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madou-dilou · 2 months

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Harrow and Viren : analysis

Viren, since he resurrected in season 4, is constantly paralleled with Harrow.

"It's been a long time. Our kingdom is prospering. There is peace. My boys, they are growing up. Perhaps it's wiser to stay focused on these blessings."

"My whole life, I have been chasing after things I did not have. Now that I'm here and may have only thirty days left, do I really want to spent those days ... chasing ? Maybe I should stop and appreciate what I do have. A whole month, enjoying every moment with my daughter. Maybe it's time for me to accept that I am who I am. And when I reach the end, I'll be at peace. And it will just be the time to let me go."

Both reevaluate their lives, questioning the crimes they left in their wake. They feel like they have escaped justice. Their loved ones do their best, encourage them to continue living, of course, but they have come to the conclusion that if their life has left such a trail of blood, prolonging it will only spread more.

That at this point, the only right thing they could do for the world was leaving it.

For said loved ones, this attitude makes no sense and feels straight-up ungrateful. ("You are acting stubborn and ungrateful!"/"Please, dad, don't. Don't do this. Don't leave. It's a mistake. You can't. I saved you! You me your life! You have to stay...")

Especially since Harrow and Viren are both incapable of explaining themselves clearly. Viren straight-up tells Harrow he doesnt understand where he is coming from, and Harrow only answers "I know you don't. Leave me." Viren, meanwhile, talks about "a path of truth of freedom" that he needs to face.

In short, to quote Kaamelott's queen Guinevere "You slit your wrists in a bath I had myself prepared just for you."

Two kings caught in blood feuds, pushed by the devils on their shoulders to prolong an existence they no longer want, even at the cost of two being supposed to be sacrifices: a soldier, who signed for that (unlike the High Mage, side-eye Harrow), and this homunculus.

Both thus renounce dark magic by, as Harrow says, "calling it what it is" for the first time; and no longer “a creative solution to solve this” as Viren used to say.

And just as Harrow wrote a letter to his son Callum to free him from the wrongs of the previous generation, Viren attempts to do the same.

To Callum, Harrow tried to explain that the past, which we must nevertheless seek to understand, should not define the future; that his death must close the cycle of revenge that he initiated with the assassination of the Titan and for which he takes full responsibility; and that his sons must ensure a new era of peace. As he prepares to face death, he also makes sure his last conversation with Ezran is completely mundane, so the boy does not grow up thinking he abandonned him.

However, Harrow did not think to officially appoint a regent (Viren, Amaya or Opeli), which forces poor Ezran to assume a horrible role for which, at eight years old, he is obviously absolutely not prepared.

Which obviously puts the kingdom in a dangerous situation.

In his letter to Soren, Viren is very literal. He wants Soren to judge him, but for him to have all the necessary elements to do so; he wants Soren to understands why he made all these mistakes. Viren tells Soren that all the suffering he felt was never his fault, but his own.

It was Viren and Viren alone who chose to become a monster by violating Kppar then Lissa, thus causing her departure, then making Soren pay for it throughout his childhood.

The letter was intended to free Soren of all guilt. Because, when you get given the cold shoulder by your father throughout your whole childhood, you believe it has to be your fault. All divorce children think it's their fault.

The problem is, reading the truth might as well make Soren feel worse. Because this letter confirms that it was to save him that Viren destroyed the family, even if it was a choice that Viren made. According to Puzzle House, Soren remembers that he was sick, that his grandfather disappeared, that his father saved him, and that his mother left, but he could never connect the dots between all these events.

This letter means that the simple fact that Soren was alive was indeed the first crack that eventually caused the whole house to collapse.

Viren therefore chose to burn the letter, hoping to spare his son such a burden.

Both Viren's and Harrow's deaths have something of a suicide to them, and not just in the letters they leave behind.

Remember my post comparing their actions to the quote from the Kaamelott show ? "What is someone who suffers and spills his blood on the floor so that everyone is guilty? All suicides are Christ. All bathtubs are the Grail."

In short, I was trying to explain how their masochism made others suffer.

Harrow claims to consider himself a servant, and he certainly means it. He is humble, is aware monarchy is an unfair system and has a great sense of honor, not hesitating to defy certain traditions - by sharing his official portrait with Viren - and to put his own life at stake. But when, for example, he finds nothing better to do than deprive his people of food simply to honor a promise, his claims sound particularly hollow. He is out-of-touch enough not to know the state his kingdom is in, so he will certainly not have to see his own family starve. But he set out to restore some justice to the world, however stupid this justice is. He seems to consider that by sacrificing the kingdom, he is sacrificing himself. And during his heroic death, that by sacrificing himself, he will save the kingdom instead of plunging it into chaos.

