he takes a deep breath, then releases it, the steam leaving his lips in a great puff. “I thought that Arceus could fix those things. But… I know now that I have to deal with these feelings myself.”

You don’t know what to say. He’s right, of course—though as someone who’s been through so much, you don’t doubt it took a long time for him to accept. You hope he won’t misconstrue the way you reach for his hand, squeezing his gloved fingers with your own.

He looks down at your joined hands. “I have a lot of twisted-up feelings,” he says quietly, like a whispered promise into the night. “But I do not want to die holding grudges.”

The hut is in sight now, a small glow through the window the only sign that one of his pokemon has been tending the fire, keeping it warm for your return.

“Then you’ve already done the hardest part,” you say, just as quietly. “All we can do is try to be better and more honest with ourselves, day by day.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Thank you,” he says. Then he gives a small laugh. “I don’t know how you always know what to say.”

You laugh too. “I’m guessing, mostly.”

With a fond, incredulous shake of his head, he opens the door, and the warmth of the hut swallows you both up, the stove burning low thanks to Roserade’s attention, a pot of vegetables simmering on top.

Volo takes off his hat and coat, and offers his hand to take yours, smiling softly. His eyes glimmer in the low light, his hair sticks up at a dozen odd angles, and his cheeks are flushed pink from the cold; you aren’t sure you can keep the obvious admiration off your face as you hand him your winter wear, though you’re sure you look just as hat-mussed and cold-flushed yourself. 

He’s changed so much. Grown so much. Not just in the length of his blond hair, but in the way he holds himself, the way he speaks, the way he considers his emotions. But the Volo you once knew is still there, too: the bright excitement in those gray eyes, the soft laughter that he keeps so close to his chest, the keen intellect hiding behind a teasing smile. Despite everything, all you’ve been through together, Volo is still just Volo. You’re still just you. 

You love him, it’s true, but more than anything, in this moment, you’re proud of him.

His cheeks grow darker as you stare.

And the smell of the stew makes your stomach growl.

Shaking off your stupor with a blush and a laugh, you finish taking off your outerwear, and Volo clears his throat, moving to hang everything by the fire to dry. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks, and you think his voice is changed—higher than usual, less composed.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Starving.”

And as you sit beside him, bowls of warm vegetables balanced on your laps, you think of earlier, in the cave—the things he had told you, the feelings he said he once had. And again, you can’t help but wonder if he harbors those feelings still. 

Does he care for you, beyond as a friend? Beyond the fact that he feels he owes you for how you’ve helped him; forgiven him? 

Can you even risk asking him, when there’s so much at stake?

You don’t know, but you do know how you felt, tucked against his side while you slept; how you felt when he had looked at you with fluttering lashes, storm-gray eyes open and honest; how you felt with his hand in yours, fingers intertwined. 

The emotional turmoil inside him… you’d do anything to soothe it, but this isn’t a battle you can fight for him. He has to come to new conclusions on his own, though you’ll be happy to support him, to stand by his side, to be a shoulder for him to lean on. 

And it seems that’s just what he needs, as the two of you finish eating, and you find his side pressing closer against your own, both of you exhausted from your long and exciting day. He straightens immediately with an apology, but you only laugh and wave him off.

“We should get some sleep,” you say. “I need to go back tomorrow, but I’ll try to get some information about the new verse.”

He nods, smiling. “I’ll return to the cave on my own, to see if I can find anything else.”

“Teamwork,” you say with a tired grin, and he replies with a laugh. 

“Teamwork,” he agrees. 

It would be nice if you had more time to devote to this, you think as you set up your bedroll for the night. But there are still so many mysteries that you need to unravel for the Pokédex, so many pokemon left to find. 

Maybe you’ll be able to find a way to do both. 

Maybe you and Volo will be able to unravel all the mysteries together.

[inky-duchess]

21 History Ancedotes for my 21st Birthday

So today I celebrate my 21st birthday and I have decided to gift you all with 21 of my favourite historical Ancedotes. Some are funny, some are sad and some are plain bizarre but I hope the make your day 💜

Mary Maloney, an Irish-born suffragette in England followed Winston Churchill around while he was campaigning for a seat in Parliament, drowning out everything he said with a very large bell and calls for him to apologise for his comments on women's rights and suffrage movements.

Clodius Pulcher was a well born Roman noble during the last day's of the Republic. He gave up his Patrician status to become Tribune of the Plebs (an office in which one had to be a Pleb) by being adopted by a much younger Plebian man who became his "father". Clodius was a bit of a riot, sneaking into religious festivals dressed like a woman to sleep with Caesar's wife, building a shrine to Liberty in the ruins of the Conservative Cicero, vetoed the last speech of one of the Consuls (who basically did nothing all year and was apparently going to roast Caesar) and burned down the Senate House with his funeral pyre (the Plebs who loved him literally tearing up the furniture to build his pyre). He was honestly the best fun.

When laying on her deathbed, Queen Caroline of Ansbach turned to her husband George II of England and told him he should marry again. George refused to ever wed again... But added he would have mistresses. Caroline said , likely with a roll of her eyes, "oh my god that doesn't matter."

Florence was a pretty cool city in the Renaissance until Savanorola came to town. He disliked the loose living artists that crowded the city, with their naked pagan gods and rampant homosexuality. He expelled them all with help of the French hoping to make Florence Holy Again. When the Borgia Pope excommunicated him and sentenced him to death, one man in the crowd was reported to have said. "thank God, niw we can return to sodomy." One Floretine man in the 1490s said Gay Rights.

So this list couldn't be complete without an entry of the only American politician I love, Alexander Hamilton who was just a walking entity of sass. I could go on about his sharp sarcasm or his disaster bi vibes with John Lauren's but my all time favourite Alexander Hamilton ancedote has to be this exchange with Thomas Jefferson "There are approximately 1010300 words in the English language, but I could never string enough words together to properly explain how much I want to hit you with a chair."

Caterina Sforza was an Italian noble woman during the Renaissance. She was apart of the powerful Sforza family, which drew many enemies to her. One fateful day at Forli, Caterina's children were snatched as hostages. The besiegers threatened to kill her children if she did not cede the castle. Caterina refused, lifting her skirts and shouted to the besiegers that she had the means to make more children.

Hannibal Lecter's creator Thomas Harris was happy to end his great character's story with the original trilogy. However his publishers forced him to write an unneeded prequel explaining why Hannibal became Hannibal. Thomas Harris agreed lest he lose the rights to his character so he wrote Hannibal Rising, where Hannibal as a young man hunts down the Nazis who ate his sister with a katana.

Nell Gwyn is my favourite mistress of Charles II, mainly because of her sass. Once while trapped in the middle of a riot where Londoners swamped her carriage thinking she was Charles's Catholic mistress. She popped her head out the carriage and told the people "Pray good people be civil. I am the Protestant whore." She also dosed her rival Moll Davis with laxatives in order to free up some of Charles's time and she once flashed her underwear at the French ambassador after asking him why the Franch King did not pay her to spy on Charles because she was with him every night. A true Queen.

Emperor Ai of the Han Dynasty of China once rose from his bed to go do some ruling when he realised his lover, Dong Xian was sleeping on his sleeve. Rather than disturb his lover, the Emperor cut his sleeve off at the wrist to leave Dong Xian nap. Nothing has ever been more romantic than that. Y'all could never.

Princess Margaret the sister of current Queen Elizabeth II was a socialable Princess and often tasked to visit the up and coming music stars of the day on behalf of the Crown. When meeting the Beatles one evening, she noticed George Harrison was acting a little odd. When she asked what was the matter, he replied "We arent allowed eat until you go." Princess Margaret laughed and promptly left so the Beatles could get some dinner.

During the Siege of Jadotsville, Irish soldiers under the flag of the UN were attacked and besieged by local insurgents allied with the Katanga Regime. The insurgents numbered thousands while the Irish only had 158 soldiers, all who were lightly armed. They radioed to their allies assuring them that "we will hold out until our last bullet is spent. Could use some whiskey though".

Napoleon was famous for writing raunchy letters to his wife, the Empress Josephine while he was away. She used to reply with really mundane letters or not at all. She really just could not be bothered with him.

Josip Broz Tito was so fed up with Joseph Stalin sending assassins to kill him, he wrote to Stalin personally to say "If you don't stop sending assassins to kill me. I will send one to Moscow and I won't have to send another." It didn't work but Big Dick Energy.

Successful Roman soldiers returning from war often got to march along in parades known as Triumphs. During this, it was customary for them to sing bawdy songs about their commander. One surviving one about Caesar goes like this "Romans, lock up your wives. Here comes the bald adulterous whore. We pissed away your gold in Gaul and come to borrow more."

Matilda, Lady of the English was a woman so badass that history cannot handle her. She was the daughter of Henry I who left his throne to her after the death of her brother. She was away in France when her father died and her throne was snatched by her cousin Stephen. They battled back and forth for years with neither side ceding any ground. Matilda was once besieged in a castle during a snow storm, with Stephen's men all around her. Instead of fighting her way out. She simply donned a white cloak and walked out of the castle. Just walked out without any of Stephen's men seeing her.

Pedro of Portugal once fell in love with a beautiful lady in waiting called Inez de Castro. For years, they lived as man and mistress, popping out a few kinds. Pedro's dad really did not like Inez and wanted Pedro to find a legitimate wife so he had her killed. Pedro returned home to find the mother of his children dead. Pedro went a little crazy. He had all his father's assassins killed, ripping out their hearts as they had done to him. When Pedro ascended the throne, he demanded the Pope legitimize his children by Inez. The Pope not wanting to upset the King, said he couldn't because Inez was never crowned Queen. Pedro dug Inez up and crowned her as Queen, having all the nobility swear loyalty to her corpse. The Pope had no choice but to agree to his request.

A famously clever general once saved an entire city with an ingenious stragety to sit outside the city waiting for the attacking army to come. The attack had come to fast for the city to ready themselves for a Siege so, the general had to move quickly. He evacuated the city and took his place waiting for the army to come. The enemy forces stopped and took one look at him and bolted, thinking he meant to lure them in one of his famous traps.

Michaelangelo was really badly treated by the Vatican when he was painting the Sistine Chapel. He constantly fought with the Popes over the design and his work, which he was paid peanuts for. Michaelangelo got his revenge in his work, painting the gates of Hell behind the Papal Throne and an angel flipping the ol' fig (the Renaissance version of the bird) toward the Pope's chair.

Peter the Great was not a perfect guy. He kept serfdom as a practise in his kingdom, he had his son tortured to death and he could be an unpleasant guy. But Peter was a dreamer. He wanted nothing more to build a fleet for Russia and bring Russia beyond its borders. Peter took a gap year from ruling Russia to wander around Europe. When he stopped in England, he was granted Leicester House to chill in while he did his shipwright studies. It was here that Peter found a new passion. The wheelbarrow. Cue Peter and his new found English buddies drinking in Leicester House, punching the artwork and rolling each other around in barrels across the house's Great gardens.

Diogenes is hands down a walking shit post. He was a great thinker in Greece during the reign of Alexander but a rather dry, sarcastic wit. He lived in a pithos/a jar because he shunned all vanities and values of society. He trolled other philosophers, attending their debates to heckle them and eat loud foods through them. When Alexander the Great came to fan boy over him, saying that if he were not Alexander he would like to be Diogenes to which Diogenes just said "yeah me too, now get out of my sunlight."

Cosimo de Medici was the son of a Floretine banker with a great knowledge and love of art. Cosimo wished for Florence to release its potentially and join the Renaissance. He hired Filippo Brunelleschi to finsh the Great Dome of Santa Maria del Fiore which had láin unfinished for over a century, a symbol of a failure of ambition. The builders had lost the knowledge of creating a dome so large so it remained unfinished. Despite much opposition from the other nobility and denouncers of the Renaissance, Cosimo's dream of the completion of the dome was completed, making it the largest brick dome in creation at that time. There is nothing like achieving your dreams and certainly nothing like leaving a lasting reminder that screams 'I was right and you were wrong' to stand for centuries.

[kbstories]

Entangled

en·tan·gled (adj.) Twisted together; interconnected.

Eustass Kidd joins the Flying Six. The Kidd Pirates go to war.

(Or: Welcome to the worst timeline.)

Tags: Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, References to Brainwashing, Rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort (It’s a solid 80% hurt you have been warned)

Set in Wano, Act Three. Spoiler warning for all of Wano. This is an AU where Kidd is imprisoned on Onigashima and Killer doesn’t eat SMILE.

Content warning for some torture, some blood and references to brainwashing.

***

They’re dead, they said.

Wiping blood from his mouth, Kidd had laughed. “My crew? Dying to cock-faced cunts like you? Never.”

They fought to get to you and they died, they said as cruel hands dug into Kidd’s hair and put him under, over and over.

“They didn’t”, Kidd bit back. “They’re alive”, words fractured by the water in his throat, his lungs. Again – they will come – and again – they’re fine – and again – they’ll come for me. By then he couldn’t catch enough breath to speak but it was there, conviction burning bright in his chest.

They said, he’s dead, and even though his eyes could barely see and his ears were ringing, Kidd recognized blue and white and Killer. Kidd’s veins ached with whatever they pumped into him, his brain struggling to tell truth from lie, dream from reality.

The mask is there, real. The seams Kidd worked a full day and night on to get them just right, cracked apart and caked with blood where Killer’s temple would be–

They’re dead, they say and Eustass Kidd’s world shatters apart.

***

The Victoria Punk strains against the raging of the sea, waves mighty as mountains crashing against her skull and bursting into a thousand pieces. Killer doesn’t turn his head away from the spray, lets the ocean sting every inch of exposed skin.

Under his mask, his eyes stare straight into Onigashima’s soulless gaze.

“Hey, you there! Spikey’s friend!”

Strawhat’s voice rings true through the winds and the rain. Killer keeps his arms crossed and nods, the gesture over-articulated to carry despite the storm. “Stick to the plan, Strawhat! We’ll catch up to you on the other side!”

A smile and a thumbs-up from Strawhat to his right, a sardonic laugh from Law to his left. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for an optimist, Massacre Soldier.”

All Killer gives him is the bird. Kidd would’ve laughed at that, he thinks.

Wire is at the helm, hands steadfast and solid. “Keep course”, Killer tells him as he hops down on deck. “There’s a spot at the bottom of the bay. The Punk should be safe there.” Heat flanks him as the rest of the crew gathers, every face around him retaining that grim sort of tenacity that carried them through the past month.

There’s exhaustion there too, so keen Killer can sense it: None of them can quite shake that phantom presence permeating the Punk, the constellation of their very being-together fundamentally incomplete.

To sail into battle without Kidd is… wrong, inconceivable, almost. Killer has endured all magnitudes of that feeling while they scoured every corner of Wano Country in search for that element that will make them whole again, that unique gravitational pull that makes their individual parts click into each other like carefully-crafted machinery.

(It doesn’t get easier, being without him. Missing him. Killer can’t tell why he ever expected it to.)

“Stay low”, Killer reminds his crewmates, his voice as steady as it’s been since this nightmare started. “Find the Flying Six, that’s our priority. We have to get to Kidd before the raid starts, or things will get messy.”

For years, Killer’s mask has been a comfort; the immediate “Aye, Captain” he gets in return makes him wince where the crew can’t see it. It’s a necessity, for them to remain in the dark about his weakness – about the visceral fear that shot through Killer when he realized Kidd is gone and all eyes fell on him to make the next step.

(This has been a possibility since the very beginning yet Killer never expected to live long enough for it to become reality. Always together, even in death, that was the plan.)

*

From the moment their boots touch land, all Killer can think of is Kidd. Find Kidd, save Kidd, a near-obsessive mantra playing in his head on an endless loop as they leave the Punk behind.

For weeks he lived as Kamazo the Manslayer, every scrap of intel extracted in crimson splatters under moonlit skies. Alliances made and information combined for one purpose alone, and it’s worth it to pass by hordes of drunks and people-soon-to-be-drunks unnoticed. Every step the Kidd Pirates make on Onigashima is accounted for, their approach methodical sans the perpetual chaos Kidd’s mere existence brings.

Killer hates how easy it is, to become something other than themselves. There is no time to waste on regret, not here. They have to keep going.

Finally: There is the fortress, there are the Flying Six – and among them, a flash of red Killer would recognize anywhere, anytime. His vision narrows down to the shape of Kidd perched on the parapet, dressed black-on-black like the rest of them, and a murmur goes through the crew behind him. By some animal instinct, Kidd’s head turns and he stares right at them, too.

And for the first time in a month Killer inhales and feels his lungs unfold, his chest swell with a full breath. Kidd is there. He’s right there, and Killer’s too far away to pick up any details but Kidd is alive and now he knows they’re here, too. All that’s left is to get him out of here and regroup and–

“Soldier, watch out!”

–the shout is almost drowned out by Killer’s instincts. He tears his scythes up in the last second to deflect the little bits of something raining down on them. Shrapnel, the ground littered with it in moments.

What the…?

The thunderclap of Conqueror’s Haki precedes a furious roar he has heard a hundred times, a hundred battles over. Killer catches sight of Kidd, and how scrap gathers and swirls around him, the eye of a silver-tinged hurricane about to hit, and his mind stalls as that murderous glare locks on him.

Then Kidd is upon them.

Metal screeches against metal, the air turning sharp and heavy with Kidd’s will as his fists clash against Killer’s scythes. There’s not a shred of hesitance to the strike: A fraction of a second is all Killer gets to seek out Kidd’s eyes, glowing with the sparks exploding in all directions between them, and Killer’s gut drops at the cold fury he finds there.

That, and bloodlust so strong he can taste it. Oh fuck.

The force of the attack has Killer’s heels skidding back a few feet – motherfucker, Kidd isn’t holding anything back, is he? – before Kidd’s gaze flicks to the side and he scoffs, a pissed-off tch.

A breath, drawing deep. Flames engulf them both, then, the fire throwing up a wall that gives Killer some room to breathe.

“Heat”, he gasps, and they motion for him to move. Wire isn’t far behind, grabbing Killer by the elbow and dragging him away from the inferno swallowing the person they came to save. “You okay? Killer. Did he–?”

Killer can barely look elsewhere. “No. I’m fine, Wire, let me– What the hell did they do to him?” The last part is little more than a snarl, something venomous and ugly within him stirring. Just a glimpse of it sends Killer’s heart on a warpath, beating hard enough to throb even in his fingertips.

Wire’s expression is drawn, lips a tense line. “I don’t know but this is bad. There’s too much metal on all of us.” Which is by design, to help Kidd get around in a fight and– Fuck. Fuck.

A handful of seconds, that’s all Heat can buy them. Fire can’t hold Kidd, not for long, the man himself forged in heat and pressure just as the metal he commands. Killer grits his teeth to see Kidd emerge from plumes of smoke wiping soot off that same look on his face, lethal and so cold, and he pulls both Heat and Wire behind himself.

“Leave him to me. Take the others and–”

Wire’s hand goes bruise-tight on Killer’s arm. Heat hisses, “Killer–”

“Listen to me. Kaido’s forces will follow him here any minute. Keep them off our backs. Buy us time. Whatever this is, Kidd will fight it. I just have to make him listen.”

Two little words stick to Killer’s tongue, almost making it out of his mouth. Captain’s orders. He doesn’t have to say them, though, the tense sigh Wire exhales an answer in and of itself.

“Fine, just– Stay sharp. Let’s go, Heat.”

“Yeah”, Heat says with a final glance Kidd’s way, and they’re gone. Disappearing from Killer’s limited field of vision, and Killer trusts they will keep the crew safe. It’s not like he can turn and check, not with Kidd stalking ever-closer.

Coming for him, not the crew. Just him. A joyless smile stretches Killer’s lips wide. Good.

“Care to explain what game you’re playing, Kidd? We’re here to take you home.”

Kidd snaps at him, “Shut the fuck up”, teeth big and white against the backdrop of black leather Kidd is wearing. His face is bare for the first time in years, his hair slicked back like he couldn’t give any less of a damn how it looks. Killer’s gaze falls on the symbol of the Beast Pirates on the thick belts crossing over his chest and his heart lurches, skips out of rhythm–

“I don’t care who you are. I’ll fucking kill you for wearing that mask.”

