#”if one day i get condemned and executed for something i didn’t even do i better leave behind a story

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Story time with Lucile Desmoulins compilation

The Violet It was the first day of spring, and I walked out, descending into a valley filled with willows, which, alas! were not yet green. I turned away my eyes from the sight of those melancholy trees denuded of their leaves, and thought only of seeking amid the fresh-springing grass for the first flower of the fairest season. I walked a long time without finding anything, but at length, as far off as my sight could reach, I perceived a violet, one single violet! Oh, how beautiful it was! I flew to the spot, and was about to pick it, when, (what was my surprise!) the humble flower stirred, and seemed to endeavour to extricate itself from beneath my fingers! Fearing to deceive myself, I stretched out my hand. Then a voice, as sweet as its perfume, made itself heard, ”What are you doing, Lucile,” it said to me; ”why would you tear me from the earth? Alas! suffer me to live yet awhile; no one here treads me underfoot; you will soon find thousands more beautiful than I; in a bouquet I should be lost, mixed up with others, and I should add nothing to its size; let me end my days here.” Touched by such affecting language, I replied: ”Fear nothing, gentile flower, I would never be so cruel as to destroy you; let me only inhale your breath.” Then she lifted her odorous head, and her leaves unfolded themselves. Moved to tears, I allowed one to fall into her calix. She said to me: ”Your tears recruit my strength; I shall live longer than my fellows.” Then I said, ”I will come every day and moisten your leaves with sweet pure water.” ”Come,” she replied, ”but come always alone.” I promised her this, and every day I went to tend her, and to inhale her delicious perfume. Alas! I shall never see my friend again! My charming violet — one evening — in vain I sustained her bending stem, in vain slightly sprinkled her with water drops to revive her; her last hour had come. I shall visit that valley no more, but I shall ever think of my sweet violet.

First cited in Camille Desmoulins and his wife: passage from the history of the dantonists by Jules Claretie (1876) page 128-129

What I would do if I were in her place If destiny had placed me on the throne, if I was queen, and, having brought pain to my subjects, a just death for my crimes had been prepared for me, I wouldn’t wait for the moment when an unrestrained population came to tear me from my palace to drag me unworthily to the foot of the scaffold, I would prevent their blows, I say, and would like by dying to impose them on the entire universe. I would have a large enclosure prepared in a public place, I would have a stake erected there and barriers surrounding it, and three days before my death I would let the people know my intentions. At the back of the enclosure and opposite the stake I would erect an altar. During these three days I would go to the foot of this altar to pray to the great master of the universe, on the third day I would like all my mourning family to accompany me to the stake, this ceremony would take place at midnight by light torches.

First cited in Les Autographes et le goûts des autographes en France et à l’entranger (1865) page 301-302

The Aviary Cloé had only seen the revolution of the twelve months of the year twelve times. Her only occupation, her only amusement during this happy period of her life, was to look for nests in the woods and to see these young broods growing under her eyes and by her care. The little birds had grown big, she didn't have the courage to get rid of them; she kept them all and fed them as best she could. Her parents, who were not wealthy, were forced to interfere with their daughter's innocent pleasures. The aviary had become considerable and required a fairly large quantity of grain, which the young shepherdess obtained only with great difficulty. She had even had to steal more than once. One morning the young Cloé had gone out to find some new broods. What a sight awaited her on her return! She arrives very happy, in her hands a pretty nest of warblers. She runs to her aviary: the door to it was wide open, and not a bird inside... The merry finches, the bullfinches, the frank sparrows, the goldfinches, the tender warbler, the nightingale... and you too, faithful pigeon, all had taken their flight: not a single one had awaited the return of their poor master! How to paint Cloé's despair? At first she remains motionless and mute. A moment later, rage seizes her, she tears out her blond hair, she is flooded with tears; then she overturns and breaks the cage under her feet; she goes, comes, walks out and returns almost immediately. Several times one sees her following the birds in the air with her eyes, hoping to distinguish some of those in her aviary. She can no longer eat, and throws away all the objects that could remind her of too dear memories. At twenty, she was no more distressed when she learned of the infidelity of her beloved shepherd. One hears her exclaim: “Ah! Alas! They gave up their beneficence… Even though nothing was missing. These ingrates! What had they to desire? I shared with them the bread that was given to me for myself alone. I made them eat it out of my hand. How many times didn’t I go to the garden to pick up for them the fruit that had fallen from the tree! I spent whole hours looking for new worms for them that they love so much! How many times have I exposed myself for them to the reproaches and threats of my parents! Every morning, every evening I took care of them, as a mother takes care of her little children. I caressed them in turn; I warmed them in my bosom. How many times have I disturbed my sleep to go discover some companions for them at dawn, through brambles and thorns! They were all my pleasures. Near them I forgot the hour of the dance. They even recognized me and returned my caresses. During the winter, when the snow covers the fields, where will they take refuge? They will die of cold and hunger… if the bird-catcher does not trap them to give them to cruel children, or else the inhuman hunter… O my poor little birds, how I pity you! Alas! You miss me. Cruel parents, it is you who cause us all these evils!”

An elderly shepherdess, her neighbour, had heard the lamentations of the young Cloé. Touched by her good heart, she came up and said to her, embracing her: 

”Console yourself, beloved child, do not cry over the fate of your lost birds; all your care did not make them happier... 

”My dear, what more did they need? I could have given it to them.”

”Liberty, my dear daughter: it is the greatest of goods. For her, we face the rigor of the seasons, the traps of the bird catcher, the gun of the hunter. For her we forget her benefactress, and the benefactress has no right to call ungrateful those who prefer only liberty to her.”

”So you mean that, free, they can be even happier than they were with me?”

”Yes, Cloé.”

”You assure me, my dear?”

”Yes, beloved child.”

”Well, if it is as you tell me, I am willing to forgive them.”

First cited in Paris en 1794 et en 1795: histoire de la rue, du club, de la famine, composée d’après des documents inédits, particulièrement les rapports de police et les registres du Comité de salut public, avec une introduction par C-A Dauban (1869) by Charles-Aimé Dauban, page 335-337.

[onlycosmere]

Knights of Wind and Truth preview

Brandon Sanderson: Jasnah found it difficult to sleep. A part of her wanted to blame this stupid bed. Wit adored plushness; he wanted a mattress that would swallow a person, and he had found her previous one to be unsuitable. So now she swam in stuffing, lying on her side, listening to his breathing.

Wit didn’t snore when he slept, but he did occasionally whistle. She turned to her other side–which, since they both tended to sink toward the center of this awful mattress, should have jostled him. He just laid there on his back, whistling softly as he exhaled. Was he even actually asleep? Things he’d said to her indicated that perhaps he went to other places at night around the Cosmere, visiting other worlds, engaging in political machinations at which, even still, she could only guess.

“You lie to me sometimes,” she whispered to him. “You realized that means it can’t be a true relationship. I can trust someone with secrets—but someone who lies?” If he was aware, despite his sleep, he didn’t say anything.

She’d caught him so far only in the most mundane of ways. He’d engage with wordplay with her, or toy with puns, and she’d ask him to stop. He’d promise, and seem to have done what he said. But then she’d notice that the games hadn’t stopped; they’d only grown more inscrutable. Wit, twisting the wordplays to a deeper level, another layer of esoteric, more difficult to spot. He seemed to think it would engage her, push her. Instead, it signaled something disturbing. Wit would do what he thought was best for people, not what they wanted from him.

Despite her efforts, she knew she wasn’t connecting to him physically as much as he’d like. That made him feel anxious, as if he were doing something wrong. He thought if he listened better, tried harder, he’d do something mind-blowing and change the way she felt.

In turn, though, she wasn’t connecting to him on an emotional level. Something she did want—if only he’d be up front with her. If only he’d tell her.

She turned back on the other side; a stiff pillow did little to counteract the strange stuffing. The feathers of baby chickens; or perhaps the smallest feathers of adult chickens? She hadn’t been able to parse the way he’d said, but either way, she didn’t like it. A good lavis-husk mattress was far superior, shredded to not have awkward lumps.

Storms. And this is why it was best to avoid relationships. Nine days until Dalinar confronted Odium, and she was worrying about a relationship? Perhaps this was a way to distract herself; because despite all of her training, all of her learning, all of her preparation, it came down to someone else. She would have no part in the final confrontation; Dalinar had decided he would use no champion.

She did not dispute that choice. He was a Bondmsith. He had built the Knights Radiant. He’d had dealings with Odium and understood the creature better than, perhaps, any mortal. Jasnah had written out her reasons that he was the best choice, and she still agreed with them.

Yet… could it have been her? If, instead of hiding what she was, she’d gone out in the open? Told people what she was, what she could do, what she feared? Her life and Dalinar’s life seemed to be very different things. He’d burned a city in the open, and people forgave him. Yet when Jasnah had been honest about what she feared, what she believed, what she discovered… well, condemnation and judgement had chased her like twin headsmen, each looking to get a whipping in before the final execution. She’d barely stayed ahead of them. Because when Jasnah Kholin spoke her mind, people hated her. Perhaps she had learned the wrong lessons from that. But could she be blamed?

She curled up at that thought, listening to the quiet sounds of Urithiru. Water in the pipes, moving of its own accord. Air whispering as it was pumped through vents. Voices echoing far outside, despite the late hour. Trembling there, she realized, finally, why she hated this mattress so much. It reminded her of the soft restraints they’d given her when she’d been young. When those who loved her had taken away her own freedom for her own good. Those terrible months that basically everyone had forgotten about as an anomaly. Except by Jasnah, who would never forget.

Wit suddenly sat up in bed. “Oh, hell,” he whispered.

Jasnah became alert. It wasn’t difficult, considering how far from sleep she’d been. She formed Ivory as a blade—short, stout, basically just a dagger—and called for her armorspren to be ready. She reached for the cover of the bowl of spheres beside the bed, but did not remove the black shroud, lest she ruin her night vision. In a second, she could have Stormlight, but she hesitated on this, too, as the light rising from her skin would highlight her in the darkness.

Wit sat there, barely visible by moonlight, wearing his silken nightclothes. His hair was immaculate, despite having slept on it. How?

“What?” she finally hissed at him.

“Oh, bollocks!” he whispered, leaping from the bed. “The darkest, hairiest, greasiest bollocks on the most unkept nethers of the most wanton demon of the most obscure religion’s damnable hellscape!”

“Wit?” Jasnah said as he rushed to the counter, searching frantically among his things. “Wit!”

He looked at her, wild-eyed, then he pulled the shroud off some spheres and washed the room in light.

She blinked, dismissing her blade. If Wit wasn’t worried about blinding them, then this wasn’t a physical danger. It might just be another of his strange <range of> oddities. Except… the way he looked at her. Eyes like glowing spheres. Lips drawn without even a hint of a smile. Jaw taut, hands clenched, breathing quick. Genuine panic. She felt like summoning her blade again, if only to have something to hold as a chill went through her. “Wit, she said, “please. What’s wrong?”

“G-give me a moment,” he mumbled, turning back to his things. “I need… I need a moment.” He pulled out a notebook and began writing.

She rose and, though the air was warm—her mother’s transformations to Urithiru heating the air to unnatural levels for this elevation—she felt cold in only her nightgown. She threw on a robe and leaned over Wit’s shoulder. She couldn’t read what he wrote. The symbols were unfamiliar, one of the many languages he could speak from worlds beyond theirs. It looked like a table, though, not paragraphs. And those notations to the left of each line? The dots and lines? Numbers, perhaps? They repeated far more often than the other symbols did.

He wrote, increasingly furious, his handwriting growing sloppy. She didn’t miss that he’d gotten out some of the strange, color-changing sand he used sometimes when experimenting with various uses of Stormlight or other, more arcane abilities. And as he did, he seemed to grow more intense.

The doors began to shake. Jasnah had a sword in hand a second later, but then realized it was him. Nobody was on the other side; it was exerting some kind of strange pressure that made the doors vibrate. The rings in her jewelry box, also on the counter, pushed back and began to spill onto the floor. The shoes by her head scooted across the floor, pulled by their latches. Every bit of metal in the room, save for her sword, reacted to him in some way.

Then, the sand burst into light with a mother-of-pearl luminescence and hovered above the table. The filmy clothing on Wit’s back began to writhe and contort as if alive. His motions increasingly frantic, in a flash, it seemed like smoke expelled from his body, blown away by some invisible wind. He was another person. Similar, but different. Shorter, with stark white hair and subtly different features making him seem foreign. This is the real him, she realized. A man not from their world; a man who masqueraded as Wit.

That man turned to her, pencil snapping in his fingers as he grabbed it and broke it across a knuckle. “I’ve been tricked,” he said.

“How,” she asked.

The light of the sand went out, and it sprayed back down on the counter. Wit was back as his familiar self in a blink of an eye, and the odd effects stopped with an abrupt immediacy, as if on an order from him. He stood, again taller than she was, and held up what he’d written. “I’m missing,” he said, “three minute and twenty-seven seconds.”

“I’m not following, Wit,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to parse this, but… Storms, what’s happening? Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, slumping back onto the seat beside the stone counter, a natural feature of the room that jutted from the wall, as was common in these rooms of Urithiru. “I’ve lived a long time, Jasnah. A long, long time. Longer than any mortal’s memories can track, so I must use other means to maintain myself. I store memories in something called Breath: an easily accessible, if costly, form of Investiture that a person can adopt and, with training, use to expand one’s soul and memory. That part isn’t specifically important; I periodically review memories, deciding on what is vital to keep and what can be jettisoned. It is one of the only ways to remain sane after such a long existence as mine. And in that review just earlier, Jasnah, I found something. Something unexpected. Something terrifying.”

“Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds?” she whispered, looking again at the notes on his page. As if by force of will, she could decipher them. “Missing. When?”

“One day ago,” he said.

“And what were you doing at the time?”

He let out a long breath, then met her eyes. “I was having a chat with Odium.”

“A chat?” she said flatly. “With the most ancient enemy of all humankind? The being that seeks to destroy us, to crush my family, to dominate—perhaps weaponize—all of Roshar for his own ends? A chat?”

“We have a history,” Wit explained. “As I believe I’ve told you.”

Jasnah pulled a chair over and sank down, feeling a spike of pain. A kind of final spike of pain. “I asked you, Wit,” she whispered. “I asked you to involve me in any dealings you had with him.”

“I’m telling you now, dear,” he said. “That is technically involving you.”

She held his eyes and knew. Perhaps he did, too. He will continue to be himself, a man so full of secrets he needed some kind of strange magic to keep them all inside his head. And one, it appeared, had been excised. There would never be a place for her inside of his deepest self, would there? She’d always just be another thing on the outside, maintained as part of his collection. Enjoyed, perhaps even loved, but never confided in.

In that moment, she knew she’d have to withdraw, for herself. She tucked away feelings of betrayal. She had known what she was getting into with him. One did not court a god lightly.

“Why?” she asked him. “What were you saying to him?”

“I…” he shrugged. “I had to gloat a little. It was requisite, Jasnah, considering our history.” His eyes became distant. “I remember feeling odd about the encounter… a sense of repetition? Something happened that day in the lost minutes. He got the better of me and excised the memory from my mind, letting me instead think I had won the exchange. I can find the remnants, now that I look, as it was awkwardly done, as if by one unfamiliar.”

“This is wrong, isn’t it?” she said.

“Very wrong. Rayse is a megalomaniac, Jasnah. For all his craftiness, it would hurt him to let me walk away thinking I’d bested him. In this case, he encouraged it.” Wit leaned forward and took her hand. “He’s grown. After ten thousand years, Rayse has actually learned something. That terrifies me. Because I can’t anticipate what he will do.”

“Then what?”

“We need to reread the contract between him and Dalinar,” Wit said. “Now.”

Jasnah had a copy nearby, but before she’d opened her ledger, a pounding on a <nearish> door, real this time, drew her attention. She passed out of the bedroom, through the sitting room, and eased open the outer door to reveal <Hemnid> of the Cobalt Guard. A man with discretion to match his general poise, she trusted him as much as she trusted any, so she wasn’t bothered as he glanced at Wit as he approached. “What?” she said to him, light spilling from the guardroom into her quarters.

“Radiant Shallan and Highprince Adolin have something to report,” he whispered. [Brandon: I’m gonna cut that out so you have some anticipation for what’s coming.] “Your uncle has called for a meeting immediately, despite the hour.”

“Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” she said, then closed the door, looking back into the darkened sitting room towards Wit. [Brandon skips another section.]

“It should be,” Wit said. “I need to study that contract. There might be loopholes.”

“And if you didn’t see them?” She said. “You didn’t before.”

“You’re right,” he said. He took a deep breath. “You’re… you’re right. We need an expert, beyond even my considerable knowledge in the area.”

“Do you know any?”

“From your world?” he asked. “Only one, but she and I aren’t on speaking terms. I will, instead, see if I can contract an old friend.”

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Three

Masterlist

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x OC. Other pairings to be added.

Other featured characters: Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra, Azriel. Variable POV

Rating: E for Explicit. Minors DNI.

Warnings: misogyny, violence, torture and domestic abuse both on and off screen, sex, sexual violence, dubious consent, drug use, character death, no reliable narrators to be found. Further warnings to be added.

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: Brief mention of suicide for dramatic emphasis in the first half of the chapter. Skip beyond the jump if it bothers you.

“Keir is up to something,” Rhysand said.

Azriel was sat in Rhys’ office in the River House. The male was behind his desk, fingers steepled as he examined income reports and taxation records from Keir, mouth firm and tight in a way that suggested he was more vexed than he was letting on.

Azriel had to agree. He was still mulling over his visit from the month previous, the way the fae had looked at him with such belligerence, embracing the pain and death coming to him in that abattoir. The way the blood matted into his blonde hair. Seeing Eris the next morning, his casual cruelty and Thanatos’ snipped question. Here to execute another one of my soldiers?

Azriel was spread thin as it was, monitoring Illyrian dissent, Tamlin in Spring, Beron in Autumn, and keeping an eye on things on the Continent with Mor. Maybe one day they’d have fewer enemies, he thought, then immediately realised he’d be out of a job in that case. Probably kill himself from the boredom too, beg Rhys on his knees to let him fight the Blood Duel just for something to do, some violence to sate him.

“He’s always up to something,” Azriel said, more as a deflection from that train of thought than anything else.

“These taxes…” Rhys mused, so focused that he wasn’t taking the bait. “Something is off. And that fae last month. Did you ever manage to find out if he was just an outlier?”

Azriel shook his head, shadows slinking up his legs, hiding him from his failure. “Not yet. I’ve reached back out to my spy. I don’t have many more shadows to spare.”

Spy - a generous word for what Oisin was, which was a male so desperate to escape the Court of Nightmares that he’d been willing to sell information for the chance.

