#I am the duty-bound procrastinator

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire — Benjicot Blackwood x Tully!oc (pt ii)

A/N: hi! I really dragged my heels on writing this next part because I love to procrastinate. I actually cut a scene from this because it was already running pretty long. Also a *brief* little masturbation scene randomly weaseled its way in there, lol sorry. Content warning??? I did my best to proofread but I probably missed stuff, also please know that I’m aware Oscar is a brunette in the show, he’s a redhead in the books ✨

Synopsis: Elmo and Oscar Tully arrive at House Blackwood to be debriefed on the finalized terms of Serra’s and Benjicot’s betrothal. Tensions among the houses rise as Serra receives support from her father and yields to giving Benjicot a chance. As their engagement is announced to the other houses, news of murders in King’s Landing highlights the broader conflict looming over them.

General content warnings: MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 8.8k

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backward

Serra Tully could only describe Benjicot Blackwood as repulsive if she had to use one word — the kind that made her nauseous, gray in the face sick at the very idea of him.

"To my dear Lady Serra, who I am told, has a tongue as sharp as her needlework. Pray, let's hope she proves as skilled with her wifely duties as she is with her embroidery."

His voice, paired with that stupid smile haunted her as she lay down in bed that night, struggling to find sleep with her eyes stuck to the ceiling. Paired with brother’s laughter, the comment was more horrifying as her face burned with embarrassment — if it were possible, she would have left right then and there; packed her belongings back up, and returned to Riverrun. But she knew that upon arrival, her father would have been furious and only dragged her back. 

“Have you no honor?” Her father would sigh, frustrated and red in the face. 

Even with all the pleading and reasoning, this was not something she could talk her father out of -- this wasn’t some feast, some meeting of the Lords. This was a marriage pact that he and Kermit had meticulously planned out and negotiated, and there was no amount of foot-stomping or yelling she could do to undo that. At some point during her sleepless night, haunted by the smug grin of Benjicot, did she consider the idea of running away and living in the trees -- but she had no survival skills for the wild and knew she wouldn’t last a week out there. She had considered fleeing to the North, but from the stories she had heard of its cold, harsh winters, she knew she wouldn’t thrive there. And King’s Landing had become no man’s land and she didn’t want to be stuck there during these times. It would only be a matter of days before her father and brothers somehow heard of her presence there, either way and would have her dragged right back. 

The only comforting thought would be the arrival of her family, despite her anger towards her oldest brother and father, she felt it would be of comfort to at least have a face around that she recognized. And Oscar -- her dear, little brother Oscar would at least be neutral and she could convince herself someone was at least on her side. 

She had only been lucky to catch brief bouts of sleep, lasting no more than a half hour each time before she was startled awake by a shout from the distance; once again, awake and staring at the ceiling, before she was roused by a young girl who looked about her age as the sun rose. Its light streamed in through the windows, bringing with it warmth, a nice break in the dreary weather that had been terrorizing the Riverlands for weeks. 

She had dressed with assistance from the same girl whose name she had learned was Grace, her gaze out on the fields and limbs heavy with exhaustion, needing several reminders to lift her arms or to move throughout the process. As she had finished dressing, she was summoned for breakfast, nodding feebly and barely audible as she thanked Grace, before the young blonde girl had nodded and withdrew from her room. She wasn’t even hungry, but she went regardless. 

Still, even at breakfast, as she poked at the eggs on her plate that had been paired with fish, did she imagine what would happen if she were to flee. Would anyone notice? If so, how long of a heads-start would she get before they came searching for her? Would they even search for her? Or would they just accept things as they were and betroth one of her younger cousins to Benjicot in her place? She wondered who it would be if they did, maybe Rose? Elisa? Elisa, even at the tender age of ten-and-four was already beautiful, with her long blonde her and light eyes, an exuberant young woman…

“My lady?” 

Her head snapped up to where another young guard stood opposite of her at the other end of the table, staring at her. Her gaze instinctively scanned down the length of him, a habit to observe that she had — young and handsome in the face, Serra wondered if it was just custom at Raventree that the staff and its people were all striking and easy on the eyes. He stood silent, waiting before he spoke again upon a receiving a simple hum and raise of her brows in acknowledgment, “Your father and brother have arrived. They are in the yard if you would like me to take you to them.” He said, voice deep and smooth as velvet. 

Her gaze dropped to her plate, her stomach churning in rejection at the thought of eating anything more than the three bites she had managed to take. She nodded, standing from her seat with a loud drag of the heavy chair, removing the napkin she had placed in her lap and dropping it over the plate. Folding her hands at her abdomen, she walked around the chair and table to approach the young guard who watched her movements, “Yes, please.” She softly said. 

He turned with a curt nod in her direction, only a few paces ahead as he led her through the doors and into the halls, the walls of the keep otherwise silent aside from their footsteps as they walked out the front doors. He led her down the steps, heading towards the gardens onto a path where they turned right onto, before soon met by the familiar sight of the back of her younger brother’s head; his red hair shone in the sun, dressed in his finer clothes with his back to her as he spoke to another guard, gesturing to the pastures that stretched out for miles. With a nod to the guard who stopped abruptly, she offered a hushed ‘thank you’ before hurrying past him. 

“Oscar!” She called, his head whirling towards her voice. 

A smile lit up his face at the sight of her, apologizing to his companion. He hurried towards her, a brisk walk as he reached out to meet her hands that stretched out towards him, relief washing over her as she tore her hands from his and hugged him.

“Sister?” He laughed, obviously confused by the sudden gesture. 

Though Oscar did not push her away or even cringe away from the gesture, instead awkwardly embracing her with a pat on her shoulder, she sensed his confusion. She pulled away, met by his curious gaze, sighing, “It is good to see you again.” She said, taking one of his hands in hers, “It is good to have a face I recognize here.” She admitted. 

Oscar let out a breath, chuckling and squeezing her hand, “It is good to see you too.” 

“Come, walk with me.” She said, dragging him around as she walked past him and grabbing his elbow with her right hand, “Tell of your journey. How are things back home?” She asked, excitedly as bright eyes stared at her brother, giddy. Oscar laughed once more and allowed her to lead, walking alongside her as they followed the path away from the house. 

“It has only been two days.” He said, teasing her. 

“It feels as though it has been weeks.” She said, waving him off with her free hand. 

His nose scrunched with a smile, rolling his eyes at her theatrics. They walked, her gaze on his face, more than happy to hear of anything but her engagement for the first time in days. He caught her up on the events that had transpired in her short time away, everything down to an alleged spotting of Brackens at the borders between lands; hiding in bushes, but that their cousin and his friends had seen them. A fleet of Blackwood men had pushed them back and issued a warning, according to her brother. She hummed, nodding along and smiling brightly as they walked, content to get out of the cursed walls of Raventree; it almost felt as though nothing had changed and the whole betrothal was nothing but a nightmare. She could have even convinced herself this whole trip was nothing more than just a friendly drop-in. 

“What of Grandsire?” She blurted out, interrupting him while her hand clutched Oscar’s forearm as they walked, his head turning towards the entrance of the estate, scanning as though he was worried someone would overhear as he cautiously eyed the guards that seemed to stand at every corner. His shoulders lifted subtly in a shrug, gaze not quite yet returning to her as she looked straight ahead and followed his pace as they walked. 

“He is not well, as you know.” He reminded her, though it was not new news to her, the man had been on his deathbed for what felt like years, “But…” 

“But?” 

Oscar shrugged again, his head turning finally to look straight ahead as well, scanning along the path that was surrounded by lush greenery — Raventree’s yards much better maintained than theirs back home.

“I heard him and Father and Kermit speaking a few nights before your departure, from the hallway…” Oscar began to explain, her head turning to look at him, his eyes casting a side glance at his sister, “He wishes to support Aegon’s claim to the throne. However,  you know our father’s stance. And Kermit’s.” Oscar said, his words slow and hushed to a volume only they could hear, his head turning fully to look at her.  

If times were different, this kind of betrayal could have had more serious implications — the very act of overthrowing their grandfather, the Paramount Lord of Riverrun, undermining his authority, his very word. If times were different, he might have even pushed for punishment by death if it was in his authority, being that he had been such a hot-tempered man as long as she could remember — he’d maybe seek out another heir, not that he was short of any. But instead, he was just a mere man now, sickly and on his deathbed, aged and too frail to even raise a hand. Serra nodded, silently. 

Serra preferred Oscar’s presence more than Kermit’s. He understood the value of comfortable silences, not filling them out of obligation with empty comments. When he did speak, it was of intelligence, conversations that had sincere depth to them, knowledge and wisdom that flowed so effortlessly. There was no awkwardness, no prying to get an answer. He understood that sometimes she just preferred not to speak. She felt that any tension that clung to her shoulders melted away and she could breathe in his presence and that she could speak freely. 

“Brother tells me you are not happy about your betrothal.” Oscar stated, his eyes ahead as they walked among the gardens, her own drawn to the bushes of flowers just beginning to bloom, silently sighing at the subject, “Your groom, I suppose.” He added, though there was a lilt to his voice that hinted at his own amusement. 

“I take it you knew of their plans.” She pointedly accused, turning to look up at him on her right. 

She could see the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile, his shoulders shaking with a laugh, “And you did not think to warn me?” 

“I did not think you would mind…I believe Kermit himself suggested the uncle of Lord of Frey -- Aldean, I believe his name was. A widower, fifty-and-two years of age.” He explained, still teasing his older sister, who did not share his humor over the matter as she abruptly stopped, pulling her arm away. He turned to look at her, met with a frown, “Oh, come on, sister. I only jest.” Oscar said, reaching for her to encourage their walk to resume, however, he sensed her seriousness over the matter and realized there would be no continuing their walk anytime soon. Not until she’d gotten this out of her system.

“I do not find that very funny, Oscar.” She stated. 

“My apologies, sister. I didn't mean to upset you.” He sighed, turning to face her. “But I truly did not think it would be much of an issue.” 

She let out a curt laugh, her expression one of bemusement, “That I would be sold off to the highest bidder, as nothing but a broodmare? Condemned to a life of squeezing out as many heirs as possible?” She ranted. Her brother appeared horrified by her words, eyes widening as he stared at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. He closed his mouth, blinking rapidly a couple of times and composing himself.

“I assure you that is the last thing Kermit and father wished for you.” He sincerely tried to reason with her, stepping towards her. 

“They’ve condemned me to a life of misery, forced to marry a man who despises me, Oscar.” She snapped, her voice a hiss. “A man who only means to humiliate me and drag my name through the mud for no reason at all. He made that very clear in front of Kermit last night, and he laughed! This…monstrosity was not born of honor or respect, but rather a man’s pride and their want for more power, I am just some pawn to entertain that idea.” 

Oscar hesitated before grabbing her upper arm, beginning to drag her further down the pathway of the garden suddenly, hushing her as he glanced behind them towards the guards who appeared to have been alerted to her rant and had eyed her as she spoke. They crossed the yard, and though she attempted to wriggle from his grasp she was left unsuccessful, confused, and angry as he dragged them another several feet before releasing her, “What do you think you’re doing?” She snapped, stumbling back a step when he released her. He looked at her. 

“You’ve every right to be angry, but need I remind you you’re a noble-highborn lady, sister.” He suddenly interrupted, her mouth open and ready to spew more angry rants. “Do you understand what that means? You’re invaluable, especially now. Especially amidst a war that hangs at our front doorstep, that is sure to bring bloodshed that neither you nor I could ever comprehend. Now I am sorry that Benjicot is not the match you’ve always wished for, but you are a highborn lady-- you have as much a part in this as any of us. I do not mean to scare you but pull your head out of the ground.” 

She gawked at him, eyes wide and processing his words, reflecting on events of the past few weeks. Surely, she hadn’t been naive enough to think that the moment Aegon took the throne as a usurper, she hadn’t expected any less -- that a war of some degree would happen and her brothers and father would be called to the frontlines. But something about the urgency of his tone, the underlying fear there both in voice and face, sent shivers down her spine as she deflated. 

“Sister, listen to me. This was not an easy choice for either of them, I have listened to them these past weeks. But please try to see reason-- this is a time of uncertainty…of fear for even the toughest of men.” He said, closing the gap between to grab her hand, holding it between his as she stared at him, a frown of confusion etching itself into her features, “There are rumors from Kings Landing of Prince Lucerys’ death, some saying that it was one of the King Viserys’ own children who have slain him…”

“What?”

 Kinslaying, in the walls of King's Landing.

“Listen to me!” He snapped in response to her interruption, sighing. “Rhaenyra means to build an army, we have been called upon. The Blackwood’s too, Serra. We will be expected to march to war any day now..” 

She began to withdraw her hand, turning to look back at Raventree and trying to recall where they had entered the gardens from, beginning to hurry from their spot in the yards, “I…must see the father. Surely, these are just rumors.” She muttered, turning from her brother, Oscar’s face falling as he watched after her in a state of despair, his eyes filled with worry as he clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to say anything more than a quiet plea of her name. 

He had said enough. 

—

Serra stood by the doors of the grand hall, watching as her father and Samwell quietly conversed among themselves for what felt like eternity. Stood silently, clinging to whatever corner she could without getting in the way as the house staff rushed about, preoccupied by last-minute preparations ahead of the feast confirming their betrothal to the other houses — in a mere, short hours, everyone in the Riverlands would know that she and Benjicot Blackwood were to be married; a Tully to a Blackwood. Everyone from Raventree, to the Brackens and beyond once word spread. Her father would be sure to make it an occasion to be celebrated, as grand and extravagant as he could muster in these times. 

There was a moment where he had caught her eye, mid-conversation with Samwell. If pride and joy could be embodied into the form of a person, she could have assumed it would have been him right then, a broad smile on his face and looking at her as though she could do no wrong;  as though she had just ended the war before it could even take place and that of any others in the future — she wondered how diluted he had to have become since leaving Riverrun, convincing himself she’d wanted any part of this — Enough that he could suppress his supposed guilt and smile at her like that? 

Serra forced a tight-lipped smile in return while burying any hint of anger that bubbled inside her, instead maintaining her polite attitude and quiet as she allowed the two older men to finish their conversation in the meantime. She clutched her skirts and tucked herself as far out of the way as she could, picking at her nails and watching as the room came together, adorned in hues of burgundy’s, silver, and grey, lavish and extravagant.

It was only once the arrival of guests had begun did they break apart, all smiles and handshakes as they parted ways, that her father turned and made his way towards his daughter. That same soft smile that radiated pride on his face while he reached out for her hands, “My little dove.” He greeted, taking her hands into his as he looked her over, “I hope your journey was a smooth one and your brother’s company to be kind.” Elmo said, his voice laced with sincerity as he eyed his daughter; his gaze prying at the last half of his sentence. 

She drew in a sharp breath, voice small amidst the noise as she replied, “It was…tolerable. Long.” She admitted, her gaze following a young servant boy who barely looked of age as he rushed in with utensils to be laid out at the table, his eyes straight ahead. 

His stare remained on her, scanning her face and noting the tension in his daughter’s features, a contrast to her usually calm demeanor as he gently squeezed her hands to regain her attention. She looked back at him suddenly, gaze dropping to their hands with her mouth pursed, his eyes trying to find hers, “My dear,” he said, head lowering slightly as his concern became palpable by her uncharacteristic behavior. “Something troubles you.” He pointedly stated. 

He watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, one that was held and let out from behind clenched teeth. She looked up at him and once again in the direction of the table where a young girl was placing down napkins, straightening them with meticulous accuracy to ensure that each piece of fabric was placed identically; the red stitching catching her attention…

“Come, let’s walk and find somewhere to speak where there might not be as many distractions,” Elmo stated, releasing one of her hands and beginning to guide her in the direction of the doors with one arm coming around her shoulders. 

Serra looked up at him, nodding as they walked. She withdrew her hand from his and found his elbow, her other clutching at her skirts to pull them away from her feet, a measure to keep from tripping over the fabric that reached the toes of her shoes; her head down and allowing her father to guide them, offering pleasantries to a pair of councilmen they passed. He led them around the corner and down a hallway, Serra’s shoulders relaxing with relief as they’d found quiet — the hum of workers and chatter, a faint hum in the background, birds chirping from the yard, and the occasional shout from children playing somewhere in the gardens. The hallway was lit by natural lighting from the still bright skies, lined with windows that were almost thrice the size of her; their ledges up to her waist as they walked. After a few minutes of peace and using the opportunity to breathe for the first time since that morning, Serra was reminded of her conversation with Oscar, her eyes out the window to her right and stiffening again. 

“Tell me what bothers you, dove.” Elmo suddenly said from her left, her hands clasping together around his elbow; fidgeting with a ring on her right hand. 

“You did not tell me you were summoned to war.” She stated, turning her head to look at her father, whose features softened and morphed into a look of sorrow. 

“Because we haven’t…not yet, at least.” Elmo honestly replied, watching his daughter’s face intently, searching for any sort of emotion that could pinpoint her feelings, even a twitch of her lip or a squint. “I did not think it to be of any concern. I figured you would…become too engrossed in your wedding planning.” He continued, letting out a sigh as he covered her hands with one of his own, her own two hands enveloped by one of his with ease. 

“Why send me away now?” She asked, voice quiet and childlike. “Why not let me stay? Help somehow?” 

“You are helping, dove— by being here.” He assured, stopping their pace to pause in the middle of the bridge that overlooked the yards. He looked at her, “This is how you help. By being here— the sacredness of marriage and creating alliances that will help us in the days to come, that is your battle. Securing our house’s future, my dear girl.” He softly said. 

Her eyes stung with tears that welled up as she sucked in a breath, a flurry of emotions swelling in her chest— the anger, grief for what could have been if things had been different, the sadness. The fear and dread. 

“I know this is not what you wanted and I am sorry for placing you in this position against your will. And I am sorry for putting the needs of our house over your happiness,” he said, taking one of her hands into his and squeezing it gently as he lowered his head, ensuring he was eye-to-eye while they spoke, “But I know you will be safe here, even when I cannot be here to see to it myself.” 

“And what of you? Of Kermit and Oscar?” She asked finally, “Of grandfather?” 

Elmo’s mouth pursed into a line, stress lines creasing themselves deep into his face, “I will continue acting in your grandfather’s place, he’s too…old and senile to act in his better judgment. I would sooner deal with his weakened wrath than that of Rhaenyra’s dragons.” He muttered, patting her hand, “Kermit is to marry Lyanna Grey and Oscar to Margaery Chambers by year’s end.”

She looked away, looking back out the window behind her and towards the fields beyond the gates of Raventree, an ache in her chest at the thought of her brother’s facing the same fate she’d been doomed to; forced into a loveless marriage, “Is this what mother would have wanted for us? To marry strangers, without knowing what it was to be loved in return?” She quietly asked, unable to meet his gaze as her head turned and she found herself staring at her feet, fidgeting under his stare. 

Her words could have broken his heart then and there, the sight of his daughter so distraught. Duty aside, Elmo Tully had never been a cruel man and loved his children dearly. 

“No…” he admitted honestly, “she would not have.” He quietly added.

Serra let out a laugh under her breath, a bitter sound as she slid her hands from his and fidgeted with a stray fabric on her skirt. Elmo watched her for a moment, “And what comes from this marriage? What do we receive?” She asked, her tone changing to one more resembling anger, shaking as she spoke and looked up at him. 