Viren, most probably partly because of his social origins that he keeps getting reminded of (and a fun childhood too, the guy insults himself in front of the mirror until he breaks down crying and constantly devalues his son) is haunted by an inferiority complex. To be useless. He has a morbid need for gratitude. Hoping to matter, to serve a purpose, he spent years self-destructing through dark magic, constantly putting himself in danger, ruining his health, wiping behind the king's decisions, or letting Aaravos exploit his body in increasingly abject ways. In short, to see himself only as a means to an end.

This feeling of ungratefulness is not unfounded: not only is the king actually incompetent enough not to have the slightest idea of the state of his kingdom's resources, but in addition, where any swordsman would display with pride the scars of his craft, Viren is forced to hide his swollen face - it is even part of the reason why his wife left him.

The problem is that his own self-sacrificing tendancies made him think he had the right to exploit others: his wife, Sarai, Harrow, the princes, Soren, and a few thousand others, and I'm probably forgetting some.

That since sacrificing others was difficult for him, it made him the hero.

Viren probably suffers from a huge martyr syndrome: being able to exist only through the gratitude of others, he begins to take charge of all their problems, even unsollicited, and even if it means creating others in the process. It doesnt make him evil. It's an unconcious strategy to simply survive.

Since he is competent, no-nonesense, pragmatic and literally magical, he ends up making himself absolutely indispensable. No one but him could save two kingdoms from famine. Even more so, Sarai, Harrow's wife, sacrificed herself to save him because he was a mage. This survivor's guilt may have made this problem worse.

His mentality, which he summed up as "get a grip" to a traumatized Terry, also likely played a role in the deterioration of his relationship with Harrow. After Sarai's death, Viren probably felt that he ought to be the immovable and unshakable pillar on which Harrow should be able to rely. That if he ever showed the slightest doubt, the slightest weakness, Harrow, and with him, the kingdom, would collapse. Whereas if Viren had been less constipated, Harrow would undoubtedly have felt less lonely, and would have been less likely to take his own life as he did.

Viren is the brain of the heart. He provides a safeguard to Harrow, whose sense of justice blinds him. Harrow has, after all, indeed chosen the Blindfold in his dream, to push him to imagine a system aimed at protecting everyone equally. An ideal, unrealistic and inconsiderate. Viren is the Scales, in my opinion: he compares the costs of his actions to the positive consequences that will result from them. He is a result-oriented person, measuring his self-worth by his productivity.

Now, it's time for me to talk about the Drama Triangle, theorized by psychiatrist Stephen Karpman in his article Fairy Tales and script drama analysis.

Karpmann first applies this schema to fairy tales: for example, the Piper of Hamelin saves the villagers, victims of the rats who persecute them; but instead of thanking him, the villagers throw stones at him and banish him without paying their dues; which pushes the Piper to take revenge, becoming a persecutor, by making all the children of the village disappear.

But this Triangle, as Karpman explains, is also an unconscious psychological game, a relational pattern between victim, persecutor and savior that cannot be applied to an emergency situation. It is not necessary for all three instances of the triangle to be present, but it is often enough for one person to play the game for the others to get involved. Stephen Karpman adds that the more roles are reversed in a single scene, the more intense it is in emotion and conflict.

The victim is isolated, passive and unable to make decisions to resolve their problems. The persecutor belittles them, minimizes their suffering and mocks them in the hope of making them react. The savior defends them, feels obliged to solve the victim's problems for him even unsollicited, which is very gratifying for them but maintains the victim in a state of dependence.

None of these roles are positive because they create unbalanced relationships.

The problem, you can see it coming, is that over the years, Harrow has become completely dependent on Viren to put his grand ideas into practice, and therefore on the "necessary" crimes that Viren lined up like pearls on a necklace. It's not just dirty, it's also infantilising. Viren constantly acts as a savior, which places Harrow in a victim role, unaccustomed to questioning Viren's decisions even when he is wrong.

Harrow couldn't take it anymore.

He became so fed up with his own dependence on Viren that he concluded the only way to get rid of him was to die.

Harrow could have hidden with the princes, or fired his entire guard and faced the consequences of his actions alone, but he just seized the opportunity to sell his skin dearly and die a hero.

I would even go so far as to say that for Harrow, his own death served three purposes:

Reunite with Sarai without whom his life no longer has meaning

Finally receive his rightful punishment and put an end to his own feelings of guilt

Make Viren finally feel guilty about something, even if it was his suicide. He wants him to see his blood spilled on the floor.