Azriel didn’t say what he was thinking, which was that if they truly wanted to keep control over the Hewn City, they needed someone down there full time. On paper it was Mor, but in all of her years and battles, she’d never been able to conquer the way her family - and Eris - made her feel. The next most capable choice was Nesta, but Cassian would bludgeon them to death for even thinking it. Rhys didn’t want to condemn anyone to living there anyways, despite the way he had laughed at Mor’s suggestion to move Nesta there a few years ago.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, Azriel also knew the Hewn City would never accept a female. Rhysand had named Feyre his High Lady there and placed her on his throne while they knelt, but just like that fae he had tortured, he could see the barely concealed rage in them, the play-pretend bowing. He suspected Rhys knew it too, which was why he never made Feyre go down there if she didn’t want to, and never on her own. That power struggle - if it ever came to pass - would be ugly.

“And now fucking Vanserra sticking his nose in as well…” A muscle feathered in Rhys’ jaw. He tossed his pen onto his desk, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling in frustration.

“Give me a week,” he groaned. “I’ll dig into these, then let’s go back, rattle their cage a bit. Remind them we exist and they answer to me. Let’s have a meeting with Eris as well, see if we can discover his angle in this mess.”

———————

Eris had worn a groove in her thoughts. Her encounter with him had shocked her - the heat of his fingers and his mouth, the brush of his lips against her palm, the blazing, naked hunger in his eyes. He was dangerously beautiful, and predatory. The arrogance with which he grabbed her wrist, as if he could touch her as he pleased, still sent furious sparks of embarrassment through her when she thought of it. He had grabbed her like she was already his and it was inevitable, and the way he had scented her….

She had no interest in being a lordling’s amusement, no matter how much she wanted to bathe in the vitality and power of him, as if it could rub off on her. The heat of his skin has certainly seared into her, even as she hastened from the room. Even now, she thought she could feel the phantom trace of his lips, and wondered absently if she licked his skin whether it would taste of the outside.

Aisling squashed those thoughts before they carried her much further. Everyone knew his reputation for cruelty, the rumours of how he had spurned Lord Keir’s daughter rather than marry a female who was not a maiden. Perhaps he was merely bored, or wanted to bed a City female to return the dishonour, a game of cruelty by turns. She had no desire to find out which rumours were true and which were false, and she didn’t want the attention of being tupped then cast aside by the Autumn heir.

They had aught else to do but gossip in here; already, speaking with him for a scant moment was more noticeable than she wanted. She’d far rather slink by quietly, working on a way to get herself and her mother out. But no matter which way she span it, which course of action she thought through, she ran up against the hard truth that only the High Lord could release fae from the City.

Perhaps she could bargain her magic, her dream-weaving… but the High Lord was a daemati, so would have no need of it. He hated them all, anyways; far more advantageous for him to keep them trapped here. Aisling twirled her ribbon bookmark in her hand idly, halfway through her book, suddenly irritable and contemplative.

A knock on the door jolted her from her mood. Maeve, the maidservant, opened it with a ducked head.

“Lord Vanserra for you, my lady,” she said, departing. Aisling bolted up as Eris entered, suddenly panicked. In her home?

“My lord,” she stammered, dropping to a curtsy quickly to gather herself. She bloomed with anxiety. “This is ah, unexpected….”

And there Eris was, filling the drawing room with the force of his presence. He was taller than her, lean and corded with muscle, but she felt the weight of his magic like it was smoke slowly stealing all air from her. Her chest tightened in anxiety, even though he waited politely for her to sit before taking a seat on the sofa opposite her. Any monster could have manners; acting a gentleman meant nothing, not here.

He was a metre away from her, perhaps. His hair was so vibrant, even though the room was richly furnished. It was just him.

“I had a meeting with Rhysand about the trade agreement,” Eris remarked casually, as if she was ever privy to anything. As if this was a normal occurrence. Her anger and fear coiled together in her stomach like snakes. “I thought I would make a call on you afterwards.”

“You are very kind to do so, my lord,” Aisling said politely, hoping her anxiety wasn’t transmitted. By the way he watched her, as if she were a dinner time amusement, she guessed they were. She forced herself to still.

“Perhaps I desired to know your thoughts on the matter?” Eris suggested, failing to sound genuine. He looked entirely at ease in her drawing room, long arms flung across the back of the couch like it was his own.

“No male desires to hear a female’s thoughts,” Aisling snapped. She inwardly kicked herself for letting her moods rule her tongue, but Eris seemed amused. His amber eyes glinted dangerously, the fire throwing the angled planes of his face into sharp relief. She couldn’t stop looking at the line of his shoulders, the muscles corded down them; he lounged like an arrogant king.

“Maybe not the males in Night,” he said, voice losing its indolent, amused tone and taking on an edge. “Indulge me,” he bid her, as if she were a servant.

Aisling gave him her most insipid smile. “Lord Keir is clever and leads us well in all matters,” she said vacuously.

Eris’ eyes flashed.

“I’m sure,” He said lowly. Maeve came in with a tray, quietly pouring tea, but he didn’t react, didn’t break eye contact. Aisling didn’t say a word, waiting until the door had been shut behind the servant on her way out. The walls would listen, here. No space was safe.

“Why do you wish for my thoughts, my lord? You must have plenty of your own,” Aisling said, keeping her eyes cast down as she carefully lifted her teacup. He made her so nervous, so edgy; he took up all available air in the room and left her short of breath. Her chest ached at his closeness, the intensity of him.

“Perhaps yours are more interesting,” he said. “I rarely get to speak to any from Night who aren’t one of Rhysand’s bleating sheep. You’re all very mysterious here.”

When she didn’t answer, seeing no clear safe path, he nodded to the book on the side table. A tome on taxation history, thick as a brick.

“I wasn’t aware Night liked their females well versed in anything but pleasing males and marriage,” he drawled, needling her.

“They don’t, the book is for decoration,” Aisling replied, ignoring that the book had been propped open before her. A lie so transparent that Eris’ mouth twitched up. She needed him out of her house, did he not realise how much he put her at risk by being here, saying these things? The thought that he realised but just didn’t care made her stomach twist. What game was he playing?

She hated that she found Eris so lovely, that his scent of cedar and smoke and outside filling the room was driving her to distraction. He smelled fresh and alive, and he looked so vibrant, so out of place in her home. He was too bright to be down here, too wild and fierce; she didn’t believe he was here of any good intentions.

Eris clearly wanted information, was fishing for something. Or perhaps he just wanted to make a statement to someone watching. Aisling doubted anyone would be watching her, but they would surely be watching him - her stomach twisted in anxiety. She had to get him out. Give him something, get him gone. Something that wouldn’t catch up with her later.

“Any room with you in it needs no more decoration. Surely your beauty is enough,” Eris said smoothly, a flattery so slick it set Aisling’s teeth on edge. Empty words, to get her talking.

“One always needs more beauty around them,” Aisling murmured demurely in response, the proper display of coy dismissal in the face of a compliment. Lest she be seen as wanton, too vain, too accepting of male attention. How absurd that those were the worst things she could be considered to be, Aisling thought fleetingly, when she was so many other vile things, too.

“And more diamonds?” Eris pressed, leaning forward on his knees. He never stopped watching her, and she cast her mind about for a way to make him go.

“I rather have plenty,” Aisling said, toying with one of her rings. They piled gems on in the Hewn City, did they not elsewhere? Here gemstones were almost blasé; diamonds and onyx and moonstone were considered loyalist. Likewise to raven and dove feathers in hair combs, the colours of the Court. Pearls were currently fashionable and sought after, having to be imported at great cost from Summer. She touched her own feather comb absent-mindedly, a nervous habit her mother had tried to beat out of her, but when she was uncomfortable she often resorted to toying with her hair or her rings.

“And too many books, besides,” she added, picking up the tome carefully. “Perhaps you should have this one. I’m afraid it is far too dense for me to ever read, but for yourself…”

Eris watched her closely as she paged through the book quickly, selecting a chapter. She laid a velvet ribbon in it as a bookmark, then carefully handed it to him. His hands brushed hers as he took it.

“You are very generous,” he murmured, eyes meeting hers. She held her face still under his scrutiny, wishing he would leave, wishing they could speak plainly. His eyes burned as he held hers, brilliant and amber and lit by his magic.

She would happily bargain all of her wealth to say what she thought, to hear his thoughts in turn, to be truly alone. To demand what he wanted of her and hear a true reply. Did she desire Eris? Or merely the freedom to desire him? Their gaze broke as Maeve knocked on the door, sweeping it open to take the tea tray. The book vanished from Eris’ hands quickly. He rose, nodding to Aisling, she stood to curtsy in turn.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Lady Aisling,” he said, as if he hadn’t arrived at her home unexpectedly, imposing himself upon her. She bit her tongue at that, cooing her thanks at him, careful to not invite him back. Maeve was listening as she cleared the tray, escorting Eris out.

Once the room was empty, nothing remaining of Eris but the lingering smell of crisp air, the familiar sensation of despair and anger swallowed her whole. Aisling collapsed back into the sofa, pressing her hand to her mouth, willing herself back into stone. Her skin still smelled faintly of his, and she breathed it in until it was gone, her chest aching under the strain of keeping herself contained.

———————

A/N: Keir can have a little tax fraud, as a treat

[chidoroki]

Hell’s Paradise EP1

aka: gabimaru the hollow soft. he’s a good boy.

The fact this gave me Dororo vibes and is also produced by MAPPA means I’m in for a good time.. although nothing says “happy new series day” like starting off with an execution. Hurray death?

“Furthermore, beheading a person with a single blow is next to impossible. In most cases, several blows are required to behead a person, which makes executions a horrific spectacle.” Seeing how Gabimaru has scars on the back of his neck already I assume it ain’t easy to kill this man.

Can he like.. not actually die? His neck broke that sword in half..

Let’s goooo OP! The little bit we heard from trailers has literally been stuck in my head for weeks now.

Oohh it’s all so pretty.. the song was as good as expected too!

Okay watching it over again and noticing a whole lot of flowers, Gabimaru blazing like an infernal, Tenza badly injured, the blonde chick with the eye scar possibly Gabimaru’s wife? and an unexpected sweet smile from Chobei. Oh I’m so excited to see everyone.

Our man is from the hidden rock village hm? Do ya know Deidara?.. Is that how he broke the blade. Are you made out of stone my guy?

“For someone from Iwagakure, breaking a blade with your own flesh is a simple task.” “Well, yeah. Someone that shitty with a sword can’t hurt me.” Pfft not even four minutes in and he’s won me over.

People have tried stabbing him with a spear to kill him and once said spear breaks, all he can say is “sorry.” No, I’m sorry, I love him so much already.

They even tried burning him alive to no avail. Sweetie are you cursed or something?

This guy holding baby Gabimaru really just killed his parents in front of him?

He can’t even be pulled apart by two bulls.. why does death always escape you sir if you wish for it so bad?

“I had the chief’s recognition and married his daughter. But his daughter was a real idiot.” Wow Gabimaru, tell me how you really feel.

Dude you said you would give up on life yet here you are yet again surviving another execution, which this time is nonchalantly walking out of burning oil like it’s no big deal.

Okay I’ve been hearing a small bell chime whenever Sagiri was onscreen but I couldn’t figure out where the hell the actually bell was til now.

Oh shit, he’s actually scared she could kill him! That vision sliced his head clean off.

“Do I not want to die?” Apparently not! Heaven knows why though.

“To you, is she not your reason to live?” Aw he does care for wifey. But aaah look at the smile and blush of his in the flashback!

Bro he spoke softly this whole time but hearing him yell out now against Sagiri to try and convince himself he has no attachments feels so raw and real. His voice actor is nailing it.

Ah I was right, the lady in the OP with the scar was his wife. Ma’am what is your name? You’re being so sweet to our main man.

Wait, her own father burned her face? What a bastard.

Gabimaru got so flustered from just a simple kiss. He is so precious!

“Someone like you couldn’t possibly be hollow.” Such a pleasant surprise to see he’s not actually emotionless. I didn’t expect him to act this way at all but I love it.

Humans become flowers in the underworld place? Suddenly the OP doesn’t seem very beautiful..

“Traveling to a mysterious island with heinous criminals condemned to death and competing with them for a pardon is the only way for you to be reunited with her.” So I assume just one criminal, whomever returns with the elixir of life, will be spared, while the others will be killed hm? Which is a shame because despite not seeing anyone else yet I’m quite curious to meet the others we’ve saw glimpses of in trailers! And I’m not ready to get attached to them like I already have to Gabimaru if they’re all gonna die!

Ooohh he’s finally using some ninjutsu!

He can be so fierce yet so laid back, how impressive.

I was about to comment on how calming the ending song is focusing on Sagiri til it gives us flashes of Gabimaru going crazy, most likely killing enemies. Oops.

MMHHMM overall a real strong start! Gabimaru is already such a joy to watch and the animation is nice so far too.

[co-mixed]

Tropes and Visions

Taking a long look at the nature of fictional villains

Just the other day I asked myself why did I suddenly fall for the vision Toyo Harada planted in the minds of his followers at the beginning of Imperium. It seemed so perfect: peace and prosperity. Pretty much the same world we envision when we hear the word “future”. Neo-futurism, if you may. A world without borders and with mutual respect. It seems so easy and so achievable, at the same time it’s the one thing we repeatedly fail to achieve.

What is evil?

When we were kids, things in fiction were simple. A hero never killed, a villain - did. But any villain had to be obviously almost grotesquely evil. Whether they were guided by their own selfish goals or enjoyed chaos for the sake of chaos. Then we graduated to multi-layered villains. Still, the most favorite ones were driven insane. Sometimes with merely a spark of humanity left deep inside. There’s always a point to either make a villain absolutely inexcusable or keep them redeemable preferably by death. Your Docs. Ocks and Anakins were all allowed to keep their dignity if they exited the story in a body bag.

But today’s villains have to be much more. Otherwise, they’re deemed unbelievably simple (even despite the fact that we see absolute, unforgivable evil done on a regular basis). We want to dig deeper, to be able to understand what drives them. Maybe that’s what second-wave villains have taught us. But maybe it’s something else. 

Does it take a villain 

The best villains in movies or comics have one thing in common — their good intentions. We often find ourselves siding with them, at least for a short while before they go off on a killing spree. And that’s something they inevitably do. 

On the other side, before they do, they get to show you how much better the world could be if they’re just allowed to execute their vision (along with some people but who’s counting). The point is, they are ready to get their hands dirty to achieve their goal. 

Let’s take Magneto as the best possible example. His goal was not peace between the mutants and the humans. He wanted to ensure the survival of his kind. He himself survived the holocaust and was prepared to do anything to save fellow mutants from the same fate. Yes, he went back and forth (a lot), he’s been called a terrorist and he didn’t shy away from killing. He never abandoned his views yet only with his help mutants finally got their utopia on Krakoa. And I might not be the biggest fan of this arc, but that doesn’t make it any less prophetic. Xavier’s peaceful methods were never enough. Magneto made their “last attempt” a success. 

But that’s just one example, and we’re not here to gush about Magneto. This whole thing was inspired by Harada and it’s his path that I want to review. 

Toyo Harada is a more complex example of the same trope. A child of war, a powerful individual, a visionary (all of them are), and a hero to his kind. 

His actions may be more brutal than Magneto’s but his goal is closer to home. It’s Xavier's dream with Magneto’s approach. It’s the whole world becoming an ideal and non-secluded version of Krakoa. And maybe the most devastating part is that it’s achievable with or without psiots. To drive the point further, Harada makes a special point of condemning war profiteering. In fact, if you read Imperium, you’re likely to start wondering who and where is making money on wars. 

Toyo Harada is trying to help the most disenfranchised and neglected. He isn’t great at it. But he still gets closer to that goal than anyone with peaceful measures.

That may be because Harada is prepared to remove anyone who stands in his way. Sometimes it’s a government, sometimes it’s terrorists, sometimes it’s regular people. To him, there is no difference and that makes his way the wrong way.

Why can’t they just be nice 

We call the ones who kill antiheroes. Your Punishers, Wolverines, (possibly) Bloodshots, they get the job done with a body count longer than your phone number. If there is a line and it’s not at killing, then how come antiheroes manage to longe behind it while visionaries inevitably end up crossing it? They rush towards their goal with such ferocity, they step on seemingly irrelevant people that they’re hoping to help. 

Antiheroes always have a strong moral code, it’s their shield against crossing the line that even we, readers, don’t always see. Even anti they’re still heroes. If the code isn’t enough, there’s always a failsafe that they’re aware of. Something or someone that can end them. Punisher is just a man, Toyo Harada is just short of omnipotent. 

This is a bold statement but if you’re a human or humanoid, tropes strongly suggest that you aren’t capable of handling the weight of enormous power. There is something religious about it that circles back to idolizing another human being. Gods can be flawed but have to be adored. Powerful humans can’t.

This isn’t a writers’ collusion. This is just a trope that gives your villain depth. It makes you feel compassion and it makes you as a reader, mentally define that proverbial no-crossing line. 

Does peace mean no change 

Here’s the billion-dollar question. Are we supposed to believe that the noblest goals are always a lie? Because this is what’s being repeated in the form of these villains. Krakoa is deeply flawed, Harada’s paradise is thousands of starving people, Killmonger just wants chaos, Namor drowns a nation. The list could go on and somehow it always comes back to this one statement - a most beautiful promise has to be a lie. We are rotating around the same idea that Utopia is always a trick. There is a healthy bit of logic behind this too, and a thick tome of world history to support this bit. There are always going to be rebels and they will always be punished. Are we supposed to protect the status quo? Not really, just look around – it’s no good. But if we challenge it, we have to vow to be squeaky clean and keep in mind our own limits.

All that is impossible for a villain. Even with the best intentions. You might get emotionally involved yet you will have to realize that the status quo is still better than an unpredictable power-hungry madman. Note that “powerful” doesn’t mean “satisfied”. 

They all end up power-hungry. Why? Again, history and experience. Great power is required for great achievement. And power corrupts. 

Oh, great power, you say…

You guessed it. A powerful person becomes a villain when they stop feeling responsible for their actions. When there’s no one to hold them accountable. This means that all the aforementioned villains had one problem in common — no one to challenge them. That’s when their moral compass went to hell. Yes, all these stories are cautionary tales warning us to not let one person grab and grab and grab power. It does take a villain to build a paradise but it does take a hero to step down. In his fantasy Toyo Harada did just that, he built a paradise and left it as a legacy. 

It was easy to fall for this vision. The world we live in is so broken, many of us would deal with the devil to fix it.

The vision was a lie, everyone saw what they yearned to see. And Harada himself didn’t really care about the people. He was a visionary, he cared about his vision. 

[skye-huntress]

She’s so Cheeky for a Commoner Volume 3 Thoughts

This is the last volume from Claire’s perspective, ending with Part One of the original.

First off, can we talk about the fact that for a brief moment after Rod’s proposal when she was thinking about what married life with Rae would be like, she actually considered allowing Lilly to be Rae’s mistress? Don’t do that! Lilly always gets the short end of the stick. First, she fell in love with a girl so devoted to another, she wouldn’t even consider looking another girl’s way. Then the stuff with Alter, and Lilly feeling a need to atone for the actions of another person her own father created in her head. Then there’s who knows how many times her own god used her as her personal meat puppet. And the series ended with her being teased with the life with Rae she always wanted, but it was all TAIM trying to erase Claire from history. Give this girl a break already, don’t just tease us!