Killer stares.

“Who I…? The mask is mine. It’s mine, Kidd, you made it for me. I’m–”

Oh shit, the earth itself shakes from the pulse of magnetism Kidd draws in every last bit of metal with, Killer’s arms threatening to snap out of their sockets as his scythes are pulled in, too. “Don’t you dare”, the words are a growl more than anything. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name”, and the pressure drops to be replaced by brute physical force as Kidd lunges.

Killer doesn’t stand a chance against Kidd, he knows that. There’s his Devil Fruit, his natural strength, his skill with damn-near every weapon he’s collected – ever since he unlocked the Haki to match, Kidd has shrugged off any and all limits imposed on him. Killer knows what Kidd can do, knows his body better than his own, some days, knows every emotion that flashes in that rust-red gaze of his.

And, with Kidd hellbent on ripping him apart, Killer knows he’s but one misstep away from a very violent death.

Countless times they’ve fought yet this is an entirely different beast: The only advantage Killer has is speed, and even that is rendered meaningless in the face of Kidd’s powers turning the metal on his body into anchors, his wrists and neck aching trying to withstand that particular gravity. Time and time again they collide, a spray of sparks and panted breath as Killer stares into the hate-filled eyes of the man he loves and doesn’t back down.

As he tells him, “It’s me, Killer, it’s me, I came back for you”, and Kidd snarls, beyond words.

Something has to give and for a moment there, Killer thinks it might not be him. Kidd is panting, growing pale and covered in sweat. This close, Killer can see the fresh wounds left to scar, dotting his chest with sickening precision, and the mottled bruises blooming on his neck, right over his pulse point.

Whatever they put him through, it’s recent enough for Kidd to look like he’s on the verge of collapse once he’s burned through his rage, and Killer despises himself for drawing hope from that.

Then Kidd stumbles, Killer hesitates – and Kidd nails him in the side, a punch too swift for Killer to block, and the taste of copper spills on Killer’s tongue as he feels his ribs give before he twists. The second fist is inches from connecting when Killer slips his hand out of the metal guard slowing him down and elbows Kidd in the face, stomach turning at the immediate gush of blood that clearly spells broken nose.

They fall apart, Killer holding the scratched-and-bruised mess of his midriff and Kidd groaning with his face tucked into his elbow. Struggling to breathe through the pain, Killer fumbles for his second scythe, throwing it to the side where it lands with a dull thud, unseen. Kidd is staring at him, mouth open and painted crimson.

Then Killer’s fingers hook into the back of his mask and he pulls it off, the world suddenly too-bright, too-loud, overwhelming – it all pales against the fear choking him, smothering any ounce of reason Killer clung to without Kidd there to guide him.

“Kidd, it’s me”, he says, the words small between them, on the brink of vanishing altogether. Well and truly lost, for the first time since they met. “Your partner. Please. I don’t know what to do. Please come back to me.”

And Kidd– He staggers towards him, like he can’t help it. “You’re dead”, he whispers, helplessly hoarse. “You died. You’re dead, Kil.”

Killer’s eyes sting as tears well up; he bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. Thinks, oh, and his mind puts together the puzzle pieces even if all he feels is his heart break.

“I’m right here. Right here, Kidd.”

Step by step Kidd’s fists lose their substance, metal falling to the ground in chunks and pieces and loose gears. Kidd asks, “…Killer?”, and it sounds so painfully uncertain, so threadbare and fragile that Killer throws caution to the wind.

Kidd’s knees give the moment Killer reaches for him. He doesn’t manage to catch the fall but it doesn’t matter, the feeling of Kidd’s arm sliding around his neck like breaking the water’s surface, like coming home at long last. His stump is left bare, bandaged and sore-looking, lacking the mechanics that have become Kidd as much any other part of him. Killer holds that shoulder before he does anything else, the tension there beyond unbearable to watch.

“Killer”, Kidd rasps, and Killer kneels so he doesn’t have to strain himself so much. “K-Kil, fuck, I didn’t– I thought–”

Half-realized words turning to heaving gasps, and Killer wraps himself around him as his shirt grows wet where Kidd’s head is tucked against his neck, equal parts blood and tears with how fucked up Kidd’s nose is. Murmurs against his hair, “It’s okay”, rubs a hand up and down the groove of his spine.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here, Kidd. Not leaving you behind, ever, got it?”

It’s there, with Kidd in his arms, that Killer becomes aware of their surroundings once more: There’s distant cannon fire, and battlecries cut short; the cracking of rifles and ringing of blades being drawn and crossed; bit by bit, the world reshapes itself into the beginnings of a war around them. The first thing Killer sees is a loose circle of backs turned towards them. Dead ahead, the signature woosh of Heat’s breath-turned-fire illuminates the silhouette of each and every member of their crew fighting tooth and nail to uphold the perimeter.

Closest to them, Wire’s trident blurs with motion as he smashes a volley of arrows out of the air, aimed directly at Kidd’s vulnerable back. A glance over his shoulder, and Wire’s eyes widen as they meet Killer’s.

Properly catching his gaze, for the very first time. Killer nods at him, mouths, we gotta get outta here. Wire reads his lips and smiles, unwavering.

Kidd is stirring as well, eyes red-rimmed and weirdly naked without the heavy black around them. He wipes at the blood that hasn’t quite stopped dripping down his chin before he looks up. Stares at Killer like he can’t quite believe he’s there, and then:

“Shit. Fuck, Killer, your mask”, Kidd mumbles urgently, an exhausted motion of his hand pulling closer the scattered remnants of their fight. “Where’s– Ah.”

And something in Killer breaks a little more at the gentleness with which Kidd handles his mask, his fingers unsteady as they wipe dirt and blood off the blue-white stripes before offering it to Killer, those red eyes tender with unspoken emotion.

Kidd doesn’t do apologies, mostly because there aren’t many actions he deems truly reprehensible, but... If apologies were Kidd’s thing this would be it.

Killer exhales a soft breath and presses a kiss to the line between Kidd’s shaved brows. “C’mon”, he says, and he hides his face before hoisting Kidd up to his feet, a breath shuddering out of him as his ribs shift in his chest. Kidd’s hand brushes over the furrows he left on Killer’s skin, frown deepening yet he doesn’t speak.

Piece by piece, they put themselves back together until they’re Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd and Massacre Soldier Killer once more. There is hell to pay, a war to win and an Emperor to kill – when Kidd steps forward to rejoin their crew, he doesn’t waver and neither does Killer, following close behind.

[arcanalogue]

Notes on the Tetractys: Vol. 1

I have promised to do some writing about the Tetractys, so here it goes.

The first time this symbol blipped onto my radar was in 2009, when I learned about the it via somebody else’s artwork. At that point I had studied a bit of Greek philosophy and a heap of that Hebrew-adjacent mysticism that modern occultists appear to have bet everything on.

There’s literally no end to the amount of information out there about all of my favorite subjects, just waiting to be learned! This is why it’s so daunting for beginners who want to connect to certain magickal traditions: you want to know your shit, but we’re talking about areas of study which are notoriously difficult to access, and in many cases have been selected against in the great evolutionary arms-race of education. And then there are the gatekeepers upon gatekeepers upon gatekeepers...

The internet is an amazing tool for educating oneself, but there are so many ways to use it, and not a lot of instructions (just endless corrections). It takes a dexterous and inquisitive mind to exercise its potential in any focused way — to know what there even is to search for in the first place, and then how to search for it, how to dig into the crevices you find between related subjects and mine them for additional information... which informs future searches, etc.

But we still have it so much easier than anyone who came before us! Reading about the ways in which knowledge was passed down from teacher to student, from generation to generation, during the times of Pythagoras and other Greek philosophers is just fascinating to me. How did they manage to keep the chain from breaking? 

Then you realize how many chains did break along the way. Those we have access to are just the ones which gained a critical mass of interest, or happened to be preserved, or managed to survive all the historical incidents that have wiped out massive amounts of history. 

We gradually realize that at virtually any point during its existence, a thing can be lost. Sometimes these things are lost on purpose, other times they slip through our fingers as we reach for other things. And then in some rare instances, a lost thing can be found again. So there’s often a continuity in a thing’s existence that isn’t evident in our historical record — which, from a distance, could probably be visualized as a string of lights blinking on and off again as various things (ideas, objects, people) are lost, forgotten, rediscovered, and then lost again, blipping across humankind’s awareness and then retreating, over and over across centuries.

Basically we humans are playing a giant “don’t let the balloon touch the floor” game with our own history, except with billions of people and balloons in play at once, and some of the players unfairly seem to be armed with pointy sticks. It’s an absurdly clumsy scenario, and no matter how well we try to play together... suffice to say, there will be casualties.

The Greeks knew this. They’d already seen it! Which is why some of the traditions you read about were so strict, or so eccentrically intense. These teachers knew their entire body of work could go up in smoke, literally anytime. In many cases they’d observed it firsthand. In some instances, they’d personally wielded the torches! Since the very dawn of technology, probably pre-dating language itself, humans have been engaged in informational warfare.

This is one way that teachers, inventors and explorers actually manage to change the course of history: by determining who can be trusted with emerging information. That’s why security and access remain central to conversations about technology to this very day. What is beneficial to keep secret, and what should be made available to the public? 

Some make these choices wisely, others choose unwisely, and everything we see around us is basically the grand result of all those choices.

Wait, wasn’t this supposed to be about the Tetractys? 

*bops balloon back toward ceiling*

There’s a reason why certain symbols and designs from antiquity remain in play today, thousands of years later. It’s the same reason that creators are constantly trying to create new ones, or in some cases just scooping up old symbols, dusting them off, remixing and repurposing them for a new mission.

Symbols and patterns are sticky. We like looking at them, thinking about them, playing with them. Remember how you did this as a child, over and over: encountering a new symbol, you would draw it, repeat it. As a product of embedding it in your own memory, you leave it where it may be found by someone else. As a technology, symbols are uniquely equipped for longevity in the human world.

The human eye and brain are linked in a way that’s predisposed to recognize patterns, and pattern recognition is key to learning (among many other things) mathematics.

Mathematics (which I’m terrible at, so don’t worry, this isn’t about to become a math blog) will always the key to understanding the reality we inherited, and to seeing its potential as we gradually fabricate a new one.

The Tetractys is both a symbol and a pattern, which makes it especially sticky and especially fun to play with. With very little explanation, its layers of meaning begin to unfold in the mind. It teases, it reveals, it obscures. The Tetractys nudges us new toward thresholds of awareness, echoing the cascading effect of reality’s formation described in the Tetractys itself.

As such, it remains its own best recommendation. Is it any wonder that Pythagoreans flipped their collective lids over it?

The author at Organelle writes:

“What [Pythagoras] was gave us is nothing like what it at first appears to be. This is why people were swearing by his name for having brought this simple diagram into the world of human experience: a toy which none could own, and anyone with a stick and some dirt could instantly play with. It requires no manufacture — it cannot not be stolen or co-opted, and ‘giving it away’ causes the giver and the gifted to become ‘exponentially more wealthy’ — in ongoing progressions.“

As early mathematicians fleshed out new concepts, and invented new symbols to represent their discoveries, they were basically just skipping stones further down the stream, packaging ideas in ways that other humans would be able to recognize and access and build upon. Sometimes this was done in full public view, but often they worked in secret, because their bodies of work (as well as their actual bodies) were vulnerable to being dismantled by anyone who found them threatening.

The reason I chose to begin writing about the Tetractys this way was to highlight that there are many different forms of information, many forms of teaching, many forms of learning. And, as we have finally proven, the world is also full of different kinds of human intelligence, capable of many different things. We’re slowly digging out from preconceptions imposed on us by minds that were overly concerned with ideals; any deviations from the ideal were considered to be of lesser value, selected against.

That’s one consequence of hierarchical religious thinking, and it’s not hard to see how even the Tetractys — with its depiction of reality cascading downward from a perfected “monad” state to an earthly “tetrad” — could end up appearing to confirm earlier humans’ preconceptions about what human perfection ought to look like, sound like, be like. Contemplating the pure language of mathematics, or seeking the pure spiritual experience, we crave to reform ourselves and our world to reflect this pursuit. 

Science and religion were conjoined for so long in our ancient history, it’s not surprising that notions conflating scientific purity and spiritual purity still turn up everywhere you look. We’re hooked on them! You see it a lot in New Age thought, and the desire to find confirmation of our spiritual beliefs in “natural” phenomena; the dreaded quest for “authenticy.”

I wanted to start by pointing out that I am not qualified to teach others in the formal sense. I have no accreditation. My academic pedigree is limited to... well, words written in a blog post, however thoughtfully I manage to string them together.

To learn tarot and other various practices, first I had to learn how to learn. For the most part, my education was missing this crucial step. I’ve always been quite naturally absorbent, but the moment my curiosity in any subject was satisfied, I considered my work done. 

That’s probably how most people function when left to their own conclusions... unless survival dictates otherwise. But some of us discover we simply have to keep evolving, keep looking for answers, in order to endure. How do I adapt to survive in this world? What are its qualities? Where are its boundaries? What am I actually capable of?

Taking responsibility for my own education in the longer term is one of the greatest accomplishments in my life. I never thought so before; it’s been too easy to focus on everything I’m still lacking. But now that I’m looking back from my forties, I see a surprising amount of continuity and steady progress. By now I’ve also noted the way knowledge fades when it’s seldom-used, so that means I’m often stuck with the humbling, non-glamorous chore of re-learning everything that used to be right at my mental fingertips.

The Tetractys flickered in and out of my awareness back in 2009, and then lit up again years later when I was working on a series of instructional posts about the minor arcana cards. 

This was the phase in my own practice when I began to leave the Tree of Life and other Qabalistic studies behind; the deeper I’d dug into them, the more I had to admit that my questions weren’t being answered — and in the meantime, I was being inundated with information that I had no practical use for. And as a non-Jewish person who reads and discusses the tarot quite often, I became uncomfortable relying on concepts related to the Hebrew alphabet that had been passed down by Western occultists.

At best, I had to admit that it was no longer helping me survive in this world.

Researching the overlapping history of the Tree of Life and the Tetractys, I realized this was a much firmer basis for my own personal investigations. The history of numbers and of symbolism has no direct path! But it’s very easy to end up sticking to the most well-trod path, even if it’s not going exactly where you’d hoped.

The Tetractys jewelry I created with Azamel was a way of marking that commitment with a reminder to keep learning, to question and refine my own interest in the subjects that appeal to me. I must be willing to adjust course, even if it means wandering through grass higher than my head. That feeling of ignorance and vulnerability is reminiscent of being child again, and comes with all of the wonder and discovery of childhood, as well as the requisite bumps and mistakes and redundancies.

In upcoming posts, I will share some of what I’ve learned from the Tetractys and how I’ve reinvested that into my tarot practice. I’m not “teaching” you how to use the Tetractys in your tarot practice, but I’m happy to help give the balloon another bump, and point to sources that might give you that delightful cascading sense of awareness. 

By now I know many of you personally (even if just a bit!) and I know that our love of that feeling is one that knits us together. It also unites us with all the teachers and students of past traditions, many of whom made tremendous sacrifices just to be able to pursue and relive that feeling.

Thanks for reading! And special thanks to those who snapped up this bit of jewelry early on, it has meant the world to have SOME small thing to show for the long months sitting here in the vast semi-darkness of 2020. Developing the consecration ritual for the Tetractys jewelry, I felt almost like I was visiting people, imagining their surroundings, their cards, their questions.

It’s comforting to be surrounded by so many who are still searching, still learning. I do not believe this ever ends, even after death.

[route22ny]

(In the previous post I referred to Mr Gallagher’s book Reimagining Detroit. In looking for a bio to link his name to, I discovered he was retiring and had written an open farewell letter to the city in December.  I’ll put the entire text & photos where possible into this post.)

***

Dear Detroiters,

After 32 years covering this city and state for the Detroit Free Press, today marks my final column. For a lot of reasons I’ve decided this is a good time to move on to my next chapter.

But I’m not leaving Detroit and I’m not hanging up my keyboard. I’ll continue to write in a variety of ways — more books, perhaps blogging and podcasts, and otherwise I'll be engaging with this fascinating city and its people in a bunch of new ways.

I thank my editors and my colleagues for their support during my career here at the Free Press. And I thank you, my readers, who over the years have shared this amazing city with me. You’ve responded to my work by turns complimentary and critical, encouraging and scathing, but never dull.

This job has given me a front-row seat into one of the world’s great urban dramas — the resurrection of a once-powerhouse city brought low by the scourges of racism, suburban sprawl and factory closings. Whether you agree or disagree that Detroit has made progress in recent years, you have to admit that the range of effort here has been nothing short of remarkable. Not for nothing is Detroit known as an urban laboratory for the world’s struggling cities.

The work of reimagining a Detroit after the fall has been the focus of my work for many years. So today, let me try to sum up what I think we’ve learned.  

The free-fall years

When I joined the Free Press in 1987, the city of Detroit was still in free fall. Decades of factory closings, years of of flight to the suburbs, a dismal legacy of racism and its effects, had drained the city of residents, jobs and political clout. A population of about 1 million would drop at least another 300,000 in years to come. Anchor employers like Comerica decamped their headquarters to the Sunbelt.

Perhaps the low point was the case of Malice Green in 1992, when two white cops during an arrest beat Green, a black suspect, to death with flashlights. The case exposed all of Detroit’s woes and seemed to give the lie to any notion of progress on race or any other matters.

Two neighborhood boys walk past the Malice Green memorial at Warren and 23rd Street in Detroit in 1997. (Craig Porter, Detroit Free Press)

And more disappointments were to come. Michigan would sink into its “Lost Decade” in 2001 when the state began to shed jobs every year for 10 years in a row. Those who predicted a quick turnaround were proved wrong again and again. It was no normal business cycle but, as University of Michigan economist Donald Grimes told me for a 2018 article, the long-overdue reaction to the vanished market share of the Detroit Three automakers.

"That was a permanent adjustment of the auto industry to the loss of its monopoly power," Grimes said. "We'll never get back to where we were in the year 2000."

And then came the Great Recession of 2007-2009. Short of an atom bomb going off here, it’s hard to image a worse calamity for the city. The collapse of the subprime mortgage market, the devastation wreaked by the Wayne County tax foreclosure auction, the implosion of home values, all but finished off Detroit.

The Great Recession turned Detroit from a city of homeowners to a city of renters. It wiped out a generation of black family wealth that we are yet to recover. And it led inexorably to the city’s municipal bankruptcy of 2013-14.

The first hints of recovery

But even amid the losses and abandonment, some early shoots of recovery were showing.

For years, Detroiters were turning vacant lots into urban farms. There were hundreds of small community gardens and several larger farms like Earthworks and RecoveryPark on the east side, the D-Town Farm led by Malik Yakini of the Detroit Black Community Food Security Network on the west side, and the Michigan Urban Farming Initiative in New Center.

This repurposing of vacant and abandoned land for productive use first drew the attention of the world and began to inch Detroit’s reputation from Rust Belt failure to that of a city reinventing itself.

Then, too, a city government too broken and dysfunctional to do all it should began to spin off some of its operations into innovative conservancies, nonprofit corporations and public authorities. These spin-offs were hotly contested each time but ultimately proved remarkably successful.

Under these new management models, Eastern Market transformed from a faded and failing operation to the lively marketplace we see today. Cobo Center, now renamed the TCF Center, was once so poorly run by the city that it almost lost the annual auto show. Once spun off into a regional authority in 2009, the convention center transformed into the gem we see today with its soaring riverfront atrium and a ballroom that is one of the city’s best venues.

The nonprofit Detroit Riverfront Conservancy built and manages the RiverWalk. Ditto the lively Campus Martius Park, built by another conservancy and managed today by the Downtown Detroit Partnership on behalf of the city. The Detroit Historical Museum, the Detroit Institute of Arts, the city’s workforce development agency, the Detroit Land Bank Authority, and, most  controversially, Belle Isle itself, all improved, often dramatically, once spun off from direct city control into some new form of management.