He pondered his next words, a deep breath being exhaled from his nose, “We have promised military and territorial support to the Blackwoods in addition to your dowry. They in return have promised a trade agreement for routes directly between the two houses, resources controlled by their house, and their military aid. They’ve promised troops and weaponry.” Elmo slowly explained to not overwhelm her, running through the negotiation that had taken weeks to come by. “Benjicot has promised to keep you safe and act as your sworn protector, which is the most important thing to me.” 

Serra’s hands flung up with a sharp laugh, hardly able to believe his words as she turned and neared the ledge of the window, “And what might he protect me from, other than him?”

Her father stood back for a moment as she leaned into the ledge with her hands, a breeze passing through the corridor. He slowly approached her once he felt he had given her enough a moment to breathe, keeping some space between them and taking her left, looking out where she stared, “I know you two have not seen eye-to-eye in previous years and have had your quarrels. I recognize that it may not have been my best decision and may come as a betrayal.” 

He said, looking over at her while her gaze avoided him, straight ahead, “I know it is daunting marrying a stranger, someone who you do not love or trust yet. When I first married your mother, I barely knew her. But over time, we grew to love and understand each other deeply. Your mother and I learned to support and respect each other through our journey together. You and Benjicot will have the same opportunity to grow and build a bond if you give things a chance to…grow.” He tried to reassure her, unsure if he was successful as she did not even glance at him. 

He turned his head and rocked back and forth against the ledge for a moment, “I know he was not the best as a child, but he’s grown despite his antics. Kermit tells me last night did not go as he hoped, he and his father extended their apologies this morning.” he explained, earning another bitter laugh, “Benjicot is a good man though, with good values and he is loyal. In time I can only hope that he will prove that and you will come to appreciate his character.” Elmo said, suddenly drawn to the sound of grunts and wood colliding from beneath them, craning his head to catch a glimpse of a training pit that had been haphazardly built, two boys swinging their swords in a spar; his body turned towards his daughter but watching on as he spoke.

Serra turned to him finally, frowning, “You think he will treat me with the respect and kindness I deserve? Do you truly think he has grown? Because it seems like everyone else believes that to be true, but he’s yet to show me any signs of that.” 

“I do.” 

“And if you’re wrong?” She asked. “Then I’m to be doomed to a life of misery and suffering, married to a man who finds me insufferable?” 

His gaze lifted from the spar below them, letting out a chuckle at his daughter’s rant and reaching out again to gather one of her hands in his, “You will be fine, I am sure of it.” He softly said, “While it’s natural to feel uncertain, trust that this union has the potential to bring joy and strength. Give it a chance, as I did with your mother. You have the support and strength of our entire family behind you. We will be here for you every step of the way, dove.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, and though Serra was unsure she felt any more confident in Benjicot, she felt a sense of comfort in her father’s words. His free hand lifted to cup her face, stepping forward and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “You are a Tully, my dear girl. You will always be okay.” He muttered into her hair, backing up and releasing her hand. His gaze flickered towards the pit below them once more, flashing her a smile before he took his leave, brushing past her and returning in the direction of the hall without saying anything more and leaving her in silence, processing his words; picking at the edges of her nails, plucking at the skin. 

Her interest peaked at whatever his eyes had found amidst the yard as a shout interrupted her thoughts. 

Her gaze turned down to where her father’s own had been moments prior. She had to lean over the ledge of the window to see where his attention had been drawn to — there, her eyes landed on a dirt patch in a clearing of grass, a brown-haired boy engaged in a spar with another boy, circling one another with wood swords in hand; stripped down to their tunics as they trained, doublets long-since abandoned in the grass. Serra had never been one to take an interest in the hobbies of men, having never understood the fun of rolling in the dirt with faux swords, but as they turned slightly, her gaze was drawn to the taller boy of the two. 

Benjicot. He turned, broad-shouldered, lean, and admittedly handsome Benjicot, whose gaze was transfixed intensely on his opponent — a boy she recognized as a cousin of his — with such focus, sword in his right hand. His sweat-slick face, red and flushed, pulled into a frown of concentration. She watched on as he swung the sword down on the boy opposite of him, the swords colliding in a crack! that echoed through the yard, causing his opponent to stumble back before the sword swung in his direction again; just missing his belly and leaping back out of its path. There was hardly a chance for his cousin to recoil from his attack, the sword once more being swung upwards and just missing his chin in the process. She could admit that Benjicot was not just another Southern boy, weak and existing behind false confidence — Benjicot was also powerful and fierce. He was a ferocious warrior in battle. He was an impressive force to be reckoned with. Suddenly, the thought of her brothers and father fighting alongside him on the battlefield did not seem as daunting or terrifying to think about. 

She continued to watch on as his cousin stumbled back, holding his sword up and blindly swinging at Benjicot, who responded by lifting his right foot and kicking him by his chest onto his back with one swift blow; sending the male reeling backward into the dirt with a grunt when his head slammed back into the ground. Benjicot quickly stood over him, the tip of his sword being pressed against his throat, panting, “I thought you said you were going to take it easy today.” His cousin panted. 

Benjicot withdrew his sword, the pair laughing as he offered a hand to assist him to his feet after a moment, “I did.” He replied.

The two boys quietly chatted amongst themselves for a moment longer, laughter echoing across the yard. His cousin -- Emrys, a boy she had met once prior -- laughed as he walked away from their place in the training circle with a clap to his shoulder, shaking his head at whatever Benjicot muttered as he walked out of sight and into the castle floor beneath her. Serra, however, lingered; watching Benjicot now, who was seemingly unaware of her presence, go to the grass to pick up his doublet and a spare sword that sat beneath it. His back had been turned to her as he wiped off the swords of dust, his gaze cast out on the field that was slowly being engulfed by dusk for a minute.

She began to recede from her spot after a few minutes more passed, hoping to turn and leave before he even had the chance to see her. However, she was unsuccessful in her feat as he turned around abruptly, eyes turning their attention up to the balcony she stood on and meeting her gaze as she flushed with embarrassment and remained frozen to the spot -- there was no hiding the fact that she had been watching him now, looking down at him. His mouth twitched, the lines in his face appearing for half a second, but gone just as quickly as though what she assumed was a scowl threatened to surface as he held her gaze. 

Instead, he bowed. 

“My lady.” He muttered, standing upright before striding back inside; her gaze stuck on the spot where he had been. 

She blinked, glancing behind her once, the fact dawning on her that in moments, he would be in her hallway and she would be face to face with him. She clenched her fists, embarrassed enough as is and red-faced, beginning to hurry back to her chambers; the sound of footsteps echoing from the staircase as she passed them. If the Gods were cruel, they would have had her run right into him, but if they had any mercy to spare her-- 

Her thought was interrupted, slamming her door behind her and pressing her back to it, wide-eyed as she stood there, struggling to hold her breath to be as quiet as possible. She listened carefully to the hallway, able to make out the sound of footsteps approaching her door. Surely, he had not come to confront her? She hadn’t done anything wrong. 

The footsteps slowed to a complete stop just beyond her door, halting there, just outside. She tensed up completely, eyes closing as she silently crept further into her room and away from the door, praying the floor would not give away her presence as she slowly walked towards the center of the room; hand over her mouth to silence her heavy breathing and glancing towards the door to see if she could make out any feet beneath the door. Though she could not see anyone, even as she bent over at the waist and strained her eyes, she could still sense their presence. 

The footsteps suddenly continued, walking past her doorway quickly and receding down the hallway until she could no longer hear them, free to breathe and finally relax. What in good God's name was he doing? Was he just hellbent on tormenting her, by stalking around the castle like that? Surely, this couldn’t be the same man her father thought had changed and grown out of his tactics of terrorizing her as a child. 

She continued backing up until her knees met the frame of the bed, her hand dropping away from her mouth and letting out a sigh as she sat down. 

—

Benjicot did not even wish to join the feast.

The thought made him feel sick, doing everything in his power to prolong his having to head down to the dinner hall that had been busy with servants finalizing decorating, and setting up before they began greeting guests — he could hear the chatter from his chamber, and if he looked outside, stuck his head out the window and turned his head just right, he could see them coming and going with supplies. On the other hand, he knew if he was too late, his father would sooner have his head on a spike — there seemed to be no winning for him these days. 

Rather than feed into the dread that sat heavy in the pit of his stomach like a ball of lead, he chose to busy himself with tasks that had value to them, tasks that would busy his mind — rather than twiddle his thumbs, he organized and skimmed through his old history textbooks; previously a stack on the floor in a corner of his chambers. Rather than chew his nails, he chose to seek out Emrys and train. But even that had not done much for him, coming face to face with one source of his anxiety — feeling her gaze watch his every move. He could feel his shoulders tense, realizing someone was watching him from somewhere behind, and coming to find the Tully girl on the balcony that overlooked the training ground; reeling back when he turned. The very sight of her caused the taste of bile to crawl up the back of his throat, anger bubbling up inside him that he was forced to push down, somewhere deep within him.

He could still hear his father’s voice, his hand at his neck and warning him whenever he saw her — and then that stupid look on her face when he had come out of the doors the night prior. Pitiful and sad. 

He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, coming to her door and stopping outside of it, unsure what possessed him to follow her there — he didn’t have anything to say to her. He didn’t need anything from her. Maybe he just wanted to look at her again. Benjicot could hear her footsteps from beyond the door, creeping further from him as he could presume she was trying to get as far away from the door. And just as quickly as he had slipped into a daze that found him at her door, he shook it off and stormed back to his room, fists balled at his sides and jaw clenched. 

His gaze was fixed on the ceiling of his room, the servants coming and going meanwhile, with their gazes down as they retrieved soaps and oils for the young heir before hurrying out as quickly as they rushed in without a word. The room soon fell into a silence as he sank into the tub, embracing its warmth that worked to ease the tension in his muscles with his arms laid out over the sides of the tub, and clutching the ledges with a white-knuckled grip — he should have found it relaxing…the silence and the warmth the water provided. But the past twenty-four hours had left him too on edge to think of anything more than the war, his father’s words…his soon-to-be-bride. His head turned, leaning against his right shoulder as his hand released the tub, watching his fingers flex, stretching out before clenching into a fist. 

Benjicot had never pictured himself to be much of a husband. As a boy, he understood the duty of it — of marriage and honor, the need for heirs to keep their house strong, their future line secure. That was the value of it, after all. Was security. Built through hundreds of years of alliances, marriage pacts, and children that would follow the path of their father and their father before him. Just as Benjicot’s father had done at the young age of ten and six. 

Benjicot did not remember much about his mother  — he did not even know who she was before all the grief and illness that kept her confined to her room, as his father had avoided the topic of her much throughout his childhood. After trying to ask about her time and time again after she passed when he was ten-and-one, Benjicot gave up. Of the very little he could manage to get out of his father, he knew that she had struggled in childbirth with him, that she had reached for him, brought him to her chest, and uttered her love for him. Benjicot resembled his mother in a lot of ways — he was a splitting image of his sweet mother but had taken his father’s hair color. She had been born a Lannister and married into the Blackwood’s, barely sixteen herself; well-spoken and confident. Benjicot knew his father loved her, even if he did not say it aloud. 

He could recall the pain in his eyes whenever he pressed the subject to know her better, dismissing him as a boy and ending the conversation at that. 

“She loved you.” Was all he could offer.

Benjicot had heard whispers, too. That there had been at least four stillborn and two miscarriages before him; wracking her with guilt and grief that left her bedridden for days on end. His father had spent weeks trying to coax her from her room, taking her meals to her. There had been one more stillborn after him and that had been it, the final straw. That was the only version Benjicot had come to know — the empty shell of a woman, who sat by her window, looking out over the pastures for hours at a time with empty, sunken in eyes, struggling just to eat the least amount of food she could. She was skin and bones, and Benjicot feared that if he had hugged her too tight, she might crumble in his arms. The sight of her that last year frightened him honestly. 

He shook off the thought, sinking further into the tub until the water lapped at his chin, knees bent up and out of the water to accommodate the short tub that was already a tight squeeze for him. If that grief and that pain and agony was part of “honor and duty”…Benjicot wanted no part of it. He had distanced himself from the subject of marriage after his mother’s funeral and had avoided any mention of it as best he could. The horror he felt when his father had gone behind his back and forced his hand was undoubtedly made even worse by the prospect of his bride. 

A girl who could barely look him in the eye, more fascinated by bugs and creatures than to have had the decency to introduce herself when they first met. He could recall her mother having to introduce her, bent at her side and reminding her daughter of propriety; only then did she quietly speak her name, covered in dirt. Benjicot could have forgiven it if she had taken to something like swordsmanship and training in battle like his aunt had — a skilled warrior with an arrow, but instead, she collected bugs.

Surely, she’d had a say in their match, as well. 

The very idea perplexed him that she would even choose him after everything. Benjicot had never been shy of making it known that he could not stand her as children. Even if they had both grown up and changed since he still could not see the reason behind it or what she had to benefit by choosing him. Benjicot Blackwood was a man who needed to understand and have an answer for everything.

Benjicot was not unaware that she had grown much since they had last seen each other. He also could not deny that she had taken a likeness to her mother’s beauty, having grown into her looks in womanhood — she could not have been short of her pick from potential suitors who would have given her the time of day, asking for her hand. She was by means not unlucky in looks. She had less interest in playing with bugs that crawled all over her these days, too. The very fact that he could not make sense of it frustrated him to no end; instead, thoughts of Serra Tully stirred a feeling in his belly, ones that spread across his chest that he could not quite place a finger on — a mix of fury and…something more. 

He sat up abruptly with a growl, water splashing around him and over the ledge of the tub; spilling over onto the wooden floors as he cupped some of the water between his hands and splashed it into his face. His hands carded through his hair, tugging at the roots as he let out a sigh that echoed off the walls of his chamber, slumping back against the tub — this seemed to be his only safe space, away from the suffocating reality of the expectations placed upon him, laying heavy on his shoulders. It was doing little to rid him of the thoughts that plagued his mind if even just for a moment.

He stilled, frozen and unmoving as a thought crossed his mind. His right hand, which had found its way back to the ledge of the tub, slid underneath the water, his hand slipping between his thighs and taking his cock into his grasp— confident he would have some time at least. He was desperate for some kind of distraction at this point, a last-ditch effort to soothe his mind as his hand moved with languid movements against himself, head hanging back against the headrest as his eyes closed and he started to relax for a moment; attempting to lose himself in the lewd act. His mouth dropped open with a sigh, the early flickers of arousal beginning to burn in his belly as his hand increased pace, chest rising with a heavy breath— 

“My lord.”

The door shot open with minimal warning, Alistair’s voice interrupting the silence as he entered the room, coming to an abrupt stop at the door. The sudden interruption caused Benjicot to shoot upright in the tub, hand leaving his crotch and gripping the tub once more to pull himself forward, hissing, “Fuck!” He shouted, heart pounding as he panted, a hand dragging over his face, “What? What is it?” He snapped hurriedly, humiliated.

Alistair stuttered for a moment, visibly flustered as Benjicot turned his head slightly to look at him; hair falling into his eyes that he quickly brushed back. He nodded, “My apologies, my lord, I--…” he said, pausing. “Your father and the Tully’s have already been seated in the great hall. As have your guests. Your father has asked for you.” 

Benjicot was still trying to bring down his heart rate when he nodded, waving him out dismissively, “Thank you.” He grumbled. 

Alistair nodded once more at the heir, gaze down as he turned and rushed from the room, allowing Benjicot to finally slump back again; face burning from the humiliation of their interaction. 

— 

The feast was loud and dragging on. 

Benjicot had arrived and been greeted by the familiar faces of the many other houses of the Riverlands, painfully aware they were not oblivious to and noted his lateness as punctuality had not a trait that he had ever been known for since he was a boy. He had become quite practiced at avoiding their gazes as he took his seat, not bringing any further attention to himself than was necessary -- or at least more than already was. It had been no secret that the feast was hosted on his behalf, specifically emphasized in the letters that had been dispatched by Raven two days prior, and he could have only assumed that everyone had some inkling of what had brought them together. Samwell Blackwood was not a man who cared for hosting events as grand as this occasion had turned out to be often unless it was of high importance, and it had been no secret that he intended to find a wife for his son. Even glancing around, Benjicot could have counted at least a half dozen of the Lords who were within arms reach who had offered their daughters hands since he was ten-and-six, his face buried in a chalice of wine and scanning the table. 

His father, although he had announced his arrival with feigned pride at the sight of the boy Lord, Benjicot could see the hint of a discontented frown from the opposite end of the table when he entered. He had remained silent, however, relieved but unsure if he preferred the silence over a scold, leaving him on edge the entire night. 

It didn’t help his nerves that the only chair that had been saved for him was nestled right in between his father and his betrothed at his right, with Elmo sitting across from him on his father’s left, Kermit across from Serra. He had balled his hands into fists at his side during the walk to his seat at the head of the table, bowing his head with a muttered greeting to the Tully father and son who offered pleasantries among the hum of conversation. Meanwhile, Serra’s eyes had remained down at the table, hands in her lap, demurely sitting beside him and only briefly catching his stare when he muttered a quiet greeting to her while pulling out his chair and sitting down. 

They remained otherwise silent, the quiet that had befallen them only broken by his father, spiraling into Elmo and Kermit making conversation by recalling stories of their childhood. Benjicot sat with his elbows on the table in front of him, hands clasped together while his chin rested on his knuckles, humming and letting out a chuckle sometimes in response to certain memories, his eyes otherwise scanning the table and the guests. He watched the way they became rowdier with more wine. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the clink of a cup, his father standing from the table. The table finally silenced for the first time in hours, eyes watching his father with anticipation as he held his chalice high. 

"Lords and ladies, esteemed friends and allies, it is with great pleasure and honor that I stand before you tonight. In the spirit of unity and the strengthening of bonds between our noble houses, I am delighted to announce the betrothal of my beloved son, Benjicot, to the gracious and noble, Serra, daughter of Lord Elmo of House Tully.” Samwell announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. He paused, looking down at the young couple who looked up at him, his gaze landing on his son and nodding to himself before he continued, “May their union bring prosperity, joy, and enduring friendship to our families. Let us raise our glasses in celebration of this auspicious occasion." He finally finished, looking back out at the table that erupted in applause and cheerful exclamations of agreement. 

Benjicot, however, sharply inhaled; fighting the urge to scowl as he looked into his nearly empty cup, hiding his stare as his father began to sit down. In the corner of his eye, he witnessed a guard come forward, Alistair standing over his shoulder when Ben’s eyes lifted briefly to look over and see him muttering something into his ear; witnessing the moment his father tensed up. 

“Excuse me, pardon-- I…” Samwell said, standing up again. 

The prying eyes of the room remained on Samwell as he nodded, the guard stepping back and towards the wall where he had planted himself. The Blackwood Lord slowly turned his attention back to the table that had fallen silent, awaiting his next words, his cool stare shifting around for a moment before his mouth opened once more, “My apologies for disturbing your supper once again,” He begrudgingly stated,  “It has been brought to my attention that…the Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen was murdered in his bed last night.” 

It was at that point that all hell broke loose, his words met with a gasp from somewhere at the table before the table erupted in men’s anger and uproar at the news. Meanwhile, Benjicot watched his father slowly sit back down in silence, the prior joy on his face now replaced by a stoic expression; visibly drawn back into his thoughts as Elmo spoke up, “Gods be good... Pray that he went quickly.” He quietly muttered, his hand tightening around his chalice as the chaos raged on in light of the news. 