I’m surprised Kristoff chose to turn, but then again we didn’t really know much about him. I just condemned him when I learned he was directly involved in the human trafficking.

So for once Pepi saves the day with the siren abilities she picked up from Misha, and her magical instrument that she managed to sneak in. Thane also got one more chance to look cool before he lost all his relevancy. And Loretta has our condolences for having a crush who is so completely dense, even Rae feels the need to apologise to her rival in love.

So Catherine was an assassin all along, going back to when she would have been barely more than a toddler! I don’t even think she was old enough to safely start learning basic magic, much less doing something as advanced as erasing specific parts of someone’s memory in real time while fighting. That’s even more monstrous than what I originally thought but reinforces what I already thought about Clèment. He’s far more arrogant than clever. He didn’t have the brains to plan out and cover his crimes properly like Dole and Salas could. If it weren’t for his status and Catherine’s magic (which isn’t all powerful), he might not have lasted as long as he did. And he’s such an asshole, of course his own children readily betrayed him.

Speaking of Catherine’s magic, not invisibility, but erasing memories?! Memories are an integral part of what makes us who we are, for better and worse. And Catherine tried to erase herself from Claire’s and everyone else’s memories as part of some misguided attempt at atonement. But it didn’t work, and I’m sure Claire gave her an earful later when they reunited.

I’m also not on board with doing that to Clèment. It permanently removes him as a threat, but he got off easy. He deserved to have everything taken from him, from his title to his freedom, knowing what it is that he lost, and that he’ll never get any of it back. Ideally, he should also know that it was his own fault he went from apparently the third most powerful noble to a nobody with nothing, but that would definitely be expecting too much of someone with his ego.

You know if Emma was actually described as being a much older woman, I would have suspected she was the mother of Dorothea. She’s the only character we know who is fully immune to magic.

So even though Catherine went through all the trouble of making everyone think it was an accident, Clèment was such an arrogant buffoon he couldn’t help giving up the game for a cheap jab at Dole. It’s a wonder he lasted as long as he did.

The second half of Dole’s segment mostly pertains to his belief about the afterlife, though I wonder how much of that would even apply in a world where people are artificially reincarnated over and over again.

I’m somewhat disappointed we don’t really get Claire’s reaction to the knowledge Rae (allegedly) reincarnated from another world, although I suppose I can understand why she was more focused on all the scheming to place her as the hero of the revolution to avoid her execution. In a way, I can understand why her pride wouldn’t allow her to go along with that original plan, but going along with that farce of an execution is where pride turns to just pure stupidity.

The most relevant part of Claire’s misguided decision was her false belief that Rae would be just fine without her. The reality is in Rae’s previous life she wasn’t really living, she was just existing, going through the motions without any hope of achieving anything resembling happiness or even contentment. Then she met Claire and devoted her second chance to ensuring Claire had that future, even opened up her heart to the idea she would be part of that happiness. Rae finally had hope for her own future again, and Claire unwittingly almost denied her that. If Rae were that capable of moving on with someone else, the Demon Queen wouldn’t have existed.

Good for Pepi that she’s finally started making moves on Loretta and actually getting somewhere. Since they showed up for Rae and Claire’s wedding, I didn’t have to worry about their survival, at least.

Once again, we have to talk about the double standards. Forget what happened with the Aurouseau’s, Pepi was not only innocent, but she also helped apprehend Clèment and effectively saved the King’s life, and she still lost her noble status. But Kristoff was a confirmed participant in his father’s crimes, and he still gets to be a viscount? The whole “sins of the father” thing is BS enough, but the kingdom can’t even be consistent with it.

And through the power of basic human decency, Pepi and Loretta won the battle for the rear gate, but still lost the civil war. You tried your best, girls, but unfortunately no matter how much more interesting you’ve become, you’re still just minor background characters.

So even without the masked man “disguise”, Alter is still referred to by male pronouns? Is this an indication of Alter’s actual gender? I’m cool with it if it is, but I feel like it might need to be clarified, especially since the original series didn’t identify Lilly’s alter ego differently to her since their reveal.

In between shaking my head about Claire’s cluelessness about how hopeless Rae actually is without her, I did find it amusing how much Rae made Salas and his men shit themselves with her one-woman raid (with a minor assist from Ralaire as I recall).

It was interesting to hear a bit more about what other characters were up to during the time since they went off to do their own things.

Manaria once again proves she is too powerful and too smart to be a main character of this series.

I suppose Misha is right that Rae is a little too used to failure. She was once a corporate drone with all the cynicism and pessimism that comes with that existence, to say nothing of her messy love life. But that is a side of herself Rae doesn’t show much.

One particular peeve of mine, we know Rod loses an arm but we never got it clarified which arm he lost! Left or right, that’s all I needed to know to adjust my mental image of him, but I was denied that tiny bit of information. I was worried I’d have to wait for the manga to get to that point. FYI, it was his right.

So Claire and Rae kept diaries. I was wondering about that, Catherine’s magic can affect memories, but surely it couldn’t affect written records, so something as simple as a diary could easily thwart her plan to ghost everyone. That and Manaria’s frankly broken magic. Claire is absolutely right though, her memories, good and bad belong to her and make her who she is, and Catherine has no right to take them, even if it was just to punish herself.

I do hope that Loretta and Pepi get to play their instruments again, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t. The arts are an important part of freedom of expression for any society. We know that Thane goes on to perform concerts, so perhaps he’ll have a hand in helping them get back into music. Oh, and they definitely had their wedding sometime after Rae and Claire’s.

[spiritsoulandbody]

#DailyDevotion Are You Worn Out Waiting On The LORD's Promise?

#DailyDevotion Are You Worn Out Waiting On The LORD's Promise? Psalm 119 81I am worn out as I long for You to save me —I trust Your promise (dabar). 82My eyes have become strained as I look for Your promise (imrah) and ask, “When will You comfort me?" 83Although I've become like a wineskin in smoke, I haven't forgotten Your laws (choq). 84What is left of Your servant's life? When will You punish (mishpat) those who pursue me? 85Proud men have dug pits for me - not according to Your instructions (torah). 86All Your commandments (mitsvah) are true, but those men persecute me with lies — help me! 87They almost wiped me off the earth, but I didn't forsake the way you want me to live (piqqud). 88According to Your love give me a new life, and I will keep the truths (edah)You spoke. So not even the most righteous among us live in peace it seems. In fact, the closer you draw yourself to the LORD and hold on to His promises, His words, His commandments, the greater the resistance from the world and those who follow the way of the world becomes. Such is the case for the psalmist today. He is worn out. He is longing for the LORD to save him. He is patiently waiting on the word, the promises of God. Yes, the situation appears desperate as he strains his eyes looking for the spoken promises of the LORD to come to pass. He becomes impatient looking for comfort from his God. He feels pretty dried up but he remembers the LORD's commands. Have you felt this way? No matter how good you are, everything and everyone seems to oppose you. The more faithful you are the more difficult life seems to get. Jesus prayed this psalm as well from His heart. He knows what you are going through. Who has obeyed and trusted the LORD like Him, yet see the opposition He endured. The psalmist then turns his eyes towards those who cause him this trouble. It is similar to the previous section of this psalm. It is interesting that in verse 84 misphat is not used as a noun but as a verb. He wonders when God is going to execute judgment on those who pursue him without cause. His opposition is creating traps for him against the instructions of the LORD. You can see Jesus praying this as the Pharisees, the Scribes and Sadducees send one group after another to catch Him in something they can charge Him with. It doesn't say anywhere in the Torah we are to seek out the evil that men do. There are instructions on what to do when there are evil doers and how to try them in court. This isn't that. God's word is true but these men, particularly against Jesus seek false witnesses to condemn Him. We should not expect less who are His disciples. Jesus cried out on the cross for help. The Father answered Him on the third day when He raised Him up to eternal life. For many of us, our answer also is in the resurrection. We should never forsake the way of the LORD and all His instructions to us. We should remember Joseph who was persecuted by Potipher's wife yet he remained faithful. Remember Daniel and his three friends who were faithful even when facing certain death. Remain faithful to the ways of Christ and you will receive your reward in the end. The psalmist appeals to the LORD's faithful love (chesed) to be able to give him life. We appeal to the LORD Jesus Christ's and the Father's agape love to give us eternal life as an ever present possession through faith in Christ. This eternal life given to us is the Spirit of our God. If we have this life then we will indeed begin to keep, guard, observe and do the words our LORD Jesus Christ speaks to us. We will become merciful, forgiving, kind and loving, even to those who hate us and oppose us. This is what Jesus Christ has done. This is the way He has placed us on when we put our faith in Him. We'll leave the judgment up to the Father who will give it to Christ on judgment day. Heavenly Father, continually give us Your Holy Spirit and eternal life that we may keep, observe and do all that You have instructed us through Your Son Jesus Christ. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen. Read the full article

[crackspinewornpages]

Les Misérables 10/365 -Victor Hugo

VOLUME 1 FANTINE

BOOK FIRST A JUST MAN

1

(straight up admits this is all superfluous information a summary of 80% of this tome)  

1815 M. Myriel was 75 and Bishop of Digne since 1806. “True or false, that which is said of men often occupies as important a place in their lives, and above all in their destinies, as that which they do.”p.13 He was of a parliamentary family and the Revolution came and to avoid being hunted down, moved to Italy. His wife died early and had no children, his family fell next with the rest of French society, it’s unknown how he took it but when he returned, he was a priest.

1804, he was at the Cure of Brignolles and lived in a retired manner when he felt the need to move to Paris. He met Napoleon, “Who is this good man who is staring at me?” “Sire,’ said M. Myriel, ‘you are looking at a good man, and I at a great man. Each of us can profit by it.”p.13 Napoleon then had him appointed to Bishop of Digne. The little known about his life before spread rumors and talk that faded after nine years. His only company was an elderly spinster sister Baptistine and Magloire a housekeeper.

2

Describes the Digne and its joining hospital, the Bishop moved the crowded patients of the hospital to his rooms. “I will tell you something there is evidentially a mistake here. There are thirty-six of you, in five or six rooms. There are three of us here, and we have room for sixty.”p.15 M. Myriel had his funds divided into charities and reliefs, when the village curate came by and Myriel got him to demand the General Council three thousand francs for travel expenses (so they allotted a sum for traveling to outer regions to spread faith and such) to the outcry of the burgesses and the senator who wrote that the village has no need for it. (their argument was you have nowhere to go of importance why do you need all this money) But Myriel still received the money which he put into more charities. (see how clever he is able to get more money from the government to give to the people) In a year he was a treasurer of benevolence, the people called him Bienvenu. (this is actually the feminine noun and means welcome in French)

3

Even with lack of carriage he didn’t stop his pastoral visits and despite the terrain managed. He enjoyed the country side believing it truly blessed by God as he preached in examples and parables.

4

He had a distant relative, Madame la Comtesse de Lo, who would boast of her sons and what they would inherit and he thought if St Augustine, to place hopes in men who you won't inherit from. Another time he received a notification of a deceased man whose families titles and relatives where all over the page. During lent, a youthful vicar preached charity in the crowd was the rich Geborand who never gave to the poor until after that sermon by only one sou.  

Myriel copied accents to win over them, understood what to say and was at home anywhere. “As he spoke all tongues, he entered into all hearts.”p.20 He was the same towards all and didn’t condemn without taking into circumstances. (wow rare to find a man of God who is actually Christlike and treats everyone equally without judgement or prejudice) Counterfeit was punishable by death, when the Bishop heard a couple was to be tried, he asked where the advocate of the crown is to be tried too. When a murderer was to be executed, the Bishop went to spend the day with him praying and the next day mounted the tumbril with him. It took a long time to recover from seeing the guillotine. “The guillotine is the concretion of the law; it is called retribution; it is not neutral, it does not permit you to remain neutral.”p.22 Death was God’s choice what right did men have over it, over time these impressions weakened as he had to be summoned to bedsides.

5

Myriel was the same in private as he was in public and was very busy with his duties. He visited the poor until he ran out of money then visited the rich (to get more donations) and only ate well when having cures over.

6

Three pages describing Digne and the garden (he prefers to grow flowers rather than vegetables to eat) the door was never locked and the Bishop had them all removed. (dangers of unlocked doors aside this was scandalous back then since you have a bachelor and two women living together) “The door of the physician should never be shut, the door of the priest should always be open.”-”Do not inquire the name of him who asks a shelter of you. The very man who is embarrassed by his name is the one who needs shelter.”p.27 (foreshadowing)

7

A highway robber man eluded police, when the Bishop arrived at Chastelar, the mayor warned him of the danger but he planned to go alone to preach to the shepherds. When he had no vestments to properly clothe the chorister of the cathedral, a chest with the attire was dropped off with a note from the brigand Cravette. (dude stole fancy clothes from a church and give them back to Myriel because he is so well liked) “Prejudices are the real robbers; vices are the real murderer.”p.29

8

The senator made his own way heedless of the obstacles, his personality is to march straight to his goals. He and Myriel dined with the prefect and the senator told Myriel of his philosophy, he hates Diderot the ideologist, a revolutionist, more bigoted than Voltaire. (the enlightenment writer not the musician) He himself isn’t enthusiastic over Jesus, why renunciate sacrifice to what end, stick to nature, be at the top. “What is the advantage of being at the top, in one sees no further than the end of other people’s noses? Let us live merrily. Life is all. That man has another future elsewhere, on high, below, anywhere, I don’t believe; not one single word of it.”p.30

Take heed of every action, why, so he has to account for it after death. He didn’t exist before birth and wont after death. Where will suffering and enjoyment lead. That’s his philosophy, not to be taken in by that nonsense but there must be something for the downtrodden who have nothing but God. Myriel exclaims that materialism is marvelous, not everyone who wants it can have it and those that do have it don’t easily allow themselves to be exiled. “Those who have succeeded in precuring this admirable materialism have the joy of feeling themselves irresponsible, and of thinking that they can devour everything without uneasiness” p.31 And congratulates the senator in his philosophy. “But you are good-natured princes, and you do not think a bad thing that the belief in the good God should constitute the philosophy of the people, very much as the goose stuffed with chestnuts is the truffled turkey of the poor.”p.31  

9

A letter from Baptistine to her friend, Boischevron. She describes the rooms and how the doors are never locked, how generous Myriel is and how he is undaunted in his duties. She recounts how he was given stolen robes from the robber. And she looked up the information she wanted on the Faux family with his contacts, the daughter married a Duke in the French guards, he’s a lieutenant-general. The women served the Bishop passively and left him alone to his business.

10

Later Myriel did something those believe more dangerous than his trip across the mountains. A man who goes by G-, (what is it with old books and not giving names) a member of the Convention, deemed a monster and almost executed but was instead banished and is an atheist. (le gasp the scandal) He lives in exclusion and the Bishop recognized its loneliness and wanted to visit but felt some repulsion from it and held off until word got around G- was dying. G- welcomes Myriel he’s predicted his death will come within hours and wanted to be outside for it. “It will be night then. What does it matter, after all? Dying is a simple affair. One has no need of light for that. So be it. I shall die by starlight.”p.36

G- seemed to have willed himself to die, freedom in his agony. He voted for the death of the king, a tyrant, really the ignorance, he believed men should be ruled by science and consciousness, the Bishop adds. “It is the same thing. Conscience is the quantity of innate science which we have within us.”p.36 He voted for the end of the tyrant, prostitution for the women, and slavery for the Republic. It’s not complete, the Revolution is an important step, it enlightened, so it’s a good thing, (ehhh...) but the Bishop still doesn’t accept demolition complicated with wrath.

Does he mourn the child, he’ll mourn with him, the royal child though, he’ll need to think about it but it is painful. Myriel almost regretted coming, G- tells him God loves them as there is no distinction between children, Myriel weeps for all. G- tells him people have been suffering for a long time, why did he bring up Louis XVII, he’s heard of him through gossip. Who is he with all his generosity, a worm. G- apologizes for treating him poorly as a host but asks him what he thinks of the monarchy and lists off names. (I’m sure the names have more impact with those well versed in French history) “The French Revolution had its reasons for existence; its wrath will be absolved by the future, its result is the world made better.”p.39 (hindsight is 20/20)

G- will stop for now since he’s dying “Yes, the brutalities of progress are called revolutions. When they are over, this fact is recognized that the human race has been treated harshly, but that it has progressed.”p.39 (people who believe in revolutions forget a revolution is a circle you eventually end where you started) But the Bishop believes progress should come from God, an atheist is a bad leader. (I have a contrary an atheist and a devout do charity work the devout does it because they are told to for divine reward the atheist does it because it is a good thing to do with no promise of reward so who is more Christlike) G- makes no reply but trembles and starts to cry, he is there in infinite, without a person it wouldn’t exist the ‘I’ of infinite is God. He lived a moderate life after serving his country, he was persecuted by the ignorant but he doesn’t hate himself, why did he come here as he is dying, he wants his blessing.

After G- died Myriel went home and prayed all night and after redoubled his tenderness and feelings towards all children and sufferers. Of course, the locals gossiped of his visit, what was the point of the Bishop going to the deathbed of such a wretch. (because the damned need God more than the devout maybe)

NEXT

[mcx7demonbros]

Catholic!MC summoned to the Vatican (II)

Ft: Catholic!MC, Pope Gregory XVII, the Cardinals, the Demons and several side characters

Warning: mention of Catholicism

In the previous episode, after learning that you took part in the exchange program in Devildom, which the Church didn’t approve, the Pope summoned you to the Vatican. Out of obedience, you went to Rome.

PART II (part 1 here)

At the Devildom,

“We must go save MC now, or those geezers would burn them at stake.” Mammon shouted

“Yeah, just like in the anime ‘I was reincarnated as a progressive doctor, the Church condemned me as a heretic, and they tried to burn me at stake, still trying btw. But I escaped and I will bring Enlightenment to this backward world. And I will avenge millions killed by the Church.’ If we don’t do something, MC will join those millions of people.”

“Calm down! The Catholic Church hasn’t executed anyone for a very long time already, and they aren’t likely to do it again due to today’s standards. And where do you get the ‘millions executed by the Church’? You know it’s not true, right. It was our tactic to exaggerate the execution and smear their good name.” Satan was the one who calmed his brothers down

“*sigh* What did Barbatos say, Diavolo?”

“Don’t worry, Lucifer, not only they won’t harm MC, but Barbatos also saw a positive possibility.”

“Do we have permission to go see MC?”

“Yes, but you have to be careful. Vatican is where demons are weakest in Human Realm.”

“Alright, understood.”

Rome - Fiumicino International Airport (or Leonardo da Vinci - Fiumicino Airport)

Your plane landed at the airport precisely at noon. While you were turning around because you didn’t know what to do next, a priest came to meet you.

“Child, you must be MC?”

“Yes, Father. You are…?”

“Call me Padre Domenico, that’s Father Dominic in English, if you find that easier to pronoun.”