Mina Powell of Southfield skips rope at Eastern Market before the 2018 Ford Fireworks in Detroit on Monday, June 25, 2018. (Cameron Pollack, Cameron Pollack, Detroit Free Press)

And in this process, philanthropic foundations played a key role. The Community Foundation for Southeast Michigan has been a leader in building greenways like the Dequindre Cut. The Kresge Foundation contributed tens of millions of dollars to the RiverWalk and other efforts. The Ford Foundation was a lead contributor to the Grand Bargain that made the city’s trip through bankruptcy a success.

It would hard to imagine Detroit’s recent progress without the work of these and many other foundations. And the foundations weren’t the only nonprofits to take a leading role.

Neighborhood community development organizations like the Southwest Detroit Business Association, Eastside Community Network, U-Snap-Bac, and, perhaps most successfully, Midtown Detroit Inc. under its longtime leader Sue Mosey, led the recovery in their districts. These community groups and their staffers worked when no one else seemed to care, often for years, often alone.

And beginning in the early 2000s the city’s economy began to slowly evolve from the heavy-industry model of the past to a more entrepreneurial ecosystem. Entrepreneurship gave Detroiters a new path to remake their lives.

There was a former Chrysler line worker named April Anderson whose dream of becoming a baker led to Good Cakes and Bakes, one of the city’s leading suppliers of sweets. Roslyn Karamoko’s Detroit is the New Black apparel shop, the StockX sneaker exchange, and hundreds of other startups showed that there was indeed economic life in the city, after all.

Detroit’s municipal bankruptcy, and the 2010 move by Dan Gilbert of his Quicken Loans downtown, with Gilbert's rapid remaking of the downtown core, were major steps that have gotten a lot of the credit for the city's comeback to date. But I think we cannot underestimate the importance of the urban farmers, the spin-offs, the foundations, the neighborhood activists, and the entrepreneurs in reinventing Detroit. 

And along the way there were milestones of recovery once thought unattainable. Both the long-dormant Book-Cadillac Hotel and the defunct Michigan Central Station stood for years as international symbols of the city's failure. Both at times were recommended for demolition. But the Book-Cadillac reopened to fanfare in 2008 and Ford today is turning the train station into its future center of mobility research.

Setbacks aplenty

To be sure, the work has been long and tedious, beset by setbacks at every turn.

Rebuilding a city already built upon for 300 years means dealing with a legacy of debris just beneath the surface. When the Orleans Landing project by McCormack Baron Salazar on the riverfront east of the Renaissance Center started to dig foundations a few years ago, crews uncovered sewer lines that according to city maps shouldn’t have been there.

As another developer joked about his project building a medical warehouse in New Center, “We dug up everything but Jimmy Hoffa.”

Facing these and other challenges, almost every project takes longer than we think it should.  When the Police Athletic League was planning what became the Willie Horton Field of Dreams at the site of the old Tiger Stadium, it discovered a regulation that a public playfield couldn’t be landlocked by other development on all sides as was planned for the perimeter of the site. So lawyers had to work out a solution to solve that problem. It worked, but the process that burned up several more weeks of time.

Problems so complex

Or take mortgage lending. Detroit is a city so financially broken that a normal mortgage market here almost didn’t exist until just recently. Thousands of houses do change hands each year, but mostly through cash sales or land contracts, a financially risky way for a buyer to get a home.

The dearth of market rate mortgages reflects the legacy of  racism and redlining that scarred Detroit and many other older urban centers at mid-20th century. But even bankers who admitted their past mistakes and tried to infuse more capital into the mortgage system here found that it was no simple matter.

With the Detroit skyline in the background, several empty lots sit on the corner of Park Ave and Sibley in the Cass Corridor.  There are still many undeveloped sites despite the empowerment zone being in Detroit since 1994. (Eric Seals, Detroit Free Press)

In Detroit, a potential buyer might have saved enough for a down payment but not enough for the repairs that would make a house move-in ready and eligible for a market-rate mortgage. Or an annual income that might support a mortgage in most cases might not be enough once student debt or child-care expenses were added to a borrower’s burden.

Low appraisals, lack of public transit for residents to get to jobs, food or housing insecurity — all these could hold back efforts to create a thriving mortgage market in the city.

As Janis Bowdler, president of the JPMorgan Chase Foundation, told me earlier this year, "As we've been sleeves rolled up, working in the community, we're learning over and over how multifaceted the challenge is. It's not just a supply of mortgage capital or a matter of producing enough credit-worthy borrowers. It's much more complex."

Working the problem

Detroit's mortgage lenders, and civic and nonprofit leaders, have worked hard to overcome these challenges. As they've counseled home-buyers and come up with innovative approaches to housing, the number of mortgage loans made in Detroit has been rising from almost none 10 years ago to more than 1,000 a year today. But clearly we still have a long way to go.

Earlier this year I wrote about Detroiter Jomica Miller, 43, a cashier working at 36th District Court. She had hoped to buy her parents' home after her father died but found it had been sold out from under them at the annual Wayne County tax foreclosure auction. She also found her past credit history presented a problem for lenders. She had student loans she was slowly paying off and a past bankruptcy on her record.

Jomica Miller stands in front of her house she recently purchased on Detroit's northwest side on Tuesday, March 12, 2019. (Ryan Garza, Detroit Free Press)

"I actually started my process in 2017," she said. "Nobody wanted to work with me because my credit was so bad. I didn't know where to start."

Through credit counseling and perseverance for more than a year, she eventually was able to buy a house in the Marygrove district on the city's northwest side with an FHA-backed mortgage. The house is one of four that were part of the Fitz Forward project that has gotten mortgages closed in the Fitzgerald neighborhood. Fitz Forward is the initiative led by Century Partners and The Platform to rehab houses in the district.

"I almost gave up, but I had some great people in my corner," she said. "Don't give up."

Grind it out

So if the problems are complex, so, too, are the solutions. A week ago Mayor Mike Duggan and other leaders announced a $10 million gift from the Ralph C. Wilson Jr. Foundation to the city’s Strategic Neighborhood Fund. The fund works in 10 specific neighborhoods on streetscape improvements, new and rehabbed housing, retail readiness and other improvements.

But if it sounded like a simple transfer of funds from the foundation to ready-to-go projects, it wasn’t. The money flows through Invest Detroit, a mission-based nonprofit lender that has worked overtime in recent years to generate new investment in the city’s neighborhoods. Speaking at the announcement, Dave Blaszkiewicz, president of Invest Detroit, noted that it took the coordinated efforts of multiple departments and agencies to make the work possible.

Without question, the complexity of the problems and the difficulty of coordinating solutions has held back Detroit’s efforts at recovery. But the good news — the really good news — is that Detroit in recent years has gotten so much better at working that magic.

Whether it’s city planners, the foundation staffs, bankers or neighborhood activists, more and more of these players have learned to reduce the barriers and make a complex system of investment work.

Try everything and keep trying

Does that system sometimes favor corporate interests to the detriment of ordinary Detroiters? Perhaps. Do we still sometimes see well-meaning efforts result in nothing much? Sure. Are there still problems that we have barely begun to touch? Certainly.

But the overall impact of Detroit’s recovery efforts — efforts by thousands of committed people working across a broad range of activities, from workforce training to urban farming to education and transit, these efforts have slowly inched Detroit forward. And the city is better for it.

There’s a saying that “nothing works but everything might.” It means that there is no silver-bullet solution to our problems. But if we work across a hundred different fields, making progress in each one, those efforts will add up to something greater than the sum of the parts. That’s the approach Detroit has taken and must continue to take.

There’s a story from the American Civil War that I like.  A new regiment came up to the battlefront and its colonel asked the general commanding where they should go in. “Why, go in anywhere,” the general replied. “There is lovely fighting all along the line.”

And so in Detroit. If you want a to-do list to take away from this column, work on whatever holds your interest. We need progress on public safety and education, but we also need to work on transit and child care and vacant buildings and entrepreneurship and any of a hundred other fields. Take your pick, and get busy.

It’s a long and difficult task. But that shouldn’t faze a city with a gritty work ethic like Detroit's.

And so, onward

Detroit’s story is so varied, with so much conflicting evidence of progress or lack of it, that even today one can lean toward either optimism or despair. I choose hope. I believe with Dr. King that the arc of the moral universe is long but that it bends toward justice. And I hold with the message of Irish poet Seamus Heaney whose words about his homeland echo for me in Detroit:

History says, don't hope

On this side of the grave.

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up,

And hope and history rhyme.

So much work lies ahead of us. And in that task, I'll be there. Though I won’t be writing as a Free Press columnist, I will be writing about Detroit in other ways, and engaging in the life of this community in new ways yet to come. I’m looking forward to that.

See you around.

(John Gallagher is a native of New York City who joined the Free Press in 1987 to cover urban and economic development. He is a resident of the city for many years. He is the author of several books including "Reimagining Detroit: Opportunities for Redefining an American City" and "Yamasaki in Detroit: A Search for Serenity." He was a 2017 inductee into the Michigan Journalism Hall of Fame.)

https://www.freep.com/in-depth/money/business/john-gallagher/2019/12/19/reporter-john-gallagher-retires-detroit/2685362001/

***

The bio of Gallagher I mentioned in the intro is here; there are also links to a  number of his more recent articles about the city and related issues.

[iameverything]

A Conversation: James Frey

(Interview written in March 2012)

“James Frey is an American writer and businessman. His first two books, A Million Little Pieces, My Friend Leonard, and Bright Shiny Morning were bestsellers. In 2019, Frey came up with the story idea for the film Queen & Slim, which Lena Waithe turned into a screenplay.“

I would first like to say that I have been a huge huge fan of you. Your books inspire me so much and makes me want to continue with my writing. With that said Iv read all your books and I have soo many questions. Lets start with the very beginning though. Everyone first heard of you from your very infamous novel ‘A Million Little Pieces’, and I am sure you got enough questions on that matter, so let me ask you instead, seeing that you met Oprah 2-3 times. When the camera is off, what kind of person is she?  Oprah is cool. We’re friends now. When the camera is off she’s the same as when the camera is on.

>

Once I finished AMLP.. Sometime 5 years ago I realized you had a follow up titled 'My Friend Leonard’ and I found it quite heartbreaking when you truthfully find out about Leonard. I guess my question is, why wasn’t that novel put more out there in the 'lime light’ compared to your other books? Even compared to your newer ones.

It was widely read, and it hit #1 on the NYT bestseller list. It just got swallowed by all the controversy related to AMLP. I’m happy, really, whenever someone reads my work..

What would you say if a big movie producer wanted to make A Million Little Pieces into a movie?

John Welles and Brad Pitt, with Warner Brothers, own the rights to the book. They bought it in 2003. 

(Side note: It was eventually made into a movie, in 2019) Speaking of movies, what did you think of the movie for the book I Am Number 4? Did it live up to your standards? And would you like to see the follow up novel 'The Power Of Six’ become a movie too? You know I was going ask 'Pittacus Lore’ that but I couldn’t find him anywhere. I dug I Am Number Four. I talked to Pittacus about it and he had a ton of fun with it, said it was honor to work with Michael Bay and Steven Spielberg. I’d love to see a sequel, though I’m not sure yet if it will happen. Do you know how many books will be in the series and how many are already done being written? I called Pittacus and asked him. There will be six books. He just finished the third one. I once read somewhere, that you were thinking of working on a tv show or mini series about porn for HBO. How is that going? I wrote a pilot for HBO about the porn business. Mark Wahlberg and Steve Levinson are producing it. It’s still in development. Hoping to shoot a pilot later this year. Lets talk your newest novel 'The Final Testament of The Holy Bible’, I have soo many questions about it but Il try and keep it down to 3 because I am sure you gotten enough questions on this novel. I guess first what I wanted to know was, has any religious folk or churches tried to chase you down the street with torches yet?  There were some threatening letters but nobody actually chased me down the street. Because only ten thousand copies of the book were released, it contained alot of what might have been a bit of a mess. 

When you first thought of the idea to write a novel such as that, were you trying to piss people off and is that actually a hidden agenda in the back of your mind? Live up to the 'infamous’ label? No. I wanted to write the most ambitious, most audacious, most difficult book I could think of writing. It didn’t really matter to me whether it pissed people off or not. I just wanted to write a great book. Where did the idea come from to add a scalpel to the cover? Did Dexter Morgan have anything to do with it? Ha. No. No connection to Dexter. The cross was the instrument of Christ’s death and is the symbol of Christianity. The scalpel was the instrument of my Messiah’s death and is the symbol of that book. So as we wrap up, I would like to know, being that you watch bachelor (Yes I catch your facebook status’s) and such, what yours opinion on The Bachelor Pad? It’s pretty absurd. The best reality TV is always pretty absurd. I watch those shows to laugh. 

I was most curious about your 'full fathom five’ and hearing about all the young writers brainstorming ideas. Can you explain that in a litte more detail for people who dont know and how would a young writer like myself get into this wonderful program? Full Fathom Five functions under the artist’s studio model. I come up with ideas for books and work with writers to get the books written. We focus on commercial genre fiction, and try to turn all of the books into fims and TV series. If you want to write for us, send us a sample of your writing. Lastly, I would like to know what is next for James Frey? I’m mainly working on the HBO pilot. Just started another book. Not sure when it will be done. Book is new version of the Divine Comedy by Dante. 

[zardoru]

Ice

Part 2, Chapter 1

The hail was making it too hard to fly. Fri settled down and let her talons settle into the snow, digging into a few centimeters of it. The freezing temperature wasn't as much of a problem as the burns that ate away at her scales. She started thinking about the words Tija and Astra had told her. To bear the cold. It had two meanings; both that she was enduring it, and that she was, in fact, the one that yielded it.

I might have not been, in their eyes, who I thought I was.

How appropriate it was then, that she was being the one to set foot in a land of ice. They must've known.

I'm not going to find any dragons here.

And still, all she wanted was to grab the spear she had stolen from the scavenger and have it point in some direction. There must be someone here. Nevertheless, she had to do something about the penetrating cold. "I the great ice dragon, enchant myself to bear the cold," said Fri, putting her left talon on her head to hang onto her ritual. Her wings quickly turned from their usual black leather to a light blue that blended her better with her surroundings. Her temperature started to lower. The ice outside started feeling better and better; it had become as normal as dirt. Her breath stopped emanating the steam she had come to associate with her own soul to be replaced with nothing. She was one with the snow, and she hated it. Fri started walking through the white desert, pulling out the spear she had stolen from the frightful scavenger. It lifted up on its own and pointed in a direction far beyond where she was right now. Seeing the spear reminded her of that brief moment of empathy. They had, as species, hurt each other. I can't think about that right now. If only she had foreseen that everyone deciding where they'd go meant that she would have to go to this freezing hell, she would've acted earlier.

But I can't take that back any more.

How twisted it was then, that she just had made herself the most capable dragon for surviving in the snow. And now that she was getting used to it, hundreds of steps later, it wasn't all that bad.

They will be as cold as you are.

How would her tribe be in a hundred years? A thousand years? Ten thousand years? Would she be proud of what they become? Did it matter? Will our tribes even get along in the future?

That's for them to decide.

When the future is uncertain, all you can do is try to guarantee it. Perhaps that is how Astra felt, after all. To guarantee her legacy; but becoming immortal is another story.

Because I don't want to allow us to intervene in their lives.

Fri, nevertheless, couldn't stop thinking about her parents. They seemed like memories so distant, so blended in the snow now, that she even started to question if they had felt the same way.

Had they intervened to guarantee my future? Even though they never would be a part of it?

She might ask Tija one day.

And did they know that I could do what I do?

Would that have changed their perspective on what they did with me?

Fri shook her head and kept following the direction the spear she carried pointed to. The monotonous snow came to an end; Fri raised her head and saw the ocean, punctuated by beautiful, vast icebergs, seals that lived on the coast, bears and penguins on an island across the water, standing on a frozen lake.

Maybe this isn't as bad as I thought.

The snow slightly ahead of her moved. A dragon, the color of the bright blue sky with short, stubby horns, spikes on the back of the neck, a slim frame and a smaller size than Fri dug out of the snow, belly-up, jumping back in shock and stared at Fri with defensive intent. "Who are you?" said the dragon, "What are you doing here?" Fri examined the spear she carried; it pointed to this dragon. She cherished her first encounter with a new dragon.

"Hello, stranger," said Fri, not sure of what to say. "My name is Fri. I am the great ice dragon, and I am seeking help."

"W-who talks like that?" stuttered the dragon. "Seeking help for what?"

"It is my intention to lead all dragons into conquering the continent," said Fri. "For which, I and my companions travel around the world to find other dragons to help with our cause and take the land from the scavengers."

"Sca---what? You mean the humans?"

"Indeed, the scavengers."

I could get used to talking like this.

"That's impossible," said the dragon. "We are so vulnerable to their weapons, their aggressiveness, how could you convince anyone of doing something like that?"

"Tell me, dragon, are you cold?" asked Fri.

"Have you taken a look around you recently?" The dragon chortled, "I had to cover myself in snow to keep my temperature."

"Allow me then, to take the cold away from you," said Fri, extending her talon to the dragon's head.

"Wait, wait just a second," he said, stepping away from Fri, "What are you going to do?"

"Enchant you," said Fri. "But I don't need to touch you to do it."

"Enchantments. Okay. Sure. I totally believe you," it said.

"Well then. I, the great ice dragon Fri, enchant you to bear the cold," she said.

"Well that doesn't seem to do anyth---" The dragon's words were interrupted as they started going through the same changes Fri went through; preserving their color and overall appearance otherwise. The dragon stopped for a moment, shocked, and looking at Fri. "Y-you did this?" Fri nodded. The dragon dug into the snow, playing with it as if it was warm mud. "That's..."

"Incredible?" asked Fri.

"Incredible!" it yelled. "You said your name was Fri, right?"

"Fri, the Coldbearer," she said.

"Coldbearer. What an accolade," they said. "I'm uh," they stopped for a moment to think about their own accolade. "I'm... Stalactite!"

"I request of you to act in an orderly and respectful way," said Fri. "For less than that may cause you to meet an early death at the hands of the scavengers."

"Y-yes, my queen!" said Stalactite, bowing to her. Fri almost let out a smile.

I could enjoy this.

"Come, Stalactite. We have many others to find before we can enact our victory upon the land."

"Of course, your majesty!" said the dragon, quickly getting up and following her. Fri took out the spear and stared at it. It pointed back into the white desert and away from the ocean. She looked back at Stalactite and wondered if it was time already to continue. The sun was setting; the sky was tinted orange as scraps of clouds covered what remained of the sun. The stars and the moons started decorating the afternoon.

There's no need to hurry, is there?

"Stalactite, how did you end up here, anyway?" asked Fri. "Oh, it's not a funny story at all," they said. "I was on my way home, after trying to make my way through the snow and see if I could find any human settlements."

"Human settlements? What for?"

"Oh, it's fascinating," said Stalactite. "They have these... odd items with inscriptions on them, where they speak at length of many incredible things."

"Inscriptions?"

"You know, those things you unroll, and it has a bunch of symbols in it?"

"Sorry, but I don't know what you are talking about," said Fri, confused. "Oh, let's go to my hideout," said Stalactite. "It was on one of the icebergs before I got tired."

A hideout? Out here?

Stalactite excitedly started beating their wings and took some height. "Come, my queen," they said, smirking, "To the great Mollusk's hideout!"

"Your name is Mollusk?" chortled Fri. "Oh, no, no, not any more. It's Stalactite. It's just that the place is not me, so its name doesn't change," they said with a bit of sarcasm in their voice.

"I see," said Fri, extending her wings, "Let's go."

"Let's go!" Stalactite cheered pumping their left arm and giving Fri a wink; guiding her over the ocean. Fri quickly leaped to follow her new tribemate. The vista of the vast sea was another of those things Fri had never seen beforehand; not just that, but she didn't know how to swim. It was somewhat unnerving to see so much water underneath her, she wouldn't know what to do if she fell into it. Nevertheless, flying across and seeing the incredible ice structures floating amicably was an incredible sensation, as the humid, misty air hit her face in a liberating way, moistening her scales. Fri almost drifted away her thoughts just enjoying her way to wherever Stalactite might have resided.