“Yes…” Benjicot blurted, his gaze meeting Elmo’s from across the table, the latter of whom had gone for a drink from his cup; glancing between the young lord and his daughter who was visibly shaken by the news, her hands now clenched on the table. Benjicot could make out in the corner of his eye as she looked over at him, turning his head just enough and looking down at her left hand that was closest to him. He released his cup, setting it down against the table, and reached across to lay his hand over hers as if to comfort her though he could feel her stiffen. He disregarded her reaction and turned back to her father, “Pray that his suffering has ended.”

Benjicot watched as her father stared at their hands, glancing again between them before he visibly relaxed at the sight and nodded in response to his words. He wasn’t certain his eyes were playing tricks on him, but he saw the small hint of a smile on Elmo’s face, thrown in the direction of his daughter that was brief before he looked away.  Serra’s hand quickly withdrew to drop into her lap, her gaze bearing into the side of his face as he lifted his chalice then with the now free hand and took a drink -- he only meant to gauge her reaction, get some hint of his prior question on her motive. He let out a ‘hm’ into his cup, his eyes casting left and meeting hers, his eyebrows shooting up. She looked down. 

He had an answer he could work with at least.

TAGLIST: @tannyfairy @username199945, @cxcilla, @thethiccestdaddy, @deltamoon666, @drwho-ess, @callsigncrushx , @clarityisnofun @jhepolie, @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 , @nixtape-foryou , @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork

[miracleandplagueau]

What is the role of the kwami’s versus the role of the guardians?

I've procrastinated on writing this so much I am so sorry 💀💀💀

Kwamis are.. kwamis. They are mysterious entities bound to pieces of jewelry that provide the user with magical power. How they came to existence, who knows? Why they help to keep peace in the world is a mystery and not even the Guardians themselves know the answer.

And when It comes to these guys, I guess It's time I talked a little about The Order of the Guardians to kind of define who the hell they actually are.

The Order of Guardians is an ancient clan, hidden within the moutains of Tibet. It has existed for thousands of years and were always connected to the Wonders, as If chosen. Every generation trains to continue the tradition of protecting those magical creatures from falling into the hands of evil as well as training in ways to defeat the evil that was usually not visible to the eye of regular people.

I didn't actually have a fitting visual for this before the movie, but I can confidently say that these could definitely be some of the creatures that past holders had to fight.

The clan continued to exist, hidden behind a snowy barrier until Guardians have decided to research a bit further into the Kwamis in order to accurately write them down in the records. This choice was the main reason for the Order's downfall.

See, figuring out potions or the connections between the Wonders isn't a bad thing. In fact, It was good and even helped the Kwamis gain some knowledge about themselves! However, the Guardians decided to take it a step further - and try to figure out the power behind Ladybug and Black Cat Wonders and why their power is so powerful when combined. After all, maybe instead of having two separate partners, a single user could hold both of them.

So they experimented. They figured out that the combined power could transform someone into something that could only be described as LIVING GOD with the power to create and destroy in the tip of their finger. Unfortunately, as they continued their research, they managed to find a way to simulate the combination without risking the full-blown consequences of using the Wonders. And so they did. The power which was estimated to be BARELY a fragment of the Wonders' true power managed to create a blash so powerful It ended up collapsing the entire monastery into the ground, buring its ruins underground. The state of the Zodiac Wonders is unknown, although according to the remaining Guardian they must've been destroyed as the blast was born from fragments of Black Cat's Wonder power (which reminder: is capable of destroying Wonders permanently)

The only living survivor of this tragedy was Master Fu himself, who was advised by his surperiors to take the Motherbox and wait it out in the distance as they handled the situation, only to leave this mid-training teenager alone to protect the Wonders from evil on his own. Of course, as per the lore goes Master Fu manages to lose two Wonders and the book on his way out of the mountains.

TL;DR: Kwamis are the magical creatures bound to objects that are used to fight ancient evils and protect the world from destruction. Guardians are people who took the duty of distributing and protecting the Wonders from falling into evil hands. Due to the fall of The Order, Master Fu is the only remaining person on earth from the original bloodline of Guardians.

Hope it cleared out things for you and thanks for asking (god Im so sorry for making you wait like. two months for the answer I really did not know how to tackle this question.)

[the-hem]

"Harm." From the Narada Parivrajaka Upanishad, the "Exploration of the Mysteries of the Wandering Sugar Cane Root."

Every day I watch as the fruits of the actions of the Biden White House wreak further havoc on our country and the planet. I did tell Kamala Harris and the Federal Elections Commission, the police, Hakeem Jefferies and Chuck Schumer both knew as did the FBI and United Nations that I overheard Donald Trump and his allies planned and then executed an attack on Israel on October 7 and their attacks on the Capitol on January 6 disqualified Trump from running for office a second time. I told them years before these he cheated in 2016 and I had proof he did it.

Even after Donald Trump, Mike Pence, Bo Loudon, his pet cock Barron Trump, and Elon Musck openly admitted to sexually assaulting me numerous times on TV during the election campaign last year, the police and the lawyers let it slide.

Further, I got in hyuge trouble for trying raise awareness with too much enthusiasm. The government claimed I was over drawn on my complaint and too cut it out, or else. So I know they knew what was going on and chose to let disaster loom and then fall.

So, once again I ask, have you seen enough? Are you scared enough? Have you been laid off or are you now being hunted by the Republican revenge squad? Do you see how your procrastination was not appropriate? Do you understand now how it is not adequate to let ABC News and CNN take Donald Trump to the hanging tree all alone?

The Upanishad says once we reach this point, the one where good people are at an extreme disadvantage to perform in normal daily life, something has to be done. We have to see the suffering our lack of righteousness has caused and we have to do something about it.

No more Chuckles, please. Kill Donald Trump and his Party and pay the people they have hurt what they are due. Thanks. You people have got something wrong with you, you know that?

Are you allowing Donald Trump to cause grave harm to everyone all of the time because your scared of him? Are you dumb? Are you a little soft in your minds? What is it? The Upanishad emphasizes when one comes to harm, it is time to restrain the harmful agent:

III-35. An ascetic will attain liberation when he is freed of pride and egotism, devoid of hurting and wickedness, and possessed of the virtues of self-knowledge.

III-36. By attachment to (the pleasures of) the senses one undoubtedly comes to harm; restraining them alone well one attains final beatitude.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna said one must not be bound by sloth when beatitude is the calling:

BG 2.47: You have a right to perform your prescribed duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of your actions. Never consider yourself to be the cause of the results of your activities, nor be attached to inaction.

The lawyers and police have a right to arrest Donald Trump and we have a right to our jobs, and freedom from organized crime and corruption. I am confused as to why I have to keep stating this.

Donald Trump aided and abetted a treason against his own people on January 6, and committed an act of international terrorism on October 7, he admitted to it. Put him to death.

§2381. Treason

"Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States."

The world will not beatify so long as this man lives. Someone needs to go on stage today and explain what is going to be done and the nature of the reparations the functioning government plans to make. This is the only way the American people will recover from your lack of response to the call of duty.

[yougurtella]

hot take (or tea) of the day from me:

Both apple and raven want what they want and would do mostly anything to get it (mostly apple, but i’ll explain raven later).

Apple White is ambitious, maybe not always, but definitely with the things she wants. She wants people to be safe, yes, but she also wants to be safe as well. Of course, Apple wants everyone to be safe, that’s why she is destined to be a great Queen for her future kingdom. But do you know why she’s so stuck on her destiny?

If you read The Storybook of Legends by Shannon Hale, we discover that when Apple was young, she fell into a well, and was stuck there for a long time (not super long, probably a few hours, I’m writing this from memory). That scarred her, and as a result, convinced her to think that her destiny is the only thing that can keep her safe (we also know that she was groomed to be a prim and proper destiny-following-princess since she was born, so all her life she’s been convinced her destiny is the only way to live). Same with following the rules. If you follow the rules, you’re bound to stay out of trouble and safe and sound, right? And as we’ve seen, Apple will do anything to stay safe. She was instructed to pretty much manipulate Raven into following her destiny, and even tried to follow through with it (she also joined Raven on her journey to find clues about the sisters that disappeared after legacy day when refusing to follow their destinies. all throughout that journey, Apple is also trying to convince Raven her story is the one she needs to follow). She is constantly questioning Raven, trying to find a fault in her thinking (these are the only examples i can think of right now, but if you have any more, feel free to mention some). And we get to Dragon Games. Apple meets the Evil Queen, who manipulates Apple into breaking her out of the mirror (you can find a clip of it on youtube, or netflix):

Evil Queen: “Oh I’m sorry, I thought maybe you were like your mother. When her time came, your mother embraced her fairytale destiny. She did whatever it took.”

Apple: “I am not afraid. I will do whatever it takes. And I am like my mother, and my destiny is mine!”

Just noting how she reacted to what the evil queen said. she could have brushed it off, or have said, “i may be like my mother, but i don’t want you to be an option to help me achieve my destiny”. but Apple reacted so...so angrily. She just burst into aggression and threw the Apple at the mirror.

We also see that Snow White tries manipulating Apple into forcing others to follow her destiny. (“Perhaps there is some way you could nudge Raven towards evil?...remember, she’s still her mother’s daughter!”) I have a feeling Snow’s been doing this ever since Apple could comprehend words. Apple definitely seems like she would’ve been that annoying kid on the playground that would’ve been like “You need to follow your destiny or else I’m telling the teacher!”

Anyways, Apple has definitely had some hard times, (which don’t justify her actions, but could have led her to realize that she needs to change. not just for the heck of it, but to become a better person; to become a better queen. also jesus, if EAH wasn’t cancelled she would’ve had an amazing character arc i just know it—) but anyway. She’s had some traumatic moments in her past, and we’ve only seen a glimpse of how Snow White raised her, there’s definitely some stiff linings in that relationship. It seems more like a business relationship than a loving Mother-Daughter one.

Which leads me to Raven Queen. If you read the books, you’ll also know that throughout Raven’s life, she’s always questioned destiny, and instead has used the word “choice” in her vocabulary. Her mother has seemed to be absent most of the time, whether because she was in “evil meetings”, doing Queen duty, or being trapped in her mirror. I don’t think that has impacted Raven’s opinion on destiny, the only way it’s impacted her it’s probably the absence of love from a mother. Raven doesn’t like her destiny because she knows she has it in her that she couldn’t go through with evil-doing. We know that too (especially in WTW, when Apple tells her “This isn’t you, you’re about choosing your destiny, and breaking binds and whatever” and Raven goes back to normal).

Anyways, back to Raven possibly being a Slytherin.

She’s also demonstrated that she’s ambitious, I mean, she entered a talent show wanting to perform a (quote on quote from Headmaster Grimm) “non-evil” song, and stuck with it until Sparrow got to her. She’s always letting people know they have a choice (maybe sometimes a little forcefully, but it’s not as bad as Apple). She even went on a journey (in the Storybook of Legends by Shannon Hale), sneaking out of the school, breaking multiple rules, to prove that you don’t “poof” when you refuse to follow your prewritten story. She’s quick to correct people on the fact that she won’t be following her destiny; but Legacy Day is a bigger example of her ambition. She knew about the legends and rumors of your demise when refusing to follow in the footsteps of your parents, yet took that chance anyways, putting many peoples lives into harms way (granted, it never happened, but they didn’t know whether they’d poof or not). That’s hardcore though. Imagine making a choice about your life, that could have people’s lives be ruined, or worse, dispelled (haha get it? dis-spelled?), and you take the route of putting people in harm’s or deaths way. Thats incredibly selfish, but also quite heroic. (there’s so many discussions to be held about the ethics of EAH, i’m so mad the fandom isn’t bigger because we could have so many videos and essays about this wonderful story) Raven took a stand, feeling ambitious enough to say “No” to a predetermined life. Round of applause for her.

I’ve realized that i’ve probably written more about Apple (because she is one of my favorites), and I didn’t have a lot of evidence for Raven, just feelings and opinions. But anyway, this was mostly for fun and to procrastinate on schoolwork lmao.

Keep in mind this was just a fun silly thing to do, to start a friendly and respectful discussion. I don’t want any people saying how Apple is a horrible person and how she’d be say “all lives matter” and be a white supremacist. She wouldn’t. Her destiny is to be there for others, and to be the kindest and fairest in the land.

So maybe Raven would be a Gryffindor instead. Apple could easily be a Gryffindor as well, heck, I see both Raven and Apple being in any of the houses in Hogwarts (it would make sense for Raven to be a RAVENclaw hahahah—ok ill stop). They both have demonstrated key traits for each houses.

So what do you guys think? Would Raven and Apple be Slytherins? Do you have a different house you think they’d suit more?

I honestly think that if EAH and Hogwarts had a crossover, Apple would definitely convince Headmaster Grimm and the Sorting Hat to place Raven in the same house as her (because you know, she wants Raven to follow her destiny). I also think it’d be a funny bit.

[anidealiveson]

Thanksvember Master Post

Day 1 - Like Coming Home - It has a super rare “wholesome plot twist”! Without spoiling anything too huge, I really like that @julesherondalex took the time to talk about how important it is to take care of yourself first. You can’t love someone else properly, the way they deserve, if you don’t have that same love for yourself. I wasn’t expecting the heartbreaking scene, but the beautiful way in which that topic was was approached neither took away from the story or the joy.

Day 2 - Must Love Dogs - An incredibly fluffy (literally) fic that I loved reading. @rosehallshadowsinger did a really great job weaving Azriel and Elain’s canon personalities into this adorable AU scenario. It is obvious @rosehallshadowsinger took care to create believable personalities for two characters that didn’t get POVs in the books.

Day 3 - Striking Matches -  I have to say that I wasn’t at all attracted to an AU fic about firefighters. I was also not a big Rowaelin fan before that, but I was work procrastinating so I gave it a try. Wellll, 30 parts later, I found myself delighted at the writing and sad it was over. I couldn’t believe how well @shyvioletcat cat was able to entirely re-characterize these two into such a different setting, yet still retaining what made them popular in the books. Aelin was perfect in her role as a snarky schoolteacher irritating the stoic firefighter Rowan. And the descriptions of the kids lining up at the firehouse demonstration and Jake’s adorable prodding was icing on the cake.

Day 4 - Close Quarters -  I really loved the way @lady-therion wrote Nesta in this modern AU. I particularly like how she equates Nesta’s sometimes standoffish attitude as a very relatable personality trait. She has trouble reading people and gauging situations. It’s well written and the dialogue is unique for a plot that is common in ff!

Day 5 - Like A Lonely House - It’s got a colossal I love Lucy level misunderstanding mixed in with a lot of tension and angst. This Nesta that is full of sacrifice and duty and fire is how I imagine the Nesta who feels that she has a stake in the Fae world would be like. @featherymalignancy wove such a captivating new world in Macar, that it felt a lot like being introduced to the 8th court in the ACOTAR world.

Day 6 - Death Dance - There are several takes out there that touch on Nesta in the Ilyrian camps, but I love how @thewayshedreamed interpreted Nesta’s skills on the battlefield as a calculated dance. Nesta has always been a raging storm, but I love how @thewayshedreamed took care to show us a Nesta that channeled that storm into discipline. If SJM never intended to release a Nessian focused book, I would have considered this a satisfying end to their story.

Day 7 - One Night Standards - I love the way @sassyhobbits writes Aelin with her typical extremely sassy exterior, but also made sure to saddle her with a vulnerable side that runs deep. I normally don’t care for slow burns, but I like the pace of her relationship with Rowan here, and that they had to work hard at it. I also like the plot lines that involved their PR stunts and how the public grew to love them as well.

Day 8 - Goose Chasing - Its the most absurd plot of any fanfic I’ve read! The title is not figurative. Its really does involve chasing a goose. @rhysismydaddy did a fantastic job encapsulating the spirit of silly Cassian and grumpy Nesta in a situation they’d likely never find themselves in, yet making it entirely believable. 

Day 9 - Manon Chooses The Worst Babysitter Possible - It’s such a casual and fluffy and hilarious read. It was fun to read about a softer and more delicate Manon. Through this absurd mistake, @sarah-bae-maas did an excellent job really humanizing Manon and postulating a fun in-world domestic scenario. 

Day 10 - My Hunger Knows No Bounds -  @perseusannabeth manages to take a simple concept and weave a sweet narrative. I particularly love how @perseusannabeth incorporated her personal details into it and took the time to share her lovely culture with us.

Day 11 - Knowing me, Knowing you - We never got to actually see Aelin rule Terrasen (well we got a tinyyy bit) in the books. Though this was modern day, @nalgenewhore tells a fun story of what that could have been like.

Day 12 -  Forever (is a long time) - @noodlecatposts takes Elide and Lorcan’s completely polar opposite personalities and spins an interesting (and frankly quite adorable) story. All the rules crack me up. My favorite Lorcan is the one that reminds me of Luke Danes from Gilmore Girls. Currently, he is in the middle of grumpily fixing up her flooded room, so I am sure that my favorite parts are yet to come.

Day 13 - Go Your Own Way - I appreciate @tomtenadia for putting to words a scene that I desperately wanted in ACOWAR or even ACOFAS. A lovely parallel to an equally lovely Fleetwood mac song.

Day 14 - In Which She Makes A Friend - It is no surprise that the fandom wants Nesta to find her place in the Illyrian mountains and even bring about some social change with the female warriors. But the way @bookstantrash got there was such a wonderful and endearing journey. Big fan of the callbacks to how Kaelin was treated and the similarities to a certain Illyrian warrior was when he was younger. We got to see a sweet Nesta, who I’d like to think was attempting to make up for some of her regrets through taking care of Kaelin.

Day 15 - The Ranch - As a huge fan of Sweet Home Alabama, its should be no surprise that I loved this fic by @tacmc . I enjoyed the slow change that we saw in a stubborn Nesta as she opened up to this new way of life and reconnected with her sisters and found a home with Cassian.

Day 16 - Felons - Such a unique interpretation of Nesta and Cassian. I really like the self-sacrificing Nesta angle and @rhysismydaddy did a great job weaving intrigue into the unraveling of what we knew to be a her innocence. I never read The Witness, but this really made me want to.

Day 17 - Of Books and Timber - Cassian offers to build a shelf for Nesta. The way @duskandstarlight goes through the entire range of emotions through Nesta is brilliant. She starts out with cold indifference, but by the end, we get from her a sweet and tender gesture of gratitude. Showing that meeting each other halfway with small gestures is all they ever needed.

Day 18 - You Should Sleep In My Bed More Often - I absolutely loved this quick exchange between Nesta and Cassian after she accidentally injures him. I can’t believe how much I laughed out loud when Cassian said “I need you to protect me closer”. @charincharge​ perfectly captured the teasing childish essence of Cassian and Nesta’s hilarious victim-blaming was so on the nose that I might have thought this was taken right out of ACOSAF.

Day 19 - The Right Swipe - I really enjoyed this take on the inner circle mixed with the super modern online dating plot. I especially love that @redisriding created genuinely realistic characters (body issues, social anxiety etc). Great read!

Day 20 - Goldfish Prompt - What a fun read. I love how frantic and much personality Feyre had here. I love how dedicated to her fish she was, and how that made her super endearing. Cute read from @azrielsiphons

Day 21 - The One With The Snowstorm -  What I really like is that Cassian actually says that he is sorry for his part in Nesta’s exile. I am not bitter about it, but it was an interesting turn. They need to meet halfway here and I rarely see it so well written as @joysbell has done here!