“Nice to meet you, Padre.” you shook hand with the priest

“Nice to meet you too, child. Follow me.” he smiled at you.

Padre Domenico led you to a black car, which took you to the Vatican City.

“Buona sera, Padre!”

“Buona sera.” Padre Domenico greeted two officials passing by

“Here. This will be your room. Wait for the Holy Father’s summon. It would be tomorrow afternoon at latest. If you don’t know Italian well, don’t be troubled, most people here know English or French.” the priest left you alone to settle in

“Ah, I forgot, the meals are served in the cafeteria.” Padre Domenico startled you before leaving for good.

After a few hours, it was clear that the meeting would be the next day, so you just ate dinner and went to bed.

💙💛🧡💚💘❤️💜

You felt something…many things snuggling into you.

“Grr…those geezers…the bed is too small. Can’t they buy a bigger one?”

“Get out, Mammon. I should be the one snuggle next to MC.”

“No, it should be me.”

“Oi oi, you guys are too noisy, MC will wake up.”

You opened your eyes and saw the Brothers, who fighting for the two positions next to you in bed, even though the bed was only for one person.

“MC, sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s alright, Beel.” you rubbed your eye ”Is it ok for you to be here. After all, this is the Vatican, the Holy See.”

“Of couse, it’s alright. After all, THE Great Mammon is here to protect you from those old geezers.”

“I…I…I’m here for you too, MC.”

“Don’t forget us.”

“*sigh*… alright, but please use transformation magic to turn into small objects or animal. I can’t sleep like this, the bed’s too small for all of us.”

In the end, all six of them agreed with your solution. Mammon transformed into a golden ring which you put on your ring finger. Levi turned into a small snake and then coiled around at your feet. Satan turned into a cat and laid by your side. Asmo turned into a smal rabbit and slept beside your pillow. Beel turned into a stuffed bear and slept beside your pillow, but on the other side. Belphie transformed into a cow pillow and you embraced it to sleep.

Unknown to you all, Padre Domenico was outside your room eavesdropping.

“Eavesdropping is a bad thing, is it not?”

Padre turned around and saw the mighty Avatar of Pride in demon form.

“Lucifer”

“Padre Domenico Ricci, the Pope’s Secretary and Vatican’s former Chief Exorcist.”

“My mission is to examine MC’s character and report to the Holy Father, who needs the information to prepare for the meeting tomorrow.” Padre Domenico gave an explanation to his action.

“I warn you, if you’re trying to harm MC…”

“And I can assure you we don’t intend to harm a child of the Church.” Padre made a sign of the Cross, which forced Lucifer to back away. Padre calmly walked away.

MY MASTERLIST

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Hey guys, eh little ramble about C!Dream.

I sometimes see takes that are rather sympathetic to his character, suggesting that even if some of his actions were reprehensible, his descent was partly due to others failing to reach out and help him. That he has his own reasons and people painting him as the villain essentially forced him into the role. Dream’s suffered too. 

And yeah, you can look into these ideas as an effort to get a better understanding of Dream’s motivations but it’s very easy to fall into excusing Dream’s actions too much or blaming others too much for Dream’s actions.

It’s a tricky thing, but for any action, there’s gonna be some level of personal responsibility assuming you have at least that much power/agency. (There are cases where a character does not have that much power over their own actions. I would argue that Badboyhalo is being heavily influenced by the egg. And there are other times when a character is basically being forced to do something against their will. I don’t believe Dream has ever been in such a situation - his actions in prison might count as he’s absolutely trapped in there with no options. Regardless, this post is only about his actions prior to his prison sentence.) 

Dream is responsible for his own actions.

 -No one pressured him to build obsidian walls around L’Manburg to trap the citizens in forever if they did not do as he demanded.  -No one compelled him to destroy Tommy’s armour every day.  -Or to convince him that L’Manburg was better off without him and to deliberately sabotage his party to make him believe no one cared about him while knowing Tommy was already feeling terrible and contemplating suicide. -Nothing forced him to destroy L’Manberg. -No one made him decide to kill Tubbo and lock Tommy in prison forever. These actions aren’t mistakes made under pressure, these are premeditated plans.

Now, one might argue that Tommy provoked Dream, that he had an irrational hatred for Dream long before Dream actually did anything terrible to him. Dream only became a villain because Tommy and Wilbur villainised him first. Again, this is removing Dream’s own responsibility from his shoulders too much for me. 

For comparison, Quackity tried pressuring Tubbo into executing Ranboo post the festival because he was a traitor. He even said he’d leave L’Manburg if Tubbo didn’t. Tubbo ultimately refused though! Quackity may have been pressuring him, but Tubbo had agency and if he’d actually gone through with it, it would have been as much his own fault. 

Besides this, it also suggests that Tommy and Wilbur were way worse to Dream than canon really depicts? I would argue that Dream did far, far more to provoke Tommy than Tommy did Dream. Dream for instance, griefed a bunch of places and blamed it on Tommy when Tommy hadn’t even been doing anything. To suggest Tommy viewed Dream as an evil villain prior to his exile is also untrue. Post Nov 16th, after Dream had already betrayed Tommy to join Schlatt (plus also having helped Wilbur gather TNT), the two of them sat on the bench together and listened to Blocks while watching the sunset. Tommy didn’t even care that Dream blew up his house. A week later, Dream and Tommy were friendly when they streamed with Lani. Tommy viewed Dream as a friendly rival at this point, and had for some time (the day before the Nov16th war, Dream had helped Tommy when he was in conflict with Sapnap after he’d killed Tommy’s horse. Also after Dream had announced he’d be fighting against Tommy in the Pogtopia war.)

As for friends abandoning him, this again suggests people were way colder to Dream than canon depicts. George was supportive of Dream when he was exiling Tommy. While he didn’t see such an extreme response as necessary, he definitely let Dream do what he did on his behalf. Punz was loyal to Dream right up until the disc finale. Sam built the prison on Dream’s request and remained at least neutral to Dream until the disc finale. 

Sapnap’s an interesting one, he was hurt when Dream declared the only thing he cared about was Tommy’s discs and took offense to Dream’s dethroning George rather arbitrarily and fought on George’s behalf against this. That said, Sapnap was doing this still in the position as Dream’s friend. A good friend doesn’t merely enable them - it’s good when Sapnap condemns Dream’s worse behaviours. He SHOULD be angry when Dream says he cares about nothing but Tommy’s discs and look for an explanation. 

On Tommy’s first full day of exile, Sapnap joins Dream in essentially bullying Tommy, enough so that Tommy actually challenges Sapnap on this. At the festival, Sapnap actually declines joining Tommy, stating that Dream is his friend and he’s not going against him. The next day, Dream never bothers to talk to Sapnap, while Tommy goes out of his way to apologise to him and invites him to be his friend. Only then does Sapnap give up on Dream. I believe if Dream had reached out, he would have had Sapnap’s loyalty. But he did not. 

Perhaps they could have done more for Dream, but it’s very hard to help someone who is burning bridges. Dream was elusive, he let his friendship die as he came to believe that attachment was a weakness. It’s a tragedy, yes, but Dream is also responsible for the breaking down of his friendships. 

Dream was not forced to be a villain, to be abusive. He had friends, he had power. Like every character, he had a choice. And he chose poorly. 

[teddy06writes]

sum angst for sapnap x quackity x karl x reader if requests are open, i dont remember if they are, and if u feel up to it

sapnap x karl x quackity x reader + sleepy bois x sibling!reader

trigger warnings: yelling, swearing, character death

this is an in game au so be aware of that

premise: you’ve been on the inside, spying on Shlatt for pogtopia, you thought you had had him convinced that the spy was Tubbo (Who knew just about nothing about pogtopia) but during the festival Shlatt asks you to make a speech... after the festival, things begin to fall apart

(y/n/n)- your nickname

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And you’re sure about this? You’re positive that it’s him and not Quackity?” Shlatt asked.

The festival was in two days, Wilbur’s plan to blow Manburg was in place, and suddenly huge evidence of things you had berried was piling up. Your entire position as Pogopia’s spy was at risk.

“I’m positive Mr. President. I caught Tuboo poking around in some tunnels, trying to talk to TommyInnt just yesterday,” You lied straight through your teeth, “The log I found behind the files proves it.”

You held up the book, truly a work of your own notes, signed in you co workers hand.

Shlatt took it, quickly skimming through the pages, “Hmmm, this is significant evidence to condemn the kid. We’ll have to do something about.”

“Maybe we should exile him, like Wilbur and Tommy.” You suggested carefully.

He considered it for a moment, a wide jagged grin spreading across his face, “Or... we could execute him,” He seemed to take pleasure in your shock, “Publicly. We have been needing a slam finish for that festival.”

“Shlatt Tubbo is just a child!”

Shlatt glared down at you, “Sorry, what was that? It almost sounded like you were trying to go against the word of the president.”

The threat chilled you to the core, and you strained to stay calm, “With all due respect Mr. President, Tubbo is only 16, and there are other ways to deal with insurgents.”

“Insurgents? As in there's multiple now?” Alex strode into the room, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you breathed a slight sigh of relief.

“Yes, your partner here has just informed me that our dear Tubbo is a traitor,” Shlatt slammed the journal onto the desk, ignoring the glare Alex gave him when you jumped, “He’s been spying on Manburg for Pogtopia.”

Alex reached for the book, flipping to the last page and reading allowed, “If there is ever a time to strike, it would be during the Manburg festival, though it is worth noting Wilbur’s plan of destroying L’Manburg should be put off as long as possible.”

“When I caught them in the tunnels under the city, they were talking about tnt,” You said, the shake in your voice all too real, as forced tears began to prick in your eyes, “Wilbur’s going to blow it up.”

Shlatt looked at you clearly searching for something, but giving up once you fully began to cry, turning to burry your face in your boyfriends shoulder.

The president sighed, annoyed, “Get them outta here Quackity, I can’t work when there's fucking crying in my office.”

“It’s probably just the stress, sir. I’ll get them home.” Alex carefully led you out of the white house, and you were grateful, unknowing how much of the emotion was real or not.

“Oh god! Is (y/n) okay?” Karl asked as soon as Alex had gotten you to where he was decorating party island.

“Yeah, they’ll uh- they’ll be alright. Shlatt, Manburg, stress, you know?” He eased you down to sit on one of the benches, and quickly Karl moved to sit and wrap his arms around you.

“Hey, I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll see you guys tonight.” Alex quickly pecked at your cheek, and then Karl’s lips before heading back in the direction of the white house.

“What happened?” Karl asked softly once he had gone.

You sniffled, leaning into his embrace, “Work’s stuff. The festival’s getting stressful.”

“Yeah, well I’m helping Tubbo with the last of the decorating tomorrow,” He paused, “You’re missing Wilbur and Tommy aren’t you?”

You nodded, “I miss them and Techno and Phil. I miss home.”

Your duties as a spy didn’t entail much seeing your brothers, just taking down notes of what was going on in Manburg and leaving them in a remote chest for Wilbur to collect later.

“We all miss home. But think about it this way, if you hadn’t come here, you wouldn’t’ve found me, or Alex, or Nick,” Karl said, looking out at the rest of Manburg, “We wouldn’t have this place without you or your brothers, and even Shlatt can’t change that.”

You smiled a bit at that, “Thanks Karl.”

“And! You don’t have to worry about decorations for the festival cause I’m helping Tubbo with it tomorrow!”

Though it was meant to cheer you up you felt your heart sink lower, he and Nick still didn’t know, and wouldn’t about what would be planned for the festival, but hopefully Alex would understand the burden.

~~

“So why is there a festival?”

Nick had just arrived back in Manburg from a while’s stay in the SMP, and was very confused by the posters lining the streets.

“Shlatt wants to celebrate democracy, so he’s had Tubbo and I organize a festival.” You explained.

He cocked an eyebrow, “And what does Wilbur think of this?”

Nick was still the only one who’d found out about your allegiances to Pogtopia, only by mistake, when he’d caught you making the journey back from the cavern.

“Wilbur thinks it’s an opportunity,” You sighed, quickly scribbling down a new messege to the boys, “Techno think’s it’s a waste of time and energy, the anarchist energy’s been shining through more and more lately.”

“So who do you agree with?” He asked carefully.

“Neither, Wilbur’s gone manic, Techno is- well he’s Technoblade, and Tommy just goes along with what Wil says.” You tucked each note into an envelope, folding them between the pages of the newest set of notes.

You looked up to meet Nick’s eyes, “I’m worried about what Friday will bring. I’ve tried to throw Shlatt off my trail and it seems like it’s working I just-”

You broke off as Nick wrapped his arms around you, “Hey, it’ll be okay. And if he tries anything, I’ll be there to protect you,” He chuckled, “Hell, maybe it’ll be the only time your brothers and I agree.”

“Maybe.” You mumbled.

“Woah! Are you guys cuddling without us?” Karl feigned shock as he came into the living room with Alex.

“I would never!” You forced a laugh.

~~

“(y/n), come on, we’ve gotta go get ready to meet Shlatt.” Alex nudged you.

You sighed, starting to snuggle back into Nick’s grip, wishing the small amount of morning calm would last, “Do we have too?”

“Yeah, you know he won’t be happy if we’re late.”

You looked at Karl and Nick, still mostly asleep, and then back at him, quietly admitting, “I’m scared today could change everything.”

He sighed, immediately shifting back down into be, “I suppose we could stay a bit longer.”

Slowly, the other boys woke up, but the room remained in silence, as if everyone could feel the coming tension, as if even moving would shatter the peace of the day.

Carefully, Karl broke the silence, “We’re gonna be okay guys. The festival is gonna be awesome. Wilbur wouldn’t do anything to ruin it for (y/n).”

“If what they found out is true, you guys could all be at risk.” Alex murmured.

Nick sighed, “I don’t care who’s bad side I get on, it’s gonna be anything to keep you all safe.”

Each of you heard a different meaning behind his words, but still none of you spoke.

“Whatever happens today, we’ll make it through, the country, may not.” You said, voice wavering, but still with a note of finality.

~~

By midday the festival was in full swing, and surprising your older brother had actually shown up for the festivities.

“Strange seeing you here,” You laughed, nudging him, “A celebration of a government.”

“It’d be rude to turn down an invitation ta one a these,” He sighed, glancing around, “Where’s your boyfriends hanging around at, I haven’t threatened them yet today.”

You chuckled, “Q’s helping Shlatt with the last of the prep for the speeches. Sapnap’s supposedly trying to figure a way to cheat Fundy’s dunk tank and Karl’s over there.” You gestured to where he, Tubbo, Sam and Bad were running around at Party Island.

“mmm, hey, uh, your note the other day, you weren’t serious about framing the kid right?”

You sucked in a breath, tightening the grip on the sword at your side, “It was him or Al- Quackity, I couldn’t do that to him. Whatever they’re planning I’m going to stop them.”

Techno look back at the stage warily, “I’ll back you up if I can.”

Soon everyone was being called to take there seats in the audience as you, Tubbo, Alex, and Shlatt took to the stage.

“Well everyone!” Shlatt addressed the crowd, “Thank you for coming to this wonderful celebration of democracy! Things sure have gotten bet around here, I’m gonna give the mic to Tubbo, the main organizer of this event, for his speech.”

Tubbo grinned, shuffling his notecards as he took Shlatt’s spot in front of the microphone, “Hello everyone! I’m honestly so excited to be here right now!”

As Tubbo rambled on about Wilbur and Tommy’s banishment, you stood back, wishing you could’ve stood on the same side of the stage as Alex.

Looking out over the crowd gathered you tried not to let your gaze wander to Tommy and Wilbur, who you knew were perched on the top of a near by building.

“And uh yeah! To democracy!” Tubbo concluded.

You could almost here Alex chuckle as he started to turn to the chest on the side of the stage, ready to grab the materials to box the boy in.

“That was nice, hey, uh, (y/n), dear (y/n), my secretary of state, I uh, I hate to put you on the spot here, but uh, why don’t you come up and make a speech?” You blood ran cold at Shlatts words.

On the other side of the stage Alex froze as well, out in the crowd no one suspect anything, so you clasped your hands behind your back to hide the tremors and moved in front of the microphone.

“Well, uh hi guys! I honestly didn’t except to be up here making a speech today, so I’m not quite sure if this will even turn out coherent,” You laughed, out of the corner of your eye you noticed Tommy tensing, “I remember, soon after I followed my brothers to this land, we fought in a war. L’manburg’s war for independence was long and hard, and I often thought we would never see a better time, but standing here, it is very clear to me that this country has changed since the election.

“This country, since gaining it’s independence has changed my life, and it weighs on my heart that My L’manburg has a ruler such as Mr. JShlatt. We fought for this land, my brothers and I, and here we are today, with so much progress made! So, my friends, my colleges, here's to Our L’manburg!”

Everyone began to cheer, only to be cut off my Shlatt’s harsh laugh, “Oh, (y/n), it’s Manburg now remember? or did you forget while you were off conspiring with your brothers in Pogtopia?”

Tubbo pushed a still frozen Alex out of the way to grab the materials, beginning to box you in.

“S- shlatt?” You quickly turned on the emotion, turning frantically as they caged you in, “Shlatt what are you talking about?”

“Shlatt what the hell are you doing?” Alex asked.

“Oh, you didn't know? Your partners a traitor!” Shlatt laughed again.

Alex turned to you, now trapped between the throne and the mic stand, looking betrayed.

“I didn’t do anything! Shlatt! Please!” Though a few days before most of the emotion had been real, but now you were thankful for your acting skills, blubbering, “Alex! Alex look at me it wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything!”

Down in the stands Nick was halfway to standing, pushing Karl back down into his own seat.

“Or really? So that book wasn’t forged? That chest you used to pass messages? You tried to turn them against me!” Tubbo exclaimed.

“I didn’t- I- I would never betray my country!” You sobbed, forcing tears to leak from your eyes.

“Oh shut up,” Shlatt turned to the crowd, “Technoblade, front and center, get up here.”

Shakily Techno stood, quietly moving up to stand on the stage as Alex backed off the stage, looking between you and Shlatt with mixes of betrayal and shock.

“What uh, what you need me up here for Shlatt?”

“I want you to take care of them, make a public example.”

Techno coughed awkwardly, “You- you want me ta kill m’ sibling?”

“No!” You exclaimed, “Techno please...”

Shlatt glared at you, “Cut the crap (y/n)! We all know you aren’t actually this god damn emotional!”

Sapnap was fully in the isle now, sword drawn, and up on the roof You saw Wilbur clamping a hand over Tommy’s mouth to keep him to keep him from giving them away.

Sighing you wiped away the fake tears, “You have to admit, Shlatt, you believed me, you trusted me!”

Shlatt just rolled his eyes, “Techno get on it, snap too! I’ve got places to be.”

Techno slung his crossbow off his shoulder uncertainly, “(y/n)?”

All the fear from the morning came flooding back, but you shoved it down, leaning forward, to make eye contact with Shlatt, “You kill me now and nothing will change! This place will still go down hill and my brothers will still plot against you! All my secrets go down with me!”

“Shut your mouth and die already!”