It is beautiful.

The cold was beautiful, after all. "It's here!" said Stalactite, making a sharp turn behind one of the icebergs. Fri, a bit distracted, quickly reconnected to reality as she tried imitating Stalactite's sharp turn a little later than she would've wanted. Stalactite extended their wings again and started beating them in an eight-shaped motion as they pulled their body backwards and suspended themselves in the air. "Here it is," pointed Stalactite, extending their right arm to point at a small opening, for a dragon, that seemed to have been craved painstakingly, by hand. The claw marks gave the edges of the ice a jaggy texture. They both entered the opening. Fri set her talons on the floor of the opening; the interior was still illuminated by the few bits of light that the sun still came up with. They reflected on the interior much in the same way Tuga's light reflected of Fri's scales in the night. "Beautiful, isn't it?" said Stalactite.

Beautiful?

Fri felt she was suddenly blushing.

Oh, the interior.

"It's amazing," said Fri, still with a blue blush on her face. "Is it warm here at night?"

"I used to use a snow blanket at night, but I don't need to anymore," said Stalactite. "Hey, let me show you before we run out of light." The dragon ran to the back of the hallway and turned left, disappearing after they entered a room. Fri sat down and brought her wings towards her, settling on the what-would-have-been-slippery ice floor.

I never would have thought how bright the snow really was.

It was oddly uplifting compared to the darkness of the cave; everything seemed so at peace compared to the incredible variety of plants, insects and animals that lived back at the mountain. It was a treasure that perhaps her friends wouldn't had ever been able to appreciate. This could be our home. If human settlements were hard to find, obviously, perhaps their friends could see reason in wanting to live here, away from the other humans. Predating on whatever they could find here, where very little could really harm them; where they could use the ice to build all the incredible wonders they wanted. And animus powers could help. It would be an incredible society of dragons. Stalactite came back to Fri across the hallway with parchments of yellowed paper in their mouth and talon, clumsily using their wrists to walk. They dropped all of the papers down in the floor; they quickly started to moisten. The dragon grabbed a large mat made out of animal leather, similar to that of the skin of a bear, and put the scrolls resting on top of it.

"And there you have it!" said Stalactite, quickly rummaging through the papers. "Ah, this one! This one, has beautiful drawings of the land. It even includes a map of the continent," they concluded, holding a scroll open with both hands.

"A map of the continent?" Fri examined the parchment Stalactite held open. It revealed that the continent had the shape of a dragon. "This is shaped like a dragon!"

"Isn't it incredible!? It says it right here. 'This unnamed land is in the shape of dragons. Beware, for they are vile and dangerous creatures not to be reasoned with,'" quoted Stalactite.

"What? Us? Vile?" asked Fri. She looked at the inscribed symbols on the scripture, attempting to decipher them; they were no more meaningful than scratches on the floor. But of the dragon shaped land?

It is an omen.

"Well, it's not like they have the best relationship with us," said Stalactite. "I've already lost some friends to some inept thievery of these scrolls. They're..." Stalactite put on a pained expression. Fri felt a connection to this dragon for their pain of the loss. She patted the dragon's back in understanding.

"They're important to you because of that, aren't they?"

Stalactite nodded. "That's correct. Pyra always wanted to know the shape of the continent," they said, containing their breath. Stalactite exhaled, breathed in deeply and gave Fri a sorrowful smile. "Well, now we'll get to take the continent for ourselves."

"It's a signal," said Fri, in an attempt to give consolation to Stalactite.

"A signal? A signal of what?" they asked, confused.

"That this world belongs to us," said Fri, decisively. "Or that it will."

Stalactite smiled. "Thank you, Queen Coldbearer."

[mmazzeroo]

Heartstrings, chapter 22:

DANY IV - It’s A Little Dragonwolf

I'm so very sorry for the long wait. OMG! Oh well, I guess this is a gift that just keeps on giving, right? Haha..ha.. *hangs head in shame*

Anyway, @helloimnotawesome, I know you're not feeling well at the moment so I hope this can maybe provide you a little bit of a respite. Much love!!! 

Without further ado: 

---

"Happy nameday, Jon," Theon uttered quietly, a trembling hand holding out a large, rolled up sheet of paper, held together with a bit of red string.

Like a timid animal, Theon had carefully approached her and Jon as the two of them sat snuggled up together on a bench in the lemon grove. My absolute favourite part of the garden. Smells like home - and next to Jon it feels like it too.

Dany was sure the festivities were still unfolding in the dining hall. Everyone knew Jon needed occasional breaks from social gatherings, so no one in the family batted an eye when the two of them went for an evening stroll in the garden.

This, however, felt like a moment between Jon and Theon so she moved to get up and give them their space.

"No."

The urgency in his voice caused both her and Jon to look up.

Theon took half a step to the side before stopping himself, immediately casting his eyes downwards and instead taking a large step backwards. As if frozen in place he kept is head down, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere near his feet. He looks like a beaten dog that just remembered defending itself would only ensure more beating.

Viserys had warned them that Theon might not ever behave 'proper' human-like again. 'Might' being the most hopeful projection. It was like saying there might be world peace one day. It made Dany's blood boil with rage and simultaneously shattered her heart in a thousand pieces.

She still clearly remembered what state Jon had been in. He'd been all hurt, anger and outright rage. 'It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.' At the moment she couldn't remember where the quote was from but it sounded like something President Tyrell could've said. Jon would rather die fighting than not fight at all, but Theon..sweet Theon..had no fight left in him.

As a vet Dany had seen her fair share of neglected and abused animals. One thing they all had in common was how well they'd responded to some good old TLC - tender loving care - and she refused to believe that Theon's heart, mind and soul couldn't be mended, at least in part, by the same. 'You don't throw a whole life away just because he's banged up a little' - her husband's words still ringing in her mind years after he spoke them by the campfire on Dragonstone. My love, how I loved your big heart and your ability to see the best in everyone.

"Theon?" She spoke as softly as she knew how to, "please look at me, sweetheart."

He slowly looked up, staring back at her with dark frightened eyes. A deer caught in the headlights.

Dany gave him a warm, reassuring smile. "Would you like me to stay while you talk to Jon?"

A barely noticeable nod was the only response given.

"Ok, I'll stay. Thank you."

She sat back on the bench, leaning her head against Jon's shoulder who in turn gave her hand a light squeeze as they shared a small smile. Now all they could do was wait. They needed to let Theon control the speed of things.

As they sat quietly, patiently waiting for their broken friend to make a move she carefully watched Theon's face. It was clear his mind was racing. His face stoic, but those dark eyes of his were swimming with emotions. He looked as if he was on the brink of bolting, yet deep-seated fears from all the years of abuse kept him frozen in place. Dany had noticed how his eyes had gradually become more expressive over the course of the year he'd been living with them at Starfall. No longer the deep dark pits of emptiness; they were slowly beginning to show a little flicker of life in there. It was that tiny bit of life that now let her know that the haunted man behind the eyes were fighting to build up his courage.

He found it.

With a resolute look in his eyes, Theon took a daring step forward and held the rolled up sheet of paper out towards Jon. Again.

"Thank you, my friend."

At the mention of the word 'friend', Theon winced.

"You are my friend," Jon repeated emphasising every word. "You were then and you are now."

Theon jerked his head a couple of times in what appeared to be an attempt to nod. A ghost of a smile flicked across his face but was gone in the blink of an eye. Wait! Are those tears?

Quickly Dany searched his face for any other signs of emotions, but only Theon's quick swipe of his hand across the face told her she'd been right. She couldn't blame him though. Jon had confided to her how Theon used to treat him like his own personal punching-bag. At the same time though the two boys basically only had each other to depend on. Despite only being a boy, Jon had quickly understood that Theon merely did what he did to survive. He was the youngest of the Greyjoys, a family who took the 'survival of the fittest' quite literally.

The entire Greyjoy clan treated Theon anyway they wanted, the degrees of degrading and humiliating treatment increasing by the day. Jon had never given her details, and don't think I could ever bare to hear it now. The only one Theon had to take all his anger and frustration out on was Jon who, with a bastard's name, no one gave two shits about. Beating Jon saved Theon a sliver of dignity in the eyes of the remaining Greyjoy family; being beaten by Theon oddly meant Jon was considered Theon's property - his pet - and therefore spared beatings by the other, and older, orphan boys.

Thus, Jon and Theon developed their mutual messed up dependency on each other for the sake of survival. After being sent to Craster's Keep Jon had no idea what'd happened to Theon, but he'd confessed to Dany that he suspected it involved Theon's uncle, Euron. Her husband had labelled the Greyjoy captain 'a complete and utter psycho'. She could only imagine the kind of abuse Theon had suffered at his uncle's hands. His uncle, his own blood for fuck's sake!

Dany considered herself lucky for never having crossed paths with any of the Greyjoys as a child. There wasn't much all of Westeros agreed on, however the collective loathing of the Greyjoys - and Boltons for that matter - was one of the rare cases.

"May I open it now?" Jon smiled up at his nervous friend whose only response was a silent nod.

Carefully untying the string and tucking it in his pocket, Jon unrolled the paper and uncovered a black and white pencil drawing.

"Oh Theon, it's beautiful!" Dany marvelled at the masterpiece before her. Beautiful but heart-breaking.

"It sure is," her husband echoed next to her, voice thick with emotion, "did you make this yourself?"

Eyes full of uncertainty looked from Jon to her and back again. "Y-yes, I did," Theon mumbled, fingertips fidgeting with the seams of his pants. "Dr. Viserys said it'd be good for me."

He speaks! The few times she'd heard Theon speak more than a few words at a time, he'd sounded like a toddler stumbling its way through 'language-ing'. This however had been a full, grammatically correct sentence. The revelation made her want to jump for joy, but instead she settled for squeezing her husband's arm extra tight. Jon responded by handing her one edge of paper and snuggled her closer to him.

Now they could both examine the drawing fully. As she initially thought the drawing was a beautiful display of skill but the scene itself was harrowing.

At the centre was a large kraken. Surrounded by ships, it was clearly fighting for survival. There were spears sticking out of its body, a couple of severed limps sinking in the water, and blood gushing from a wound to the head where a large hook was attached - the crew on one of the ships pulling on ropes tied to the hook. From underneath the water, shadows were swimming up towards the struggling kraken, pulling at its arms, dragging it down. Oh sweet Theon! Once again Dany felt her heart break seeing this shell of a man attempting to convey his soul crushing pain.

In the sky a small group of dragons were swooping and setting the ships ablaze in the background. A pack of wolves stood on the shore - teeth bared, hind-legs dug in to the ground as they too were pulling on robes. Oh! The kraken had an arm intertwined with the rope the wolves pulled at. Another arm was digging into the sand, desperately trying to hold on to something. No mistaken the symbolism; he's reaching out to us.

Teary eyed Dany peeked over to her husband. Noticing his Adam's apple bop she knew she wasn't alone in battling a wave of emotions. Although I guess I could blame any momentary emotional instability on you, she bit back a smile while tenderly rubbing a warm hand over her protruding stomach.

"Do...it..," Theon abruptly stopped himself again.

"Sweetheart, you always have permission to speak here." He still avoided eye contact. "Please, go ahead," Dany gently prodded him. Jon pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

It took a couple of beats for Theon to muster up his courage one more time.

"It is ok?" He winced but continued, "d-do you like it?"

"It's amazing and I love it!" Jon took the drawing and handed it over to Dany as he got up. Two steps and he was toe to toe with Theon. "—and so are you."

Before their broken friend could respond Jon had him wrapped in a bearhug. There was a fleeting glimpse of panic before he eased into it and all but collapsed in Jon's arms. Besides the cinnabons, this was the first human contact Theon had had in years. Dany was amazed. He must be so tired, poor thing. He's taken huge strides today. Vis would be very proud of him. I know Jon and I are.

Her husband gently rocked a sobbing Theon who was clinging to him as if for dear life. She could hear Jon's calm voice quietly speaking to their distraught friend, "I got you. It's gonna be alright. You're safe now."

She remembered the night Jon had disclosed to her - laying in his arms, all tangled up in sheets - how he'd say those same words to everyone he rescued while in the Night's Watch. He'd repeat the words to them like a mantra, over and over and over until they calmed down; minutes or hours didn't matter to him - he'd keep speaking until they understood they'd been saved. My hero. If it wasn't for the sombre picture in front of her she would've giggled to herself for secretly thinking of Jon as a hero. Well, he's a hero to me and others whether he likes it or not.

Theon seemed to have calmed down. Only a few irregular sniffs could be heard now. His grip on Jon loosened but upon seeing Dany he tried hiding his face from her sight.

"No no, we'll have none of that now, young man," Jon gently coaxed Theon's head back up. "No shame in crying. No shame in having a heart. No shame in being human." Yup, definitely a hero.

Still holding on to each other, Jon took two steps back, turned around and eased Theon down on to the bench next to Dany. Jon dug out a handkerchief from a pocket, crouched in front of his friend and carefully wiped the tears from Theon's eyes and cheeks.

"Man to man; heart to heart, Theon - we're champions you and I. We made it out. We're finding our way through."

Quiet as always Theon listened to Jon speak, fingers picking at the shirt sleeves.

"I see you out there in that lonely ocean. Fighting for your life, your sanity, your humanity. Battling the demons and shadows all gnawing, scratching and eating away at your mind. I see you, my friend. I see you. I see you." Jon took a couple of deep breaths steading himself. I know this hurts you too, my love, but remember to stay calm for Theon's sake.

Silent tears rolled down Theon's cheeks once again. Dany was fighting her instinct to reach out to him and hold his hand, maybe a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It's a miracle he's letting Jon touch him and I don't want to push him.

"I'll fight for you, Theon. Till my heart is black and blue - and longer if needed. All I'm asking is you keep swimming. It's exhausting, I know-" he wrapped his hands around Theon's- "but I'll be right here with you to keep your head above water whenever you need a break, and you can rest for as long as you need. Just please keep swimming, Theon. We'll help re-attach your kraken arms—"

"I'm not a kraken," Theon hissed.

Taken aback, her husband sent her a crooked smile. So there's a sliver of fight left in the dog after all. Good!

"I'm not a kraken; don't want to be one," he confessed weakly, "not anymore."

"A wolf then?" Jon inquired.

"I'm not a Stark."

"An orca maybe?"

Both men looked at her puzzled.

"I just thought..," she trailed off. Think before you speak, Dany. Fuck's sake! She cleared her throat. "Orcas are also known as wolves of the sea. They have several traits similar to wolves: They're intelligent, curious, playful. They're loyal and fierce protectors. Loving and affectionate, and form strong family ties. Talented and ruthless hunters."

Theon had lowered his head again, back to staring at his hands in his lap. Shit! I pushed him too far.

Still crouching before him Jon was able to see his face though, and apparently it wasn't as bad as Dany feared because her husband gave her a small nod indicating she should keep speaking.

"They're survivors - known to live and thrive both as far south as the Summer Sea and as far north as the Shivering Sea. Passing knowledge from generation to generation. Adapting to their environment they utilise different hunting techniques depending on available prey."

Nibbling on a corner of his lower lip, casting frequent glances her way out of the corner of his eye, Dany could tell Theon was mulling over her words.

"—speaking of prey," she continued, leaning a bit closer to Theon lowering her voice adding a secretive aspect to their conversation, "there are interesting reports coming from the Cinnamon Straits, reports of sightings by both locals and scientists, speaking of a family of orcas who have specialised in hunting, killing and eating great white sharks."

Wide-eyed, both men turned to her. Dany looked back with a smirk on her face. That got their attention.

"I don't know about you guys but I think that's pretty bad-ass." She dared to place her hand on Theon's lower arm as she added, "-and so are you, sweetheart."

Drawing a shaky breathe, he muttered, "I'd like to believe that."

"Believe it," Jon urged, "all of it, and all the wolves and dragons you sketched-" pointing to the paper in Dany's hand- "will be right here to remind you whenever you need to hear it."

Theon was back to his contemplative silence, meaning Jon and her were back to waiting on their broken friend to decide where to go from here. He hasn't fully retracted into his shell though. Gods please let that be a good sign.

"Being an orca sounds nice," nodding to himself he added, "I'd like that."

Jon grinned, "that's settled then. C'mon let's get you two back inside - it's getting a bit chilly out here."

She's been so focus on Theon that she hadn't noticed she was shivering; no doubt her ever watchful husband had seen it from the second it began. My hero.

As they slowly made it up the path through the garden, Theon turned to her. "If I'm an orca now...," he trailed off, hesitating.

"—yes?" She smiled reassuringly at him.

"—then..what's..I mean.."

"Just breathe, dear, take your time and you can me ask anything."

Theon nodded slightly as he stared down at his feet. Glancing up nervously, he muttered, "what about your baby?"

She flashed Theon a smile before caching her husband's sparkling eyes as well. Affectionally stroking her pregnant stomach, voice filled with pride she replied, "it's a little dragonwolf."

[roththeprimordial]

It's Good To Be Alive Ch.1

Story Summary:  After her death, Mileena was granted a second chance, as her journey to look for allies for her new rebellion lead her to Earthrealm where she was saved by the Shirai Ryu. Having no other choice, Mileena joined the clan and became somewhat of a student to Hanzo Hasashi. Meanwhile Havik has returned and is assembling an army to get revenge on Hanzo and plunge the realms into chaos. Check it out on Fanfiction: www.fanfiction.net/s/13285792/…

Note: Originally, the story was going to be a bit different. But, I then decided to change it a bit at the last minute. If you saw the tags, obviously the story is going to be mainly about Hanzo (Scorpion) and Mileena, with fate bringing the two villains/anti-heroes together. Along with a redemption arc for Mileena. Also, this takes place after the events of MKX and if you haven't read the MKX comic or at least know the summarized version of it, your going to be a bit confused. As stated before the events of this story take place a bit after MKX and goes in a different direction from the main storyline in MK11. Accept the events in this story as an alternate universe. Enjoy.

Outworld: 5 Months Ago

In Kotal Khan's throne room, Mileena was on her knees with her hands tied behind her back, along with several guards, Jacqui, Cassie, Kung Jin, and Takeda standing behind her. Kotal walked up the steps to his throne and sat down with D'vorah standing next to him.

"Enough of your prattle. Finish me, that I may join my father." Said Mileena with venomous eyes.

"You do not deserve death by an emperor's hand. Instead, I give the honor to my worthy First Minister." Said Kotal as he gestured his hand to his left where D'vorah was standing. Smirking, the Kytinn walked forward. She stopped as she stood over Mileena. Mileena just glared back at D'vorah grabbed Mileena by the face and held her steady for her execution. She then grabbed her face with both her hands to hold her completely still, as she then bent down and delivered a kiss of death to Mileena.

With thousands of tiny insects spilling into Mileena's mouth and onto her face where they started to strip the flesh off of Mileena's face. Many such as Cassie, looked away in disgust. Only a second later was the process complete as D'vorah let go of Mileena's face as the half-tarkatan fell to the floor with her face stripped away revealing her skull as she let out one final blood curdling cry of pain, before dying.

D'vorah looked back up and smiled before turning around and walking back to her masters side.

"The rebellion, is over." Stated Kotal.

"Well... thanks for that, I know I'll never eat again..." Stated Cassie as her team began their business with Kotal Khan. Right as he betrayed them. But while all that was going on, Mileena's soul exited her body as it began to travel to the afterlife.

It's a strange thing when one's soul is out of their body... it's very lucid and much like a dream. Mileena could barely even think of what the after life for her was going to be like. Although she did manage to think up a few questions like... was she going to see her father in the afterlife? Perhaps her sister and her friends as well? Were the stories true about the afterlife? Can they all just be one big happy family? Like what Mileena wanted when she first woke up in Shang Tsung's Flesh Pits and met her sister? Or was she going to just go to the Netherrealm and suffer for all of eternity? As she was trying to brace herself for what was waiting for her in the afterlife, she noticed that her soul changed directions.