Day 22 - Prompt - A lovely and cute and sweet prompt written by @crowsvalentine​! I love the ramp up of suspense just to get to the hilarious payoff. Its adorable and worth the quick read.

Day 23 - Fix It -  is one by @thewayshedreamed​ that I love in its simplicity. It’s a small little argument Cassian and Nesta get into, but its still compelling. It’s sweet and super endearing the way the two of them are written and the subtle way they work through it. Great read!

Day 24 - I Do Bad Things To You - The mob angle may have been done before, but I don’t think with as much care and regard that @tswaney17​ has been giving it. I how the canon personalities of the characters translate so well into this modern AU. Its very obvious that @tswaney17​ has done her research. I especially love all the details around Elain as a surgeon. The story is compelling and well written and every chapter has me wanting more.

Day 25 - Love Her Like She should Be Loved - This is an excellent fic that I really loved. @julemmaes did such a great job translating some of the canon tension from ACOFAS into a modern world. It’s ripe with emotion, drama and quite a bit of heart. I love how earnestly Cassian comes to Nesta’s defense even in the face of going against his entire family. I like the reference to some very real psychological struggles. I think a lot of people can relate to it.

Day 26 - Literally In Love - I really enjoy the subtle mystery that follows this entire journey. I enjoy that @julesherondalex keeps us guessing, while simultaneously weaving a sweet and tender story about two shy teachers and just a slew of mishaps worthy of a Shakespearian drama.

Day 27 - The Shadow Bond - I love Azriel, and this is such a wonderful fic by @radientwings​ focusing on how his shadows might work. His shadows are the one thing that I am most curious about him in the series, so it was lovely to read such a well written interpretation of them.

Day 28 - Exes and Oh’s - Just a shout out to @highqueenofelfhame​ for this lovely story about rekindling past love. I like that even though the plot was uncomplicated, the emotions were not. I love that Aelin didn’t have a perfect reason for what she did, but sometimes that is just how things are. This is a story about taking a second chance, whether it’s deserved or not.

Day 29 - Fever - I really love this fic called Fever. I enjoyed how @lady-therion​ portrayed Nesta. She hit the entire gammut of characteristics (snarky, worried, vulnerable, caring, short-tempered, flirty, you name it!) but it really worked here. I found this nurse Nesta to be endearing and relatable and the dynamic between her and Cassian was very sweet. Just go read the damned thing.

Day 30 - Baby Steps - I really really love this fic. @runesandfaes did such a great job in just so few words to show a really sweet moment between Chaol, Yrene and their daughter learning to walk. I love the parallel back to when Chaol was learning to walk and the cameo of the golden couch. So sweet.

[thetaoofbetty]

for the first time in my life, not procrastinating just bit me in the ass so i am now duty bound to assume that procrastination is the only way to go

[doc-pickles]

i saw mommy kissin’ santa claus

Hello! And welcome to “Festive Fridays with Two Dumb Bitches So Dumb They Can’t Stick to the Schedule They Make for Themselves” featuring me and @odd-birds-and-booksellers We wanted to find a day of the week for December to post our Christmas fics on and decided on Thursdays (this was originally titled ‘Two Dumb Bitches Thursday’ but we are both terrible procrastinators so now we have that fancy new title up there)

Will you get posts on Thursdays? Fridays? Who knows! But we’ve both committed to posting once a week every week of December with a fun festive fic! (Please don’t come to our inboxes and hound us about them, we yell at each other enough as it is and Lay is mean.....)

Anyways this is my first fluffy fic entry of the month and it’s definitely not inspired by real life events. Hope you enjoy! :) 

(also this is not my best work because i’m sleep deprived and also my pregnancy brain is not letting me write how i normally do soooo cut me some slack please and thanks)

“Karev!”

Both Jo and Alex turned at the sound of Bailey’s voice behind them, the woman looking expectantly at Alex. Now that he wasn’t a young resident, Bailey rarely evoked a feeling of fear in him but today her stern voice had him racking his brain for anything he’d done wrong recently.

“What can I do for you, Chief?”

“Doctor Peterson retired earlier this year,” Bailey waited for either Jo or Alex to make a connection from her words, but both stared blankly at her instead. “Doctor Peterson used to dress up as Santa every year for the Peds Ward Christmas party. Since he’s no longer available, I need a replacement.” 

Jo’s eyes lit up in delight as she turned to Alex who wore an unamused expression, “Absolutely not, I am not putting on that ridiculous costume.”

“Oh c’mon! It’s for sick kids Alex,” Jo settled a hand onto her husband's arm as she batted her eyelashes at him. “It’ll be fun! You should do it!”

Alex looked between his wife and his boss, Jo smiling excitedly at him while Bailey fixed him with a glare. A groan left him as he realized he didn’t have a say in the matter, “Fine I'll do it. But I’m not happy about it.” 

Jo let out an excited squeal as Bailey thanked him, walking away with a satisfied smirk. Turning to his giddy wife, Alex wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You better make this worth my damn while.”

“What, do you want me to come and sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I want for Christmas,” Jo rolled her eyes, but Alex kept his gaze fixed on her. “You’re serious? You really are a pervy old man sometimes I swear.” Alex swatted at Jo’s ass playfully as she walked away from him. If she hadn’t happened to be standing next to him when Bailey asked he wouldn’t have caved so easily. His eyes narrowed at the thought, knowing that at least one of the women had planned that out. 

“Stupid freakin’ Santa costume…” 

+

There was a reason that he’d avoided the Christmas party for the Peds ward all these years and he finally realized why. Alex was surrounded by dozens of sugar high children who hadn’t seen outside of the hospital walls in weeks. He loved his job and working with kids, but he rarely had to deal with them when they were running around and screaming at the top of their lungs.

“Well you look like you’re having a great time,” Meredith sidled up to Alex, chuckling as she pulled on his fake beard. “The white doesn’t look so bad on you, maybe by next Christmas you won’t even need the fake beard.” “Oh shut up, I’m only here because Jo made me come. And she hasn’t even bothered to show up and make things around here more enjoyable,” Alex grumbled as he swatted away Meredith’s hand. He’d been sitting with kids on his lap for almost an hour and a half now, asking them what they wanted for Christmas and listening to their lists. “I’ve got fifteen minutes left before I can go home and drink beer and I can’t wait.”

“I’ve gotta go find my kids in this madness, but it looks like you have another visitor,” Meredith gestured to the little girl patiently waiting to meet Santa, bright blue eyes staring up at Alex in awe. “Have fun Santa!”

As soon as she was gone, the little girl bounded up to Alex and settled herself onto his lap, a gap toothed grin appearing on her face. Alex recognized her as one of his own patients, five year old Lauren who had a gastrointestinal problem that kept her in the hospital for weeks at a time, “Hi Santa!”

“Hi Lauren,” Alex almost chuckled at Lauren’s wide eyed expression when she realized that ‘Santa’ knew her name. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“I want a Barbie dream house and a pink glitter ballerina Barbie too,” Lauren was full of giggles as she relayed her wish list to Alex. Her expression softened however and she leaned in close to him, whispering her next words. “And I want my tummy to feel all better so I can go home and have a real Christmas. Christmas in the hospital is no fun.” Alex’s heart broke at the little girls words, realizing just how much of a toll being here was taking on such a young girl, “You know what, I think your doctors will do their very best to get you home for Christmas so you can play with all your new Barbies. How does that sound?” Lauren’s face lit up at Alex’s words, her arms wrapping around his neck as she giggled in delight. A string of thank yous left her as she hopped off Alex’s lap and reunited with her mother, who sent an appreciative wave in his direction. 

“Well aren’t you the best Santa in the world,” Alex turned at the sound of Jo’s voice, holding back an eye roll as she lifted her camera to snap a photo of him. “See, I told you it wouldn’t be that bad! Your mom is going to love that photo, I hope she puts it on the mantle.” “Did you come here for any reason besides to mock me,” Alex grumbled. “I’m almost done with this and then I’m never doing it again no matter how much you beg.” Alex couldn’t help but smirk at Jo’s amused expression. She looked so happy that he was doing this, like it had made her whole year. If nothing else, Jo’s excitement made the stupid gig worth it.

“Well I came here to tell Santa what I want for Christmas but if he’s too grumpy…,” Alex reached for Jo’s hand, pulling her into his lap as she laughed at his antics. 

“Now what do you want for Christmas,” Alex pressed his face into Jo’s neck, more laughter coming from her at the feel of the fake beard against her skin. “I’m sure Santa would be more than happy to oblige.”

“You realize you’re trying to talk dirty to me at a children’s party right,” Alex pinched Jo’s leg at her remark, a squeal leaving her as she jumped. “Okay okay, what I want for Christmas is… a baby.”

“A baby?”

“Yes a baby,” Jo grinned widely, leaning in close to Alex with a twinkle in her eyes. “I want you to knock me up. Preferably not wearing the Santa costume.” 

Alex stared dumbly up at his wife for a moment, her grin never fading as she watched him process what she’d said. A baby… Jo wanted to have kids. Kids with him.

“You know there’s easier ways to say that you want to try for a baby,” Alex chuckled as he leaned up to kiss Jo, his fake beard getting in the way of his attempt. “C’mon let’s go home, I finished my duty for the day. Maybe if you’ve make it on the nice list I’ll put in a good word for you with Santa.” A string of giggles left Jo as she watched Alex try and sneak out of the room, instead getting ambushed by almost all of the kids that were running around. After a quick goodbye and a promise to work hard on their wishes, the pair finally made it out of the room, Alex turning to Jo with a grin, “You want one of those? You sure?”

“More than anything. Now kiss me,” Jo pointed upwards to the doorway where a sprig of mistletoe hung. “It’s tradition.”

+

“I can’t believe you volunteered to do this this year,” Meredith stared dumbfoundedly at Alex, who sat in his chair with a smirk peeking through his fake beard. “Seriously, are you feeling okay? You couldn’t stop complaining last year.” “Would you pipe down, it’s different this year,” Alex shrugged, waving at one of the kids that ran by. “I wanted to spread some Christmas cheer to sick kids, is that so wrong?” “Don’t listen to him, he didn’t want some ‘germy mall Santa’ to hold Peyton for photos,” Meredith turned at the sound of Jo’s voice, a grin lighting up her face as she took in the sight of the small baby cradled in the baby sling across Jo’s chest. “Although the peds ward of a hospital can’t be much better.”

“Stop whining and come over here,” Alex held his arms out, expecting Jo to hand the baby to him but instead having her sit across his lap. “Really? You’re gonna sit on my lap again?”

Jo shrugged, pressing a kiss against his cheek as Alex reached up to uncover the baby’s face, “I figured my Christmas wish came true last year, might as well go again.” “Listen I love you but this one barely sleeps through the night as it is,” Alex gestured to Meredith, who was smiling at the happy family with her phone in hand. “Now would you smile so we can have a semi decent first Christmas photo for our daughter.” Jo and Alex both wore bright smiles as they looked at Meredith, the two month old between them not even batting an eyelash as she slept soundly on her mom’s chest. The warm feeling in Jo’s chest almost made her tear up, thinking to just the year before when her husband had begrudgingly put on a Santa costume to please her. This year he had eagerly gone through the motions, excited to create memories with their daughter without a care about all of the patients that came with the deal.

“What’s on your mind? You have that blissed out look on your face,” Alex’s fingers on her cheek snapped Jo out of her daze, her lips coming down to press against his briefly.

“Nothing, just thinking about how lucky I am and how much I love you.” “I love you too, but you can’t just kiss me like that,” Jo’s brows furrowed as she took in Alex’s serious expression. “The kids are watching! What are they gonna think when they see you kissing Santa like that? I’ll get a bunch of angry letters.” “You’re the worst, Karev.”

[daisylincs]

ur secret santa accidentally got a bit too secret this week as i finished up my finals but now i am free!! throw all ur fav fitzsimmons @ hogwarts headcanons my way, big or small, relevant to the prompt or not, i'd love to hear them! and just for fun (& for me to listen to while i work on ur gift), any song(s) that remind u of our fitzsimmons? cant believe we're this close to the end :)

Oh my gosh, hello, Santa! 💜💜 No worries about the secrecy thing, I've been a touch less active myself here, too, and spending my days being spectacularly lazy 😝 Ah, breaks are the BEST, and I'm so glad you've got one now too!

So, hmmm, Fitzsimmons at Hogwarts headcanons, let me see.

Well, first of all, I think that they're both Ravenclaws, with very little question about that? Fitz could maybe be a Gryffindor, maybe, but ultimately I'd say they're both classic Ravenclaw. They'd also both be those Hermione-esque students who are naturally brilliant at magic, and get all the spells right through a combination of homework (high five, Jemma 🤣) and talent.

I also think that Jemma would be made a prefect pretty much as soon as she was old enough - because, come on, she's literally perfect for it. Responsible but still compassionate, and more than smart enough to keep up with her school duties despite having other responsibilities - yup. Fits the bill perfectly!

Fitz, I think, would be more of a wild card prefect-wise, because he's a little shyer and less natural with people, and also if we have Daisy in the story, he's bound to get into some kind of shenanigans with her 🤣😝

Thirdly, and I don't know how relevant this is at all, lol, I'm literally just spamming you with my Hogwarts-y thoughts and ideas here - but I've always thought that, in pretty much any Hogwarts AU, Coulson would make the most PERFECT Dumbledore, and May the best McGonagall. I mean, just. 😍😍😍😍😍

Ohhh, my gosh, and the last thing I LOVE to headcanon is that Fitzsimmons is That Couple who the entire school ships, and wants to get together - best friends, or maybe enemies (! 👀), but either way very much into each other, and very much mutually oblivious about it.

Hmmmhhhmm, that's all I can think of at 8am this morning, and without a cup of tea, no less 🤣😱🤦‍♀️ But if you'd like any more hcs about this, ask again anytime and I'd love to share them! We still have a few days left 😍😍🤣 And, you know, in general - I'd love to talk to you a bit more once this is all over.

Before I go, though, you asked me for some Fitzsimmons songs - and I'll let you in on a secret here, I absolutely can't listen to anything while trying to write, because my musical brain gets distracted with the harmonies and analysis of the song, or... I just start singing along, lmaoo. Case in point: no writing gets done.

So while I don't have a convenient writing playlist to pick from, after having a bit of a think, I've managed to pull together a list of songs that give me the best FS feels. 🥰

You Were Never Gone from Teen Wolf - this song is, and probably always will be, my number one Fitzsimmons song. Even if the lyrics weren't positively perfectly suited to them (which they are) I also saw an AMAZING Fitzsimmons edit on it once, and that now lives rent-free in my head, along with the stirring and fantastic song itself.

Perfect by Ed Sheeran - this song is probably the most romantic love song I've ever heard, and nothing short of perfect (😝) for any OTP.

Birds by Imagine Dragons - getting angstier here, but this song captures the pain of everything Fitz and Jemma have gone through exquisitely well, and how they still keep hoping they'll find each other again.

Work Song by Hozier - c'mon, you can't have a halfway decent playlist without a Hozier song on it, and this one, especially the part where he sings about how no grave can hold him back from his love, just seems very Fitzsimmons to me.

Please Don't Say You Love Me by Gabrielle Aplin - this is one of those songs that make me think of a very specific time period in FS's history; namely, in season 2, when Fitz had confessed his feelings to Jemma, but she isn't sure how she feels yet, and just doesn't want things to change. Also, Iain de Caestecker is in the music video, and, come on, you don't get much better for FS feels than that! 😝😍

No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine - another time-specific one, and another SUPER angsty one. To me, there's no song that captures post-Framework Fitzsimmons better, especially the part where she sings about no light in his bright blue eyes. 💔

The Scientist by Coldplay - the last one on my list, and maaaaybe a bit of an obvious choice, lmao, but still one that I think fits them regardless. It's full of heartbreak ("no-one ever said it would be this hard") and also the haunting, sincere wish to "Oh, take me back to the start // I was just guessing at numbers and figures // Pulling the puzzles apart // Questions of science, science and progress // Do not speak as loud as my heart." And I'm just like... damn. Everything about it - lyrics, title, tune - just SCREAMS Fitzsimmons, and I love it.

Right, my dear Secret Santa, I hope you liked this somewhat long and rambly, but hopefully very Fitzsimmons-y and wonderful answer! I, too, cannot believe we're this close to the end (and more than a little pleased to meet a fellow procrastinator writing-wise 🤣✋). With a couple more days to go (AHHHHHHHHHHHHH, indeed) HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! 🥰🥰🥰

[mycatshuman]

Castle of Devils

Can Ghost Get a Name Change?

Masterlist | Previous | Next | More

I'm sorry if this is shity.

----------

"So I have been doing some thinking," Valak said as he wandered into Virgil's room. The vampire was still on his hunger strike and sulking in his bed. Valak paid no mind to it though, he had haunted the other enough to know addressing it would only cause it to last longer. (At least he hoped so.) "And 'Valak' is so old school, don't you think?" Virgil didn't respond, too focused on trying to suppress his hunger. Valak already assumed Virgil wouldn't and carried on. "And my thinking has led me to come up with the idea to change my name." 

This sparked Virgil's interest, but he still refused to answer. Valak didn't get offended by Virgil's lack of response. He knew the other tended to stay as quiet as he could when he was hungry, at least until the feeling went away. "Now, I'm not sure what kind of name I want yet, like how do you choose a name? What is a name? What is society?" Virgil snorted. Valak counted that as a win. "Anyway, of course I have to keep the snake aesthetic-" 

"Drama queen," Virgil cut in with a smirk. 

Valak feigned offense. "Why I never! Me? A drama queen? It's impossible." Virgil rolled his eyes. "Now, as I was saying before I was so gracefully interrupted." Valak cast aside his glance at Virgil who simply stuck his tongue out at the ghost. "And since I am practically your mother at this point," 

"You're not my mom," Virgil objected. 

Valak rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Virgil? Why if it weren't for me, you wouldn't be out here chasing your dreams? And honestly, could you really forget the amount of times I've scared humans out of the castle because you forgot to lock the door. Honestly, you must have a death wish or something." 

"Well," Virgil started. 

Valak turned around to face him with a glare. "No, no death wishes allowed."

"Aww but it's so fun," Virgil teased. 

"Did that even make sense?" Virgil shrugged. "Well, I was thinking, since I am such a good mother to you-" Virgil rolled his eyes "-that decided I would find a name with the same cultural origin as you!" 

"Oh? And what would that be?" 

"Janus."

Virgil blinked. "Janus?" 

"Yeah," Valak started, suddenly insecure, "Is it bad?" 

Virgil was silent for a few moments before nodding his head. "No, I like it, it's certainly unexpected. But unexpected is good."

"Really?" Valak asked as he floated closer and down onto the bed. 

"Yeah, it's cool." 

Janus smiled. "Thanks, Virgil."

---------

"Wow! This is quite a place you got here, Roman!" Remus exclaimed as he entered Roman's home, his brother pausing to lock the door. 

"So, what are we going to do about the vampire?" Roman asked, cutting right to the chase. 

Remus frowned. "I told your, dear brother, that I'm going to have to see him in action first before I can decide how we go about this."

"But that could result in someone dying!" Roman exclaimed, angrily. 

Remus rolled his eyes. "Well I don't want to go in and end up getting killed because we underestimated him." 