Your nails dug into your palms, “Don’t make them watch Shlatt, have some mercy, if you want to kill me kill me, but don’t make my boys watch, don’t make Techno do it.”

“Get it over with!”

You leaned forward, gritting your teeth, “You heard the man, kill me.”

“(y/n), I can’t- you- yo- I-”

“Do it.” You hissed.

Time slowed, and Techno slowly raised the crossbow.

You looked out, past him, over the rolling fields of L’manburg, your home.

Niki out in the crowd wore a look of horror, hiding her face in Eret’s shoulder, who wore a simillar look for fear. Fundy wore a steely expression clearly close to breaking, Sam looked down right terrified, as Bad hid his eyes in his hands.

To your left Tubbo looked scared even though he’d put you in the cage, you were glad it was you and not him.

Shlatt wore his usual evil grin, pupil’s dilated.

Up on the roof, Tommy, your little brother looked horrified, Wilbur still holding him back with a neutral expression, Techno, now directly in front of you, was nearly in tears, your big brother, who swore to protect you, now being your end, it seemed almost poetic.

Behind him Nick was running up the isle, sword drawn, though you knew he’d be to late, Karl, lip quivering sat frozen, and Alex, his face still was filled with betrayal.

You looked up, took a deep breath and then time resumed, Techno pulled the trigger and everything went black.

{(y/n) went off with a bang}

~~

It was cold.

Dark.

You didn’t now where you were as you drifted through a world you barley recognized.

Where was this?

How did you get there?

Vaguely you remembered a festival, your brothers, plus your boyfriends, oh how you loved them.

Your friends had been there too.

You looked back down to see L’manburg, ‘home!’ you thought happily.

You drifted towards your house, a voice in the back of your brain wondering, ‘why am I not walking?’

“What the fuck was that?” A loud voice cut through the air.

‘Nicky!’ you thought happily, following the sound.

“What the hell do you mean?”

‘Alex!’

You entered the room, finding them standing on opposite side, Karl, huddled in the corner.

“You are so fucking stupid! You know that? You let them die! They’re fucking dead because of you!”

“They were a fucking traitor! They got what was coming to them!”

“They loved you!” Nick screamed back, “They loved you and me and Karl, and their brothers! And now there gone! Because of You and Fucking Shlatt!”

What were they talking about?

“They fucking betrayed us! They betrayed Manburg! You saw the fucking acting they did! How do you know they ever loved us!”

From the corner Karl sobbed, and instinctively you moved to comfort him, but instead you passed right through.

‘what the hell?’

You had no time to dwell however because Nick shouted, “Etheir way you let them die! They’d be here if you’d interfered!”

“But I didn’t wooupdy do! They were a traitor!”

“They were trying to save their home!”

“WELL MAYBE THEY SHOULD’VE CONSIDERED THAT I WAS TRYING TO BUILD IT UP!”

“You and Shlatt never did anything but tare this place to the ground.” It was only a whisper, but Nick’s words sent Alex spinning on his heel and heading out the door.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! I am aware that my best isn’t good enough! So fuck you!”

The door slammed, and Nick only blinked a moment before Karl quietly asked, “Why did you do that?”

“What?”

“Now he’s gone too!”

Karl’s voice made your heart shatter.

“You think that’s my fault?! Clearly he didn’t give a shit about us, or them, other wise he would’ve stopped Shlatt.”

“They said we’d be okay! But we’re not!” Karl sobbed.

“I can fucking see that! God damn Karl! What did you except?”

“I-”

Before he could finish the door was slamming again.

Karl leaned back against the wall, staring straight through you whispering, “Why did you have to go (y/n/n)? You only just brought us together! We only just figured it out.”

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if Bella had met the Volturi's as a child? What would it change and what ties do you think it would have?

It’d change a fair amount, as in, the entire plot of Twilight would have been derailed. Or, that is, it might change nothing at all.

So, we have three options here. 

Nothing Changes

Bella is an extraordinarily delicious child visiting Italy and the small medieval town of Volterra.

If Bella doesn’t happen to be on the tour, probably whoever’s looking at her sighs, looks longingly at her delicious blood, and then walks away. The Volturi do not lose control in their own city.

Bella goes on her merry way and Twilight presumably happens. Except maybe Bella goes to Alice, “Oh yeah, Volterra, I went there once. Nifty place, nice buildings.” Alice stares.

Bella’s Eaten

Bella’s an extraordinarily delicious child whose mother thinks it’s a great idea to sign them up for the tour of Volterra castle. It’s a very exclusive tour you know! Bella’s eaten almost immediately, she’s probably fought over, Jane gets one limb and Alec gets another.

Years later, Edward arrives in Forks, his personal purgatory where he listens to the banal thoughts of teenagers. Bella Swan does not arrive. Edward continues to be miserable and depressed.

The Cullens have a game of baseball with James, Laurent, and Victoria. Unfortunately, James recognizes Alice, and is intrigued enough to come after her. Unfortunately, Alice is a vampire and not a human with human relatives to hold hostage. The Cullens murder him, Laurent flees to have sex with the sexy Denali ladies, and Victoria swears vengeance upon Jasper.

Unfortunately, her gift tells her that any attempt to murder Jasper will end up with her dead. Jasper doesn’t give her the time needed to plan. He hunts her down and murders her in cold blood.

Carlisle has the world’s worst weekend. 

Edward is still depressed and concludes this is why vampires are abominations without souls. Irina gets to keep her boyfriend, he cheats on the diet and leaves within the year. Irina drowns herself in rebound sex with pretty mortals to try and feel better abou tbeing dumped. It doesn’t work.

Aro Discovers Bella

And this is probably the route you were thinking of.

Perhaps Aro’s taking a midnight stroll with Renata, perhaps he catches Bella on the tour, but somehow he manages to meet her and happens to brush her hand. Suddenly, eating Bella is off the table forever.

Bella’s gift isn’t game changing in the way Alec and Jane’s were, necessarily, but it is something Aro does not want falling into enemy hands and something he may one day need.

He’d probably do something similar to what he intended to do with Alec and Jane. He’d leave her to live her mortal life, keep close tabs on her, and turn her when she’s a young adult (probably around twenty).

Which means Bella returns to America, probably tailed by Demetri, and has no awareness that she is at some poing going to become an immortral blood drinking creature and move to Italy to become a member of an ancient vampire sect.

Bella moves to Forks, she has a run in with Edward Cullen who very nearly eats her, Demetri calls Aro to say “we have a problem”. At first, Aro isn’t too concerned, he’s delighted to hear that Carlisle’s alive and well and my god he has a coven now. Given Edward is Carlisle’s progeny, Aro is probably sure Edward will leave the city completely to avoid temptation and the others will quickly move on.

Edward’s back within the week. He attends school. He sits within a foot of Bella Swan in Biology class.

Demetri at this point probably summons Bella out of school in the middle of Biology with no warning, gets her the hell away from Edward, and has to come up with the world’s most ridiculous lie of why she should never enter within 20 feet of Edward Cullen ever again.

Demetri is a federal agent and Edward is under suspicion of being a sexual predator and serial murderer. Here are all the women who have disappeared in various towns the Cullen family have lived in.

Bella is of course horrified and shocked, but given Edward’s reaction in that first Biology class and his weirdness in the second one... 

Aro calls Carlisle. It’s a very awkward talk. Carlisle apologizes for not writing in forever he got... distracted. Aro says it’s fine, no big, CARLISLE MISSED WATCHING THE MOON LANDING WITH HIM. But regardless, Aro is calling to ask him what the fuck.

Aro tells him about Bella, Carlisle is very uncomfortable with this girl having no choice but to become a vampire and no idea what’s going to happen to her, but there’s no talking Aro out of it. He’s even more uncomfortable that he has been begging Edward to skip town but, for some unknown reason that is perhaps pride, Edward is refusing. 

“All these worlds are yours,” Aro undoubtedly says, “Except Europa, attempt no landing there.”

In other words, hands off Isabella Swan.

Carlisle tells Edward. Edward is appalled and conflicted. At this point, he’s unwillingly fascinated by Bella but has not yet decided he’s in love. He doesn’t quite have her Carlisle persona crafted yet  and so she’s not the saintly figure deserving of worship. Right now she’s just this plain, boring, girl who dared to smell delicious.

So, a part of him thinks it serves her right. Now she will suffer for all eternity as he does. More, he can save face, the monster inside him can go back to sleep for her days are number and he can pretend he’s the wonderful person everyone thinks he is. Everything will remain as exactly as it is. EDWARD IS FINE, THIS IS FINE.

Another part of him panics. First, this girl is condemned to the worst future imaginable. Not only is she becoming a demon, but a blood drinking demon at Blood Drinking Demon HQ. More, if she becomes a vampire, no blood for Edward. And remember, this is a scent he would scour the world for. Edward salivates over the thought of her blood, obsesses over it constantly, and fantasizes over how he will devour her. Suddenly, Edward may not be able to eat her. In canon, the option of eating her is always on the table, and some part of Edward is always thinking about it, always leaving it open. Here, it’s soon to be gone.

Edward probably sneaks into her room at night to watch over her sleep. Telling himself he’s protecting her from meteors but also realizing that he’s there to test his own will power and ponder over the future in which he quietly eats her in the middle of the night. 

Now, this can go two ways

Bella wakes up, and that guy Demetri said is a sexual predator targeting her is IN HER BEDROOM LOOKING SCARY AS FUCK. Bella undoubtedly screams bloody murder and tries to hit Edward with something.

Edward panics at the noise and eats her. Then when Charlie comes running he eats Charlie Swan too. The house is an utter blood bath, Edward stands there in a daze knowing the monster inside him has won. He no longer looks anything like Carlisle Cullen (this is a thing Edward does).

Probably though, Demetri is there. Which means Edward has heard his thoughts from the beginning. While Edward has the overconfidence of Gilderoy Lockhart, and tells Bella things like the laws of physics not applying to his driving or that he could beat Jasper in a fight with both hands tied behind his back, usually when push comes to shove he knows where he stands. (He tries to fight Jane in Volterra, it doesn’t go well, and he acts very meek at being confronted by Jane, Felix, etc. When he fights Victoria, he doesn’t fight at all, but just blathers nonsense and it somehow works out for him.)

So, while Edward will tell Jasper later that he totally could have taken Demetri, he’s not going to try. 

So, instead, Demetri goes, “Hey buddy, looking for a midnight snack?” and Edward shuffles and petulantly asks, “Aren’t you looking for a midnight snack?!” Edward’s here to protect Bella, you see. Demetri just nods, of course, Edward’s here to protect Bella.

They stare at each other.

Neither leaves.

Eventually, Edward slinks away, feeling very disgusted with himself, angry and Demetri, and internally raging that he didn’t get to eat Bella.

Demetri calls Aro and notes that they’ve got to turn the girl. Demetri cannot watch her 24/7 and this boy is 100% going to eat her. Aro hops on a plane in record time, bringing Renata, and makes an awkward visit to both Carlisle and Bella.

Aro tells Bella the truth about Edward which is... a little different but also pretty scary, the truth about what’s going to happen to her and why it’s important, and anything else she wants to know.

I imagine Bella quietly and stoically accepts her fate. 

Edward doesn’t get to eat Bella Swan. He feels very conflicted about it and is filled with self-loathing that he’s conflicted about it. I imagine the Madonna complex he holds for Bella blossoms at this point, and he later comes to Italy with the intent to free her from the Volturi clutches.

This doesn’t work out. 

Knowing Edward, his attempts increase in desperation until, finally, he does something very illegal in an attempt to free her and make up for damning her to this life.

The Volturi are forced to execute Edward.

Carlisle gets yet another awkward, terrible, phone call from Aro.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10

- Chapter 11 -

The Fire Palace was, ironically enough, on fire.

Nie Mingjue had known that something was going to happen since earlier that day, when Meng Yao had breezed in with an unusually pointed announcement that it was “Breakfast as usual!” and then handed him a bowl of glistening red-braised meat. Yesterday’s leftovers, of course, a servant’s share, but more and better than Nie Mingjue had had in quite a while.

He’d looked up at Meng Yao silently in question as he ate, wondering if Meng Yao giving him his own meal – it was obviously that – was a good thing or a bad thing, the final meal of the condemned or a means of gathering strength before an upcoming event of some unknown variety.

Meng Yao looked as tense as a wound-up spring, his normally placid features unusually tight and his attention elsewhere, but he noticed Nie Mingjue’s attention and winked.

Not an execution, then, Nie Mingjue concluded. He might have doubted it if it was someone else, but Meng Yao was fundamentally selfish, deep down in his core, and as long as he enjoyed Nie Mingjue’s company he wouldn’t be willing to release him to the comfort of death and non-existence, no matter how much he might prefer it some days.

Learning to deal with someone like Meng Yao had been a great deal of fun, actually – puzzling out how to talk his language, to try (in vain) to understand his way of thinking, to try to figure out how to appeal to him. Possibly it wouldn’t have been something he’d enjoy if he’d had anything else to do, but, well, he didn’t, and next thing Nie Mingjue knew he was eating meat and Meng Yao was winking at him and he knew that he needed to prepared for whatever happened next.

He hadn’t exactly been expecting a fire, but he supposed he hadn’t really been expecting anything at all.

Except, perhaps, that when he tried the door to his cell, staying low to avoid the smoke, it swung open as if it had never been locked at all.

Meng Yao – thank you.

Nie Mingjue went over to unlock as many of the other cells as he could – as he’d suspected, Meng Yao hadn’t thought of that, or possibly hadn’t bothered to care – before heading back up to the main hallways of the Sun Palace. He wasn’t sure if Meng Yao intended for him to run away or if he was supposed to be doing something else, but surely by now Meng Yao knew that he wasn’t the sort of person to get himself out of trouble.

Not when there was a chance that Meng Yao might need him.

Not when there was a chance –

He lies, Nie Mingjue reminded himself. He likes to hurt you. There’s no reason to believe that they’re actually dead and gone.

The Sun Palace was a mess as well, people running around left and right with panic in their eyes – mostly not people he knew, or who knew him – and whoever had set fire to the Fire Palace had definitely reached here as well. Few of them carried swords, and Nie Mingjue suggested to the handful of staff who considerately stopped to warn him that he was going the wrong way that if they couldn’t get away entirely, they might be safe if they took refuge in the kitchens, in the hope that the invading army would live up to their principles and not engage in a wholesale slaughter and, if it took a turn for the worst, then at least they’d have lots of knives close at hand.

When he opened the door to Nie Huaisang’s old room, he saw someone move out of the corner of his eye. For a moment his heart was in his mouth, hoping – but no, it wasn’t his brother.

It was a boy about the same age, though. He was not quite yet fifteen at a guess – a child, really, and who let a child join in with an army?! – and was wearing dark clothing with no clan insignia, a sword at his side and a single red ribbon woven through his hair. He was holding a long box that he’d dug out from underneath one of the stones in the floor.

He looked up just as Nie Mingjue looked down, their eyes meeting.

“Uh,” the boy said. “You don’t look like a guard.”

“I’m not,” Nie Mingjue said. “You don’t look like my brother.”

“Your brother…? Oh!” The boy smiled, suddenly, and the expression transformed his face into something far livelier and good-natured, although Nie Mingjue suspected that he saw more than a little arrogance mixed in there, the sort that’d undoubtedly get the boy into trouble one day. “In that case, this box is for you, da-ge!”

The boy said it in an especially familiar tone - had they met before? Nie Mingjue didn’t think they had.

He thought he might remember having taken on a little brother like this, full of mischief.

But he accepted the box, more out of bemusement than anything else, and knew from the second it was in his arms what it contained.

“Baxia,” he breathed, his eyes stinging with tears as he drew her – he’d missed her so very much, during his time below, and he thanked his brother’s wisdom in hiding her. Nie Huaisang must have acted very quickly, right after Nie Mingjue’s failed attack on Wen Ruohan, spiriting her away when everyone was still distracted…Nie Mingjue looked at the boy. “How did you know..?”

“Nie-xiong told me,” he said. “I’m Wei Wuxian, of the Yunmeng Jiang – I’m sworn brothers with Wen Ning, which makes you my big brother, too!”

Well, that at least explained that.

“Is A-Ning all right?” he asked. “Is - is Huaisang…?”

“They’re both fine,” Wei Wuxian assured him, and Nie Mingjue might adopt him as a younger brother for real just for bringing him that news. “Nie-xiong sent me here to help rescue you!”

“You’re too young.”

“…fine, I told him I was smuggling myself along anyway no matter what anyone said and asked if he had any requests, and he told me that if I’m going to make a fool of myself I may as well make myself useful and get Baxia.”

Nie Mingjue hoped that meant that Nie Huaisang had assumed that this part of the Sun Palace would be out of the way of the fighting, although knowing his brother, he might have just decided that Baxia was more important. He had a bad tendency to slip into Qishan Wen-like sneaky thinking when Nie Mingjue wasn’t around to correct him…

“Where is the fighting happening?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“The main hall,” Wei Wuxian said promptly, then pause. “You’re asking so that we can avoid it, right?”

Nie Mingjue liked to think of Meng Yao as a prison guard, and he was, but Nie Mingjue was one of Wen Ruohan’s precious prisoners, one of the ones he liked to cradle in his fist like pearls, and you didn’t get a job like that – being one of Wen Ruohan’s chief torturers – without being close to the man himself.

And that meant Meng Yao was facing danger from all sides: from the attackers, who would see Meng Yao’s Wen robes and Wen sword and not think twice, and from Wen Ruohan, if he ever figured out the extremely obvious truth that Meng Yao was a spy.

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, and turned his feet towards the main hall. “You can go, though.”

“Are you kidding? Your brothers would kill me if I let you go alone – and that’s probably for the best, they can get rid of me before Wen Qing gets to me.”

“They won’t kill you. Sect Leader Wen will.”

“…I’m still coming with you,” Wei Wuxian said.

“How good are you with your sword?”

“Good enough – and, hey, at least I don’t look like I just spent the last few months in prison or something!”

“I was in prison,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, mostly because it was funny to see Wei Wuxian try to swallow his tongue. He didn’t waste time objecting to him coming along, though – if necessary, he could distract Wen Ruohan himself while Wei Wuxian got Meng Yao out.

The corridor was lined with bodies in all sorts of colors, Wen, Lan, Jiang, and even somehow the familiar colors of the Nie sect, which he hadn’t been sure anyone still wore. Nie Mingjue rushed forward, unable to shake the feeling that something bad was happening, and burst in through the doors only to see Wen Xu crumpled on the floor, on his knees but not injured or bleeding, his father towering above him, and Meng Yao one step behind him, his sword in hand and moving forward to stab, but Wen Ruohan wasn’t distracted enough – he had noticed him, was turning towards him –

“Wen-dog!” Nie Mingjue shouted. “Go fuck your mother!”

He’d never actually cursed Wen Ruohan out loud before, a mix of terror and survival instinct, and maybe it was that that made Wen Ruohan stop in surprise for just a moment, just a breath, a heartbeat, and that was enough time for Meng Yao to complete his swing.