It was hard for Mileena to explain, especially when she was in this very lucid and dream-like state. But it was like her soul was connected to a physical form. But... that was impossible, was it not? Her body was destroyed in Outworld, and everyone only gets one body. If her body was destroyed and her soul was not headed to the afterlife, what else was there.

Mileena continued to fall through the ethereal plane, as her soul continued to fall and fall. But just as Mileena believed that her fall was never going to end... everything went black.

Everything was black as Mileena was just about to come out of unconsciousness. Like she was waking up from a deep sleep. But as she finally reached consciousness, she slowly leaned up and opened her eyes. She rubbed her head with her right hand as she looked around where she was. Her vision was still blurry, still unable to tell where she was. Eventually after a few more seconds, her eyes started to adjust as she looked around once more.

She was in what appeared to be a lab. Filled with mutilated bodies, large tubes filled with fluid with deformed figures floating in them, tables with flailed skin and dried blood, surgical tools scattered everywhere, bloody hooks hanging from the ceiling, candles and occult symbols everywhere, and more dark imagery. As Mileena looked around, she remembered this place. This is where she was born. The Flesh Pits.

"Uhh... What... what am I doing here? Why am I back in the Flesh Pits?" Asked Mileena as she looked all around, searching her memory banks for the reason she was here and what was going on. But much like waking up from a deep sleep, everything was fuzzy for her. But much like her vision, her memories started to return.

"I was... Tied up by those Earthrealm brats and that Osh-Tekk fool's forces..." More of Mileena's memories started to return to her. "That insect walked up to me, and... and... by the Elder Gods... I'm supposed to be dead."

Mileena regained all of her scenes and memories as she looked around the flesh pits once more, before looking back down at herself. She was wrapped in gauze bandages covering up all her private parts, like her breasts, her crotch, and her rear end. She rubbed her head once more, it felt like she just woke up from a horrible nightmare. She slung her legs over the slab she was laying on as she stood up on her own two feet again.

Mileena looked at her hand, bending the fingers and turning it around, still being exceptionally hard for her to believe. "What sorcery is this? This... this is IMPOSSIBLE! I should be dead!"

Mileena started to slowly walk forward and look around as she saw all the failed and deformed experiments that were either mutilated, hanging on hooks, or floating in the large tubes full of liquid.

"Still as horrid as the day I was born here... I can't even remember why I loved this place so much 25 years ago... I was only born a few days ago along with not having as much common sense as I have now..." Said Mileena looking around.

"Ugh! Nevermind that! Think Mileena! Think! How in the name of the Elder Gods have you come back from the dead? It is not possible!" Said Mileena as she looked around the lab once more, spotting several bodies that looked just like her with no deformations on them. Exact copies.

"Then again... There was that specter that fought for Quan Chi... and those revenants Quan Chi crafted out of the souls of the fallen Earthrealm protectors... Perhaps, if all these... clones are exact copies of me, perhaps my soul just moves on to a new body after death?..." Thought Mileena for a few seconds. Until she shook her head.

"Nevermind that! I must get revenge on that worthless usurper! I will have his head on a pike when I'm done with him!" Growled Mileena in fury as she walked towards the exit, leaving the flesh pits in a blind rage.

After leaving the pits, the half-naked woman wandered the woods for hours on end. Already getting sores on her bare feet as she tracked through the mud and sharp stones on the path.

Eventually after walking for a few hours, she realized her bandages started to become worn out as they started falling apart. Mileena quickly tried to hold the bandages in place so they wouldn't fall off and leave her completely naked. She started to walk faster and faster until she looked up and saw a house only a mile away. She walked towards the house and sneakily maneuvered her way over to the house in the middle of the Outworld forest.

Mileena hid behind the bush as she peered out from over it. She looked and saw that behind the home was several clothe lines with several articles of clothing strapped to the lines. Mileena smirked as she scanned the area once more to make sure none of the home owners were still there. As she thought, nobody was home as she walked out of the bush and snatched several articles of clothing from the clothing lines. She grabbed a violet shirt and ripped it, making a veil for herself in order to not draw any unwanted attention.

She then left the house and made her way to the capital of Outworld, the city her father Shao Kahn lived in and ruled his subjects with an iron fist. Mileena was stalking around an alleyway between two buildings as she looked around as the many Outworlders either walking or doing business with the merchants. As several guards were standing on each block.

"*Sigh*... Wonderful. Just wonderful." Said Mileena sarcastically as she walked down the street in robes and clothing that covered most of her body and face. She walked passed the guards and let out a sigh of relief, the guards were completely clueless as Mileena just walked past them. Mileena continued to look around the streets, getting more and more angry of how she was unrightfully usurped by some foolish Osh-Tekk wannabe Kahn. If she knew of this treachery, she would've killed him in a heartbeat. She grew even angrier as she looked around and saw all the posters with Kotal Kahn's face. It infuriated Mileena to have to even look at an illustration of that traitors face.

"Once I find him... I will skin him alive. I will make him suffer..." Growled Mileena as she continued to walk down the streets of Outworld. Nearly speedwalking, but then slowed down as one guard looked at her.

After a bit more of walking, she made her way to the Kolosseum that once belonged to her father. The true Kahn. She managed to sneak in remaining unseen. She then made her way to the upper levels of the Kolosseum where she heard hundreds of Outworlders cheering at what was going on in the middle of the stadium. Mileena looked down to see that Kotal Kahn was sitting in her fathers chair, watching a fight between two warrior who were battling for the Kahn's amusement. To the left of Kotal stood the Earthrealmer Erron Black and to the emperors right stood Reptile and Ermac.

Mileena tightened her hands into fists, as her nails dug into the palms of her hands and drew blood. All she wanted to do was kill all of them for what they've done to her. Besides Kotal himself, the one who he wanted to kill the most was that disgusting insect D'vorah. But unfortunately for Mileena, she was nowhere to be found.

Mileena might have been mad, but she wasn't stupid. She knew before she could even get within twenty feet of Kotal Kahn she would be killed on the spot.

"Hmm... I will kill you. All of you for your betrayal... but not today, maybe not tomorrow... but I will make you pay..." Growled Mileena under her voice, but luckily for her, nobody heard her due to all the cheering in the crowd.

Mileena took one final look at the emperor sitting in his throne, glaring at him before turning and walking out of the stadium.

Outworld: 1 Week Ago

'My name is Mileena, the daughter of Shao Kahn and the rightful ruler of Outworld. And I am alone. I was overthrown by those who I have once trusted, some Osh-Tekk fool who led a rebellion against me and stole my rightful place. I led my own rebellion afterwards to try and regain my rightful place. But, it wouldn't go as planned. I would be captured and executed by Kotal. Either a lucky stroke of fate or an unlucky curse from the Elder Gods would resurrect me in a new body where I was originally born into the world. I was unsure how it was even possible, but regardless when I returned at least a month had passed by during my departure from the living realms. Shinnok tried to conquer Earthrealm with MY amulet, feeding off Earthrealms life force, along with that coward Kotal instantly started fighing for that fallen Elder God when he discovered what was going on. Shinnok was defeated and everything returned to normal. But when I returned, I was completely alone...'

'My two closest allies Tanya and Rain were gone. Tanya completely fell off the map with Rain being very skillful at covering his tracks. Many of the Tarkatans who supported me and who have fought for me had their numbers severely decreased by Kotal's slaughtering of them. The survivors fled to the farthest reaches of Kotal's regime and want nothing to do with fighting the false emperor any longer. I was alone. I was once a princess, and Empress... But now I have to dig though the trash just to survive and take any odd job I can just to survive. Like any commoner I lived on the streets, with most nights sleeping in the woods, the streets, or an abandoned building. After looking for around 5 months, I knew I had no allies left in Outworld. For now at least. There was nothing left for me. But I made a solemn vow that I would return to claim my throne. Some day...'

'Luckily, I would meet an old sorcerer and pay him everything in my savings to create a portal to allow me to crossover to Earthrealm... I absolutely despised Earthrealm, just like Outworld I was surrounded by enemies on all sides. Along with being the home of my fathers murderers, but I had no choice. My father was an ally to the Black Dragon, along with myself when I hired Kano to fight for me. Of course, he was a snake who would work for anyone that would pay him the highest price and not hesitate to stab anyone in the back. That coward... but, I had no choice. I arrived in Earthrealm, from what I know about Earthrealm geology, I believe I was in a region known as Japan. I would've paid the sorcerer to create a portal directly to the Black Dragon home base, but with the pitiful amount of money I have gathered, I could only take what I could get.'

'I made my way through the woods of Japan, doing everything I could to avoid high populated areas, every now and then walking through a small town when I had no other choice. I did everything I could to look for the Black Dragon, but unfortunately I stumbled into the wrong town. A small town surrounded by miles and miles of untamed wilderness I traveled to was completely controlled by a crime organization that I also once hired known as the Red Dragon. The Black Dragon were indeed nothing but a pit of vipers, but at the very least they didn't stab me in the back like the Red Dragon did. And since they were involved in slave trade and weapons trade between Earthrealm and Outworld, it was in danger. Most likely just like everyone else, the Red Dragon probably thinks that I'm dead as well. But I can't take any chances. I was foolish enough to walk through the town in a completely unsuspecting manor. One of those Red Dragon's must have identified me when I was walking down the street, reporting me to their higher ups. I had no idea if they thought I was just some female Tarkatan wandering through Earthrealm for some unknown reason. Or if they thought I was indeed the fallen Empress of Outworld, Mileena. Red Dragon thugs chased me all over the town, but luckily I killed several of them as I fled away into the woods. I had no other choice, I ran.'

Earthrealm: Japan, the Forest

Mileena ran through heaven knows how many miles of woodlands to escape her pursuers. She stops to catch her breath as she leans up against a nearby tree, and pants heavily.

"This way! I think she went this way!" Yelled a member of the Red Dragon. Mileena looked back only to see several Red Dragon goons chasing after her.

"Damn!" Yelled Mileena as she charged up one of her sai's and tossed it at the men, hitting one of them in the shoulder as Mileena took this opportunity to run as fast as she could. She was getting farther and father away from her pursuers, just as she thought she would finally give them the slip, she would feel a jolt of extreme pain in her right leg after she heard a gunshot.

Bam!

The ex-empress fell to the ground, her left leg having a nasty bullet hole in it that was just gushing with blood. Mileena growled in pain as she brought her knee up and clutched the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"No need to try to stop the bleeding, babe. We won't let you die." Mileena looked up to see the leader of the Red Dragon thugs were standing over her, around 23 of them in total. All carrying firearms. Mileena just looked up and glared.

"What do you worms want from me!?" Growled Mileena as she looked up as them, the leader took off his mask and bent down to address Mileena.

"Your Mileena, right? The fallen empress? We heard Kotal Kahn killed your ugly ass... guess that was nothing but a rumor. Can you imagine how much he would pay us if we brought you to him in chains?" Said the lead thug.

"I would rather die by your hands then die to that usurper! You'll have to kill me in order to drag me to him! Either way, I promise even with a hole in my leg I will take as many as you bastards down as I can!" Yelled Mileena as the thugs just laughed at her, the lead thug walked forward, lifted up his foot, and stomped down on Mileena's wound, as the half-tarkatan cried in agony. As the Red Dragon thugs continued to laugh.

"No, here's how it's going to go down, honey. You come with us peacefully, and ALL we will do to you is cut out that nasty tongue of yours so you can't use that naughty language around me or my pals anymore. What do ya say?" Asked the lead thug as he bend down to meet Mileena's face, only to be met with Mileena spitting in his face.

(Puh!)

"Burn in hell, you disgusting Earthrealmer." Growled Mileena as the lead thug remained silent and stood back up with a frustrated look, he wiped the glob of spit away from his face as he spoke.

"I couldn't say I didn't tried to be nice..." Said the lead thug as he looked over at his friends and nodded.

All of the Red Dragons then bent down, grabbing Mileena's arms and feet as they held her down. All the while, the thugs were laughing and talking amongst themselves as Mileena viciously thrashed here and there. Trying to break free of the men's iron grips. But it was no use.

"Hey, before ya do it... sure we can't... have 'fun' with her?" Asked one of the men in the most slimy way possible.

"First we take her to Daegon. And ONLY if he allows it." Said the lead thug as he pulled out a survivors knife and looked down at Mileena with a dark smile.

"What are you bastards going to do to me!? I swear I will rip your throats out one by one, and make you watch as I eat them!" Threatened Mileena as one of the men slapped her across the face.

"Will you just shut the fuck up? Fucking Christ man, are you ready yet? I'm getting tired of this bitch's chatter!" Yelled one of the men in frustration. The lead thug stared down at Mileena silently as he finally spoke.

"Hold her mouth open. You should've kept your mouth shut, sweetie." And just as he commanded, several Red Dragon thugs reached forward and pried Mileena's mouth open. Mileena tried her best to bite down and chop off all their fingers, but with four men holding her mouth open, it was too much for the muscles in her mouth.

"Now... Open wide." Said the lead thug as he move closer, reaching into Mileena's mouth as he grabbed her tongue and held it out as he brought his knife closer.

Mileena thrashed as hard as she could, trying to get away. But it was not use. "GUA AWAI!" Yelled Mileena, unable to complete her sentence being unable to move her jaws. As the knife was only a few inches away from cutting out Mileena's tongue...

The lead Thug heard the noise of a chain moving, looking up in confusion, a spear pierced through his skull as Mileena and all the Red Dragon thugs instantly stopped, with the lead thugs blood, bits of skull, and brains splattered all over the ground and everyone else.

"I WARNED YOU TO NEVER COME BACK!" Yelled the voice of a man as the man who was clad in yellow pulled the lead thug up in the air and used him as a weapon, swinging the man back down and knocking all the other thugs away from the terrified Mileena.

Scorpion continued to swing the man around and knocked several more Red Dragon thugs aside. As Scorpion continued to swing the blunt instrument corpse around, he saw one of the Red Dragon thugs on the ground, the one who suggested the horrific act to perform on Mileena after they brought her to Daegon.

The bleeding thug looked up at the yellow clad ninja as the ninja swung the body of the lead thug straight down onto the bleeding thug with such force, it splattered both of the men in a gory spectacular way with bits of gore, bone, arms, legs, and tons of blood flying everywhere.

The yellow clad ninja then pulled back his spear and chain as it instantly wrapped around his hand.

"I told you this ten years ago you Red Dragon scum... this is Shirai Ryu territory... We let you go last time out of the kindness of our heart. But after trespassing a second time along with the vile act you were about to perform, you will die." Growled the yellow clad ninja as the Red Dragon thugs aimed their weapons at him. The thug in front of all the rest spoke.

"You think we're stupid or something? We came prepared this time! What's going to happen now is all of you assholes are going to die and me and my friends are going to take this ugly bitch and leave." Said the thug with a slimy smirk on his face.

"No, you won't." Said a younger man with a chrome skull deigned mask on his face, standing next to the yellow ninja, dragging one of his whips as he activated the blades on it. And just like that, dozens of Shirai Ryu appeared from the shadows, surrounding all the thugs.

Just as the thugs were looking around, a rope spear shot forward yet again and pierced his chest.

"GET OVER HERE!" Yelled the yellow clad ninja pulling the thug who just spoke forward as he pulled out his sword and swung it down as the man headed towards him. Slicing the man in half vertically. With blood flying everywhere as the two halves of the man falling to the ground.

"So, who's next?" Asked the yellow clad ninja.

The battle didn't last long, it shouldn't even have been called a battle as the Shirai Ryu mercilessly slaughtered and tore apart the band of criminals. Leaving their bloody remains for the birds.

All the while, Mileena lost consciousness due to her blood loss. After the the battle was finally over, the yellow clad ninja and the young man walked over to Mileena who was lying on the ground unconscious.

"Why was the Red Dragon after this woman? What did she-..." But the young man stopped in mid sentence as he got a much clearer look at the woman in front of him.

"Mileena!? Wait! How is that even possible!?" Yelled Takeda as his master Hanzo looked over at him.

"What?" Asked the yellow clad ninja.

"Master Hanzo, this is Mileena! You know, Shao Kahn's crazy daughter! Me Jacqui, Cassie, and Jin all saw her die! This can't be possible! It's like the Twilight Zone or something!" Yelled the young man.

"Mileena? I only heard of her by mouth... If you really saw Mileena die, it doesn't matter. She's here and she needs help." Hanzo declared as he scooped the unconscious woman up and held her in his arms.

"Takeda, alert the medics back at the temple. And call Commander Blade, she will want to see this." Ordered Hanzo holding Mileena in his arms as he walked off.

"Yes, Grandmaster." Replied Tekeda as he followed.

Earthrealm: Japan, The Rebuilt Temple of the Shirai Ryu

Mileena was lying in a bed with sheets covering her figure, unseen from an observer standing over her bed was the thick cast surrounding Mileena's leg where she was shot. Mileena was just starting to come out of her unconscious state, still delirious from the extreme stress and blood loss, everything sounded fuzzy and distant. But just like waking up from a deep sleep, Mileena started to groan and hear voices.

"Are you serious Hasashi? That can't be right, our reports specifically state that Mileena was executed by Kotal Kahn. This has to be some kind of impostor." Said a female voice.

"I know it sounds hard to believe Commander Blade, I saw Mileena die myself. But here she is, alive and breathing." Said a younger male voice.

"And you saved her from a bunch of Red Dragon goons? I wonder why they were chasing her." Said an older male voice.

"As I stated before, Cage. I do not know. My best guess was that those snakes wanted to kidnap Mileena and sell her back to Kotal for a high price." Said the voice of a man with a Japanese accent.

"Why is she in Earthrealm out of all places? I thought if she would return she would try to kill Kotal and his followers." Said the voice of the young man again.

"I doubt she would have any of her followers left. After what Kotal did to the Tarkatans and the rest of her followers, she would be totally alone. I still want to know why she came to Earthrealm out of all places." Said the voice of the older woman as Mileena's groans and moans started to get louder, she tossed and turned as she started to come out of her unconscious state. Mileena slowly opened her eyes and looked around. Her vision was still blurry as the four voices stopped talking.

"Well, well, well, speak of the devil. Looks like ButterFace finally woke up from her beauty nap." Said the arrogant voice of the Earthrealm actor known as Johnny Cage.

"Quiet down, Johnny. She's probably scared and confused. We must approach this delicately so we won't come off as a threat." Said the voice of the special agent Sonya Blade.

"Come off as a threat to her?! We're not the ones with daggers as teeth here." Said Tekeda as Mileena's vision and hearing fully returned as she looked around. She saw Commander Sonya Blade, Johnny Cage, Takeda, and the ex-specter known as Hanzo Hasashi standing there and looking over her. But as Mileena tried to move, she felt something around her right wrist holding her back. She stopped and looked over to see that her right hand was handcuffed to the metal bed frame and that she was changed into a new pair of white clean clothes.

"What the-!? What is this?! Where am I?! What do you Earthrealmers want?!" Growled Mileena as she looked over to the four Earthrealmers who all remained unphased, except for Takeda. Commander Blade retained a stern look as she took a step forward at Mileena and spoke.

"Mileena, we need to talk."

Note: As a quick sidenote I'd like to state that this story is meant to be as accurate to the story and characters as possible. So that doesn't mean Scorpion and Mileena will get together in the very next chapter, or Mileena having the child-like seductive personality that the internet likes to portray her as so often. She will be more of a bratty and aggressive spoiled princess, but later on change and develop to a more well-rounded, kind, and understanding character. Also, a few minor OC's MAY pop up, for no other reason then for plot development. Don't worry, if they do pop up they won't take over the story. Anyway, leave a review and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading.

[sonofshin]

Gaoyao headcanons

Day of Remembrance: A yearly festival in Gaoyao. Although festivity is not the main point of the day. It is a day where the residents dress in red, symbolising the blood shed in past wars. If you have nothing red to wear, you stay inside.

It is a day to remember those who passed away. Family members, soldiers, children, adults, old, young, pets. Even remember those from other countries, even your enemies, for they had lives and loved ones as well. It is a day that gathers many individuals from other places as well, if only to share in the symbolic festival.