Roman left out a huff. "Fine." He sat down on his couch as Remus continued to explore his home. Soon, his brother came back and plopped down on the recliner opposite his brother. Roman had calmed down enough by now to ask his next question. "Is there a way to protect my friends Logan and Patton?" 

"Oh, sure," Remus said. "So long as they keep a lot of garlic on them." 

"But it put garlic in the food I ate!" Roman exclaimed. "That's not going to work!" 

Remus rolled his eyes. "And you like to boast that you're the smart one. Tsk tsk." Roman growled. "Too much garlic affects vampires. Their sense of smell is heightened so it's going to repel them due to the strong smell." Of course there was the possibility of a vampire who wasn't put off by the smell. But Remus was trying to get his brother laid by the man he loved. And then he could call him a monster fucker. So Remus left that tidbit of information out. 

"Okay," Roman started. "So how much would we need?" 

"Take the amount you find unbearable and cut it in half. Their senses are about doubled so it'll be about the same experience you would have with the full amount. Or you could just get about 30 cloves of garlic and hope that works " Remus snickered as Roman carefully sorted through the information. 

"Okay, so I just have to tell Patton and Logan to buy a lot of garlic and keep it in the house until this problem is solved. But what about when they aren't at home." 

"That's iffy. They could wear garlic around their neck but that might get them some looks. So they could just eat a lot of it or wipe down with garlic juice." 

"Ew!" Roman exclaimed. 

"What? It'll work." 

Roman sighed before picking up his phone and calling Logan. No matter how ridiculous it sounded, Roman was taking no chances when it came to his friends safety. 

--------

"Who was that?" Patton asked his husband as he entered the study. 

Logan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That was Roman. He went to see his brother. The two have since discussed how to protect ourselves from the 'vampire'." 

"Okay, what did he say?" 

"He said that we need to, and I quote, "get a lot of garlic, like a shit ton.' I am not putting up with this foolishness. I do not want our home smelling like garlic, this is ridiculous."

Patton smiled softly at his husband. "Come on, Logan. You saw how torn up Roman was over this whole issue, I think its the least we could do until we find a way to prove that this fellow isn't a vampire." 

Logan stared at Patton as if he had grown a third head. Shocked and curious. "Patton, I do not understand how filling our house with garlic to the point that it is nearly unbearable is in anyway helpful." 

Patton sighed. "Okay, think of it this way, would you rather not listen and have Roman do it himself?" 

Logan's eyes widened in horror as he realized that if they didn't do it, Roman would. And if Roman did it, they wouldn't have much say in how much garlic invested their home. "Well, it appears that we are going to the store today," Logan replied as he straightened his tie. "Although I find this whole affair utterly foolish and childish, I do wish to remain in control in such a situation as to how much garlic we bring into our home, and Roman is anything but subtle." 

Patton giggled. "We can get some Crofters while we're out, too." Logan had never moved faster in his life. 

--------

Roman's nose wrinkled as he brought the last bag of garlic into his house. "This is absolutely unbearable!" He exclaimed as he dropped the bag of garlic to the floor. 

Remus grinned as he bounded into the house. "I know! Isn't it absolutely stinky!!" 

Roman cringed at his brother. How anyone could find joy in things that made others uncomfortable or cringe, he wouldn't know. But he somehow got stuck with one of those people as his brother. But, he supposed it could be worse. "You're absolutely sure this will work?" Roman asked again as he began moving the garlic into his kitchen to keep it out of the spaces he actually used. 

As he moved them, he found himself thinking of how outraged Virgil would be if he saw the state of Roman's kitchen. He would probably go off asking how Roman survives on his own. Roman giggled before remembering. The monster must have affected me more than I realized. Roman quickly put the rest of the garlic in the kitchen and forced his mind to focus on anything else. 

------

Remus sat up once he heard the door to his brother's room close. Now it was time for him to muddle. He pulled out his laptop and began searching through the internet for any information on Virgil Stoker. He didn't find much personal information. He did however find a crafting business website for a Virgil Stoker. Whether or not this was the Virgil Stoker that his brother talked about, he couldn't be sure. What Remus could be sure about, is that his brother was seriously suppressing some feelings. And as his twin brother, it was his duty to muddle in his brother's love life. One that Remus took very seriously. 

So of course he had to do more research. He moved to type into the search bar before he paused. What should he search for? How to seduce a vampire? How to make a man fall in love with a vampire? How to get your brother to fuck a vampire? He supposed this was a more complex situation than he originally thought. Well, he would have to search through the results for each question. Then he could scrap together a plan.

Remus's face split into a crooked smile. He was really going to enjoy this. 

--------

Virgil wasn't really sure what he had expected when he went to the grocery store for the first time since the move. However, he was sure that he did not expect to see Roman and a person who looked fairly similar to Roman rushing through the store with a cart full of garlic. Thinking about it later it did hurt him to imagine that the cause for the garlic shopping Roman was doing was because he wanted to ward him off. 

Virgil then began to wonder if maybe he should not have come. He didn't want to push Roman or be one of those types of crazy ex's. And of course Roman would take it that way because Virgil had never really shown Roman that it would be for any other reason. This led to Virgil sitting in the dark basement of his new home, where all his things sat ready to be unboxed because Virgil was a king at procrastinating. (And why wouldn't he be? He was a vampire who had lived hundreds of years. He could afford to procrastinate.) 

That's where Janus found him after he came home from his roaming around the neighborhood. He had to introduce himself to the other ghosts, he couldn't always spend time with Virgil and Virgil couldn't always spend time with him. Plus, Janus needed some new people to spill the tea with. And he needed to be in on the tea spilling.

"Virgil?" Janus called softly as he glided through the air smoothly. "Something seems to be upsetting you." 

"Nice going, Einstein," Virgil spit out as he dug his nails into his arms once more and dragged down. Blood beaded from the scratches until they closed up due to the enhanced healing rate his vampirism gave him. 

Janus rolled his eyes and glided down to sit beside Virgil. "Are you going to tell me or are you going to have me guess?" Virgil stayed quiet and raked his nails down his arms once again. "Alright, so does Roman have a boyfriend?" Janus paused to take in Virgil's reaction. "I'll take that as a 'no' then. Maybe he screamed at you and called you a monster. Or maybe he threw holy water at you? Or perhaps he hit you with garlic," Virgil tensed and clenched his hands around his arms, the nails piercing his skin. "Ah, I see I have hit a nerve. Does it have something to do with hitting you or the garlic, hhm?" Virgil clenched his teeth as Janus let out a sigh. "So I see, it was the garlic, then?" 

Tears fell from Virgil's eyes as he finally fell apart. "I saw him buying a lot of garlic and I know it doesn't really affect me but I know he was getting it to ward me off and I know he hates me and he's probably planning ways to kill me," Virgil sobbed into his hands as Janus carefully inspected the new information. 

"I think," he began. "Roman needs some time to process everything, he is running on fear right now, he's not thinking right. I think we just have to prove to him that you aren't a monster." 

Virgil wiped the tears from his eyes. Goodness he was so emotional over this. "Do you really think that's going to work?" 

Janus hummed. "I think that Roman just needs to be reminded of why he fell for you in the first place." 

Virgil snorted. "Are you sure he even fell for me at all?" 

"Come on Virgil, you're a mysterious emo guy with a castle and a love for Disney. I'm pretty sure that's Roman's type." The two undead friends erupted into laughter as the mood in the room lifted slightly. Things were going to be okay. Maybe not right away, but they would be in time. 

--------

Everything Taglist: @spxced-oxt @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce @lyditist @little-euro-girl @unicornofdarknessstuff @maryann-draws @odette-ssbu

Castle of Devils Taglist: @kittycake574 @rainbow-roman @icequeenoriginal @ilovemygaydad @comicsimpson @notalwaysthebadguy @loveyatothemoonandback

[allypacino]

15,22,25

Thank you for the ask <3 I RANTED ranted so I'm putting all of it under the line.

I've seen up to 4x20 so far and I think my favourite episode thus far might be "What Is and What Should Never Be" in season 2, the djinn episode (2x20).

I've put some thoughts into this and I think that this might be my favorite example of early SPN for me. Although it deviates from the norm, the general premise still rests within the monster of the week format while allowing for some of the best character exploration of the series. Don't get me wrong, 4x16 lives in my head rent free and I am always thinking about rebelling against authorfathergod, the theological implications of having the work of angels be undone by a leaky pipe, the holiness that lies in fallibility yada yada but I'm aware that the precarious, dizzying potential Supernatural carried did not mean that the episode itself was perfect on paper. On that level, I thought that 2x20 executed its storytelling really well.

It was during a time where the narrative predominantly relied on Sam as the audience-insert protagonist, and having Dean be the one who we relied on was a fascinating change of pace. The show was famously dark during this period with its lighting and the episode flipped it on its head, letting us see Dean's dream world - and get this. John Winchester is dead and Dean and Sam are estranged.

This literally drives me CRAZY. Even in an ideal world John is not around. What does that mean for Dean, who idolised his dad and copied everything he did? It suddenly introduced this fascinating fold in Dean's characterisation, and allowed for the deconstruction of the nuclear family. Paradise is not just mom and dad and two dogs, paradise depends on the people. And Dean was deep down self-aware enough to know that John, as he knew him, would not fit in. He's always been aware, and even though this was season 2, where he was in throes of guilt over the death of his father, he still couldn't see a way he'd be back.

But the saddest part of the episode is how he felt distanced from Sam. His brother meant everything to him, and here they barely spoke to each other. It was clear that the Dean in this universe was a troublemaking alcoholic. Was he afraid that hunting was the only thing he and Sam had in common? Did he think that he was so awful and worthless that without their trauma that bound them together, he'd be cut out of their lives? Was he relieved that he and Sam had their individual lives? It was devastating to see. Oh toxic codependency we're really in it now!!

Apart from the characterisation, the plot was neatly done and I was genuinely kinda scared by the ghostly visions in this a couple of times. So good job on the horror for back when this was a horror show!

So I think that s1-5 are all about the legacy of John Winchester. Even after his death his shadow looms over the entire show. In many ways this show is about John Winchester, because this show is about authorfathergod. Everything is about what John Winchester left behind and every episode is about Sam and Dean dealing with the implications of John Winchester's decisions to give his life or leave them behind or teach them that they need to suck it up. Every couple of episodes Sam and Deam argue about what dad would do and what it means to be made in your father's image, what it means to have always been destined to be cursed, or carry the anger or the stubbornness. Begotten not made. Where did John come from? And is it your father's fault or your father's father's fault, and will you deal with that or will you take his lessons and pass it on. Is it your duty to honour thy father or is it your mission to rebel. Is your religion only your religion because it was passed down to you by your dad? Do you believe in God or do you believe in the fear of God your father put in you? Who is God but a negligent father. Neither of them answer your prayers.

John was in the navy and his militaristic parenting method and the ruthlessness with which he treated monsters defined the tone of the show in its early days. I read yesterday that s1-2 of spn were the most requested dvds by this military division in? Like 2007? And honestly that's the problem!!! The entire show refuses to address the humanisation of monsters and presents them as almost unambiguously evil, with the protagonists never truly confronting what it means to kill the innocent but different. That's the military! John's navy background, in this way, literally sets up one of the primary flaws of the entire show. The inability to see the enemy as worthy of life because they are inherently other. Yikes yikes! As a post-9/11 show, very haunting to see the influences of the American military here knowing what's happening in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Furthermore John was just... A really bad parent. He never celebrated christmas with his sons (let alone any Jewish holidays, I'm assuming, even though Mary had Jewish ancestors), never even took Dean (or Sam) to a baseball game. He neglected his very young children and made Dean the parent of the household, and punished him by sending him away if he strayed from his orders. He was a goddamn drill sergeant and gave his sons so many issues. He told Dean to kill Sam before he died. He never said he was proud of them. And yeah, he drove out to see Sam at Stanford and also gave his life for Dean, but the guy was terrible at raising his kids.

The thing is that John is a righteous man. He's supposed to have never broken in hell, he saved countless lives, he's like the ultimate hero that Sam and Dean can't live up to. And on a narrative level... That's such a cop out, man. This is a character written for those who can't bring themselves to care, or be responsible to their loved ones, but go "I would die for you and I would kill for you". You know the ones. And maybe they even could. But it doesn't matter, because people are in fact nuanced and sacrificial acts of love does not make up for the years of neglect he put his kids through. But yeah, he's complicated. In "In the Beginning" we see how he was such a hopeful mechanic, far removed from what we know him as, but then you think back to the pilots and you remember how the beer bottles started before any demonic activity, and you know that the picturesque family John hammered into Sam and Dean like a religion was never going to last.

I do think some writers were fully aware of his flaws whereas some loved him as a dad, but in many ways I think that that's totally in character for Sam and Dean, who loved their father regardless of everything yet knew that he was an obsessed bastard. Spn is such an inconsistent show that I feel like the story can get so thin sometimes that the secret good version of supernatural is one step away from breaking out from underneath it. I love it no I don't I do <3

I've said a lot about Sam and Dean BUT my favorite character is Castiel so i am at a direct disadvantage having only seen up to 4x20 here! I have a special love for season 2 because it has a lot of my fave motws, and also ended on a really devastating note of Dean making the hell deal, and I like pain. But Castiel Angel of the Lord is in s4 and also this season has legit been really good. I feel like s5 might be my favorite season from what I know of it though. In conclusion... Idk!!! I love Cas but post-hell Sam and Dean are so miserable. Maybe I'd love Dabb era domesticity instead.

Muchtothinkabout.jpeg I am sorry for procrastinating this for 24 hrs and i'm sorry for this long ass ramble <3 hope it's a little entertaining

[bat-losers-inc]

Beat the Devil’s Tattoo: Chapter 2

A Collisions in the Dark AU, where instead of rescuing Tim from her father, Talia chooses to save Jason’s life, leaving Tim at the mercy, and wrath, of Ra’s al Ghul. Tim eventually wins his freedom, but the price he pays for it? Serving as a double agent for Ra’s, who wants to give Bruce a taste of his own medicine.

Author’s Note: I just wanted to give a special thank you to @the-casual-cheesecake, @versatile-me , and @queeniepearls for encouraging me to finish this chapter (instead of falling back on my usual procrastinating bullshit). This chapter goes out to you guys! 

                                                      - - - - -

Nanda Parbat, Tibet 

October 4, 10:02 pm

 Tim awoke and found himself sprawled out on the dark, damp floor of a dungeon cell. He couldn’t say for sure, but he thought it must have only been a few hours since his reunion with Ra’s in the throne room.

 He traced the back of his pounding head gingerly, searching for any sign of a head wound.

How funny, he thought with grim humor, that they would drag me all the way up to the throne room just for Ra’s to throw me back down here again. It was a waste of effort if you asked him, though nobody was.

Tim pulled his hand back sharply with a hiss. His fingers were slick with what he could only assume was blood. Perhaps he should just count himself lucky that he wasn’t dead already. 

He stood on shaky legs and started to examine his new surroundings as best he could in the oppressive darkness of the cell. Reaching out a hand, he groped the empty air until he found the nearest wall and traced his fingers along the patchy lines of grout. He only found the food left out for him after nearly spilling its contents across the floor.

Tim cursed and crouched down, skimming his hands along the dirty floor until he found the plate with its chunk of bread and cheese and the cup of water. By now his eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, so he took these items and moved back to the dark oblong shape he assumed was a cot. 

There was a strange sparking noise above his head—like a moth flying repeatedly into a porch light. He’d just lifted his head to examine it further when harsh white light blazed against his eyes.

“Fucking— ” Whatever words Tim might have finished that sentence with were muffled into the fabric of his sheets as he curled into the mattress and shielded his watering eyes.

The guards’ laughter rang in his ears as he blinked away the dark spots from his vision.  

“I’m glad that I’m so amusing to you!” Tim shouted at them. “I’m sure Ra’s will find it equally amusing and not see it as you slacking in your other duties when I tell him on our next meeting.” 

Their laughter slowed but didn’t die out entirely. He could still hear the sound of it in their voices as they talked among themselves and left him to continue their rounds. 

When, Tim thought, more like ‘if’. He had no way of knowing if Ra’s had left him down here to rot and the fact that the guards were now confident enough to play tricks on him only confirmed how his position had changed for the worse. He could sense that Ra’s’ guards knew it too and were only waiting for Ra’s himself to confirm how far Tim had fallen. Then Tim’s words would be seen for the hollow threats that they really were.

He had many hours to consider this and more. The drip of melted snow seeping through the corner of the cell’s ceiling counted the seconds like a metronome. Plink. Plop. Plink. Plop. He made a mental note to find the spot of the leak later and place his cup under it. 

He distracted himself as best he could by cleaning his head wound with a strip of fabric he ripped from his sheets and soaked in water from his drinking cup. Most of the blood had dried into a sensitive scab that he didn’t dare pick at, lest it began to bleed again.

The minutes ticked on, and even though he was afraid he might have a concussion, eventually Tim drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

                                                  - - - - - 

He was jerked back to consciousness by the slam of metal against stone. The fluorescent lights were still blazing strongly above his head so he had a clear view of the pair of men standing in his doorway. 

“The Demon Head requests your presence.”

Tim threw his arm across his tired eyes and grunted, “Tell the Demon Head to kindly go fuck himself.”

 His only warning was the rustle of fabric as they rushed forward into his room and grabbed him by his ankles, dragging him off his cot. A boot kicked him in the side, knocking him over onto his stomach before his arms were grabbed roughly and bound behind his back. 

He yelled as the guards hauled him off the ground and dragged him from the room, pain shooting through his still recovering shoulder. Tim thrashed and cursed, as he struggled to keep his feet under him as they made fast progress along the many halls of Ra’s’ compound. 

“Wait— just wait—” Tim panted breathlessly as they stumbled up another narrow staircase that squeezed the guards against his pinned arms and tangled up his feet with their own. He pitched forward, bruising his knees and scraping the skin from his shins against the stone steps. 

One of the guards twisted his hand in Tim’s shirt and tugged him back to his feet. 

They continued on.

After they’d cleared the last staircase they released his arms and shoved him stumbling forward with a hand to the middle of his shoulder blades. He was beginning to think the guards had been told to handle him roughly for this treatment continued every time he slowed to catch his breath or look over his shoulder for a clue as to which direction he should be heading in. 

“If you’d just tell me where we’re going I could—” They’d nearly passed a turn before one of the guards fisted his hand in the collar of Tim’s shirt and used it to yank him roughly to the right.

“This way,” he said helpfully as Tim coughed and sputtered. The other guard snickered behind him. 

It was no use and almost a relief when they finally arrived at the door to Ra’s’ bedroom. 

They entered without knocking. The room was lit with candles and a blazing fire against one wall. Tim resisted the urge to move closer to the fireplace, though the heat it gave off did feel like the greatest luxury after spending many hours in the damp chilly atmosphere of his cell. Ra’s was perched against the windowsill, pouring himself a glass of wine from the antique cut glass decanter at his hip. The foreboding gray mountains jutted into the black sky through the windows that ran the length of the room behind him. So it was nighttime, Tim noted with interest, and with mild unease realized that Ra’s appeared to be drunk. 

“We’ve brought him as you asked, my lord.”

“I hope you weren’t too gentle with him. I sure Timothy can withstand some rough treatment,” Ra’s replied. “You can, can’t you Detective?” 