Wen Ruohan staggered, struck, and he lashed out with his hand, sending Meng Yao flying.

“Go help him,” Nie Mingjue ordered Wei Wuxian, who was already moving, and he took three steps and sent Baxia out ahead of him.

Wen Ruohan tried to bat it away, like a cat to a mouse, but if he knew Nie Mingjue too well by now then Nie Mingjue also knew him in turn; he hadn’t bothered to send his saber straight at him but past, letting Baxia use her blunt end to full effect in spinning herself around with the momentum of Wen Ruohan’s own blow and using the extra force when driving herself straight into his back.

Wen Ruohan spat out a mouthful of blood.

Before he could collect himself, Nie Mingjue was in front of him, his hands on his neck, and Wen Ruohan choked, the blood welling up in the back of his throat given no release. His eyes were bloodshot, his impressive cultivation an unstable mess from all the fighting he’d been doing for months and now the two unexpected stab wounds, his hands reaching up to try to tear Nie Mingjue’s hands away, but Nie Mingjue wasn’t going to let him. He refused to let him, pulling freely from the deep reserves of his own cultivation, strengthened through years of practice and meditation, maintained even in prison through discipline and boredom. He had so much, had wasted so much, never using his power the way it was meant to be used, to eradicate evil and protect the innocent, but rather just pointlessly stockpiling it for years and years while trapped in the Nightless City – but that was all fine.

He only needed to be strong enough for this one moment in time.

“Rabid dogs,” he said, “need to be put down.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes widened in recognition of the words he himself had spoken all those years before when he’d killed Nie Mingjue’s father twice over, once with his saber and another with his own hands.

The light of recognition was still there in his eyes when Nie Mingjue snapped his neck.

“Fuck,” Meng Yao said from where Wei Wuxian was helping him up, wheezing a bit. “I was hoping to do that myself, da-ge. I need it.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged and crooked his finger, Baxia pulling herself out of Wen Ruohan’s chest to cut off his head. “You struck the first blow,” he said, nodding at the head that tumbled down to the floor. “You can take credit for the whole thing.”

He didn’t need credit. There was Wen Ruohan’s blood on Baxia’s blade, his last breath on Nie Mingjue’s hands – he could burn incense for his father at last, and hope that he enjoyed the prizes his son, so belatedly filial, had at last won for him.

“Mingjue-xiong!” Wen Xu shouted, having gotten up off the floor, and threw himself at him. The movement was very agile, which meant that Nie Mingjue’s assumption that he was uninjured – that he’d been felled more by his fear of his father, the poisonous anxiety his father had cultivated in him deliberately, than by pain – was correct. “You’re all right!”

Nie Mingjue staggered with the weight of Wen Xu in his arms, with his arms around him and holding him tight.

“Mingjue…?” Meng Yao’s jaw gaped open like a fish. “Wait, you’re Nie Mingjue?!”

“Did you not know that?” Wei Wuxian asked him, gingerly picking up Wen Ruohan’s head by its hair. “Actually, come to think about it, who are you?”

“Consider A-Yao as my younger brother,” Nie Mingjue told Wei Wuxian. “Since you’re sworn brothers with A-Ning, you can consider him a brother as well.”

Hopefully that connection, and any others Nie Mingjue could scrounge up, would be enough to make up for Nie Mingjue having put his revenge ahead of Meng Yao’s ambitions. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that Meng Yao needed Wen Ruohan’s head in order to win a place at his father’s side – to get the name he was entitled to, the name he’d promised his mother he’d get – and Nie Mingjue had taken that from him.

“You said you were nobody important!” Meng Yao said accusingly, uncharacteristically off-balance, glaring at Nie Mingjue like he’d done something to him personally. “That people had probably forgotten you!”

“That’s our Mingjue-xiong, all right,” Wen Xu said, grinning. He didn’t so much as glance at the body at their feet, but his eyes were a little wet, glassy with relief – an ancient fear finally defeated, not a beloved father lost. Nie Mingjue was unwillingly glad that they had broken their father-son bond so thoroughly; he would have killed Wen Ruohan anyway, but he would have regretted causing Wen Xu pain. “Never listen to anything he says about himself, that’s the first rule. So you’re another of Mingjue-xiong’s younger brothers, huh? I guess that makes you one of us, then.”

“Us?” Nie Mingjue echoed. “What are you talking about, you’re older than me –”

“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t count!”

“You’re four years older –”

“I’m going to call you da-ge from now on and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

-

When Nie Mingjue had thought of travel – and he had thought of it often, trapped behind the walls of the Nightless City, unable to leave – he had imagined himself flying on Baxia, or maybe riding a horse on a long journey, the animal laden with all the baggage. He excelled at both skills within close quarters, and his endurance was similarly excellent – how different could long-distance travel be?

He hadn’t expected to be making his first journey in years in a carriage.

It might even be the same carriage that brought him and Nie Huaisang to the Nightless City that first time, large and echoing, as vacant and barren as their hearts had been.

Of course, it wasn’t vacant now.

“– and of course the walls are made of stone, so there really wasn’t that much damage,” Nie Huaisang was saying enthusiastically, waving his fan around like a saber, though he’d never admit as much. “Some tapestries, some chairs, that sort of thing, things that can be replaced –”

“I tried to preserve as much as possible,” Wen Xu interjected, still somehow looking guilty despite having been told a dozen times over that Nie Mingjue didn’t hold him accountable for having burned the Unclean Realm. “I let word go in advance, they were able to move a lot of things out, evacuate –”

“Things can be remade, people cannot,” Jin Zixuan agreed quietly, ducking his head when Wen Xu wrapped a companionable arm over his shoulders in thanks for his support. They’d apparently gotten close after Wen Xu had officially defected, bringing over those Wen sect cultivators that did not wish to engage in Wen Ruohan’s wars of conquering or who were disgusted by the way their side had conducted themselves during the war to date; Wen Xu had been leading his own men, but being able to take people with him didn’t mean anything about provisioning them, and Qingheng-jun as the general of the overall campaign had assigned the Jin sect to assist.

Jin Guangshan had probably thought, when he agreed, that it would end up with Wen Xu in his debt, a rosy future in which the Jin sect controlled two of the five Great Sects even after Wen Xu recovered the vast Wen sect coffers that were his birthright.

He was probably not expecting Wen Xu to save his son’s life in battle, or for the two of them to impulsively swear brotherhood as a result.

There was, Nie Mingjue reflected, an awful lot of that going around.

Wen Ning, for example, was currently sitting at one corner of the carriage playing some sort of bizarre hand-gesture game with his two sworn brothers, the Jiang sect boys, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian. Exactly what meritorious deed they had done together to justify such an oath remained a little vague – Nie Mingjue suspected, based on various comments, that they might have done it purely to keep Wen Ning at the Lotus Pier when Wen Ruohan had started to make noises about bringing him home.

Regardless, Wen Ning was happier than Nie Mingjue had ever seen him – Wei Wuxian’s brash and outgoing nature was rubbing off on him a little, making him more confident, while he positively blossomed under Jiang Cheng’s harsh scolding-as-affection, which was similar enough to Nie Mingjue’s own that Wen Ning was by now thoroughly versed in how to accept it. He, in turn, was able to bridge the gap between the two of them, acting as a translator when each boy’s issues interfered with communication, and the three of them were by this point utterly inseparable.

Nie Huaisang had apparently thought the idea was marvelous and insisted on a sworn brotherhood triad of his own – Wen Chao, of course, and surprisingly enough Lan Wangji, who apparently had been conspiring with the two of them in regards to the war ever since his visit to the Nightless City so long ago. Nie Mingjue had no idea how that brotherhood had managed to work out, given Wen Chao’s bizarre affinity for Lan Wangji’s father (they’d agreed to share), Lan Wangji’s tendency to communicate exclusively in barely visible facial expressions whenever possible, and of course Nie Huaisang’s rampant but ultimately harmless tendencies towards self-indulgence causing disasters left and right all the time, but they all certainly seemed very happy about it.

(Lan Wangji was currently sitting next to Wei Wuxian, watching the game – in all accuracy, Wei Wuxian was halfway into his lap, given the cramped nature of the carriage, but Lan Wangji didn’t seem to mind.

It was an interesting parallel to Wen Chao, sitting across from him, with Wang Lingjiao in his lap…)

Wen Qing, at least, did not have sworn sisters.

Yet.

It was apparently a subject being seriously discussed, along with Jiang Yanli and a Jin sect girl variously referred to Mianmian or Luo Qingyang, but they hadn’t reached any conclusions as of yet.

That had not stopped either girl from addressing Nie Mingjue, rather cheekily, as da-ge.

In fact, it hadn’t stopped any of them from doing that.

Even Lan Xichen – currently sitting and chatting with Meng Yao with great enthusiasm – had joined in, apparently on the basis of his younger brother being sworn brothers with Nie Mingjue’s younger brother. The whole thing smacked of Nie Huaisang’s reasoning from start to end, but Nie Mingjue couldn’t dispute that it was rather nice to see so many people happily calling each other brother and sister – the cultivation world hadn’t been peaceful enough for such familiarity in at least a generation.

Of course, the fact that they’d all thirteen of them insisted on squeezing into the carriage with him, which was spacious but not quite at the level of a qiankun pouch, was making it abruptly clear to Nie Mingjue that he had – somehow – assumed responsibility as the elder brother of the vast majority of the younger generation of the Great Sects.

Possibly that was going to become troublesome once the older generation realized.

Probably, even.

This carriage ride was probably going to be the thing that made everyone realize it.

(There were those that already knew, of course – in his brief meeting with her, Sect Leader Yu had gruffly informed him that she whole-heartedly adopted Nie Huaisang’s interpretation of how sworn familial relationships worked and therefore, as the older brother of her grandson’s sworn brother, he ought to give up and resign himself to calling her grandmother already, and then there had been Lan Qiren who hadn’t even bothered to logically justify any of the most un-Lan-like hugs he had insisted on giving him. But everyone else in the cultivation world was probably going to be in for a bit of a shock…)

Nie Mingjue himself had been very firmly placed in the center of the carriage where the bumps had the least impact, and which was also conveniently within arms’ reach of everyone. They’d all picked up a tendency to reach out to touch him every once in a while, as if reminding themselves that he was there and not dead and not about to vanish out into the ether. Even the ones he didn’t know that well at first had very quickly lost their reserve around him, which Nie Mingjue ascribed to mob mentality and everyone else ascribed to him exuding an aura of trustworthiness and reliability – Nie Huaisang declared that he just felt like a big brother – which Nie Mingjue thought sounded silly but everyone else agreed with fervently enough that he realized it was time to stop arguing.

There had been a lot of tears when they’d found each other again, a series of meetings that had left him drained and dehydrated and so, so happy. Wen Ruohan hadn’t killed a single one of them.

Nie Mingjue had then given everyone a scare by collapsing, more out of relief than anything else, but that scare was presumably why he was stuck in the invalid’s place even all this time later – he wasn’t actually an invalid any longer, no matter what Wen Qing darkly insisted and everyone else tried to enforce, he’d even started gaining back some of the weight he’d lost in the Fire Palace and he was swinging Baxia free and clear in carefully monitored trainings that made his heart sing – but in all honesty he didn’t mind or, more accurately, didn’t care.

He was going home.

Back home to Qinghe, to the Unclean Realm, which he hadn’t seen for five years and more. Back to his Nie sect, which demanded that he be recognized as their sect leader by seemingly unanimous acclaim despite there being a plausible argument that he’d not made much of a contribution in the war – an argument that, whenever he mentioned it, made every single one of his now-siblings bristle and hiss like cats, and, whenever anyone else mentioned it, made him have to quickly run damage control before his vengeful mob could plot their utter destruction. Even the interim Sect Leader Nie, a cousin of his, had yielded up the position at once, even though he might’ve had a reasonable argument to keep it.

The world was in chaos, the politics of the situation following Wen Ruohan’s demise not yet sorted out, there was rebuilding and healing to be done, truces to be reached, forgiveness to be given out, justice to be achieved, endless amounts of work to be done –

None of that mattered right now.

Nie Mingjue was going back to the place he loved the most, with the people he loved the most by his side.

He didn’t know what to expect when they arrived. He thought it would be something good.

- END -

[starshipsofstarlord]

Fame With No Shame | Part Three

A/N; I think at most there will be one more part to this series, and that will be the reveal of Luke and the readers relationship to the public. Thankyou for all of the requests for this series, please enjoy xx

Summary; in the midst of an interview, there is talk of (Y/N) dating a member. The interviewer is keen to find who is the lucky gentleman within their ranks, but can Luke remain steady though the enquiries about his girl?

Brushing his hands down his black clothed legs, Luke sat upon the seat, eyes interpreting his composure. His face was slightly flushed, aware that his hair was a bouquet of messy curls, the state of his redress had not gone unnoticed by the hostess nor his curious band members. All were wondering of whom he had hassled sexually with before this set, but nothing was mentioned, at least not yet.

A small part of him wanted to let the world know of his relationship status, and more importantly, whom he was entangled with. But it would all be released in due time, he would just have to remain both vigilant of letting anything slip and patient. The rumours could manage to infuriate and humour him all at once, so many fans had claimed to know the identity of the woman in his life.

There were many suspicions, although they were only proven by the hope and dedication of all kinds of people on sites such as tumblr and wattpad, that his lover that was concealed to their eyes was not a lady at all. It was perceived that it was a bandmate; a dear friend of his, that he was sleeping and taking midnight strolls with.

That of course was not the truth, the shipping had been dragging on for years, he sometimes wished that the guesses could be correct all by their own. (Y/N) however was amused by how much it infuriated him, and all of his frustrations would dissipate at the sound of her glorious laugh, and in the end, all that was left was for him to join in and relax.

Things between them were certainly going good, to say the least. He had never felt so elated to see someone pour themselves a mug of coffee, or tie their shoelaces. It wasn’t hard, and hadn’t been difficult for him to admit the facts – he was in love. If there was any evidence that they existed, he was sure that he had found his soulmate.

She understood not only his emotions, but his springs of motivation, the ideas that would creep in the middle of the night or whilst he was in the bathroom for songs. His process was normal to her, because she experienced the same waves of inspiration, the urge to write what flowed to mind and execute lyrics until they were sure enough ready and sounded right to be released to the rest of the world.

And together, that was like the universe had combined the two creators for a reason, to make a beautiful sound, an eternal symphony that would play on forever and a day. If people knew about them, it could disturb the state of their peace, the security that they found within their relationship. And that would be the most tragic and morbid interference that either of them could ever experience.

Hate online was strong, and (Y/N) suspected that neither of them were prepared to take the mixed responses to their newfound and blooming romance. Each of them individually received the expressions of resenting opinions, through messages, through posts, through the loop of the internet. It was never ending, the trolls were headstrong and stubborn, they didn’t want to be stopped, and any reply that they got in turn only made their day, encouraging them to cackle away at the fact that they drew a celebrity’s attention and time away from more important matters.

“And we’re live.” The hostess of the radio show confirmed, settling more comfortably into her plush, swivel seat, as she set her digging eyes into the men that were seated around the platform of a small, recorded station. “My name is Heidi, and we are here on HotRadio, with the one, the only, Five Seconds of Summer.”

Luke adjusted his headset, leaning closer to the microphone so that he was close enough to allow his reviews and answers be heard better than when he was reclined back, awaiting the start of the recording. “So now tell me boys, how was it working with (Y/N) (L/N) for your new single, Flashes.” He gulped at the mention of her name, this wasn’t the best situation, considering that he could accidentally allow some classified information slip, and spiral through the channels of the web.

“She was amazing!” Michael blazed in with his initial impression of her, a jolly grin spread across his lips and chin. “We’ve been fans of her work for so long, it was a dream to finally work with her.” His hands waved as he spoke, confirming his excitement, although working with (Y/N) had already been and gone.

“Yeah.” Ashton bobbed his head, agreeing with his friend. “She is such a talented woman, we don’t do many collaborations singing with other people, but all four of us can definitely admit that she was such a great sport. She put so much work into the song, from lyrics and notes, there is a bright future ahead of her.”

The boys speaking of her made Luke want to purposely trip in his secrecy, they had no expense from gushing over her in such an idealistic way. However if he were to join in, he’d risk the exposure of the relationship. (Y/N) would be mad at him if he were to do that, so he rubbed his chin, feeling the growing prickles of stubble against his guitar picked hands.

Heidi smiled, they were eager to tell her their what appeared to be honest opinion. Yet there were still more details that she and the fans sought; answers. There were so many questions that were lingering, waiting to be spoken aloud in the recorded air.

“Was there any romance sparked between one of you and (Y/N)? How about you Calum?” It was typical, the enquiries about the song itself, that was supposed to be the main attention of this interview , it wasn’t about love, or feelings or whatever.

The thought that Calum, out of all of them, was the one considered to have gained her affections made Luke bite the inside of his cheek. Sure, Calum was single, but so was he, or at least was in the media’s eyes, and before he met (Y/N).

Luke’s frown was subtle, but it was still there! And everyone was oblivious to his disconcerting expression, all because the spotlight shined on the bassist, and the idea that he, out of all them, was privileged enough to have possibly shared a bed or the exchange of numbers in the static noise of the track.

Cal cleared his throat, ruffling the collar of his shirt, as though there were a reason for him to be fanning himself. “I mean, I’m not one to disclose that personal information.” That son of a bitch, Luke thought. From his response, something had obviously occurred, it was too bland for an answer.

That was until said boy began to laugh, spewing a humoured chuckle from his mouth whilst looking Luke dead in the eyes. The opposing man could only frown, his face hardened by the strong crease that went down the centre of it.

“Too bad she already has a boyfriend.” Michael chipped in, the guitarist’s attitude and statement not only making Luke paranoid, but also worried. What if he were not the only one that had grabbed the affections of (Y/N)?

 To begin with, it was clear that she was a bit of a player, and he had no problem with it, there was nothing wrong at all with a woman embracing her sexuality, it was even kind of sexy. But now they were partners in a relationship, and he could only trust her to be faithful.

Mikey’s words had not only drawn the intrigue of the lead singer, but also Heidi, who was leant forward in her seat, the dimples in her face prominent as she was presenting glee from hearing first time news, that was broadcasting on her radio channel.

“Are we permitted to be told who the lucky gentleman is?” How she hoped that the revelation would be unconcealed during this very interview, personally the woman was curious herself, but also the thought of the views skyrocketing encouraged her desperation for an answer.

Ash smirked, his eyes fluttering through his trio of bandmates, this was certainly entertaining for the rest of them also. Except one from the looks of it, Luke was gnawing on the outer portion of his lip. This was getting to him, just as they wanted. They knew, all along, what was occurring between Luke and the talented lady.

She had been a crush of his for a long time, and it seemed that she shared that affliction of interests, by being attracted to the natural blonde himself. It was noticeable to the boys from the first time that (Y/N) had entered the studio, their eyes navigated to the sight of the other, and their attention had to be drawn for the pair to look away from one another.