During the day, it is usually quiet. People go about their business as usual. Oftentimes people visit graves or other family members. It is a day to stand still and think about mortality, though most of them don’t.

A lot of people go to Taohua’s temple to leave offerings in hopes of long, healthy lives, or to pray.

As the sun starts to set, it becomes time for everyone to head to the river and place a small floating device in the water. Most people make their own but they are also sold. Each floater has a little red candle that gets lit before being released into the water. When the sun has set completely and the valley is dipped in darkness, the lit up river gives a magical sight.

At night, it becomes time for the children to go to bed, and for the adults to party. To remember and be grateful that they are alive. To make the most of it and share in their current existence.

Hot Springs: Gaoyao is trying to get more tourists to get there. Both for economic purposes and because it is a lot of fun. They have been a little cut off from the outside world for quite a while.

Which is why they are advertising with their unique hot springs.

Surrounding the volcano, are a number of natural springs where heated water steams in the open air. Of course you can bathe in the wild springs, but Gaoyao also has a few bath houses where you can bathe in private or with other people of your gender. The water in those springs has a most soothing effect and it is a good place for sick people to soak for a while. Although the sick bath house is apart from the others. Many people have quickly gotten better after paying them a visit. They have yet to find out if there are legit benefits or if it is merely a placebo effect.

Flower Festival: It is the short name for a festival that lasts three days, one day for each village. Its purpose is to remember the peace between the villages. Many folk visit the other villages to see what differences in customs they have or simply to sight-see.

It is a new tradition to give flowers to someone you fancy before the dance. But people mostly use it to give flowers to those they simply cherish.

Like the festival of remembrance, this festival has many people walking around in a unified colour although it is not required or symbolic. In this case, most people wear the colours of Ionia, particularly honeysuckle.

The festival is ended with a grand show of fireworks.

Blood Moon: (you may discard this as I am unsure if the Blood Moon festival is still a thing with recent updates) Gaoyao, of course, celebrates the Blood Moon festival. But it does so with it’s own unique flair. Instead of telling the tale of Reina and the evil spirit, they invite hunters on stage to tell their own tales of monsters, spirits and legends. Of course, should they not have a hunter in their midst, the honors will go to Taohua, who retells the tale of the old Lord. Every time they tell it, they change or add the information given to the crowd, so it is never the same story. And, hopefully, the residents will learn something from it.

After the plays or stories, it is the turn of the dancers to take the stage. A dance symbolising the strength and spirit of Ionia. It is a dance meant to invigorate, strengthen, and to be a reminder that together, they are strong. They swear the dance could even lure spirits to dance with them and enchant anyone who would look upon them. But that may just be a tale started thanks to the intoxication of the alcohol.

Pecora: A large, moose sized ride animal. Its antlered head is a fierce weapon and also used to intimidate. Its long legs allow it to scale the side of the mountain or step over the densely growing forestry. They usually move in small herds, foraging for food. They usually headbutt trees for the fruits to fall out so they can eat it off the ground. They have an acute sense of hearing and smell, but rather poor eyesight and are therefore easily spooked. It then happen that they rile each other up into a stampede. If that happens there is very little that is able to stop them. Every now and again, this happens to Gaoyao. As the village is the safest way to cross the river, the Pecora rampage through the village. Which is why, when you visit, you will often see houses being rebuilt or fixed.

Surroundings: The nature around Gaoyao consists mostly of outshoots of rocks and stone. The village itself has therefore a natural barrier around it. Unless by river, it is difficult to get to them. However Gaoyao has been taking steps to provide better roads to and from the villages.

Gaoyao also has a large garden in their village, maintaining it with the purpose of relaxing their inhabitants. Once entered, it is like they have been taken to a faraway place. A sweet aroma always fills the air around the place.

You may encounter fountains or a few rock formations where small waterfalls cascade from the stones. You may find yourself enjoying a rest on one of the benches they have there. Or a free game of checkers or chess on one of the stone plateaus.

During Gaoyao’s nights, you may see lights on Taohua’s mountain and hear the sound of bells faintly in the distance. It’s an enchanting sight to behold and is the sound of thousands of natural spirit creatures calling to one another. It is a sign of a healthy environment. But beware not to join them for those that did have never been seen again.

Before Taohua: Gaoyao used to have wars between them and two other villages nearby. Every few years there would be a battle between them. The reason Gaoyao stayed so small is because there were literally not enough people to fill the village. Most of them died in battles or the aftermath of them.

Either it was a fight as revenge for the previous one, fight for more land, fight for different land, or just because they needed to show their power. Either way, it left Gaoyao with less and less able bodied people to teach younger generations to fight properly. And after the volcano erupted because the Lord who ruled it had gone mad, the village ran empty. People fled.

After Taohua had taken their place, and the volcano calmed down, people returned to Gaoyao. The land had become incredibly fertile and given the location of their village, it was hard for others to come to take their lands. The other villages, as well, now had land they could grow crops on and, as a sign of a new start, decided to keep peace between all of them. And so it decidedly happened that, with a time of little to no worries, the villages became less and less interested in the art of combat, favouring the art of agriculture.

This left Gaoyao with no defenses other than those who knew how to get rid of dangerous animals. Taohua kept the village protected with a giant mountain, a large river kept them fed, and the other villages made sure they got a good variety of food.

This is why it has now become very easy for a small army of Noxian soldiers to set up camp some distance away from Gaoyao. No one dares stop them because no one has the weapons or knowledge to do so. And the reason, Yun is slowly teaching his students to handle weaponry.

Gaoyao: It is always easy to see which parts of Gaoyao were built first. The center of the village exists mostly from stone paved ways, sidewalks and houses. In the middle of the village stands a proud tower, watching over the rest. If you go further from the center, paved roads will make way for dirt roads and neat buildings, made of stone will make place for tree weaved houses instead. The buildings near the center are also mostly covered in plaster to give it a smoother, finished look.

The mayor’s tower has a large, gold plated sun on it that is used to keep track of time and dates. Various circles are etched in it with symbols for each month and extra symbols for festivals.

Gaoyao houses more than three thousand people. Many of the buildings house an entire family, often joined by a smaller building on the side to separate nagging grandparents from their offspring. Gaoyao is therefore both roomy and crowded at the same time. You can easily get lost between the many narrow pathways between the buildings, especially newcomers and visitors.

Other than the other villages, Gaoyao uses the river they are built around for more than cleaning themself and catching fish. They have dug canals and use those waterways as efficiently as the normal roads they made. Small boats are always nearby to use freely. They are popular with couples for going on dates.

The other villages: Toutori and Wonsan.

Toutori is bigger than Gaoyao. They live on a flatter spot of land, nearby a large water plain. Large, floating rocks hover above the surface. Some almost touching it, others soaring higher in the sky. It is a lot of fun to jump between them, provided you have the skills to do so. They provide a habitat for unique animal species. Around the water plains are lush hills, overgrown with colourful flowers, fireflies, butterflies and many other beautiful animals. Quite relaxing to visit.

Wonsan is roughly the same size as Gaoyao and is unique in its environment. Instead of lanterns and lights, they grow star trees to illuminate their village. The trees can only grow around their area, as some unique minerals can only be found in the ground there. Every tree has a small necklace tied around them, marking them as ‘holy’. They are never to be touched unless they are sick.

Inbetween the three villages are deep, densely grown forests. They are dangerous, even to natives. It is important to not stray from the path they have made between the factions. While the area is reasonably flat, it is not easy to navigate at all. Stone pillars and rock formations make trekking through the area treacherous. It is easy to become lost and never return.

Aside from Toutori, there are many more water plains. Among those plains are small, hidden stone groves. They protect ancient trees, that are deeply tied with the magic and spirits of Ionia. Ethereal, glowing trees and shoots tend to grow around the trees, marking their devine heritage. Some of them are popular places to ask your beloved to marry you as those trees are said to bless love.

[fox-and-benedict]

[Fanfic, 100% Orange Juice] The Fanservice Episode, Frankly

Series: 100% OJ / Suguri Words: 3855 Characters: Suguri, Hime, Kae, Nanako Originally posted: February 27, 2017 (blogspot version) A/N: I remember being proud of this when I wrote it; I’m usually better at short stuff, to the extent that longer chapters sap my energy a lot. (A little better at it nowadays, I guess...) Of course, nobody read it. I took the title from a Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid episode. Somewhat risque, and with a hurried ending.

Suguri was not, particularly, a fan of the ocean. The raw power of her body was enough to dissuade concerns about breathing, and even the thousands of atmospheres worth of pressure to a certain extent, but she was all too aware that in the Great War, humanity had been rather more focused on how to litter the sea with mines than with how to get them back out again. Even with her abilities, clean up had been a long, dangerous process, and more still might be lurking in the dark, unknown pockets of the deep. There was no way to know. As a result, she wasn't quite as enthused by the idea of a summer beach trip as Hime had been. There were upsides, of course. The sea breeze was one of Suguri's favourite things; part of her believed that she had been a seagull in her past life. She was also partial to the building and subsequent destruction of elaborate sandcastles, to symbolise the artifices of man returning to the bosom of the ocean. There was, however, an additional factor in Suguri's decision to attend the beach day, although she had every intention of denying it when it inevitably came up. A week prior she had spotted Hime sneaking into the house in the earlier hours, armed with a two-piece bikini that was a shade below scandalous but still firmly in the daring category. She hadn't been able to get a good look at it, but she was fairly sure it was frilly, and a Hime with frills was relevant to her interests to say the least. Also relevant to Suguri's interests, in no particular order, were: Hime running barefoot along the sands and giggling; Hime standing waist-deep in the ocean with sunlit golden hair and her beautiful wings reflected against the rolling waves; and hitting watermelons with sticks. (Some pleasures were too simple to be denied). Upon reaching the beach, the pair had retired to the changing rooms, and Suguri had shrugged on her own swimsuit. It wasn't too flattering, although it wasn't as though she had much to flatter; Suguri was built for speed, with lean, defined muscles in her shoulders and her back. Her long hair did, however, mean she could get away with a halter top without anybody staring too much, and all she needed after that was a pair of shorts. Shorts, mercifully, were easy to shop for; usually, shopping for swimwear ranked at number six in the top ten list of Suguri's Biggest Waking Nightmares. She just had very defined tastes, and nobody seemed to appreciate grey swimsuits with a single stripe on them as much as she did. Having changed much faster than Hime (as usual), Suguri looked out at the fine, pale sands and resolved that before the day was over, she would achieve her life's ambition of making a sand castle that she could fit inside. But the day was long, and she was fast; there would be time for castle-building later. Now was the time of garishly striped towels and beach umbrellas that consistently threatened to fall over, and she wasted no time in installing hers in the middle of the beach. By the time the others arrived, Suguri had already acquired flip flops, novelty sunglasses and the beginnings of a tan, and was busy lying face down on her beach towel like a fried egg with a grey, fluffy yolk. “Hey, shortie. You didn't bring your luggage with you?” Suguri tilted her head upwards and saw Nanako, who was hefting a beach bag almost as big as she was. As always, she seemed a touch bitter; Suguri sometimes had problems getting along with her, although Hime was of the opinion that Nana just enjoyed grousing as a way to vent stress, “Ah, you've arrived. If by 'luggage' you meant Hime, she's still changing,” Suguri replied peacefully, looking Nana up and down. The diminutive soldier had gone for a violet one-piece that was more cute than it was dignified, although Suguri guessed that there weren't that many alluring outfits available for somebody of Nanako's size. Some impish part of her decided to push that button a little. “...I was sure you'd be wearing a school swimsuit, though.” “I don't care what you idiots say. I'm not in ninth grade! I am a professional soldier with a number of completed campaigns –” “And a record of losing to me in sword fights.” “– and a record of losing to you in sword fights because you cheat by having such long arms –” “I can't control how long my arms are.” “I can't control how tall I am! I looked everywhere for a nice, mature-looking swimsuit but I got landed with this frilly, cutesy mess while Kae, Kae looks like she's trying to dam the Victoria Falls with a picket fence, just spilling out everywhere and argh!” Nanako threw herself on the sand in frustration, before rolling over and affixing Suguri with a dangerous, steely glare. “You and me, we should form an alliance. Did you know that being short used to make you a sex symbol? It's true! I dug out some old music from before that stupid war you guys had, and all they ever sing about is shorties. 'Shortie, you so hot! Shortie, get low! Shortie got me spending the benjamins!' All stuff like that. We could rule together.” Suguri arranged her face into a peaceful, innocent smile. “I'll form an alliance with you. But you have to accept me as the leader.” “...What would your first order be?” Nanako asked, eyes narrowing. “To go and explain to Kae why, in detail, you've been staring at her chest for long enough to construct similes about it.” “Tch. No dice,” the girl said, and rolled over to face the other way. “I hate arguing with you. It always makes me so tired. I just wanna sit down and relax afterwards.” Suguri sighed, and very gently patted Nanako on the head, expecting her to jerk her head away at any moment. Her hair was surprisingly soft and healthy; evidently she took good care of it. “...Your swimsuit doesn't look awful. Tell me where you got it next time,” Nana said after a while. “Yes, yes.” Perhaps, in an alternative world, the moment would have continued. The sounds of the waves against the shores, of seagulls chattering overhead, would have lulled Nanako into an easy sleep. She would have awoken hours later, sunburnt on the side of her that was peeking out from Suguri's lopsided beach umbrella, and her absolute incandescent rage would have been mollified by memories of Suguri gently fussing with her hair. Alas, this would have had to been an alternative world where Kae did not exist and was not the greatest source of noise on the beach. She charged along, a beach umbrella under one arm, kicking up a stream of flying sand with her footsteps, yelling at the top of her voice – and the top of her voice was taller than some mountains. Suguri took a glance in her direction and immediately regretted it; Nanako had not been joking when she talked about spillage. She looked just long enough to feel vaguely jealous before turning away, which was just as well, because the next thing Kae did was launch herself through the air in a beautiful parabolic arc toward their location. She hit with the force of a small explosive, planting her beach umbrella into the ground like a sword and distributing a fine layer of sand over the face and body of every person in a 100 metre radius. “Safe!” the redhead yelled, flashing a peace signal to her two friends. Suguri, drawing on over 10,000 years of life experience, had wisely made the decision to close her eyes and mouth. Nanako had not, and was in the delicate process of trying to make death threats while excavating roughly a tenth of the beach from her lungs. She was having little success with either, but this made no difference to Kae, who had already thrown herself at Suguri for a full-body hug. After a relatively minor but confusing scuffle, they came to a rest with Kae's warm cheek pressed gently against Suguri's navel. “Ahahahaha! It's been so long since I saw you, Sugi! What are you doing lying around? You should be playing volleyball! Summer is all about friendly competition!” Suguri had come to two conclusions, neither of which was about volleyball. The first was that Kae was part puppy, and had to express that by nuzzling people to death. The second was that Kae's swimsuit had more in common with a coat of paint on a car than with an actual piece of fabric designed for human beings. Bravely extricating herself from Kae's embrace, Suguri put on her responsible adult voice. “Ah... I think if we played volleyball, one of us would have a malfunction.” Kae gave a thumbs up. She often gestured as she spoke, with enough ferocity to put any angry waiter to shame. “Don't worry, don't worry! This body was built to last!” “I'll play volleyball with you, Kae,” Nanako seethed, her eyes flashing pure murderous intent. “But I get to use my bits as well, since you're so tall, and, and, buxom. And if I win, you have to be quiet for one hour for every point I won by.” “Uuuu... That doesn't seem fair. But I don't ever see Nana this fired up. What to do...? Aha! I know! If I win, I get to dress Nana up however I want for the rest of the day!” Both girls looked at Suguri, who sighed and nodded. “Alright. I've witnessed the conditions of the bet. Play fair, you two. Or mostly fair, anyway.” Almost before she had finished speaking the two were away, trading verbal jabs and actual lasers with impunity. Suguri watched them become dots in the sky, and wondered how exactly they intended to play volleyball without a net. It didn't matter, she supposed; Nanako was spoiling for a fight more than anything, and Kae would be more than willing to give her one. “Oh, my. Are those two at it already? I don't know if they get along badly or a bit too well,” a voice remarked from behind Suguri's shoulder. It was warm, cheerful, as clear as song. Hime. “I'm also disappointed in you, Suguri. I look away for mere moments and another woman has captured your belly-button for herself.” Suguri tilted her head back to take a long, upside-down look at Hime and her swimsuit. There were ruffles. There was a black and gold high neck bikini top and a black sarong cut just low enough to show the delicate lines leading down from the hips. There was a dry smile on Hime's face which probably meant Suguri was being a little too obvious. “Aha. Well, you were changing for quite a while,” she said, clearing her throat. “True enough. No matter. I shall just have to win back your heart with delicious ice cream,” Hime replied, leaning down to hand Suguri a scoop. Had she been carrying ice cream cones, Suguri wondered? Her eyes had definitely been elsewhere. “It's a shame that Saki, Iru and Kyoko couldn't make it.” “Mm,” Suguri nodded. Especially since those three were generally much less erratic than Nanako and Kae were. “Well, I was more worried about Nana and Kae in the first place. The others have spread out a little and started to explore, but I don't think those two have found what they really want from this planet yet...” Suguri frowned. This was one of those moments that seemed to demand a sensitive, emotional response, and she didn't have one ready. The words always seemed to elude her, as surely as she eluded bullets and lasers. “We can take care of them for a while longer,” she replied. It wasn't quite the response she had wanted to give, but it was the one she had to settle for. “I suppose I should stop being a mother hen. Speaking of, are you wearing sunscreen?” “Was that why you took so long changing? You were putting on sunscreen?” “Very good! Gold star for Suguri,” Hime said with a grin, and sat down beside her on the sand. “My skin is so pale from being in the spaceship all those years that I have to be careful with it. You didn't answer my question, though.” “I don't really need it. My skin never tans or burns. And I have no intention of leaving this umbrella, anyway.” “Oh, that's ridiculous. I'm sure you'll want to play in the sun at some point. Here, roll over and I'll do your back for you,” Hime said, with an expression of perfect innocence that guaranteed she was up to something. “Don't worry. I can do it myself.” “Oh my, how impressive. How flexible and dexterous you must be!” Hime replied, with a gleam in her eye. “Incidentally, how good are you at rope escape?” Suguri sighed. The answer, of course, was 'not good enough to get out of Binding Chains'. She grunted and rolled over in deference to Hime's passionate advocacy of responsible skincare. With a satisfied giggle, Hime scooted across and sat on her. “Hime? You're sitting on my butt.” “Yes, I'm quite aware.” “Is there any reason?” “You sit on it all the time. It seemed the obvious place.” The logic was flawless, and Suguri couldn't refute it. Instead, she just closed her eyes and appreciated the breeze rolling in from the sea. Hime, meanwhile, busied herself with scooping up armfuls of long, silver hair and moving it away from Suguri's back. “Ooh. Nice definition,” Hime murmured as she began to work damp fingertips around the muscles of Suguri's shoulders. Suguri said nothing, and was trying very hard to think nothing as well; for all her efforts to approximate a plank of wood, she wasn't having much luck. She tried closing her eyes and allowing the sound of the waves to fill her mind. “Hey.” Suguri was surprised to hear her own voice. She hadn't particularly planned to say anything. “Mm?” “Why is this so important to you?” Hime tilted her head a little in thought, but her hands continued to insinuate themselves against Suguri's muscles like the ocean licking at the sands. “Oh, well. A few reasons. It's part of the beach experience, I suppose, to rub sunscreen on somebody's back. Spaceships, in general, are not equipped with beach facilities, and water is a precious resource. We never got sun tans. We never wore swimsuits. Hm... How do I put it? For you, Suguri, this might not be a special occasion, but for me, and for Kae and Nanako as well, it has the taste of a kind of life we were never allowed by circumstance to lead.” “I see.” The sound of the waves seemed to blend with the words and give them a strange, mystical texture. Hime's hands crept down the plains of her back and then returned to her shoulders, in a long, sinuous pattern. “Another reason is that you've been so patient with us, Suguri, and with me in particular. To have had you here to welcome us to this strange, wide-open world has meant more than I can say. Sometimes I just want to spoil you a little in return. This doesn't feel bad, right?” The only response Suguri could conjure was a non-committal but vaguely embarrassed little sound from the back of her throat; Hime met it with a sparkling laugh. “Of course, that's a third reason. You're quite fun to tease, Suguri. You're so very serious all the time, and you always try not to react but do anyway.” “And is that why you tease me so much?” Hime took a moment to to coat her hands with a little more lotion. “Would you prefer a short and fun answer, or a long and serious one?” “Well,” Suguri replied dryly, “Since I'm such a serious person, I'll take the serious answer.” “I thought as much.” Hime's hands had drifted as low as Suguri's waist; her movements were slower, lingering, and her words matched. “I've lived for ten thousand years, Suguri. You know how long that is. But for the vast majority of that time, I've lived in the same, tiny place. The same days, the same faces, endlessly repeating. Oh, Suguri. I used to look at those travellers who we brought to Earth, and I could take apart their faces and say what belonged to their great, great grandfathers, where the family trees had crossed, that kind of thing. In a restricted pool like that, there are only so many genes you can have, you know? Only so many faces, so many combinations.” Suguri said nothing. If there was one thing she was good at, it was that. “Well, at any rate, if you live for too long like that, time starts to... blend together, just a touch. More than a touch. For a long, long while, it felt like I was living the same day over and over. Like time had stopped, for me. Just for me. But then we saw Earth on our horizons, with that horrible man at the helm. The only reason I didn't stop him earlier was because I assumed he would die of old age before he got the chance to do any real damage, but... Anyway. Things started moving again. Now every day is different. There are so many people to meet, with so many faces I've never seen or dreamt of before. This world, this Earth of yours, is constantly spinning. In motion. I feel like that's so important.” “It's your Earth, too. Mm. That feels nice.” Hime was tracing circles with her thumbs across the edges of Suguri's hips; she gave a satisfied little sigh and applied herself to the task with more gusto. “I suppose it is, at that. But, Suguri. Sometimes when I look at you, I feel... I feel like your time stopped somewhere on the way, too. Some days you wake up, and you wear the same face all day. It's... Well, I don't think it's good to do that. And anyway, I'm childish and selfish. I want to see all the different faces you can make, Suguri, not just the one you use all the time. That's why I tease you from time to time. To stop the moments from blending. I'm hoping that one day, I won't even have to tease you; you'll just wake up and smile, and blush, and laugh by yourself instead of keeping that same face.” “And what will you do then?” Suguri asked. Her voice was sleepy. Her body was sleepy. She felt like she was talking in a dream. “Well... I'll probably keep teasing you. But perhaps I won't be joking about it. Your back is done, by the way,” Hime replied, and stood up. “Of course, I could always do your front for you, if you'd like.” Suguri didn't need to look to know that Hime was wearing a devious grin. But she stood up and looked anyway. After all the talk of keeping the same face, she realised that perhaps she hadn't been paying enough attention to Hime's. “If I said yes, would you do it?” Hime blinked, and for a moment a flash of colour spread into her pale cheeks; but it was just for a moment. “You could always take your chances and find out.” “I'll pass.” “Oh, boo. It's rude to raise a lady's hopes and then dash them.” Suguri found, as she had always found, that there were moments in life when it was necessary to trust one's body over one's brain. Decisions could not always be taken with a full set of information on which to base rationale, and anyway, there were sometimes sensations that the brain filtered out of conscious experience but still registered on a smaller level, and those could be as indicative of oncoming danger as any larger portents. She couldn't quite tell what prompted her to move as she did, but in that moment she was absolutely sure that the correct course of action was to launch herself towards Hime, scoop up her friend in her arms, and clear the next six feet of ground as soon as possible. She had cleared the first three feet when Kae and Nanako barrelled out of an empty sky at a speed that beggared belief and crashed into the beach, sending a plume of sand skyward. “One, two, three, four, I win the THUUUMB WAAAAAR!” Kae howled, lifting Nanako into the air by one arm like a referee lifting a boxer's arm in victory. “Hey, hey, Big Sis Hime! Do you think Nana would look better as a punk rocker, or with cat ears?” “Go with whatever your heart tells you, Kae,” Hime said indulgently. “But remember: when it comes to cat ears, proper etiquette demands a tail as well.” Nana, although her eyes were more inclined to look in different directions to one another in that moment in time, still had the wherewithal to look at Hime lounging in Suguri's arms and ask, in a very groggy voice, “Am we... Was I... Is we... Inter'pting somethink?” “Oh, nothing that we can't continue later,” Hime said with a wink, climbing down. “She means 'no, nothing',” Suguri deadpanned. “I don't suppose you two would like to put the beach back where it belongs?” “Nope!” Kae said proudly, conspicuously not looking at giant crater she had left. Suguri sighed. “I suppose we'll pick a different beach next year. It's about time to split the watermelon. Would you go and fetch it?” Kae had vanished before the sentence was finished. Hitting things with sticks was very much a Kae thing, and she dragged Nanako along in her wake. Suguri didn't expect her to come back with one watermelon; rather, she expected to see her juggling three. As the two departed, Hime gave Suguri a nudge. “Next year, hm? I don't recall discussing a second trip.” “Well, it hasn't been a bad day. I want to make a sandcastle next time.” “Oh, yes. There's still things the beach has to offer us. I was planning to bury you up to your neck in the sand and then poke your cheeks.” “...Don't make me change my mind.” A year, Suguri thought, had always been such a short time. That was the problem. Time didn't freeze, as Hime said; it just went faster and faster while you weren't looking, and for all her speed Suguri had never been able to catch up with it. You blinked, and the Earth had come to the same spot again, and all that had changed was the year. But here, today, she blinked: the Earth remained where it was, and the year was the same, but her friends were wearing different expressions. It hadn't been a bad day, here at the beach. It hadn't been a bad day at all.