Tim’s chest worked heavily to draw a steady breath as Ra’s took a long drink from his glass and eyed him with a smile. 

Finally, Ra’s seemed to grow bored and waved off the guards. “Untie him and leave us.” 

The rope fell away from Tim’s wrists and he rubbed the feeling back into his hands, watching Ra’s’ men make their retreat. 

When they were gone, Tim spoke up, summoning what little bravado he had left in him. “Drowning your sorrows?”

Ra’s laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve had plenty of time to survey the field now that the smoke’s cleared and it doesn’t look all that bad.”

“How’s that?” asked Tim. “Because I seem to remember today ending with multiple people betraying you and your grand plan being snuffed out like a sad little candle.”

“Well, for one thing, I still have you.”

“Not for long I’m sure.”

“Anticipating a rescue party, are we?” Ra’s cooed. “Oh, Detective, you’re smarter than that. We both know it’ll be a few days before they realize you didn’t make a run for it and longer still until they’re ready to mount a rescue attempt.”

Ra’s pushed away from the wall and walked to a side table where a platter of hard cheese and assorted fruit rested. Tim watched his back as he perused his opinions. “Of course, when they do come I’ll put up quite the defensive effort—  for much longer than I think they’ll be willing to fight for you. Siege warfare is such a strenuous affair after all and they have lots of other battles that need fighting. And then... you know how the old saying goes… out of sight, out of mind.” 

He snapped off a bunch of grapes and turned back to face Tim.

Tim’s fists curled at his sides. “Wanton drunkenness isn’t a good look on you, Ra’s.”

“Oh, now don’t be a sore loser. I think you’re just angry at yourself for not running when you had the chance.”

Tim’s eyes lowered. He watched the grape Ra’s rolled between his fingers. “I wouldn’t have made it far before you dragged me back.”

“No, you wouldn’t have, but I would’ve loved to see you try all the same. Nothing like the thrill of the chase to get the blood pumping.”

Ra’s popped the grape in his mouth. It crushed between his teeth in a burst of juices. “Still, it does mean we get more quality time together. To really get to know each other.

I already know you more than I care to, he thought to himself. And with every new piece of me you reveal, the less I grow to like myself.

“What am I doing here, Ra’s?” His head and shoulders ached something horrible and these frequent battles of wit that they played together drained what little energy he had left. He just wanted to go back to his prison cell and lose himself in unconsciousness. 

“Why, our arrangement of course.”

Tim stared at him. “The deal’s off, I’m pretty sure it died the moment I betrayed you. I can’t be a ‘partner to you in all things’ if I’m locked in a prison cell. And frankly, I don’t care to be.” 

“Oh, is that why you thought I locked you up? Oh no, Detective. That was more of a disciplinary action than any decision to condemn you to life imprisonment. Think of it as a demotion. I still want our partnership to continue, but you’ll have to earn your way back into my trust before I’ll share any sensitive information with you— ”

Tim reached the door in two large strides. He used his already clenched fist as a knocker. “Guards!”

“What are you doing?” Ra’s asked as the door opened and the guards returned, looking in confusion from Tim to Ra’s and back again. 

“I’m going back to my prison cell because I’m not your personal fucking prostitute, Ra’s,” Tim replied. He held out his hands for the guards to bind. “You can take me back down to my cell now.”

“So, I suppose you don’t want to hear about Jason then?”

Bitter anger surged in Tim all at once. He jerked around with a hiss. “You mean the boy that you killed out of petty teenage-level jealousy simply because I cared about him? Why the fuck would I want to hear about that, huh?”

 “Whoever told you he was dead?”

“Stop. Stop toying with me! He was exposed to a lethal dose of anthrax. There’s no way he survived.”

“Oh you’re right about that, but Talia was determined it wouldn’t stay that way. I always told her not to get too attached to her pets, but she never did listen to me.”

“Wha—“ Tim’s hands dropped to his sides. Suddenly his arms felt like overcooked spaghetti instead of muscle and bone.“Are— Are you saying that Jason’s alive?”

“Why should I tell you? Our deal is off,” he eyed him, “isn’t it?”

Tim’s chest felt like it was being constricted, the air slowly being squeezed from his lungs. He tipped his head back and stared unseeing at the ceiling unwilling to believe that even after everything he'd gone through, Ra’s still managed to find strings to pull that forced Tim to dance to his whims like a marionette. He thought he had nothing left to lose and therefore, Ra’s had nothing he could gain. He was wrong.

Tim shook his head, he just needed to keep himself together enough to get through tonight. If he could find out if Jason was alive, it would make it all worth it. With that resolution in mind, he stepped up close to Ra’s, tugged sharply at the older man’s belt buckle releasing the clasp and pulled the leather out through the loops. 

Ra’s hummed, amusement playing on his lips. “What’s this?” 

“I’m renegotiating,” Tim tossed the belt to the floor. “You said to me once that one favor deserves to be repaid with another. So here’s the new deal. If you want me, fine, but in return, you give me a piece of information that I want as payment. Otherwise, you get nothing.”

Ra’s stood close enough to unsettle the hairs at his temples with his every exhale. “Yes, that is one way we could do it. But what gave you the idea that I need your agreement to do anything? If I want it, I can simply take it.” 

Tim tilted his head up and stared him directly in the eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

The silence stretched on for so long that Tim feared he’d lose his nerve before finally Ra’s made up his mind. “Leave us,” he snapped at his men, “and don’t return again until I call for you myself.”

The door shut with a click. Ra’s planted his hand on Tim’s shoulder and shoved hard until he obligingly dropped onto his knees before him. “I’m sure you remember what I taught you on our first night together?”

The knot in Tim’s stomach uncoiled all at once. This was nothing Tim hadn’t already suffered through before. If anything, he was more prepared for it. He could do this, he could.

He unzipped Ra’s’ fly and yanked his pants down around his thighs. There was no underwear to do away with, to no one's surprise. 

 Tim eyed Ra’s through his lashes. “After I do this… immediately after, you’ll tell me what I want to know?”

Ra’s threaded his fingers through his hair and held it in a tight grip. “Yes, now get to work before I change my mind.”

He pulled Tim towards his crotch. Tim’s face was pressed close to Ra’s’ skin, his every inhale breathing in Ra’s’ sweat and singular musk, before Ra’s released the pressure on the back of his head for him to pull back. Tim got to work, pushing his emotions down and away — the way Bruce had taught him to do when detailing with a violent crime scene or while undercover. 

He took Ra’s in his hand, stroking him with a skilled and purposeful movement that Ra’s had taught him himself. It felt like too soon before he was wrapping his lips around Ra’s cock and bobbing forward, rocking back and forth on his knees against the hardwood floor of Ra’s room. Tim knew that the quicker he brought Ra’s over the brink the sooner this would all be over. The noises they made together were filthy to his ears, too wet and sloppy and eager. He worked hard to ignore Ra’s ceaseless rambling from above him, endless words of encouragement that made Tim’s cheeks burn with shame and fury alike.

“Yes, Timothy. Don’t you see? This is where you belong. On your knees before me, serving me—”

Tim was startled when the hand on his head increased its pressure. He was shoved down onto Ra’s cock, felt it at the back of his throat as Ra’s continued to buck up into him. Tim choked around the intrusion and shoved half blindly at Ra’s hip to make it stop.

Ra’s shushed him. “Don’t fight it. You’re stronger than this.”

Tim’s eyes watered and his throat convulsed as he worked to relax his throat and control his panicked breathing. 

It seemed to take forever, but his body eventually adjusted.  

Ra's pumped his hips forward shallowly. “I’m so—”  

Tim was released with a gasp, falling backward onto his elbows, spit trailing from his lips. Ra’s took himself in hand and jerked energetically. Tim turned his cheek away at the last second, catching the trail of Ra’s seed against his cheek and neck. 

Tim’s hand rose to wipe the mess away but was caught fast in Ra’s’ grip. “If you want to know what happened to Jason you’ll leave it where it is.” 

Tim glared and retracted his hand. 

“Good boy,” Ra’s purred. 

 “Tell me,” Tim’s voice was raspy. 

Ra’s slipped himself back into his pants, leaving Tim in favor of searching out his forgotten wine glass. “I sent out men to follow Talia’s trail after I discovered her betrayal. The first pictures came back this morning.” 

He flicked through a stack on a table and tossed one carelessly down to him. Tim snatched it up with greedy fingers, unable to believe his eyes.

“He’s alive,” Tim couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Ra’s didn’t fail to notice it. 

“By all means,” he replied. “keep the photo. Soon, it’ll be the only thing that you’ll have left to remember him by.” 

“Oh,” Ra’s continued. “I know it wasn’t part of our deal, but stay for a bit. Take a glass of wine, eat your fill, or just put your feet up. There’s no reason why we have to keep this strictly business.”

  Tim pushed himself off the floor, folding the picture of Jason up into a neat little square. He moved to the buffet table and picked up a cloth napkin.“I think I’ll head back to my cell if it’s all the same to you. After all, I’m still your prisoner.”

He wiped his face clean and dropped the soiled napkin on the end of the table.

 “You can’t be serious,” Ra’s said as Tim turned and walked back towards the door. “I’m offering you an evening of luxury instead of a night in a cold cell.”

Tim stilled. The door held open before him with the guards standing across the threshold. He half-turned. “I know and I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.”

Ra’s men looked over Tim’s shoulder at where Ra’s stood behind him, waiting for him to give them their orders. Tim waited too, ready to be escorted back down the numerous floors to a dark lonely room. His wish never came. Instead, Ra’s called out, “Escort him to one of the guest rooms. The door can stay unlocked.”

Now Tim did turn, confusion written plainly on his face, but Ra’s’ face was as unreadable as ever. Before he could ask any of the millions of questions running havoc inside his brain the guards shuffled him out the door. 

All he could think as he was left alone in front of a guest room whose door was free of any locks was, What the hell is he playing at now? 

Once again he was alone and in the dark. Perhaps this was a prison cell of another kind entirely, and Tim was beginning to think that all the lockpicks in the world wouldn’t get him out of this one. 

[a-royal-obsession]

Lord Malmesbury to the Prince of Wales

Brunswick, Friday, 5 Dec. 1794

Major Hislop deliver’d to me on Wednesday last the third inst. at noon your Royal Highness’s letter of the 23d, & the very gracious manner you are pleas’d to express yourself in towards me fills me with the deepest gratitude, & if possible adds to the respectful attachment by which I am bound to your Royal Highness.

An hour after Major Hislop’s arrival I was admitted to my audiences of the Duke & Dutchess; I need not say with how much joy & feeling their Highnesses gave their consent to the demand I had it in command to make. From them I was conducted to the Princess Caroline, who replied in the most graceful & dignified manner to what I said, altho’ not without some confusion. Her words convey’d everything your Royal Highness could wish to hear, & as I hope you will soon hear them from her own mouth I will not attempt to repeat them. I immediately afterwards presented to the Princess your Royal Highness’s portrait, & it is really impossible to describe the appearance of delight on her countenance. She immediately fasten’d it round her neck where it has remain’d ever since.

Yesterday, Sir, was employ’d in negotiating & signing the treaty of marriage with Monsr. de Feronce. He executed & compleated it in the course of the day and I send it by this messenger to Lord Grenville. Your Royal Highness will allow me to refer you to the despatches I wrote him for a more minute detail of the ceremonial observ’d on my going to the several audiences, & also as to what pass’d between Monsr. de Feronce & myself on the subject of the treaty.

All the festivities in consequence of this happy event will be ended by Monday, the 8th inst. Three days will be requir’d afterwards for making the necessary preparations for the journey, but on Thursday, the eleventh, everything will be ready & on that day we may, & certainly will, set out, providing I receive before that time from Lord Grenville positive intelligence of the certain destination of the Squadron to escort the Princess to England, the name of the port at which we are to embark & the probable day of its arrival there. I most assuredly, on the receipt of your Royal Highness’s letter, should, without hesitation, have directed our route thro’ Holland without waiting for official orders had I not receiv’d at the same time instructions under his Majesty’s Royal Sign Manual for the direction of my conduct on this occasion. In these instructions the name of the port to which I am to convey the Princess is purposely left in blank & this omission is explain’d by Mr. Burges (who unquestionably writes under Lord Grenville’s authority) in these words, “I must make one remark to explain (what may strike you as a deficiency in your instructions) the blank which has been left for the place at which you are to embark with the Princess. It happens that that point has not been yet exactly ascertain’d, but you may depend upon knowing it very soon, & in the meantime I should conceive nothing need be said about it. There is every reason to suppose Stade will be the place fixed upon.” Y.R.H. will perceive that this not only precludes me, absolutely, from the power of determination, but even supposing, in my earnest desire to comply with your Royal Highness’s wishes, if I was to take upon me to determine, it might happen that while I was conducting the Princess thro’ Holland, the Fleet intended to escort her might be on its course towards Stade, & I then should not only be placed in a most distressful dilemma, but also, & with just cause, be accused of having taken so precipitate a step, of having neglected my duty & proved unworthy of the high & important trust his Majesty & your Royal Highness have been pleas’d to confide in me.

I have indeed, in my own mind, little doubt but that the details I have enter’d into will be useless & that before the 11th I shall receive from Lord Grenville positive accounts of the sailing of the Fleet, of the port to which it is sent, & his Majesty’s commands to begin the journey. Should this be the case (& I can scarce doubt it) we shall reach the seaside, if our route is to be thro’ Holland, in eight days; if thro’ Stade in four, & in either case there will be every reasonable probability that the Princess may be in Carlton House by or very near the twentieth of this month. I shall look upon the moment when I see her safely arrived there as one of the most joyful ones of my life; till then I shall not have one free from sollicitude & anxiety which will I confess increase by the apprehension that your Royal Highness may impute to me delays & procrastination which I feel most sensibly, but which I neither could foresee or can prevent, being tied down by precise & positive instructions.

The moment our departure is finally settled I shall dispatch another messenger; in the meanwhile I have written to the Duke of York & to Lord St. Helens that in case we can go thro’ Holland everything may be ready for getting us thro’ that country as safely & as expeditiously as possible.

The Princess will not be accompanied to England by any woman of rank of this country. She will have three female attendants, one of which will be somewhat above the description of the other two, who are simply femmes de chambre and who occassionally will be employ’d to read to her.

I must repeat, Sir, & I do it with the more pleasure because I believe it to be sincere, that every expression & every word which falls from the Princess’s lips goes to prove her earnest desire & eager wish to promote your Royal Highness’s happiness, & her mind seems impress’d with the most secure conviction of being happy herself.

You will receive, Sir, by this messenger a box which was brought me by the Princess’s nurse containing a shoe she wore in her infancy: she presented it to me in conformity to an old custom in this country & I hope I have not done wrong in giving her fifty ducats in your Royal Highness’s name.

[thiswomanshouldbewriting]

A Tale of Magic - Chapter 5 (Quiet Minds)

After way too many days of procrastinating out of fear of getting this chapter wrong, I finally found the courage to post it. infinite thanks to @galactic-pirates, my wonderful beta, who was even more patient than usual with me. 

In this chapter we learn how Rumplestiltskin was brought back from the dead, and what that meant for him. In present-day Storybrooke, Belle has a very emotional day. Zelena makes everybody miserable.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Ao3 link. 

The Enchanted Forest, five months ago.

The man trembled before Zelena, his hands clenching nervously around the old key. 

“So I just need to open that vault?” he asked, made suspicious by the apparent simplicity of the task. 

“Yes. I believe even a monkey like you should be able to do that. Or should I give you a little incentive? Four children, three children… it doesn’t make much difference, does it?” Zelena threatened.

All color drained from the man’s face. 

“No, please, you said you wouldn’t harm them,” he begged.

“I said I’d spare them if you did as you were told. If you really want to keep them safe, stop asking stupid questions, and do what I say,” Zelena remarked.

He nodded nervously, then turned around and walked to the center of the clearing. It was a warm day, but the metal circle that marked the entrance to the vault was ice cold. He knelt beside the lock, brushing the dirt off of the opening, then took a deep breath and pushed the key inside. 

The key seemed to catch fire, turning incandescent against his hand as the air filled with the stench of burned skin. He screamed, falling back as he let the key go, the pain so intense that at first he didn’t even notice the black, gooey substance coming out of the vault. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, terror rising in him as he realized how difficult it was becoming to form words.

“Don’t you know that all magic comes at a price? I needed to bring someone back from the dead, so someone else needed to die. I promised your family would be safe, I never said anything about you,” Zelena cackled.

He collapsed to the ground, his vision blurring. The last thing he was aware of was the shape of a man emerging from the goo. 

Zelena watched in awe as her old mentor was forcefully brought back from limbo as the peasant’s life force was transferred to him. Centuries before, an ambitious king had tethered the Dark One’s soul to this vault, so that not even death could ever free him of the king’s control. The spell he had crafted to bring the Dark One back had never been tested before, but Zelena had never doubted that she would succeed. She was surprised by Rumplestiltskin’s appearance once the spell was completed: he looked human now, but there was no doubt that he was still the Dark One: the dagger in his hands still bore his name. Just as Zelena had expected, he was barely conscious once the spell was completed; being brought back from the dead was bound to leave him weakened for some time. He collapsed to the ground and barely even flinched when she took the dagger from his trembling fingers.

“Zelena… no…” he murmured, but not even panic could give him the strength to fight back. He was completely at her mercy. 

“Save you breath, dearie,” she said, kneeling down so that her face was mere inches from his. “You’re going to need all of your strength very soon.”

**********

Storybrooke, present. 

Belle had been in the shop all day. Ever since they’d come back to Storybrooke she’d been checking the inventory to see if anything had gone missing or if something new had made its way to the shop. She had found nothing relevant so far, but the pawnshop was so filled with trinkets that it would take her several more days to finish the job. She didn’t mind though; she enjoyed the cozy quiet of the shop, and being surrounded by Rumplestiltskin’s things made her feel closer to him. Sometimes she could almost imagine he was fixing something in the back, and that at any moment he’d walk past the curtain and ask her if she wanted a cup of tea. It was a bittersweet thought, one that sometimes warmed her from the inside and at others left her in tears.

Today had been a bit of a rollercoaster. First the news about the cloaked figure in the woods, then the ripple of magic as the curse was broken, and not long after that Neal had walked in, telling her of his encounter with his father. Rumplestiltskin was clearly in some sort of confused state, but after a while he had recognized his son. Belle was determined to see it as good news: if Rumplestiltskin had improved slightly after such a short time with Neal, whatever had been done to him was probably reversible. It had to be.

When her cellphone rang, Belle took a deep breath before answering, readying herself for the latest crisis. 

“Hi Belle,” Emma said, her voice frustratingly neutral, carrying no hint of whether she was the bearer of bad or good news. “Are you sitting right now?”

Belle understood that Emma was just concerned for her and her baby, but even this short delay was hell on her nerves.

“Yes, now please just tell me what’s going on,” she all but begged. 

“David and I just stopped a flying monkey from attacking Gold. The monster was chasing him through the woods, but while we dealt with the monkey Gold ran away from us too. He was confused, but he seemed to recognize me, or at least to remember that I’m on his side. He looked as though he was trying to say something but couldn’t bring himself to focus on it,” Emma explained. “We’re trying to track him down again, but I thought you needed to know immediately. The monkeys follow Zelena’s orders, they shouldn’t be attacking him. Either she lost control of them, or she lost control of Rumplestiltskin. Maybe he managed to get his hands on his dagger and escape. And if he did…”

“He’ll come to me,” Belle concluded for her, a smile forming on her lips. Her Rumple was coming back. He was coming home. “I’ll keep my eyes open, and I’ll be ready to face any flying monkey that might be chasing him. There’s more than enough magic in here to deal with them.”