“One of us.” The eldest member replied, and Luke realised that in that moment, he had not been as discreet with the entire dating ordeal as he thought he had. They’d quickly realised that there were strings attached when Luke began to miss their nights out clubbing, and said he’d prefer to stay in and watch a movie – alone.

However, it was not a solitary activity, and binging television was not all that the promiscuous man was partaking in. The symptoms that brought light and revelation to Luke and (Y/N)’s involvement was matching marks of red suction bites around the circumferences of their throats, that eventually healed and could be concealed, however the boys could see right through their efforts.

And then there was the undebatable evidence of smeared lipstick scorned across their lips, a shade which consisted perfectly against one another, from nudes to striking reds, the pigment that streaked against Luke’s vigorously hungry lips consisted to be suspiciously similar to the original prominence that was lined and filled on (Y/N)’s own petalled mouth.

“Oh.” It appeared that the prying interviewer had not even put any efforts into hiding her pleasantly condemned grin, every detail that was slipping through the teeth of the men gave her some kind of joy.

She had somehow hit a gold mine with the answers that her pay check curiosity had earned her. There was so much going on behind the scenes that had never been revealed, and it seemed that all would be exposed, on HotRadio! “Are we granted to know which one of you is the lucky man?”

Luke shifted in his chair, gripping onto the arms with his painted nails. He was prepared to hit rock bottom in this deep deep ocean that he had swam himself into, yet a snicker left Cal, bringing all afraid and all too alert attention to him.

“I think not, we can keep a secret for a little longer.” His eyes paced slyly over to Luke, sending him an all knowing wink.

He sighed, he lived to fight another day.

[jimlingss]

Moirai [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 [Finale]

➜ Words: 6.6k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

         ❇ Royal Romances Chapter 3 -Prince Route- ❇   The darkness is pitch black. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time.   Anastasia lurks within the shadows, looking both ways with a flickering oil lamp carried in hand. She darts her head down the long corridor and when there isn’t a soul in sight, she sneaks past the archway before pressing her palm against a stone brick behind a marble pillar. There’s a shift, gears spinning and the wall pulls back and to the side, tucking itself in.   She enters through the hidden passageway and the wall seals itself shut again as it never opened.   The cobblestone spiral stairs are dusty and dank without a single window. She cringes and bats her hand in front of her nose, damning him for choosing such an awful place to meet. Who knows what’s down here!   Ugh. A bastard son born will be a bastard life lived.    No amount of effort can make someone noble if they weren’t already born with it. She doesn’t know why she was expecting that man to be dignified.   “I didn’t think you would come so soon.”   The King’s bastard son stands at the landing of the stairs. The spiral staircase seems to descend further behind him, but she isn’t curious to where it leads.   “Hmph.” She turns away, lamp still in hand, and she pulls her shawl closer to her. “I already made up my mind. I want to get rid of that orphan whore, so I’ll do whatever it takes. She dares to try to seduce my fiancé when she doesn’t even know her place.”   The corner of Taehyung’s thin lips curl. “Then by all means, I’ll erase that problem for you.”   The Duke’s daughter turns and her eyes glimmer with intrigue.   The man reaches into the sleeve of his cloak and hands her a tiny vial of green liquid. An emerald jewel on the cap shimmers against the dim candlelight that casts their ominous shadows on the walls.   “It’s poison. One drop in the Empress’ tea cup and you can frame her for it. That’s all it’ll take.”   Anastasia smirks, a rush of air leaving her nose in satisfaction. It might be easier just to dip the tip of a dagger in and stab that wrench with it, but framing her would make Jungkook lose his trust in the girl. He wouldn’t look at her twice. And she’d be executed without the real perpetrator ever being implicated in the crime.   She takes the vial, holding onto it carefully. Yet her eyes flicker up to Taehyung’s. “What’s in it for you?”   “All I want is the empire’s wealth.”   ….. .. .            ❇ Royal Romances Chapter 7 -Prince Route- ❇   Punishment does not come in the form of her stripped title or even her head rolling away from her neck. Punishment arrives in the darkened loneliness. That loss of sanity that whisper she has failed to capture the attention of the only person she ever loved. That she failed to make him love her.   Everything she did, it drove him away.   Every act of love placed distance between them.   Everything.   Liberation comes back with the music of trumpets muffled by the stone walls. “What’s going on?” her voice is hoarse through her parched throat. The servant screams when her arm reaches past the bars to tug on the girl’s dress. Her eyes are bleary as she looks up at the girl. “Why is it so noisy?”   “T-The civil war’s over.” The girl backs away and the celebrations become more distinct with the realization. “The villain is dead.”   The girl withdraws into the cell and cackles rip through her lungs, resounding across the empty chambers. The servant scurries away as the knight huffs out through his nose and shakes his head. But it’s the best news she’s received since she’s been stowed away.    That bastard son — Taehyung.    He was a liar. He tried to kill her beloved Jungkook. He dared to try and replace him. But no amount of effort can make someone noble if they weren’t already born with it.    A bastard son born will be a bastard life lived.    She may have been condemned as his accomplice — she may have been used as his pawn, too blinded by her own affections to realize. But she is mad with joy that she will not die alone.    She can only hope he died a cruel and painful death.   Anastasia cackles again.

You gasp.   Your entire body jolts and you tear yourself up into an upright position. The covers pool in your lap, your white nightgown stuck to your back slick with cold sweat. You press your palm on your forehead, focusing on studying your heaving breath. It was just a nightmare.   Or rather, it was scenes from the original game. The way it was supposed to be.   It felt so real. As if you were Anastasia and those choices and decisions were the ones you made.   The door opens and the maid entering is startled to see you already awake. “Good morning, my lady. It’s still quite early….”   There’s no way you can return to sleep after that. “Today’s a busy day so I’ll get ready now.”   The maid nods and follows after you to the vanity. “Lady Devon has a lilac gown prepared for you today, my lady. The late Queen wore the same colour during the inauguration of the last Head Priestess.”   “Shouldn’t everyone wear it then?”   “Of course not.” The young servant smiles as she runs the brush through your hair. “Only the future queen should.”   Pft. Yeah right. It’s a ridiculous idea that you would ever be queen. Anastasia never had the chance in any route or lifetime and you doubt you will either.   But rather than changing the dress like you normally would, your hand tightens in your lap.   “Bring it to me then.”   As the future Crown Princess, you’re dolled up by several maids. Your tutor paces back and forth, commanding the flurry around you on each of their actions, from a strand of your hair out of place to a loose thread sticking out. Your cheeks are powdered in a soft pink and your lips are painted in the same cherry blossom shade. You feel like a Barbie being dressed up and not in a good way. But thankfully, the dress is simple for the occasion and your hair is plainly clipped back on both sides.    It isn’t a ball after all where people are going to be flaunting themselves. The next two days marks the inauguration of the new priestess. It’ll be a day of celebration and then a day of solemn prayer and song at the empire’s largest cathedral.   Aka, it’s going to be boring as hell.   Once you’re free from outstretched hands touching your body and making sure you’re a photoshopped version of yourself without the photoshop, you head to the gardens for a breath of air. And also to escape Lady Devon’s lectures of how you should ideally behave.   But by now, you already know what she wants to say.   Don’t chew with your mouth open. Keep your back straight. Don’t back talk to your elders. Most importantly, don’t speak to Tae—   “Anastasia!”   The corner of your mouth tugs. “Lucy.”   You shouldn’t be so happy to see the heroine of this story. Not when her existence naturally opposes yours and you purely forged a friendship for your own self-preservation.   But somewhere along the way, you found that she’s the only female who doesn’t look at you any differently. She doesn’t smile just to make you happy. She doesn’t call you just because she has something to gain. Unlike so many others, you know she has no intention of using you.   The girl doesn’t have ulterior motives. Unlike you.   “Good morning.”   “Morning.” You meet her between the bushes of peonies on the cobblestone path. “What are you doing here so early? The play doesn’t start for another three hours.”    “I didn’t want to be late, but I guess I came earlier than expected.” Her smile is sheepish and she lifts her arm, a single white lily held in her fingertips. “I saw this on my way here. I heard it was lucky to have white lilies on the day of the Head Priestess’ inauguration ceremony, so…”   You take her gift. “Thank you.”   The petals are delicate and the fragrance is subtle enough that you lift it to tickle your nose. It’s then and there, while you’re twirling the stem with your fingertips, that you notice a gaze upon you.   By sheer coincidence and coincidence only, it seems like Taehyung was seeking refuge in his corner of the garden again and ran into you. The corner of his mouth lifts, distance kept yet he’s somehow close. You can’t pretend that he’s not there.   Your eyes have locked together.   Immediately, you grab Lucy’s hand and turn to her. “You have no one to accompany you to the Eastern Cathedral tomorrow, right?”   “Uh…”   Before she can answer, you take her to the dark-haired man and smile cordially at him. “Good morning, Your Highness.”   “Anastas—”   “This is Lucienne from the House of Liza.” You drag the girl to your side and she murmurs a timid greeting to him. “I’m sure the two of you must’ve met each other a few times. She has no one to accompany her tomorrow.”   “Anastasia.” Lucy shifts to you. She’s visibly uncomfortable, her brows knitted together, fingers rubbing the skirt of her dress. “It’s quite alright, I don’t need anyone to—”   “Nonsense,” you interject with another friendly smile. “It must be lonely to go by yourself. I’ll be busy with Prince Jungkook. It’s important that you get to know others as well. You shouldn’t latch onto the Prince all the time.”    She’s visibly taken aback at your insinuation. It’s not like you want to be so blunt, but there has to be no room for refusal. This is the only way.   It’s no longer about trying to avoid the three of them. It’s no longer about bringing Lucy and Jungkook together and remaining on the sidelines. If you want to save Taehyung too, you need to use the only person who can do so.   You’ll find other ways to save yourself.   But Taehyung needs her.   “I…”   Your voice remains firm. “You should go with Taehyung.”    Lucy is the heroine of this game. It’s possible that they can end up together instead. She can comfort Taehyung, change his mind about revenge, ease his suffering, rid his grief. She’s the only one who can clear the darkness stowed inside of him.   They don’t know it, but you do.   You push her towards him. The girl stumbles from the loss of her footing and he steadies her by her shoulders.   “S-Sorry!”   “It’s fine,” he brushes off quickly and then turns his head, eyes boring holes in you. “What are you doing?”   Taehyung holds his gaze, searching your impassive expression and the corners of your mouth pulls stiffly. “I’m just joining two people who I think really suit each other. Oh, look at the time! I should leave before I’m late for my morning greeting to my fiancée. I’ll leave the both of you to it then.”   You curtsy hastily and spin around to walk away.   But Taehyung is three steps ahead of you.   His strides are long and he overtakes you easily, stopping your form far away enough that it’s out of Lucy’s earshot. He grabs your arm, pulls you back and stares deeply into your eyes. His frown deepens.   “Is this because of what I did that night of the feast?” he asks in a quiet murmur that makes you swallow hard. You don’t want to be reminded of that. Not now. Not when you’re trying to pay back the favour of saving your life by saving his. “Anastasia, I meant everything I said that night. I meant everything that I was about to do—”   You interrupt him, not wanting to hear anymore of it. It shouldn’t be this hard.   “It’s not that.” You stare directly into his pupils, unwavering in your gaze. “I have to go now.”   You brush past him and don’t glance over your shoulder, even when the temptation is overwhelming.   It really shouldn’t be this hard. You know the future. You know what’s entailed in their destiny.   But why does it seem like you’re making all the wrong choices.   //   Your knuckles rap against the surface. There’s a muffled ‘come in’ and you open the door.   Jungkook is getting ready in front of the mirror. His cape is being pinned perfectly on his back, navy blue jacket with ribbons and golden buttons making him look like the picture perfect prince of every Disney movie. It’s no wonder all the ladies constantly swoon when he passes.   To you, he’s always been that doe-eyed boy afraid of ladybugs. But marrying him wouldn’t be so bad. You’re sure it would be a good marriage. At least one full of respect and mutual understanding.   It would be better than half the marriages in the twenty-first century that ends in divorce.   Jungkook looks at your reflection in the mirror. “Anastasia. What brings you here?”   “I have matters to discuss, Prince Jungkook.”   “Very well.” He looks to the attendants beside him. “Please bring in refreshments.”   “There’s no need.” You quickly stop them and the man in front of you turns, visibly surprised at your rejection of sweets and tea. It’s the main reason why you come to visit each other after all. “This’ll be quick.”   They bow their heads and the doors shut a moment later, giving you and Jungkook privacy.   He pinches the hem of his sleeve. “Did you get in trouble with your tutors again?”   “Jungkook.” Your voice is solemn, your expression even more serious. He looks up and the corner of his mouth falls into a straight line. He follows you to the sofa and sits across from you.   “What’s the matter?” He’s frowning, worried about your changed demeanor.   You take a deep breath, bracing yourself. “We should solidify our engagement as soon as possible.”   Jungkook’s eyes widen. “W...what? Why so sudden?”    “Is it?”   “You’ve never been interested in being queen before.” His eyes narrow in on you and his brows furrow more. “Is this about the Duke and Duchess? Are they rushing you?”   “No.” You shake your head. “This is about me. It’s about us.”   “But this isn’t like you, Anna.”   “Why is it so surprising?!” Your voice is pitched and instead of anger, frantic desperation seeps in. You don’t know why everyone has to make it so difficult for you. “We’ve been engaged since our childhood! It’s only natural to move ahead. Who else are you supposed to marry—?!”   As the words come out of your mouth, it slaps you right back in the face: you’re falling into the same pattern as Anastasia.   Demanding the prince to marry you. Being blunt. Curt. Upset.   It’s so easy. It was as if your entire life was set up to be the villainess.   Oh god. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what the answer is. You don’t know what choice to make to wind down the best path—   “Anna!” Jungkook calls you for the fifth time in the midst of your meltdown.   You lift your head to find him sitting beside you, his hands firmly squeezing your shoulders. He’s asking you if you’re alright, if you need a healer or some rest to clear your mind. He’s saying how the two of you can talk about this later. But you don’t want later. It’s always been later.   Making choices now for later.   Making plans now for later.   Everything you’ve done is for later down the line and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to reap the benefits or find the happiness you were so desperate to have when you died the first time.   Now. You want someone to shoulder your burdens with right now.   “Jungkook, what if….what if I told you I was from another world and I know the future of this world?”   “What?”   You swallow hard and meet Jungkook’s doe eyes. He searches your visage, unable to comprehend where this is coming from, where you’re going with this. “What if...the only way to save Taehyung is through Lucy? The only way is if they fall in love and she saves him.”   He’s completely lost on that. “Taehyung? What does he need saving from? Who told you he needs to fall in love with her? What?”   Your mouth opens, but you don’t know where to start, how to explain, if he would even believe you in the end. “You just need to trust me, Jungkook. I know things you don’t.”   “I...don’t understand what you’re talking about.” There’s a simmering pause between the pair of you and Jungkook looks carefully at your profile. Then his lips part to speak forbidden words— “Are you in love with Taehyung?”   It’s your turn to be confused. Befuddled. Taken aback.   And Jungkook must read the expression on his face, since he replaces your speechlessness with his own voice. “Otherwise, why would you care so much about him? You’ve never brought anyone up to me before. Not even your own parents, Anna, and I know they make things difficult for you. I’ve never seen you care about anyone else more than you care about yourself.”   You rise to your feet in an instant and turn your back on the man.   “That’s impossible. It’s impossible.”   “Why? I thought you always told me it was okay if we ended up falling in love with other peopl—”   “I said it was okay if you did. Not me.” You don’t get such a privilege. Jungkook is the protagonist, the hero. No matter what route it is, which way the story goes, he always wins. He will always live. But you will either die or be casted away. “It’s different.”   Jungkook has nothing to risk. You have everything.   “Anastasia.”   “Don’t change the subject. I came to tell you that we should move ahead with the engagement. There is no reason you should refuse, Jungkook.”    You turn and leave the room, ending the conversation there.   He doesn’t know. He makes it sound easy. But you can never be with Taehyung.   The Crown Prince’s fiancée and the bastard son. What a pair that would be.   As long as you’re living in this world, in this society, any relationship deeper than an acquaintanceship would bring disaster. It’s not as simple as falling in love, calling off the engagement, eloping together far away. This isn’t a fairy tale. This isn’t a romance narrative.   It’s life. A society that scrutinizes and shames. A culture that slanders names with scandals.   The Devereux house will fail anyway and you don’t care about soiling your reputation and being outcasted. But the King would deem it treasonous. The royal family’s reputation would be marred and ruined, and he would never accept that. He was already unhappy when Taehyung danced with you at the debutante ball, when Taehyung handed you the Hunt’s prize, when Taehyung rescued you from being kidnapped. And you cannot risk your life and Taehyung’s like that any more than you already have.   Jungkook is terribly naive if he thinks it could ever work.   //   The royal court is lively with warm drums and bright flutes that echo throughout the capital.   Famous minstrels and troubadours across the empire have come to perform for the King, having made their way through the streets in the morning for the commoners as well. He smiles in approval from his throne, the middle-aged priestess to be coordinated tomorrow seated beside him and the pair look to be enjoying the show.   Your parents are no exceptions either, seemingly relishing in the festivities. They’ve brought Edith and Joan in tow as part of their entourage, faces you never thought you’d miss. The former nods her head at you in silent greeting and the latter smiles, but you don’t get a chance to speak to either of them. Not when your parents have kept their distance.   It seems like the last incident has made them rethink their involvement in your affairs. And for that, you’re glad you’ve been granted a little more freedom.   Marquess, earls, counts, viscountess and barons seated around speak to one another in between performing acts, sipping on their wine as the afternoon sets into evening. Once in a while, laughter sparks through the courtyard and thunderous applause succeed performances.   But unlike them, you can’t enjoy it.   In spite of sitting next to Jungkook and visibly smiling, the space in-between the pair of you is tense and stiff. Lucy sits a few rows down from where she is beside her father and you can tell she’s uncomfortable with what happened earlier by her expression that never seems to ease.   All of it would be easy to ignore. If not for Taehyung’s gaze.   He’s standing in the corner against the stone walls that line the courtyard, inconspicuous but not to you. A glance at a crowd and you could still pick him out in an instant. But he doesn’t watch the play, doesn’t watch the musical performances or the acrobatics twisting around. He looks at you. As if that alone could figure out your intentions, like he could deduct what’s in your mind.   You don’t spare him a peek. Even when it’s difficult to resist.   You avoid him until the very end.   //   The moon is full, a perfectly round sphere that’s golden. Like a firefly amidst the blanket of stars. It isn’t brighter than the sun, but not any less beautiful.   Taehyung stares up at the horizon and then his eyes stray to marble railings. He floats up to your balcony and his feet touch against the white, stone flooring. He won’t let you run away.   The room is dark, but he makes out a lump in the bed that’s turning and twisting. Taehyung knocks against the glass door and the figure freezes before it moves a moment later.   Within a minute, the door opens and you emerge into the golden moonlight. “Taehyung? What are you doing here? You’re not allowed to be here,” you whisper harshly, looking both ways of the castle grounds while tugging the white, laced shawl around your shoulders closer.   “I had to come see you,” Taehyung gazes into your eyes tenderly and he leans down to capture your hand gently in his. The skirt of your nightgown flutters in the warm breeze. “I know there’s something wrong. Did Jungkook do something? Did he say something?”   You shake your head.   “Then why push me away?”   You turn from him, ripping your hand away from his grasps. “I don’t know what you mean.”   Taehyung grabs your arm and your head whirls back to him, eyes connecting. “You know exactly what I mean.”   “I’m engaged.”   “To a person you don’t even love.”   Your eyes widen and your brows furrow. “You don’t know that.”   “I love you.”    It’s a bold confession spoken from his lips, his deep timbre that doesn’t lack any sincerity.    An earnest proclamation that has your heart stuttering in your chest, your breath hitching in your throat. Your heartbeat is thunderous in your ears and something stirs in the pit of your stomach at the sorrowful expression Taehyung looks at you with. He murmurs, “I was going to take that secret to the grave, but I can’t stand by and watch you like this. I love you. Be with me.”    Be with me.   A three word plea. Whispered secretly on a full-moon night. An affection full of warmth that you never had the privilege of receiving before in your past life or this life. Until now.   You never thought it would be like all those cheesy movies — Love Actually, Pride and Prejudice, the Notebook. But nope. They’re right. When you hear a love confession, when you hear someone say ‘I love you’ and ‘be with me’, it really does make you overwhelmingly happy.    It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to hug him, kiss him, throw your arms around him and scream ‘yes’. It makes you imagine the rest of your life, growing old with someone you love.   But you stagger away from Taehyung. No.   No. It can’t be. He can’t love you. No.   You aren’t Juliet. Elizabeth Bennet. Allie.   This isn’t your love story. You aren’t the main character. And this most certainly won’t have a happy ending.    Taehyung was never supposed to love Anastasia.    This is a mistake. An accident. Repercussions to your actions.   “Don’t mistake sympathy for feelings of love.” You surprise yourself at how stern your voice sounds, never once wavering. You suppose years of growing up in the Devereux household and being put under rigorous training allowed you to control your exterior well. “I don’t love you. You don’t love me, Taehyung.”   “You’re wrong.” He steps forward, closing the distance, as firm as you are. “I’ll even fight for the throne if you want. I’ll fight Jungkook if that’s what it takes for you to be by my side—”   “No!”    The scream echoes in your own ears, loud and shrill enough to bring alarm. “Please. Don’t. Don’t.”   It’s then and there, in the throes of his reckless promises, it slams into you — the realization of how desperately you don’t want to see Taehyung die.   You don’t want to witness his tragic ending. And you don’t want him to do it for you.   Taehyung’s expression is crumpled in anguish and his arm lifts, hand extending. The pad of his thumb tenderly wipes away the tear that’s streaked down your cheek. The corner of his mouth upturns, but the sorrowful smile never reaches his eyes. “Do you hate the idea of being with me that much that you’re crying?”   “No...Taehyung…”   He withdraws. “I’m sorry.”   Taehyung gazes at you and then he shuts his eyes, falling backwards off the balcony. You cry out in absolute terror and your legs lurch forward towards the railings. Your arms snap out to grab him, but your fists merely catch the passing wind.   He’s vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but traces of magic in the air.   You collapse onto the floor, grasping at the banister as sobs wreck through your body. “T-That’s...not...i-it—”   The matter of life or death should be simple. The choices should be easy. But you don’t know why each path you choose has its own tragedy, why happiness never seems to come.   Why can’t you control your own destiny?