[orbemnews]

The Broker, The Astronaut and The Vampire: Enter the mysterious world of Soviet watch collectors With pseudonyms like the The Bastard, The Broker, The Astronaut and The Vampire, they’ve banded together deep inside the world of Soviet-era watch collecting. This cabal of watch aficionados spans the globe, albeit in cyberspace, bringing history to the wrists of thousands with timepieces dating back to the days of Stalin. Dashiell Oatman-Stanford calls himself “a Soviet watch nerd.” His friends call him The Catalog. His website, Watches of the USSR, reveals why. It brings together highlights from his exhaustive archive of around 3,000 pieces. Some come and some go, as he refines and revises his collection. But despite only starting his hobby seven years ago, Oatman-Stanford is one of the czars of historic Soviet watches. “Why Soviet watches?” he asks on his website. “I am not a collector of watches as much as I am a collector of history and culture — fragments of a life that once was. And indeed, these timepieces have an incredible tale to tell.” “Soviet watches are functional and utilitarian, but dig further and you uncover a world of mystery and intrigue, color and pizzazz,” writes Texas-born Oatman-Stanford who now lives in the former Soviet republic of Estonia. Oatman-Stanford and his Soviet watch collector friends have carried that mystery and intrigue into the present era, forming what they call the Bureau of Russian Watch Intelligence. Membership of this secretive collectors group comes by invitation, said Ulices Rosa, who founded the bureau a few years ago by connecting people asking questions about Russian watches on Facebook. If you’ve been snooping around about Soviet watches, he may just find you. With his Jersey accent, Rosa might have come from central casting for an old black-and-white Hollywood movie to head up a shadowy bureau. The Lansing, Michigan, resident calls himself The Broker, and you could imagine him selling watches stashed in his overcoat. “I’m the guy who’s constantly connecting the others to the sale,” he said in a video interview. Soviet watches pictured in a souvenir shop in Bukhara, Uzbekistan. Credit: Alamy Other members include The Vampire, in Malaysia, who’s up at all hours making watch deals, Rosa said. Then there’s The Astronaut, an Italian guy specializing in Soviet watches related to the USSR’s space missions. “A niche, upon a niche upon a niche,” as The Catalog puts it. The Bastard, the youngest of the group, lives in the Netherlands. He once found a $1,000 Soviet watch for $50. He’s “the luckiest guy,” Rosa said. The Broker, meanwhile, can do things that will make your jaw drop. He recalls viewing the third season of the Netflix hit series “Stranger Things” and seeing a mission emerge. His 14-year-old son wanted the watch worn by Alexei, the Soviet scientist on the show. Freezing the frame, The Broker determined that it was a Kirovskie model, made by the Soviet’s First State Watch Factory in the 1950s or ’60s. “I went on a hunt as soon as my son spotted it,” he said. “I found it within two weeks for about $36.” The story illustrates just what make Soviet watch collectors tick. It’s a hobby that gives them a relatively cheap way to connect with a bygone world. A working, presentable and likely authentic Soviet-era watch can be easily found on the internet for under $100 and in some cases as low as $40 or $50, Rosa said. And that’s what sets Soviet watch collectors apart from your regular horology enthusiasts, said Oatman-Stanford. “Nobody is buying Russian watches or Soviet watches for the reason that most people buy watches, which is it’s a fashion piece, a jewelry accessory,” he said. “It is purely for the interest and intrigue, exoticism, the military connection.” Roots in America The Soviet watch industry traces its roots to what was then America’s industrial heartland. Soviet leader Joseph Stalin wanted to modernize the country’s economy, and precise timing was key to making things runs efficiently. “To coordinate anything in a modern world you need reliable time pieces, and the Soviets didn’t have anything of that sort,” Oatman-Stanford said. Lacking the domestic manufacturing capacity, the Soviet leadership looked overseas and found help in Canton, Ohio. The equipment and know-how for Moscow’s First State Watch Factory was imported from Dueber-Hampden Watch Co., a Canton company that went bankrupt in the late 1920s, according to the city’s local newspaper, the Canton Repository. A 2016 report in the paper said that a company representing the Soviet Union’s trade interests in the United States “bought bankrupt Dueber-Hampden’s watchmaking machines for $325,000, loaded it onto train cars and shipped it off to Russia.” The Dueber-Hampden Watch Works in Canton, Ohio. The USSR went on to buy equipment from the factory and ship it to Moscow. Credit: Alamy Because the Soviets were short on skilled labor, they brought in American workers too, paying them handsomely for their efforts with an average yearly salary the equivalent of $70,000 in today’s currency — plus free housing and travel expenses. One worker bragged that he was being paid “more than … Stalin, earned at the time,” the Repository reported. With the equipment to kick-start their watch industry, the Soviets also brought in technology from places like France and Switzerland to improve their watchmaking. Victory over Nazi Germany in World War II also gave the Soviet watch industry a boost, said Rosa. The Soviets copied some of the best timepieces worn by German soldiers, he added. “Those happen to be the most expensive of the Russian watches — the ones that are exactly copied from the German military,” Rosa said. Using all those resources, more factories were established around the country, and they turned out hundreds of millions of watches before the Soviet Union broke apart in 1991. ‘A tank on your wrist’ Rosa said the watches became a symbol of Soviet resilience and pride in a country that had rallied to defeat Nazi Germany and become a world superpower. One of the most famous Soviet watch brands — Pobeda — is the Russian word for “victory.” The name was ordered directly by the Kremlin after World War II, according to the website of its manufacturer, Raketa. The watches “symbolize the willpower and heroism of the Russian people,” the website says. “There’s a sense of grit with their watches,” Rosa said, describing them as “robust.” “You feel like you’re putting a tank on your wrist,” he said, admitting that the military connection is what first appealed to him. But there’s room in Soviet watch collecting for those who aren’t military enthusiasts. CS Lee, aka The Vampire, said the military models don’t do much for him. He loves designs based on polar expeditions or space flight. These are the pride of his collection of 500-plus Soviet-era watches. A Komandirskie — or “Commander’s” — watch by Vostok, which supplied the Soviet ministry. Credit: Alamy Oatman-Stanford, meanwhile, is partial to the dress styles, with “simple and clean” designs. “I find Soviet designs tasteful and interesting, the Cyrillic writing exotic and alluring, the history endlessly fascinating, the prices affordable and the number of variations mind-boggling,” he said on this website. Like Rosa, Oatman-Stanford is struck by the reliability of Soviet timepieces. “The Soviets built their watches so smartly and so well,” he said. And they standardized components, making repairs and service easy. “If a part from one fails, you can go to almost any other watch from this factory and this era and swap it over.” The rise of the Frankens While that interchangeability was a convenience in the Soviet era, it can be a headache for modern collectors. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, it left an economy in disarray. Citizens looked for ways to get money, and their millions of watches offered an opportunity. Lee said that Soviet watch factories turned out 30 million to 50 million watches a year, and that a Polish contact told him of Russians selling timepieces by weight for as little as $5 a kilogram (2.2 pounds). Some salvagers dug through piles of watches looking for gold to melt down and sell. Others mined them for parts and assembled them into new watches, which collectors call “Frankens” — a reference to Frankenstein. In Russia, Oatman-Stanford said, they have another term. “The translation for this is ‘cutlet,’ like ground beef,” he said, “a kind of mishmash of parts that they’ve smushed together to form a patty.” A worker at the Second Moscow Clock factory assembles a watch. Credit: Alamy To novice and experienced collectors alike, the Frankens can be hard to spot. Bureau members look for clues, like the words on the dial, the shape of the crown and machining marks on the inner workings. But they point out that there’s really no single authority to determine where these watches came from — themselves included. While Frankens may not epitomize the Soviet era, they can be just as much fun for the not-so-serious enthusiast, the collectors say, while still giving a sense of the Cold War. “It seems fashionable now to look toward what is nostalgic, and I think a lot of people are interested in these cool, unique pieces from history,” Oatman-Stanford said. And even if an acquisition turns out to be a fake, Lee said, the price — likely below $100 — is worth the experience. ‘You can never have enough friends’ For English speakers, Frankens and authentic originals can be quickly found on websites such as eBay and Etsy. Some of the dozens of brands to look for include the aforementioned Pobeda and Raketa, as well as Komandirskie, Sekonda, Slava, Strela and Vostok. To improve your chances of getting a fair price for an authentic timepiece — and one that will actually show up in the mail — the Bureau of Russian Watch Intelligence advises paying careful attention to the reviews. Most of the Bureau got their starts shopping online, though once they got serious, they found better, cheaper sources. Lee said he has contacts in places like Spain, Italy, Russia and Romania who will search flea markets for him, looking for specific watches he wants to add to his collection. A 1980 Soviet poster depicts a worker in hardhat with his wristwatch projecting the image of a factory. Credit: Ruben Suryaninov/Digital Soviet Art/Getty Images “You can never have enough friends,” he said. Meanwhile, Oatman-Stanford, who can repair and refurbish his own watches, said he has established a network of middlemen who buy him cheap watches on the Russian and Ukraine domestic markets. “I send them money and then they send me in bulk — 20, 50, a hundred at a time,” he said. He can then sort the wheat from the chaff himself. When Rosa wants something, he’ll often consult a mysterious figure known as The Oracle, a Ukrainian who only communicates by email. “The Oracle never talks to anyone in person,” Rosa said, but “he knows it all … There’s no fooling this guy.” Pulling the trigger After exploring the world of Soviet watches, I needed one of my own. I scoured the web for hours searching for an authentic model. With some advice from Oatman-Stanford, I pulled the trigger on a Vostok Amphibian, which collectors affectionately call “Scuba Dude” for the diver on the dial. The package arrived from Russia complete with Cyrillic stamps and an illegible handwritten return address. A Vostok Amphibian, known as “Scuba Dude.” Credit: John Mees/CNN Examining it via video chat, Rosa said my Scuba Dude ticked all the boxes, including the “Made in CCCP” on the dial — proof that, as advertised, it was manufactured in the 1980s, before the CCCP (the Russian abbreviation for the USSR) collapsed. Purchase a few more of these and I could become a card-carrying member of the Bureau of Russian Watch Intelligence, Rosa suggested. The Journalist isn’t taken yet. Source link Orbem News #astronaut #broker #Collectors #enter #Mysterious #Soviet #Vampire #watch #World

[the-story-of-six]

Meditation

“Meditation provides a way of learning how to let go. As we sit, the self we’ve been trying to construct and make into a nice, neat package continues to unravel.”

- John Welwood

Iris would sit on the roof for hours, never moving even for the slightest passing breeze, with one leg resting upon the other and both paws clasped together firmly. The sun had just begun to disappear over the tops of the trees, and the Spring air had started to cool as the distant Westward horizon glowed with waves of soft red and purple light. In the distance, the swooshing sounds of passing cars on the nearby freeway could be periodically heard over the serenity of an otherwise quiet and peaceful late afternoon.

The Lucario’s eyes were gently shut, and a small stream of transparent, blue aura vapor seeped from the crack between her right eyelids, indicating that she had been concentrating hard enough to draw energy from the outside air, and then let it flow throughout the conduits in her brain to increase her focus. It was not as violent as it usually was during a battle, rather it was more gentle and wispy as it floated upwards from her eye socket and then dissipated.

She was, on the outside, completely at peace with the world, her entire body appearing as relaxed as a hammock on a warm beach. She was still, and she stood with as much poise as a buddhist monk. On the inside, however, her train of thought had begun to drift off of the tracks, letting old memories and internal struggles plague the mindscape she had worked all day to create. The small thoughts happened so suddenly, like rolling a snowball down a mountain only for it to reach the bottom and become a devastating boulder. She couldn’t help it, not after what she now knew, not with the truth that plagued her like an Egyptian curse. Another wave of anxiety hit her body like a speeding truck, and it shook her so badly that it nearly threw her off balance as she wobbled slightly in the wind passing over the roof of the house, jolting her back to consciousness.

Iris gasped and stared into space for a moment, the real world returning to her, and the haze of aura stopped flowing and then evaporated into the atmosphere. She stood dazed, her pupils dilating, and her surroundings came back into focus. This never happened to her, she had never felt like this for years, not ever since she matured. She needed to calm down, to think things through rationally. She regained control of herself and sighed, taking in a fresh breath of afternoon air to clear her head, and then she righted herself as she was before. It took but a few seconds for her to return to her previous state of thinking, but she eventually recalled the thoughts that had been violently shaken from her mind and then continued where she had left off, pondering the events for the past week of her life.

The pendant she wore around her neck, artfully smithed from gold and embroidered with a black cross passing in front of a smaller sapphire-blue disc, had been with her ever since she was still inside an egg. It was engraved with symbols that roughly translated to a dead language used by an ancient tribe of Lucarios, a tribe that had lived in the Northern mountains of the Sinnoh region thousands of years before the first man had ever set foot in the area.

It was her tribe, it was her ancestors who had all but disappeared as the sands of time etched away at them and their history, their entire population thought to be completely extinct and yet here she was. They were always heavily shrouded in mystery, as ancient ruins with unsolvable hieroglyphs were the only lead to go on. However, more recent investigations had been conducted since the early 50’s, when technology and research had advanced to the point where they were finally able to learn from this apparently once-great civilization. Books were written about their findings, and Iris read them, as many as she could get her hands on. As she read, she began to notice a pattern, a series of intersecting threads that never seemed to quite connect. Of the dozens of books she has ever flipped through, each one of them had always pointed to one, terrifying paradox.

She. Should. Not. Exist.

Her eye, tinted blue and constantly glowing with an intense light, was one of the few connections between her and this tribe of Pokemon she called her ancestors, her family, the ones who left her alone up in the mountains as an egg and never heard from again. It was all there, the language they used that was inscribed in the jewelry she owned, the location she that was found in as a newborn, and most importantly, the source of her abilities.

Her abilities were not simply gained through sheer willpower and physical exercises, no, her power could never be achieved through any normal means of training. This was something else, something that materialized in her when she had evolved into her final form, it made her see and feel things she had never felt before, like she had been injected with knowledge that which existed beyond the boundaries of the dimensional plane she resided in. She could never understand it, nor could anyone else that came across her. Even her trainer was baffled and slightly afraid at the sudden, seemingly unexplainable changes that sprouted, but it never affected the bond they shared as Pokemon and master.