“Still, I told Neal to join you at the shop. He has already been through enough today, and Gold will want to see him as well. If anyone can bring him back to his senses, it’s you two,” Emma said, her tone turning softer. She truly hoped things would turn out alright for them. She remembered what it was like, to be pregnant and scared, and she wouldn’t have wished that on her worst enemy, let alone Belle. 

After hanging up the phone, Emma resumed her search with even more determination. She was the Savior, it was her duty to bring back the happy endings, and that now included Rumplestiltskin’s as well. She’d reunite him with his family, then they’d defeat Zelena together and Henry would be safe. That’s what she kept telling herself. It was a good mantra, but it didn’t stop the doubts from creeping up inside her, a dark thought she was completely unable to push back. Safe, sure, her fear whispered, but for how long? 

**********

The Enchanted Forest, after Rumplestiltskin’s resurrection. 

Rumplestiltskin was going mad. He had no memories of what being dead felt like, but he was sure not even hell could be this bad. Zelena had confined him to a small cage in the great hall of his own castle, forbidding him from doing any magic, and laying helplessly in the dirt day after day was quickly chipping away at his sanity. Zelena had total control over his life; she could starve him for days just as she could force feed him, all while taunting him and mocking him for his weakness. His immortality prevented him from suffering any lasting damage, so he couldn’t even hope death would put an end to his misery.

Even the solace of sleep was eluding him. Dark Ones didn’t need to sleep, and the constant fear and frustration he was living with guaranteed to keep him awake at all times. Dark magic was simmering in his veins, begging to be released, not accustomed to being trapped for so long. Every day he found himself spending more and more time picturing Zelena’s death, the images becoming increasingly gruesome as the darkness inside of him mounted. Soon enough, his skin started to show the change, gradually going back to its old reptilian appearance. 

“We’re the same, you and I,” Zelena commented one day, pointing at his now completely scaly skin. “Our skin reflects who we really are on the inside. No matter how much you try to fight me, how much you want to tell yourself that you’ve changed, the truth is that you’re every bit as dark as I am. We both revel in darkness, and you were a fool to push me away.”

A wave of the dagger sent him to his knees as Zelena entered the cage and sat on the stool in front of him. This was the part of his imprisonment that he hated the most. He tried to keep his breathing under control as Zelena put her fingers on his temples and started reading his mind. Under any other circumstances, he could have stopped her; searching someone’s memories and thoughts was a delicate process, requiring both the expertise of the reader and complete compliance of the subject. Zelena’s magic was strong enough to grant her access to his mind, but she took no care in making the process any less painful for him. Every time it felt as though his head was about to explode, but he was forbidden to fight back, and the witch only seemed to take pleasure in the whimpers that sometimes escaped his lips.

He collapsed to the floor once she left him alone, fighting to hold back the tears and retain what little was left of his dignity. As always, he tried to make sense of all the memories that had flashed through his mind as Zelena read them; there had to be a pattern, something she was looking for, and if he could figure it out then maybe he could find some leverage against her. It worried him to no end that she seemed particularly interested in his family; she was digging for information about Belle, Bae, Henry and Emma, and he dreaded to know why. If he couldn’t get free, he had to at least find a way to warn them. One day Zelena would make a mistake, no matter how tiny, and he’d make sure that was her downfall. 

**********

Storybrooke, present day. 

Belle had never been good at waiting. She wasn’t one to sit around and wait for something to happen, or for someone else to solve the problem, yet waiting was the only thing she could do right now. Considering how nervous she was, she had given up on taking inventory - lest she accidentally spill a potion or break some rare item- and tried to distract herself with a book, but it was the tenth time she had read the same page, and she still had no idea of what it said. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Neal looking worriedly at her, but there was nothing he could do to help.

The sound of the front door banging open made her jump in her seat. Rumplestiltskin stumbled over the threshold, crumpling to the floor. Belle rushed around the counter, kneeling with some difficulty by his side. 

“Rumple? Rumple can you hear me?” Her voice choked with emotion as she caressed his face. His eyes were closed, and she could already feel herself panicking when she heard Neal’s voice. 

“He’s breathing. He just fainted. He’ll be alright,” he told her, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 

She didn’t want to leave Rumplestiltskin on the floor, but with her belly making her even clumsier than usual there was no way she could carry him to the cot, even with Neal’s help.

They had to wait until Regina arrived and used her magic to move him. Thankfully she was prompt and soon Rumplestiltskin was resting comfortably on the cot in the back. Belle sat by his side, taking one of his hands in hers. There was dirt under his nails and over his suit, and he had lost weight since the last time she saw him. Still, he was alive and with her, and that was the only thing that mattered. 

She held her breath when he finally stirred. She knew he wasn’t quite himself, but she had to see it with her own eyes. She needed to see how bad the situation was before she could attempt to improve it somehow. Rumplestiltskin looked around confused, clearly trying to make sense of his surroundings.

“Hey, Rumple… do you recognize me?” Belle asked, gently squeezing his hand. 

Rumplestiltskin stared at their entwined hands for what felt like a lifetime.

“Light,” he said eventually, looking up to meet Belle’s gaze.

In that moment, Belle knew that they’d be alright. Rumplestiltskin might not have said her name, but he knew that she and Bae were his guiding lights. Rumplestiltskin was trying to come back to them, and now she had proof of it.

“It’s alright, Rumple. You’re safe now,” she said reassuringly. 

Apparently, those were the wrong words. Rumplestiltskin immediately became nervous, sitting up and slipping his hand from her grasp. 

“Not safe, never safe,” he protested. “I must… warn you. Danger… Zelena… she’s coming for our baby.”

Every word seemed to cost Rumplestiltskin energy, and he took his head in his hands, on the verge of tears. The world was spinning around him, clearer than before and yet still so confused. He could feel cold sweat trickling down his neck, and he was starting to feel dizzy. The feeling of a warm, soft hand carding through his hair cut through his panic, anchoring him back to reality. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You already warned us. You were incredibly brave, and without you we would have already lost,” the woman in front of him murmured, her voice soothing his fears just as much as Zelena’s presence fostered them. Light, that was the first word that came to his mind when he looked at her, but he knew she had a name, one that was close to his heart, a name that he should remember. How could he had forgotten it? Forget… forget… an accent you wouldn’t soon forget. Brown hair. Beautiful blue eyes. Her name is…

“Belle,” he breathed out in relief, in joy, in recognition. Another piece of the puzzle was in place, and he felt peace like he hadn’t in weeks, maybe months. 

“Yes, it’s me, I’m here, and our baby is safe,” she said, smiling brightly as she took one of his hands and placed it on her belly. 

That contact seemed to light another spark of recognition in his brain. More and more memories came to his mind as the world once again started to make sense. 

“Bae, where is Bae?” he asked. He needed his family to be complete, he needed them all to clear the fog away. 

“I’m here Papa,” Neal said immediately, taking Rumplestiltskin’s free hand. 

Memories flooded Rumplestiltskin’s mind as he held hands with those he loved the most. Separations and reunions, fights and tender moments, all characterized by the love that had guided him and shaped him into the person he was now. 

Even if Belle hadn’t felt the tingle of magic go through her fingers, she could have pinpointed the exact moment in which Rumplestiltskin remembered by the look in his eyes.

“Belle… Bae,” he called their names again, emotional and disbelieving, then pulled them into a hug. 

Rumplestiltskin was finally home. 

**********

Regina’s palace, three months ago. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Snow told Belle one day. “If you want, I can tell you if you’ll be having a boy or a girl. I’ve finally found Ruth’s locket, and I can guarantee it works.”

Belle was fascinated by the locket, and gladly took the offer. She wasn’t hoping for a boy or a girl in particular, but it would be nice to know in advance, and she watched with bated breath as the necklace dangled over her palm. 

“North to South,” Snow observed, “It means it’s a boy. Congratulations.”

Belle smiled thankfully at her, as the image of a little boy with Rumple’s eyes formed in her mind. Snow had been extremely supportive of her during the past several months, and they had grown a lot closer. Belle was incredibly thankful for her and her other friends; thanks to them, she had found new happiness in her life, and the thought of Rumplestiltskin was starting to bring more melancholy than despair. She still cried herself to sleep sometimes, and she doubted she would ever be over him, but her life had to go on, for her sake just as much as for her child’s. 

The sound of the large windows bursting open made everyone in the room startle. Zelena flew through the open window and dismounted her broom, and then beside her appeared…

“Rumple,” the name left Belle’s lips in a choked whisper. After months of believing him dead, her True Love was in front of her. He was real, he was alive, and his dagger was in Zelena’s hands. David drew his sword, and a fireball formed in Regina’s hand, but before any of them could take action they were all frozen in place by a spell.

“Belle,” Rumple called to her, his voice full of despair. Then his gaze moved to her belly, and his eyes widened in surprise and horror. “You… you’re…”

“Yes, your little maid is pregnant with your child, why are you so surprised? Oh, I must have forgotten to tell you; I’ve known for months,” Zelena taunted him, and Belle felt white, hot rage course through her veins.

“Shush now, we didn’t come here for a family reunion. We came here to deliver a message,” Zelena went on, and Belle could see how Rumplestiltskin’s body tensed with her command, how abruptly his jaw slammed shut. Belle wasn’t sure if she had ever felt such fury before. She didn’t just want to get the dagger back from Zelena; she wanted to hurt her, and that wasn’t a sensation she was familiar with. All thoughts of revenge left her mind, however, when Zelena strode directly towards her and laid one hand on her belly. Trapped and unable to react, Belle could hardly hear Zelena’s words over the desperate, terrified beating of her heart. 

 “You see, I have a spell in mind, and your child is exactly what I need for it. So take care of it for me, because I’ll be back for your happy day,” Zelena gloated, her lips spreading in a smile that made Belle feel sick. She wanted to scream and run away, to get rid of Zelena and wrap her arms around Rumple, but all she could do was stare at the witch with wide eyes, unable to hide the utter terror in them. 

Zelena and Rumplestiltskin vanished, the spell was lifted, and Belle staggered forward, her legs threatening to give out. She had just found out that her True Love was alive, but that joy had turned to ash in front of her eyes. Fear was drowning out all of her thoughts: if she didn’t do something, she was going to lose her child. 

**********

Storybrooke, present day. 

“I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long,” Belle breathed, eventually pulling back from their family hug.

Neal, feeling suddenly awkward, decided to join Regina in the front of the shop. He had come a long way with his father, but he was definitely not ready to see him be all sappy with his girlfriend; and he was one-hundred percent sure that his father was the sappiest, most foolishly romantic man in the world. 

“I knew that our love could beat Zelena. That you could,” Belle went on as Neal left the room. 

“Your unwavering faith constantly astounds me,” Rumplestiltskin replied, his voice breaking with emotion. There were tears in both his and Belle’s eyes, and after so long apart he simply couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted to hold her close and never let go, to bury his nose in her hair and forget the world. They both leaned forward at the same time, desperate for the kiss that they had been denied for too long. When their lips were only a breath apart, however, Rumplestiltskin abruptly pushed her back. 

“Run,” he said in a whisper, his voice suddenly panicked. 

“What?” Belle asked, confused. It didn’t make sense, everything was going so well. 

“Run!”

Rumplestiltskin screamed this time, but Belle barely managed to get to her feet before Zelena appeared beside Rumplestiltskin, the dagger held firmly in one hand, her cruel laughter sending chills down Belle’s spine. 

“Don’t mind me. I was just enjoying the show,” Zelena taunted, roughly grabbing a fistful of Rumplestiltskin’s hair and forcing him to look at her. “I’m sorry to ruin such a sickeningly sweet reunion, but I’m afraid Rumple and I have a lot of things to do. Thank you for bringing him back to sanity, by the way.”

“You knew. You set this all up. You set him free knowing that Bae and I could heal him,” Belle accused her, realization hitting her with the force of a truck. She could hardly believe how stupid she had been; with Zelena holding the dagger, it was ridiculous to think that Rumple could have escaped, but she had been so blinded by her own feelings that she had failed to notice all the red flags, and she had played right into Zelena’s hands. 

“You heroes are so predictable; all I had to do was set him free and make him forget about it,” Zelena gloated. 

“You made a huge mistake,” Rumplestiltskin growled. “Now that my mind is clear, it’s only a matter of time before I get that dagger back and run it through your chest.”

“You know you can't hurt me, but you're more than welcome to try. I do so enjoy watching futility wreck a man's will. Now be a good little Dark One, and get back to your cage,” Zelena said, pressing the dagger against Rumplestiltskin’s face. 

Belle could see him tense at the contact, and saw the struggle in his eyes, how strongly he tried to fight the command, but to no avail. After one last, desperate glance at Belle, Rumplestiltskin disappeared in a puff of smoke. Zelena followed, and a beat later Neal and Regina barged in from the other room.

“She caught us by surprise and paralyzed us. What happened here, where is my father?” Neal asked immediately, kneeling beside Belle, who had collapsed into the nearest chair. 

She wanted to tell him, but the more she tried the harder it was to form words past the lump in her throat. It hurt. It hurt to be this helpless. It hurt to think of the despair in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, and how she hadn’t been able to do anything for him. It hurt to know that, despite all her efforts, she could never make things right. She wanted to be a hero, but the truth was that she was more of a liability. Her sobs grew louder and louder as the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on her, until a sudden pain in her low abdomen turned her despair into shocked horror. 

“Belle? Belle, what’s wrong?” Neal asked frantically, worried by the sudden change in her expression.

Belle’s voice came out hoarse and feeble, each word dripping with fear.

“I think I’m going into labor.” 

[sleepymarmot]

A couple of months ago, after finishing COUNTER/Weight, I spent about a week in a total hangover, relistening to scenes and having feelings. I took some notes, but procrastinated posting them, and then finally got distracted. But, a) I hate leaving things I intended for tumblr unposted, even if they have value only for me, and b) I also hate posting things out of order, and there's a big TM liveblog incoming. So, here's a bunch of really random thoughts about C/w from past me.

The gnosis virus did go nowhere huh. I was hopeful for a minute when one of the finale intros mentioned it, but that was it. What was the purpose of that arc even. [Note from present me: Lol. At least I feel better about this one!]

Oh, and the patch AuDy left never reappeared either. And the idea from the faction game that Aria's images owned by EarthHome/Petrichor transmit Rigour code… That's the flip side of the coin. On the one hand, it's really cool to see the creative process – on the other, it sometimes feels like you're listening to people write a script for the tv show, but only get to see a half of the finished product. It's fascinating to see the universe grow organically and the players to come up with new ideas and get excited about them – but that means numerous retcons, some of them not even presented as such, because the creators forgot what the previous revision was or didn't thought it was important. It's a unique feature of the medium that player choice directs the narrative and it's not bound by railroading – but that means some roads lead nowhere, and some branches dry and fall off.

It's a bit harder to make peace with something that could have easily been developed more within the existing plot of the show. How come there's a player character whose consciousness consists of three different people in various combinations, but nobody seems to be curious how that works? No PC or NPC ever asked “Which one of you is speaking right now?” or something. The final episodes made a lot of things clearer, but it still felt too little, too late. Hard not to be reminded of that gripe about certain two characters sharing one character sheet one of whom was left underdeveloped and half-forgotten… Both are very ambitious concepts that require a double amount of work from the player, so I feel bad complaining they weren't realized to full potential, but…

Speaking of L&D… I still want to know how the hell did that one engineer all by herself design 4 gods, one of which became a basis for technology that was advanced even for the civilizations 80,000 years later? This woman singlehandedly surpassed any technological achievement of humanity before and after. Who Is She

I saw a “Wake me up: before you go go / when september ends / wake me up inside” meme and thought “heh, this sounds relevant, which member of the Chime is which?” and it already made me sad, but then I realized that I'd never actually heard the september song and looked it up and. The lyrics fit so well. What the fuck. It's an old song everyone keeps joking about. Why is it appropriate for a legitimate fanmix. What. I guess the word “September” will never be the same again for me.

I looked up the rules for Firebrands, the game used for the finale. Oh my, challenges for the dance minigame are so overtly romantic when you see them in a list together! Imagine this cast of characters having to answer to “do you place your hand upon my elbow, shoulder, waist, or hip?” lmao. Also I didn't realize “May I?” was part of the rules for “stealing time together”. (And I found out there's a party version of that minigame with bug-themed challenges. I might have dug too deep…) "Tactical skirmish" is a really fascinating concept, I've never seen such a masochistic combat system! Really faces the player with the violence they're inflicting: sure, you can always fight on, but are you ready to live with what you'll have to do? But for it to work fully, you need a lot of non-expendable NPCs on both sides. The one with the most likeable team wins! (Like Mako did.)

I'm relistening to Three Conversations and it's pretty interesting that Ibex has a bunch perfectly lifelike android bodies, right? There is no such technology seen anywhere else. Did Righteousness develop and privatize that? Are they so complex that only a Divine would have enough computing power to successfully mimic organic life? Can Aria convince Righteousness to help her perform on stage without leaving her duties? Also, like with AuDy, I wonder how Ibex & Righteousness' consciousness works. Is it a single mind, spread across every body he has, or even anything Righteousness is running on, having a bunch of different conversations at once if he needs to? Or is the original Ibex just gone, and what's left is a personality imprint hanging on to the connection to his still living body, imitating his former self like the automated recording Cass saw wore his face? In other words, has Ibex completely fused with Righteousness, or assimilated and destroyed by it? Does he not exist anymore as an independent singular being, or does he not exist at all? Most info indicates the former, but there was also “You’re not in there anymore” “No”.

If Orth and Jace are anime fans with their Kingdom Come and Panther, then Ibex is the guy who's way too into dinosaurs or paleontology. It's as if the heads of various confessions were called Triceratops, Stegosaurus etc. and only one of them knows wtf that means, and also he compares his Divine to… Were there scavenging dinosaurs? I'm looking at an article that suggests T. Rex might have been a scavenger, so yeah he would compare Righteousness to a goddamn T. Rex.

Hey what do you think is the most thematically aproppriate part of the Hieron anime for Orth to watch alone at night during the Kingdom game. What's the best thematic parallel for when he turns off the episode and thinks he made a mistake. Do you think that he once, after a long day and a long month and maybe a long year of feeling helpless and doomed, sits down for a distraction but ends up sobbing “How could they let this happen to Mother Glory”

On Joypark, there are definitely statues of Eidolons, ancient and holy, that were repainted and repurposed as Hieron deities. Imagine a giant Greek or Roman style marble statue of Apote – and it’s painted over as Samot, with an anime face and in really bright plain colors like these “reconstructions of original coloring” that actually only use base colors so they look like cheap action figures.

I was reading Austin's top ten games of 2016 list on Waypoint and he gave first place to The Sprawl! Aww!