A wheeze tears from the bastard son’s mouth.   His ruined hands are wrapped around his silver staff until his bloodied knuckles have morphed white. But it’s his leverage, keeping him standing on his shaking legs. He may have lost but he refuses to collapse until his last breath has been taken. His pride won’t allow him otherwise.   “Why?”   He lifts his head and locks eyes with the impassive Prince, dignified and noble. A hero to all. A brother who he never deemed as a brother. Only in blood and never truly in name.    “Why did you do this?”   The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls. Even on the battlefield when they are both armoured and armed with weapons — in the moment of death — Jungkook is as oblivious and ignorant as when he was a mere child.    Taehyung spares a thought as to what it feels like to be that naive. He concludes it is a privilege.   “W-hy….d..o...you...think?”   The Forgotten Prince’s feet sinks into the mountain of brittle bones. He had to bring the dead back to life through necromancy to build an army for this war. No one would fight on his side after all. No one’s ever wanted to fight on his side.   But even so, he was never able to bring himself to revive his mother.   But it’s foolish he didn’t. She may have just been a marionette doll with tangled strings, a simple outer shell of a real human being, but he regrets not doing it. He should’ve.   Even if it was just to see her for a moment.   But it is a regret too late. He has another wish he wants to achieve in these last moments.   Taehyung chokes out that girl’s name.    He didn’t know he would have feelings for her. He was simply intrigued. Anything that belonged to his brother was always something worth envy. And he wasn’t wrong. She was a pawn on the opponent’s side who turned out to be more valuable than the queen.   “P-Please….” Blood curdles at the back of his throat, thickening his words into pathetic sputters. “Let me...see her….on.e….las...t….tim..e…”   “I’ll never let you see her.”    The Prince’s hands tighten on the handle and he rips the sword out of his abdomen in a single motion. The sound of silver cuts sharply through the air and Taehyung drops to his bruised knees. His own blood has splattered across his visage, scarlet drenched on ashy skin.   The Prince stands tall, the very furrow of his brows jarring against the cold, cordial expression he maintains. It’s an expression of contempt, of hatred and indifference. His shadow looms over him, the status he was born with intrinsic in his sheer presence.    “All...I...ever..wanted….was to be you. To be...powerful...to have everything you have.”    The Forgotten Prince rests against his staff and shuts his eyes. He ponders for a mere moment if he will be able to see his mother after this. But if there is such a thing as an afterlife, it’s still unlikely that fate would grant him such peace and refuge.   “I...d..idn’t...want….to...be...aban..doned…”   The remnants of magic surges through his veins and with a weak flick of his wrist, Taehyung’s last magic summons the girl who had occupied his thoughts. She appears in front of him, manifesting with his spell, and she screams.   Jungkook calls out to her and they embrace. He holds her, covering her body with his arm.   The two of them look down at Taehyung in fear and disdain.    But her vicinity is enough for him. He wonders when he became this pathetic. Or if he was always this way as their villain.   Taehyung chokes on the blood curdling at the back of his throat, but his lips upturn into a smile.    He mouths her name and dies at their feet.   ….   Anastasia.   You wake up with a gasp tearing from your chest. Your breath heaves out of you and tears coat your cheeks and the pillow beneath your head. Most of all, your chest fucking hurts like your heart’s about to burst. So you call for a maid at the top of your lungs and within seconds, someone scatters in.   “My lady?”    “Water,” you croak and she nods.   A glass is presented in front of you within moments and you down the entire thing, able to calm yourself down once you’ve finished. The maid notices your sweaty form and asks if you would like to change clothes, but you wave her off and she leaves.   Your worst fear came to life in a nightmare.   Instead of calling the heroine’s name, Taehyung called yours.   //   The ceremony at the Eastern Cathedral is exactly like all other events and celebrations in the castle.   Boring. Tedious. Like sitting in a lecture hall with the most unenthused professor droning on about the art of paint drying. Except you have to slap a friendly smile on you, sit straight, make small talk and pretend you’re intently listening. You wish cardboard cutouts were a thing, so you could just slap a picture of yourself in your seat instead of having to deal with it.   But the entire ordeal keeps your mind from wandering about last night.    There’s something about pretending that you’re fine that makes you feel fine after a while. Like you’ve tricked your own self into being okay.   You’re even anxious once it’s over. Once the quiet has settled back in.   Many of the guests leave, viscounts and countesses bidding their farewells from the cathedral and getting into their carriages. After you’ve sent off Lady Devon and you’re free of her scrutiny, you quickly turn around to find Jungkook and get out of here.   The last thing you want is to run into Taehyung right now. You don’t know if you’ll be able to manage your reactions, control your expressions.   But on your way back, your attention is taken by an elderly priestess dressed in white robes with a cane, hobbling around. Her hands are outstretched and she bats the air. She’s blind.   “Excuse me, do you need help?”   “Oh, yes, please, that would be wonderful.” She smiles and the tens of wrinkles on her face crease. The old lady reminds you of your grandma and the corner of your mouth quirks. You take her hand and place it on your arm, guiding her. “I’m usually not so clumsy but I lost my way and had to re-orientate myself. You can just bring me into the side house, it should be on the West side of the cathedral grounds.”   You look around and spot it around the building. “It’s this way.”   “Are you here for the ceremony?”   “Yes, I am.”   “How nice, Emelisse will make a fine Head Priestess. Her holy magic is quite powerful.”   You hum and get to the smaller building within two minutes. The doors are already open, so you peek inside to see if anyone’s there to take the old lady, but there’s no one. “We’re here.”   The Priestess reaches out and grabs the door frame. She smiles and gets up the steps herself, but not before turning around. “Thank you. Not many people would personally aid me in this day and age, and for that I’m thankful.”   “It’s not a problem.”   It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to speak so casually to someone. But it’s relaxing to forget about your titles. You don’t have to be the Crown Prince’s Fiancée. The future Queen. Or the heir of the Devereux house.   You’re just Anastasia. Y/N. A mix of both that makes you you.   “Would you be willing to hear an old secret in exchange for helping me?”   “Uhhhhh…..” You glance over your shoulder. There’s no palace guards or Jungkook in sight.   You really don’t want to stick around for too long. But you remember your grandma got pretty lonely towards the end of her life and was willing to talk to door-to-door salesmen for a good hour or two until they wanted to run away and blacklist the house from their list. Bless her heart.   You decide to indulge the old woman, so you go along with it. “Sure.”   “I once knew a woman, a kind but poor woman. She was with child,” her voice croaks and you lean in closer, realizing it’s juicy gossip and it sparks intrigue. “The father of that unborn child wasn’t very happy to know that child was coming into existence, so she, worried, came to see her fortune and her child’s on the eve of the Solar Festival.”   The old Priestess holds the handle of her cane with both hands, placed in the middle of her body. She faces the sky, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin as she continues the story.   “She came to this cathedral and they told her about doom and her child’s inevitable doom. Desperate and heartbroken, she begged to find a way to deviate from such a fate. She wanted to do anything she could to change the predetermined destiny of her unborn child.”   Your brows furrow. You begin to wonder why she’s telling you this. “And?”   “She did a ritual of dark magic to search for a soul that would protect her son.” The old woman shakes her head. “She defied the laws of destiny itself without knowing the pain it would cause.”   “But through sheer will, she broke it!” The Priestess smiles, her voice having been a murmur drawing you in. “She found a fitting soul and that soul was sent to another dimension before this one to learn about what was to come, so that they could protect her son.”   You stagger back. Breath caught in your throat. Blood draining from your face.   There’s no way. It can’t be.   But everything aligns. It matches perfectly.   “W-What happened next?”   The woman hums a low note and you realize too late that she’s the former Head Priestess, the one who had just stepped down. “I’m not quite sure what the ending to that story is since that soul wrapped in dark magic is standing right in front of me.”   The former Head Priestess smiles gently and turns around, entering inside her abode. She leaves you standing rooted to the ground on your own as it dawns upon you —   It was all on purpose.   Being reborn into this world. Having memories of your past life. Being burdened with the knowledge of what fates there are, what the future holds. All along, it was to serve your purpose: to protect Taehyung.   Your destiny was entangled with him even before this lifetime.    But you’ve already failed. You let his mother die. And now his own time is running out.   You turn around. The urge to see him overwhelms your very being. You have to tell him how you really feel. You’re not just Anastasia. You’re Y/N. And you won’t allow the original storyline to confine your choices anymore.   None of this was an accident. You weren’t messing anything up. None of your actions, your feelings or his are wrong. Nothing was a mistake. You’ll find a way to save Taehyung, to be with him.    You have to.   In the south courtyard of the cathedral, by sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you see him there. Of all the places of these vast grounds where he could be, you still found him.   “Taehyung!”   You call out to him and he turns at the sound of your voice. But then your smile falls. Your feet slow. By coincidence, an arrow soars towards him, slicing through the air.   You shout at the top of your lungs and Taehung whips his head around. The tip of the arrow freezes an inch away from his nose and clatters to the ground through his magic. But then five more arrows splits the sky and flies towards him. Taehyung dodges, stops another, but one catches him in the arm.   He sharply inhales.    A scream of his name tears from your throat.   Taehyung winces and rips the shaft of the arrow out of his skin. He looks at the tip before throwing it away. He can feel the poison spreading in his veins, bleeding inside of his body. It inhibits his magic and before he can yell at you to get away, another arrow spirals in the horizon.   He shuts his eyes. Taehyung feels an impact. But the pain never comes.   His eyes shoot open, brows knitting together and his mouth draws open when he sees you.    Your arms have wrapped around his body in a warm embrace, shielding him away, protecting him like you were meant to. The end of the arrow has pierced into your shoulder.    But you can’t feel it.   Taehyung shouts your name and you collapse. He holds your body in his arms, cradling your head against his shoulder as he screams from the pit of his stomach for help. And you watch him through foggy eyes, a smile gracing your lips.   You’re glad he’s not hurt.   Your hand slowly lifts to caress his cheek and he looks at you.   “I….fi..nally came….on time, Tae...hyung.”

[captainpikeachu]

Okay, so far be it from me to say it but some of y’all (here, on other social media, and plenty of reaction channels too) are getting really weird reasons to hate the character of John Walker, like there are plenty of legitimate reasons to hate him but some of y’all keep reaching for the strangest things that make no sense and at worst you’re undermining your own favorite MCU characters to do it

I’ve seen many people immediately condemn Walker for using a gun in Episode 2, and how that makes him “not Captain America”, while seemingly forgetting that both Steve and Sam have used guns before? Like I get that it’s weird seeing Cap using a gun but the gun is not a reason that makes him “bad” or “not Captain America”, by that logic, then neither Sam nor Steve can be Captain America either just because they’ve used weapons, hell Sam operated with dual guns as Falcon in previous movies. Walker’s use of a gun, if anything, is actually very logical, he has no super powers, he’s got no wings like Sam or super strength like Steve or Bucky, so if he’s going into fights, he has to compensate his lack of extra abilities with weaponry. I’m more surprised he doesn’t just carry a grenade launcher with him at all times to be frank about it. And if he didn’t have that gun, Lemar would have died a lot earlier on that truck fight. That gun is supposed to level the playfield which he (and Lemar) enters at a very huge and dangerous disadvantage.

Some people have also highlighted Walker commenting on how he’s stopped a grenade four times using a reinforced helmet as a sign of his true nature of not befitting Captain America, some even so far as to call it a gimmick. But that’s just literally him doing his job? I don’t get it. It’s one thing if we actually saw footage of him jumping on grenades as an act or for PR, but when he answers Bucky’s accusation, he’s just describing something that is a part of his job. He’s a soldier, he’s in active combat all the time, he’s probably run into many grenade jumping situations and he’s trained to do what he does by using a reinforced helmet. And using a reinforced helmet doesn’t mean he’s not brave or self sacrificing, that’s literally again just him doing his job the way he was trained, why wouldn’t you make reinforced helmets that can block a grenade explosion instead of needlessly wasting human lives on it. Hell, we see even how the Wakandans use this “reinforced helmet” tactic when T’Challa uses his suit to absorb the kinetic energy of an explosion to protect everyone else. That’s not a gimmick, it doesn’t make T’Challa any less honorable or brave or self sacrificing. It’s a really strange standard to judge Walker against when it’s a different time, different training, and different technology available. 

And then there’s this thing of #NotMyCap, Walker as a character was fighting an uphill battle from day one, before he even spoke a word or even showed what kind of person he is, the judgment was already laid down by majority of fandom to blame the character for something that character isn’t even responsible for. Judging Walker by what he does is totally valid and fair as we reach the later episodes, but he was already “not my Cap” to so many people in their minds simply because he wasn’t Steve or Sam or Bucky or anyone the fans know, that anything Walker did or said would be instinctively compared or looked upon with negative connotations, he had already failed before he even had a chance to start, I mean, just look at the comments from his first introduction, it’s filled with comments mocking his appearance and the numerous versions of “Discount Cap” insults. When you start from a well of negativity, it’s really difficult to believe that the character has been given fair consideration. 

Finally, there’s the big debate over Walker’s actions towards Nico, the Flag Smasher he killed. And look, I ain’t okay with what he did either, he shouldn’t have killed Nico in that way and he should have exercised more self control for someone in his power and position. Even if I understand his emotional reasons, I’m not okay with his actions. However, there’s this strange undercurrent in fandom that keeps painting Nico as a sympathetic victim of a evil murderous monster while conveniently forgetting that Nico literally seconds before was restraining Walker so that Karli could kill him. If Lemar had not jumped in, Nico would have succeeded in actively aiding Karli to murder Walker. People talk about how it’s sad that Nico looked up to Captain America and is killed by Cap’s shield but no one mentions that he was trying to kill a Captain America. I’m not saying this makes what Walker did okay, but it’s just very strange that Nico is reframed as this innocent victim of an evil man when he would actually be far better described as a surrendered enemy combatant that Walker should have taken prisoner instead of executed. It just feels like the wall of hate against Walker is so blinding that some people are forgetting the context of the situation. And there’s some people saying “well Walker killed people so that makes him the worst”, okay then what about the other Avengers? What about our other heroes? Some of them have killed people, just because it was never shown in this dramatically intense way with blood doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Hell, Episode 1 literally has a fight where Sam definitely killed people but is it because it wasn’t presented in a dramatically ominous way that makes it okay? Or because it didn’t have blood? Or because it was a clear “bad guy” in battle so it’s fine? Tony Stark in the first Iron Man movie kills numerous “evil terrorists”. Steve killed some folks in his movies too. But we cheer in those moments, feel triumphant even, is that kind of extrajudicial killing okay because it’s in a fight and the people killed were bad? Why weren’t those bad people taken prisoner instead of killed? Do we have one kind of standard for the violence our heroes deal out and then another standard for other characters who aren’t our faves? What makes one kind of violence justifiable and doesn’t taint the legacy of that shield but another kind of violence unjustifiable and taints the legacy? I feel like people are not nearly examining this inherent double standard as much as they should. And I’m not condemning Sam or Steve or Tony or any of the heroes taking out bad guys, but I bring this up to point out to people that if “Walker can’t just kill someone in cold blood and revenge” then why is it that we are okay with when our heroes kill? Is it because they do it not in revenge and cold blood? Is deliberate dispassionate killing somehow more justifiable?

Anyways, again, I’m not saying you can’t criticize or hate John Walker. He is clearly designed to be the anti-hero/antagonist of this story. And there are plenty of legitimate reasons to question the many things this character has done. But some of these specific issues I’ve seen brought up by the fandom is just really strange and at times very hypocritical, ignorant of canon and context, and very reductive of a very interesting and well written and complex character.