What she read in those old books made her out to be some sort of savior, like a demigod of sorts, blessed by the god named Arceus who watches over all life from above in his Holy kingdom. Her eye was the determining factor, anyone could see that it was something special, but it carried a weight that Iris would have to bear for the rest of her days. The eye represented power, it represented wisdom, and most importantly it represented that Iris’ connection to the spiritual realm of aura and thought was so strong, that she essentially transcended from being a mere Pokemon to being nearly omnipotent.

Arceus was supposed to bless one chosen member in each generation of her clan’s life, as per the deal they made with their holy idol. As long as they continued their worship and sacrifice, as they always had, they would always be protected from harm. Arceus was far, far too busy (apparently) to attend to the needs of each individual on the planet, so instead he bestowed upon them a blessing. In her clan’s own language, Iris memorized the prophecy upon which her life was created to fulfill;

“May the plagues infest us, for our savior will arise from within our numbers to burn the pestilence with aura like fire, and those who oppose our way of life and threaten our loved ones will be forced to face their sins until they repent, and only then can our hero find divine rest until they are once again needed.”

There was a book in the back of the Public Library, which was located in her hometown of Jubilife City, a place she went to quite often. Pokemon were allowed to use public services such as the library, or the local shops, or public transportation, because they could be trusted to understand how such things operated. She got herself a Library card, and she used it periodically to indulge herself in as many intellectual and philosophical works as she could possibly find, occasionally delving into other genres like fantasy and things that entertained and engaged her. She also used the library for her own, personal research, as she scoured the depths of the History and Geography section for anything related to her ancestors. Of course, there were the documentaries, the investigations that gave her the knowledge that she had memorized end to end. There were even works in the Religious category that talked about cases of Arceus appearing on Earth and granting wishes and blessings to those who prayed to him. In those she could sometimes find her clan hidden within the pages, amongst other tribes that were similar to hers, but not quite as important to her for the moment. Her tribe had always been written off as another ruined civilization, a fallen kingdom where all of their beliefs and practices had meant nothing because they had ultimately destroyed themselves and completely disappeared off the face of the planet, never to be seen again. Iris was so emotionally attached to the history of her people, who they were, what they believed in and strived for, but to everyone else they were another example of the way that time can just completely wipe away an entire tribe of once-magnificent creatures and move on to the next one, and then the next one, over and over to infinity and even beyond that. Time is unending, time is limitless, and time feels no remorse.

No matter how deep she dug, Iris always felt in her heart that something wasn’t there, like a piece of the puzzle had escaped and run off. For months she lost her lead, up until she found that book. She had never seen it before, not until it randomly fell off of it’s shelf as she passed by. To any common man the situation could have well been written off as simply being coincidental, albeit incredibly so, like perhaps it wasn’t shelved right, or the wind blowing off of Iris’ body as she passed by was strong enough to knock it off of its fragile perch. But she knew that wasn’t possible, the aura in the air was faint but it happened to appear right where the book has been, then vanished. It was like a passing ghost, something otherworldly that still had a physical interaction with the plane of existence all life on Earth inhabited, but whatever the case may be it still got Iris’ attention as she picked up the book and studied it. The writing on the front of it had faded away so it could no longer be legible, but some red, shiny lettering on the spine of the book barely read, “Gōruden'ōra.”

“Golden Aura…”

She had heard her clan’s name many times before in several different languages, so she knew how to pick it out, but she had never come across this book before until now. On the spot she began to rapidly flip through the pages, reading as fast as her eyes were allowed to move, at first finding only information she had already figured out up to this point, but then suddenly the pages stopped turning and she froze.

It was there, depicted in detail with fine, black ink, next to a wall of text, the pendant she was wearing around her neck. She took one hand off the book and used it to quickly remove the necklace from herself, then placed it on the page. The two of them were side-by-side, identical copies of one another, it couldn’t be mistaken for a different one even if the most skilled craftsman alive attempted to replicate it. Her mind raced with questions as she took the necklace and sat down with her back against the bookshelf behind her, starting to read the text beside the picture.

Since the clan was founded, sightings of this pendant around the tribe leader’s neck had been sourced through studying the surrounding areas of the Eastern Sinnoh region, where other, less-prosperous tribes of other Pokemon had written their history on their own walls. They would write about the blue warriors whose leader would always sport a shiny, blue medallion they would wear wherever they went. In this specific instance, it was a group of Sneasels and Weaviles that had never before been thoroughly documented, as many investigations never seemed to look further than the collapsed snow banks that used to be their homes. This was different, way different. As Iris continued, she discovered that a small group of humans, a party of around 4 or 5, came from their homes to another country in 1942 to further investigate what other researchers had called a dead end. They dug into the snow for months, setting up a remote base camp near the site. Nobody passed through the area normally, so nobody even knew they were out there. They eventually hit a cavern some 10 feet underground, and what they found inside now lie within the pages of the book Iris was holding, and it had never been investigated since.

But her ancestor’s trail ended centuries ago, where no further evidence could prove they still existed past that point in time. There were no writings, no relics, and no way to pull back the thick blanket of snow that had covered the sacred ground upon which they used to roam. According to all accounts she had ever read, the tribe had been wiped off the face of the planet.

And yet here she was

The people who discovered her took both her egg and the necklace back with them, and it had been in her possession ever since. It carried quite a bit of emotional weight for Iris, even if she never made it outright obvious. She never knew what it was for, but she knew it came from her family and that it was important to finding out who she was. Now here, in this book that she had been gifted by some entity whose origins remain a mystery, it was said that the trinket that she had been left with has been worn by every single documented tribe leader that had ever ruled over her tribe. No other history book, encyclopedia, cultural website or Pokemon professor had ever even mentioned any of this before, as far as she knew the necklace was given to her as a parting gift from the family that had left her behind. But now she knew, that it had a much, much greater importance than she could have ever imagined.

The pendant was a symbol of strength, of utmost authority over all others and respect from even the wisest of elders. She could barely come up with a reason as to how, or why, but there it was hung around her as it had always been, a silent symbol of the past that she had so longingly wanted to uncover bit-by-bit. She stood motionless, but visibly there were signs that her concentration was waning, every fiber of her being felt like it was falling face-down into an endless pit as realization washed over her in a tidal wave.

At that moment, she heard voices whisper to her.

They were incoherent, and very, very quiet, but the cacophony of whispers contained key phrases that Iris could just faintly pick out as they swirled around her head like ghosts;

“… forgotten…”

“… -will never understand…”

“… -need you…”

“… prophecy…”

“… half-god…”

“… protect us…”

She could sense the presence of other entities with her now, they were all around her, suffocating her and spinning around her like the clouds of a hurricane. Books began to fall over and off the shelves around her, and lights started to flicker on and off in the section of the library she was in. And her necklace, her necklace seemed to almost hover upwards as the thread attached to it hung around Iris’ neck still. The sapphire disk was glowing brightly then, and it shook violently with the concentrated power of hundreds of generations of Lucarios, who all gave their lives to protect their families, their loved ones, all of the innocent people in the world that needed to be saved because that’s what leaders do. That is what leaders do… and this one singular phrase repeated itself inside of Iris’ head over and over again, with different voices sounding off in an orchestra of enlightenment. These voices, this necklace, it was a connection to the other side, to her ancestors, to her tribe, it was a link to everything she had ever wanted to know, and now it was decided that it was the right time for her to understand.

Now she did understand, she hadn’t just been chosen to protect her clan, she had been chosen as the clan’s leader, and ever since she was born it was always her destiny to take her place beside her ancestors. And now her family was calling her back, lending her their energy, their knowledge, their willpower, to have her lead her clan as their chief, to guide her into her true calling as a hero amongst her people.

But the question still remained, why did they leave her in the first place?

And more than that, where did everyone go?

As she stood there on the roof, all of these realizations rattled around in her head so hauntingly, so absolutely brutally and unrelentingly, that she just had to stop. Her eyes thrust open as an audible gasp escaped her lips and she planted her second foot on the roof to prevent herself from losing her balance again. She took a second to breathe, to calm herself down as the deep dark thoughts of paranoia phased away into stardust inside her head. She was calm now, she felt the gentle breeze blow through her fur, heard the droning sounds of cars on the highway once again, and she sighed as she stretched her arms out into the air. She put them back down and just stared at the sunset, watching the last shred of color vanish behind the horizon, appreciating the world and the small pleasures that came with living there. She smiled slightly, but it dropped again as she turned her attention towards the pendant, using her right paw to lift it up so she could see it around her neck.

She studied it closer now, picking out every detail she could find, all the tiny engravings with thin, swooping lines and miniature stars, and as it sparkled in the moonlight the sapphire disc seemed to almost glow. It was a beautiful work of art, crafted by the finest artisans in the village thousands of years ago, and it was entrusted to her for reasons she used to wonder about constantly.

She used to think perhaps it was a reminder that she had a purpose, set forth by the gods and left for her to figure out the rest. Perhaps her parents knew, or had always known, and they wanted to give her hope, to show her that they would always be with her in one form or another, maybe it was a sign of love.

A single tear rolled down her cheek, she hadn’t cried for years and yet this was enough to bring forth her emotions from the steel-locked gate that she kept them behind. She needed to know why she was abandoned, only to be called back like this. She needed to know how, and she needed to know as soon as possible. There had been a feeling clawing at her back, which had gotten more severe in the past month or so. Something was coming and she didn’t know exactly when, or even what she needed to look out for, but she could tell it was going to be devastating to her and everyone she’d ever loved and that she needed to do something about it before the point of no return.

Iris let the pendant drop to hang where it would always sit, and then turned to stare at the moon coming up and over the trees. On this night it was full, casting the entire region in a soft, bluish light. She looked at it with an expression of determination, with a tinge of melancholy. No matter what may threaten her home she would protect it with her life. No matter how menacing or how powerful these monsters could possibly be she would find a way to save the ones she cared about, she would save them all. Then she would go on to lead her people and rebuild their civilization, if there was anything left at all. She hoped to the gods that it would be so. Iris would never be afraid, not with the strength she had knowing her ancestors were watching over her. She only hoped she had enough time to prepare for what lay ahead, for failure would destroy everything she’d ever had, and the threads of prophecy would be cut. But first, she would have to find her home, if there was anything left of it at all. She hoped to Arceus that she wasn't too late...

As she stood, she swore she could almost feel a warm, reassuring paw on her shoulder.

[wolfie-rood]

Worlds Apart - Revali x Reader Oneshot

"Well, this is a nice change of scenery." You commented casually while looking around.

"It's a prison cell." Someone else yelled.

You rolled your eyes and responded with, "I was being sarcastic." After that, the random prisoner shut up.

Yes, you were in fact sitting not-so-comfortably in Hyrule Castle's prison cell. Why? Because you were one of the lower-class leaders of the Yiga Clan who just so happened to be out on a midnight stroll by the castle.

Okay, that's only half a lie. You were in the area for no apparent reason, but you also took it upon yourself to assassinate the princess. And, being the smart person you are, you decided to do it alone. Or at least you tried. Turns out the other champions were temporarily staying at the castle; maybe a bit of research would've done you some good.

"This certainly wasn't the way I expected this to end..." You mumbled thoughtfully while inspecting the chains around your arms. You couldn't walk around while wearing them, but your wrists weren't sore, either.

Suddenly, someone stopped in front of your cell. You glanced up and smiled. "Oh, I know you!" You exclaimed. "Yeah, you're the kind gentleman who hit me over the head with that silly bow!" Standing before you was the Rito Champion, Revali. You acted like a sarcastic brat toward him only because you were afraid of him. Every other Yiga has warned you about him. Members are susceptible to archers, so it's in your best interest to not get involved with the best archer in Hyrule.

But of course, you were reckless and went right ahead with your plan before assessing the situation. Because if you knew Revali would be here, you'd honestly run for the hills. That's the long and short of how you ended up in jail.

You licked your lips; a tell of your nervousness. "So, what's next?" You wondered as to try and hide how much of a coward you were. "Do I get executed? Oh, is it you; are you gonna kill me? Please tell me it's you!" You weren't given a response, but it was okay. You smirked. "C'mon! Where's that ego I've heard all about?"

The rito scoffed. "If it were up to me, you would be killed without a second thought. Fortunately for you, things never seem to go my way around here, and the princess would rather use you for information. So, if you don't want me to shoot your foot, I suggest you cooperate." The archer threatened.

You laughed with a dark aura and said, "You better just shoot me now 'cause you're not getting anything out of me." The warrior growled, and gripped his bow tightly. Though, he never aimed it at you. "Oh, I see! You can't even breathe on me without the 'okay' from your precious princess! That's adorable!" And still, no reaction.

"You can expect Princess Zelda within the hour." He muttered with a stoic expression before walking away. Once he was out of sight, you groaned and rested your head against the stone wall behind you.

You stayed in that position for about twenty minutes - Almost falling asleep - before the entrance to the dungeon was opened again. Your eyes fluttered open to see the princess herself standing in front of your cell with her hands behind her back. You smirked and straightened yourself a bit. "I'm so honored to be graced with your presence," You bowed your head mockingly. ", Your Highness."

She smiled sincerely as her guard dog opened the cell door for her. Of course she wouldn't come down here all by herself, but of all people-

Her appointed knight then took off your shackles, and you stood up; cradling your wrists that had fallen asleep. Once the knight took a step back, Zelda held out a bunch of bananas for you.

Wait, huh?

You looked down and hastily took the glorious fruit from her hands. For a moment you considered eating them with giving it much thought, before something dangerous came to mind. "So, what exactly am I dealing with?" You questioned skeptically. "I'm assuming there's some kind of poison involved, so? Cyanide? No, that'd be too merciful. Maybe nightshade?"

"No, I can assure you these bananas were not tampered with. Though, if you are still skeptical, I'd be happy to eat one." She offered.

Your curious eyes wandered between the banana's and Zelda until you made your decision with a shrug. "I've already dug a hole this deep, so I guess I'll take my chances." You pulled off one banana and unpeeled it. "So, what do you want? If you came to get info, then you'd better just turn around." You mumbled as you took a bite.

"How unfortunate. I just ordered some more of those bananas that you enjoy so much. It seems they will go to waste now..." The princess sighed with her mouth covered; obviously hiding her smirk.

You stopped to look at the blonde heiress and sighed. "Using my only weakness against me, huh? That's cruel..."

~~

Over the next couple of weeks, the princess and her bribes had gotten you to speak. Granted, it wasn't very much, and you certainly didn't know everything. You only knew of the attack that happened a couple of days ago, and you already spilled the beans on that. Other than that, you really didn't know much. And in exchange for your cooperation, you were rewarded with mighty bananas; the most delicious of bargains.

You paced around the cell as you waited anxiously. Today, you had to give the princess more information. Yesterday, you told her that you didn't have anything else to tell her, but she saw right through your lie. The only thing you had left to tell her was the location of the Yiga's main base, and you went over the pros and cons of ratting out your dysfunctional family.

As your heart beat faster, the cell door opened, and you were greeted by one of the champions; Revali. You stopped your pacing to nervously ask, "Where's Zelda?"

Instead of answering straight, he asked you a question as well. "Would you go for a walk with me? I'd rather not speak here."

You smirked and walked down the dark hall with him. "What? Mr. Perfect can't sit in the dungeon for a few minutes?" You wondered mockingly; then you gasped. "Is the Rito Champion scared of a few criminals?"

He scoffed. "’Scared’? I don't believe I've ever been so insulted!"

"You don't listen much, do you?" You both began up the stairs to a small, open area somewhere in the castle. As you walked through the long corridors, you could feel the nervous eyes watching your every move. Even without your yiga uniform, it seems word of your capture spread throughout the castle staff. And yet, you held your head with confidence. I am not the bad guy, you told yourself. I was doing what's right.

"So, (Name)," Revali began. "I'm quite curious as to why you assumed killing the princess would be good idea? Let alone one that would work?"

You shrugged. "Take a guess; I'm a Yiga." You replied quietly. "Look, it's not my fault the royal family was afraid of the useful things we created. These damned royals are the ones who shut us out from the rest of society; I just decided to do something about it."

"Even so, maybe you should have checked the castle for anyone who might find your presence suspicious."

You rolled your eyes and laughed. "Yeah, no kidding. I've been yelling at myself for that."

"A Yiga who talks to herself? You're a new kind of crazy, aren't you?" Revali mocked. You said nothing, but he'd feel your wrath eventually.

The rest of the short walk was filled with quiet bickering and laughing at each other. Of course, you always took a moment to look around for a way out of this hell hole. It's taken you this long, but you were finally getting uncomfortable being in the palace.

Soon, you turned a corner into a room with the other champions inside. "What's all this for? Decided to kill me with an audience?" You asked.

"No, (Name). Quite the opposite, actually. I wish to make amends with the Yiga clan." Zelda stated. "We have been fight for thousands of years, and I'd like to end this at the problem's only weak point: You."

You quickly stepped back. "Zelda, we can't just-"

"Become a Champion."

"W-What?"

She smiled. "You are still a sheikah. You are resilient and resourceful. I'm sure you will make a great addition."

You were truly taken aback. How could this girl - the one you tried to murder - be so forgiving and trusting of you? You stood there for a moment before making your decision. Taking a deep breath, you spoke. "Alright, I accept your offer."

What followed next was somewhat of a celebration. You, Zelda, Daruk, and Mipha just talked about being a champion and whatnot. Apparently, there would also be a ceremony to make it official. Meanwhile, Revali and Urbosa were skeptical of you joining; thinking it was a terrible idea.

Within the days that followed, you were officially announced a Champion; you even got a cloak in the Champion's color. It was lined lightly with white and had a sheikah symbol on one of the bottom corners.

You became close with the champions; Revali in particular. You weren't sure why, but your mouths were always on about the other in a mimicking tone. Your insults would pass back and forth until late hours of the night. You could even be considered friends.

Of course, you couldn't keep up the ‘angelic Sheikah champion girl’ act for too long, or leaving would be that much harder on you and everyone else.

You stood solemnly in your comfortable, well-lit room in the castle. The princess had given you your own room in the palace, but she also put you under close surveillance. You supposed she didn't trust you right away after all. Though, tonight was the first night without a guard outside your door. Which meant tonight would be the night you leave.

You stared at the bag filled with your things and almost began to cry. With a deep breath, you pulled the hood of your cloak over your head and placed the bag on your back. Then, you opened a window and sat on the sill; feeling the gentle breeze blow past you. Just as you were about to jump, the bedroom door opened.

You turned your head with a hushed gasp. "R-Revali?"

Standing there was the arrogant rito warrior holding a small bunch of your favorite yellow food. "You... didn't eat much at dinner, so I took it upon myself to bring you something you'd actually eat." He didn't seem surprised to see you leaving, but you could sense the despair in his voice.

You smiled sadly. "You always were such a bird brain, weren't you?" You turned all the way to face him. "Revali, I need you to understand that this is no one's fault but my own. I should never have become one of you, and I definitely shouldn't have tried to be friends with any of you. But, if it makes you feel any better, you won't be seeing my face around here for a while."

"It doesn't."

"Always gotta have the last word, don't you, champion?" You laughed softly before turning back towards the night sky. "Oh. And for the record," A tear fell, but your smile never faltered. "I always liked you." With those final words., your heart shattered as you made your escape into the night; leaving your closest friend behind.

Even months later in your old room hidden within the cave wall of the yiga hideout, your champion cloak remained in-tact; hanging on the wall to remind you of what could've been.

Another rare tear fell as a memory of you sparring with the rito came to mind. "I hope he understands... I hope they all do..."

~~~~

Okay, so this almost didn't happen today because I forgot it was Wednesday, but I am determined to stay on my schedule for as long as possible!

Also this was really long. Also also, there's a possible part two and/or part three for this oneshot because I honestly love this concept so much. I apologize for not much fluff; I couldn't find the place and time for it while also keeping this from getting so long. But yeah. Long oneshot. Lots more angst than fluff. Not sure how I feel about this one. Like, I feel it's good, but it just seems like there was so much potential that got wasted. Dunno... Lemme know what you think, I guess? Just kind of glad I updated a oneshot on time.

Requests are always OPEN.