The Downloads folder in my phone gallery is funny bc it mostly consists of every freely available f@tt map and also that one photo of Tristan Walker (because I tried to redraw it, very unsuccessfully). I go check a map and every time am met by Ibex just. staring at me. It's unsettling

Some of the many options for how Apostolosian gender could have been presented:

Apostolosians prefer to be addressed by the most neutral available human pronoun, represented as "they" in English, because the human languages don't have anything close enough

Apostolosian pronouns are represented in English by a set of real-life common pronouns and neopronouns

There's a list of Apostolosian pronouns and they're just used in English verbatim (Really impractical because the players need a cheat sheet, but the most fair)

Humans apply human genders to Apostolosians. Apostolosians may be offended, may find it convenient, or something else

As Austin said in the post-mortem, the Eidolon system is not gender. It's represented in English by titles/honorifics/etc

Any of the above, and the creators are aware of the difference between personal pronouns, grammatical gender, and social gender

And that’s not even touching the core problem of what the concept of gender in a futuristic, techonologically advanced society would look like. Yes, I'm complaining about this for the third time but I'm just. So tired of native English speakers' takes on gendered language. They could have made Apostolosian gender look like anything and they made it look like that fucking mess... God, I really hope TM is good enough to make me forget and forgive the experience of listening to “he... sorry, they” for 100 hours. [Note from present me: Well… mostly]

Here’s my take on this: eidolons in Apostolosian language are absurdly broad noun classes with associated classifiers (which fits both the idea that they’re gender but not actually, and that each of them is a patron to several unrelated aspects of life) Apostolosian: the word “(Apo)thesa” is used to refer to people who follow the corresponding eidolon, as well as for counting buildings, heavy machinery, military units, specific strategies and tactics, log entries, historical documents and chronicles, history textbooks and monographs, and eras :) Human: what the fuck

Very critical, imaginative worldbuilding in which 80,000+ years into the future humanity somehow has 21st century gender and 21st century capitalism! TBH, I find any sci-fi set in the far future inherently silly – we can’t really imagine the future technogy and its effect on society. But it feels like C/w barely even tried, and to hear it boast about “critical worldbuilding” is kinda strange. I assumed that meant they build the world critically, not that they recreate modern society or some aspect of it and criticize that! It’s just another Star Trek then! And it was already clear right during the setup when they said “We don’t want Star Trek aliens” and immediately created Apostolosians.

I haven't seen a single piece of fanart with Taako and Mako. Come on, does nobody want to see these two next to each other! Especially considering the outfits artists like to put Taako in!

I really don't understand how and why people do fandom activities on Twitter and Discord where the creators also have accounts. It gives me so much secondhand embarrassment. I can barely peek at Twitter posts before running away. Old-fashioned opinion apparently but I strongly believe the main fandom space and the interaction-with-original-creators space should be separate. I need a space where I can voice my opinions, especially negative ones, with complete freedom. I need to be able to say exactly what's on my mind. But I wouldn't want any of the people on the podcast to read something unfiltered like my complaints above. Being in the same space as the source content creators obliges any decent person to be diplomatic and constructive. And the creators, in turn, need a space where they don't come across complete randos yelling at them about something they said in a podcast three years ago. I'm already feeling uncomfortable because hearing to strangers pour their hearts out for hundreds of hours gives me way too much insight on who they are as people. Of course, nothing’s stopping them from lurking on Tumblr or AO3 and even reading this very post, but a platform where they have official accounts is still a different thing! I even feel uncomfortable talking about the podcast creators using their first names so much. To my ear, referring to a total stranger by first name, especially if it's a shortened form, sounds so rude! I'm not their friend, I don't have that right! But, of course, writing something like “Mr Walker” in my liveblogs would have been even weirder, nobody does that...

Is it a common experience to not even think about fanfiction after listening to Hieron, but going straight to AO3 after C/w? I feel like since Hieron is still a work in progress, writing/reading about it is stepping on the GM&players' toes, and C/w is finished so it's like they gave us the keys to the playground, it's the fandom's turn now. This story has so much blanks and they must be filled! In one of the early episodes they joked that something cute they said would encourage people to ship Mako/Cass and I was like "Bold of you to assume they aren't already" and, indeed, I was right and it's the most popular C/w ship on AO3. Too bad I’m so indifferent to it…

It’s a shame we never had a full scene with Ariadne or even learned what they were up to during the finale.

I still don't understand how Ibex went from “evil CEO” to “leader of a proletarian revolution”, these sound like completely opposite concepts to me

I probably have talked about this too much and have pretty much given up on ever getting a clear picture due to all of these reimaginings but… Righteousness and Voice… Ibex takes Righteousness out of Mako but he still has Voice, that was pretty much openly stated, correct? So how does that work? I’m guessing Righteousness is hidden somewhere in Voice’s code. But if so:

Did Maryland know? On the one hand, she’s too competent not to. On the other, why would she ever allow or accept that?

How did Righteousness not get corrupted by Rigour too? Maybe it did, but broke off the connection with the rest of itself to contain the damage? Or maybe, on the contrary, it kept in contact and was sending intel to Ibex the whole time? But in that case he would have provided more help in the finale.

[dracusfyre]

Square R4: Read the Fine Print

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Relationship: Loki/Tony Stark

Summary:  Thor convinces Odin to agree to another punishment for Loki after the Attack on New York, and needs Tony's help. For Square R4: Soul Bond

@tonystarkbingo

Also on AO3

“You want me to what?” Tony said incredulously.

Thor frowned, looking confused. “I want you to be a guarantor of Loki’s behavior,” he repeated slowly. “What part is confusing you?”

Tony blinked a couple of times as he tried to wrap his mind around Thor’s proposal. His eyes went unbidden over Thor’s shoulder to Loki, who was standing with his arms clasped behind his back, face carefully blank.  Too blank, Tony thought, narrowing his eyes at him.  When Loki saw the look on Tony’s face the corner of his mouth curled just the smallest bit, which made Tony’s scowl deepen.  “Why me?” He asked finally, looking back at Thor.  He knew Loki was behind this somehow, he just needed to figure out how.  And why.

Thor started to answer, but then he glanced over his shoulder at his brother and led Tony some distance away.  “Stark, the only other option that my father will agree to is prison,” he said quietly.  “Before my mother and I intervened, he had even spoken of execution.”

“Christ!” Tony blurted. “Execution is a bit much, but prison? I think prison is good, what’s wrong with-”

“I cannot abide the thought of my brother locked away, as if there is no hope for redemption,” Thor said over Tony’s protests. When Tony still hesitated, Thor said, “Please, Stark.  I know I ask much of you, but I believe you are the only one who would treat him fairly.  I would do it myself, but Loki refused.”

Behind Thor, Loki was walking slowly around Tony’s living room as if he were already measuring for drapes, the presumptuous bastard.  Tony opened his mouth to say no, this was a terrible idea, Thor should pick someone else, when he noticed that there was a tense line to Loki’s shoulders that made Tony think that he was not as relaxed as he was trying to appear. “I gotta think about it,” Tony said instead, sighing.

“I can give you one day,” Thor said, clasping Tony on the shoulder. “Thank you, Stark.”

Beware the read more

                                                              ***

“I don't want to be his jailer!” Tony complained into the phone, pacing restlessly around his condo.  He grabbed a pair of coffee mugs and a glass and walked them to the sink.

“To be fair, it sounds more like a parole officer,” Pepper said reasonably, like the horrible person she was.

“That's not much better. I still don’t understand why Thor asked me. Why not Steve? Steve’s all about duty and whatnot.”

“Oh, I think it makes perfect sense.”

“What?”

“Aren't you the one who says that no one is irredeemable?” Pepper pointed out, and Tony made a face.  “You think I haven't noticed that since Afghanistan you've started donating to criminal rehabilitation programs? This is your chance to put your mouth where your money is.”  There was a long silence where Tony thought of and discarded a half a dozen responses to that before Pepper said, “That didn't come out right,” sounding embarrassed.

“No, but I understood what you were getting at.” He sighed. It was probably clear to both of them that he was going to do it, as long as it didn’t come with some ridiculous condition like being handcuffed together or something.  “So, how are you and Mr. Potts doing?” he asked, mostly to change the subject.  “Still going to name your first born after me?”

                                                           ***

“Ok, Thor, lay it on me. What does this thing entail?”

Thor’s eyes lightened in relief. “So you are agreeing?”

“Conditionally!” Tony said quickly, before Thor could get too excited.  “I want to know all the details first.  Like, for example, how you are going to ensure that Loki doesn’t just magic himself away? Or kill me?”

“There is a spell that even Loki cannot break,” Thor said.  He patted his pants like he was looking for something before pulling out a carved wooden tube from a pocket.  Tony stared because he didn’t know that Thor’s getup had pockets.  “My mother prepared it,” Thor explained as he pulled out a sheet of paper and unrolled it.  Tony stared at the unfamiliar writing on the paper before they blurred and rearranged themselves into English, revealing what looked like a contract.

Tony grumbled to himself as he got up to find his reading glasses. “This doesn’t look like a spell,” Tony pointed out.  “Also, do you really mean ten years? That is a hell of a commitment to do as a favor.”

“There will be very little required of you.  You probably won’t even notice, most of the time.” Thor tapped the sheet of paper, which had long provisions of what Loki was and was not allowed to do.  One of them, apparently, was ever set foot in Asgard again, which made Tony obscurely sad for Loki and then aggravated at himself that he even cared.  “The spell does most of the monitoring.  If Loki even considers disobeying any of these provisions, you will know.”

“And then what? Do I call you?”

“If you must, but the idea is that you can take care of it yourself. Stop him, talk to him, whatever you must. If the contract is broken, Loki will be taken straight to a cell in Asgard, with little hope of release.”

Tony took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.   Fucking magic contract. “And one of these provisions is that Loki can’t hurt me, right?”

“Of course. Any damage he inflicts on you will be returned to him two-fold.”

“Jesus! You guys don’t fuck around, do you?”

“We do not,” Thor said, face grave though there was a suspicious glint in his eyes.  “Are you still willing to take on this responsibility?”

“So let me get this straight.” Tony leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “When we sign this contract, Loki is magically bound to obey its provisions, and if he starts to go wrong, it will let me know?”

“Yes.”

“How will I find him?  What if he’s not on Earth?”

“Magic,” Thor answered. “If you need to go to him, it will take you.”

It physically pained Tony to have to accept magic as an answer, but he knew from experience that trying to understand it would only result in a headache. “And if he’s behaving himself, we both just go about our business as normal.”

“Yes. See, it is not that onerous of a burden,” Thor said cheerfully, and produced an elaborate quill pen from one of his mysterious pockets.

“Honestly, I’m surprised that Odin agreed. It doesn’t seem like much of a punishment at all.” Tony took the pen reluctantly, running his fingers over the soft, unfamiliar feather.  “Not compared to execution.”

“To be honest, I think Loki would rather gnaw his own arm off than have someone monitoring his actions at all times,” Thor said with a small smile.  “That itself is part of the punishment.  But should he decide to try to make amends for his actions, he will be rewarded for it.”

“So more carrot than stick, then.”  Tony sighed and realized that he was just procrastinating signing the damn thing, so he went to the last page of the document, interested to see that Loki had already signed it with a flourish that took over most of the signature space.  “Just sign here?”

“Yes, but it, ah,” Thor cleared his throat, “it has to be blood.”

“God dammit. Of course it does.” Tony held his hand out because he knew Thor had probably come prepared for this eventuality.

Sure enough, Thor pulled out a short, broad knife wrapped in leather, something that didn’t look like his style at all.  When he saw Tony looking at it, he explained, “Loki stabbed me with this some time ago. It aggravates him when I keep them.”  It was sharp enough to draw blood on one of his fingers and Tony used it to painstakingly sign his name, because apparently signing magical contracts in blood with an alien god was his life now.

“Alright, Loki, it is done,” Thor said when Tony put down the pen. It was surprisingly anticlimactic; Tony expected something to happen as Thor rolled up the paperwork and put it back in the wooden tube, but nothing felt any different.

As they both stood, Loki appeared.  “He signed?”

“Yes.  You are fortunate, you get to keep your head for at least one more day,” Thor said, clapping his brother on the back.  “Now behave yourself.”

Loki’s response to that was probably something rude and insulting in Asgardian, judging from the way Thor laughed.

“So that’s all?”  Tony called out to Thor’s back as he walked outside, probably planning on hitching a rainbow ride back to Asgard.

“Like all deals, you have to shake on it,” he called back over his shoulder, and then with a brilliant flash of light and a roaring sound he was gone.

When Tony turned back to Loki he was standing with one hand outstretched, eyebrow raised.  “You planned this,” Tony said accusingly.

“Well, yes,” Loki said, as if it were obvious. “I hardly wanted to be hidden away in Asgard’s dungeon or executed. So I planted an idea in Thor's fertile brain and let him run with it."

“Why me? Do you think I’m a soft touch, is that it?” Tony kept ignoring the outstretched hand, even though he knew it was childish.

“No.  It’s because of all of Thor’s acquaintances, you are the only one who would let me explain myself rather than automatically assume that I am planning something sinister.” Loki sighed.  “Now give me your hand, or the contract is void.”

“Fine,” Tony said reluctantly, and put his hand in Loki’s.  As soon as their palms met and Loki’s long, slim fingers wrapped his, Tony felt a swell of relief, resentment, impatience, and underneath it all, anger like a banked fire.  There was had a brief, disorienting sensation of seeing himself from someone else’s eyes and then, as Loki’s hand dropped away, most of it faded except for the faint undercurrent of emotions that weren’t his.  

As Tony blinked, dazed, amusement threaded through those emotions.  As Tony refocused to find Loki watching him with a small smile, he had the sudden urge to go out and yell at the sky.  No wonder Thor had booked it before they had shaken hands, that fast-talking swindler.

“I take it Thor didn’t mention the soul bond?” Loki asked mildly, still amused by Tony’s irritation.

“He did not,” Tony said, turning on his heel and going straight for the booze.  “Is this permanent?”

“It will last for the duration of the contract, yes.  How else are you to monitor my behavior?”  Loki followed him to the bar, smoothly grabbing the glass of whiskey as Tony poured it. Tony rolled his eyes and poured a new glass while Loki took a sip of his stolen booze. Tony could tell that he was intrigued by the dark, smokey flavor and wasn't that just a kick in the ass.

“God dammit,” Tony said as he drank his whole glass in one swallow and poured himself another.

[veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee]

This monologue was written for the character "Razmann" from Friedrich Schiller's play "The Robbers", or specifically a modern version of the play by Klaus Opilik.

Razmann does not have much of an own personality. Instead, he always hangs around with another character, Spiegelberg. It has become a running gag in our Theater-class, that his entire job is to agree to everything she says and that he is like a loyal dog.

I had the idea for this monologue when my friend who played Razmann complained about how little text he has, and that a lot of it was being removed, due to changes in the script. So I told him that I would give his character a special monologue for after the play, so he would have some text. What was originally meant as a joke soon became reality, when I was procrastinating schoolwork. I just started writing the first things that came to my mind, and after an hour or so of being in a possessed, tired state where I made up the story as I went, I had a finished text of about three pages, in which I explored why Razmann is the way he is.

The monologue was obviously never integrated into the play because it has no connection to the actual story, but I had a lot of fun with it.

The original text is in german but I tried to translate it as well as possible.

The Razmann: A Lost Tale

Oh, hello! I didn’t see you all there. You haven’t seen Spiegelberg by any chance, have you? We were supposed to meet here and I really shouldn’t be away from her for too long... You all look so bewildered, did say something wrong? Oh, I get it. You’re asking yourself what’s going here. Understandable, I probably don’t make a lot of sense without context. But I have time, and you hopefully too. So sit back and enjoy: "The Razmann: A Lost Tale".

It all began a long, long time ago. And I mean LONG. It was a time when your ancestors learned how to use language properly. When they built their first houses and discovered the meaning of „Civilization“.

Back then I wasn’t called Razmann. My name was one, that your weak, human tongues could never pronounce, so everyone called me The Razmann. It was not a name, more of a title. Those were better times. I could do what I desired and roam wherever I wanted. The world was at my feet, as well as your ancestors sometimes.

You see, my role in the world, as it was thousands of years ago, could be described as one of a demon. I walked over the continents and where my feet hit the ground the earth burned. Fire and tar poured from the entrails of the planet as a warning for those who dared cross my path. My breath was sulfur and so disgusting that whole forests withered. My curses echoed in every corner of the earth, a lullaby for those who are damned to eternal pains in the pits of hell. Every word an affront to the gods, as a reminder of the mistake they made when they granted me the one gift that would drive all their creations into madness: Life!

My story begins like all good stories: With violence!

Your race had just discovered that you could solve a lot of problems with violence. The Gods were enraged when the first blood of the innocent soaked the earth and the cries of the violated fell unto their divine ears. As punishment for the sins of mankind, they created me. My duty was to bring fear into the hearts of the sinners, to remind them, that every sin would be avenged sevenfold by the heavenly ones.

But that backfired.

The one mistake that the otherwise perfect divinities made, was to give me a consciousness.

For quite some time I fulfilled my mandate dutifully and it came a time of peace and progress. But there were always some that were driven to violence and sin. And with those, I did as the Gods commanded. The Gods know no mercy and neither did I. No matter how fervently they prayed, how loud they begged for forgiveness, their pleadings fell on deaf ears, for my cries for vengeance filled even the deafening void of the cosmos.

And with every life I took, with every soul I tossed in the bottomless chasms of hell, my need for cruelty grew. It is that special need all their creatures have. All those created by heavenly hands bear it. Every dog that savages the rabbit on the hunt, every shark that roams the oceans in search of blood. And especially you, the "Pinnacle of Creation". In no other living creature burns the desire for power stronger. Power in the form of superiority. Superiority in the form of domination. Domination in the form of violence. And no creature has perfected the art of pain as well as you.

That is the reason why heaven despises you more than everything. You were supposed to be the ones that could do something good with the gift of consciousness and thought. Instead, you made a perversion out of it. Your goals are no longer of divine origin.

But the only reason, why you are the best at it, is because I am bound to this body of flesh. I am the competition you no longer have to fear because my powers are limited by this prison of matter.

I know how little you understand of the events of that time, so let me come back to the point.

The Gods gave me a free hand in the execution of my task and I got out of control. It was no longer a job to bring pain and despair over those who defied the Gods, no, it was a pleasure! I loved nothing more than to bring destruction and chaos over the globe. I burned down cities, I smashed civilizations, I would have erased your wretched race from the face of the earth on a whim.

And it was not only the killing but the fear that made it so enjoyable. Even if you humans were able to speak my name, none would have dared. The fear of me would steal your sleep, would drive you mad. I was feared more than death itself. I loved it and I was good at it.

But my insubordination was a thorn in the side of those who stood above me, so they decided to do something. I had become the very thing a was supposed to wipe out: The pure Evil! And so I had to be punished.

To force me under control the creators of the world themself needed to come down from their thrones to defeat me. It was a battle, unlike anything the universe has ever seen. Mountains crumbled to dust, continents broke in half, the oceans boiled and all life within them, the world trembled in its foundations. But as strong as I once was, so weakened was I after the fight. I had nothing to oppose the raw, divine power of heaven.

As punishment, I was imprisoned in this body. All my power, bound to human limits and weak flesh. And my desire for greatness, restrained by the curse that I can only be a servant to a superior. Forever chained to the worthless dreams and lower goals of a human, not capable of utilizing the full potential of his ambitions.

Once, I was The Razmann. A name meant to ease the terror, triggered by the sheer thought of me.

Today, I am Razmann. The better lap-dog of lesser men.

And so I will spend all Aeons until the lights of our universe are dimmed and we are wrapped in a darkness blacker than the void of my soul.