In short, to finally regain control by placing Viren in the role of victim, while becoming the persecutor.

"I have tolerated your arrogance for to long. But if this is my last day as king, I will make sure you will know your place."

Viren, throughout seasons 1 and 2, paying for Harrow's mistakes as he always did, tried to position himself as the savior of the human kingdoms, that were then facing a crisis situation: as a result, he is rejected at every turn, completely isolated, sentenced to death for treason and completely unable to resolve his problems. In short, a victim.

And who is it that "saves" him ?

Aaravos, by presenting himself as Viren's "servant", flatters his ego and points out persecutors to blame. However, Viren is not a fool: he is aware of being manipulated. He knows that Aaravos is deliberately withholding a lot of information from him. But he throws himself into it of his own free will. He's more stressed than everyone else as well as grieving, he back to the wall and isn't thinking like the rest of the world: as far as he is concerned, he has only made a series of unavoidable decisions, which had doors and doors shutting in his face over and over, plunging him further and further into sheer darkness.

Until he has "nothing left to lose". Until the man who he has chained to a wall is freer than him. Until the knife eventually becomes the border between two worlds, separating him from the only source of light, pale, artificial, unforgiving, coming from "worse than death": Aaravos.

Yeah, it's clearly suicide-coded.

Viren (believing he was doing the right thing) got the worst out of Harrow, just as Aaravos (wanting to cause chaos for fun) got the worst out of Viren.

And just like Harrow, the only way Viren had to get rid of the devil on his shoulder was to die.

And as for Viren's third death in the sixth season, heroic if ever there was one (on the very balcony where he looked at his wrist in season 2), it is also no coincidence that he repeats Harrow's last words to him, told to humiliate him : "I am a servant."

This term carries an ambivalence: the nobility of abnegation and the humiliation of submission.

Although Harrow saw himself as a servant of the kingdom and promoted equality in his reforms and symbols, he eventually grew tired of it. He does sacrifice his own life to end the cycle of revenge, but since he does not take the trouble to prepare for his succession, even if only by ensuring that the princes are safe, the result is a total disaster. He also devotes the last minutes of his existence to being completely unjustified cruelty towards Viren. His death was a way for him to finally regain control.

Viren, hurt that Harrow lowered him to the ground by mistaking his self-sacrifice for arrogance and once again leaving him to pay the price for his decisions, has made this term the justification for his crimes... confusing, in his good intentions, “serving the people” for “using the people”.

Viren was completely willing to sacrifice himself to save Harrow in Season 1, but Harrow, determined to regain control, didn't even listen to him; and Viren immediately recanted when Harrow refused to recognize him as an equal. Although it could not have been more sincere, the sacrifice of his own life was then rejected by the plot because it was done without humility.

(or maybe Harrow immediately understood what Viren was going to do and scolded him to dissuade him)

Viren was then reduced to his greatest weakness : his existential need for gratitude.

And more than ever, he was the only one with common sense in the room, on top of being belittled for his absence of royal blood. He still thinks he knows better than everyone else, just as he always actually did. Anyone who crosses his vision ought to be killed. No matter how much he has to harm others and himself (burning his own eyes, committing high treason and sentencing himself to death, giving in body and soul to "worse than death", letting Aaravos manipulate his body in absolutely gross ways, risking being burned at the stake) in the process. Aaravos sees straight through, exploits this, because it's what dark magic is: it's dehumanising yourself as well as others; seeing no longer people but components and obstacles. Viren harms himself to be seen as a hero, not a servant. He needs gratitude, admiration. To be seen as above. A servant is beneath, only ever doing what he is told.

But today, Viren, haunted by the vision of Harrow's blood on the floor, chooses to sacrifice himself, thus saving the population of Katolis in the face of dragon fire, to sacrifice himself alone and no one else, reviled, hated, and misunderstood. The official portrait of him and Harrow, symbolizing his noble deeds and the good they were able to do together, burned in the castle fire.

He dies not in court clothes but in rags, not as an official hero showered with praise, but as a traitor. Soren will never know what he did for him as a child, Viren doesn't want his death to haunt him.

Even though he dies as the Lord Protector of the Realm Ezran could not be, in the eyes of history, Viren will remain the traitor. The Evil Chancellor, Jafar, Richard III, Iago, Scar.

No one will see his blood as he spills it on the floor of Harrow's room.

Servants of the realm indeed.

#tdp #tdp harrow #tdp viren #tdp virrow #tdp analysis #tdp s6 #tdp s6 spoilers #tdp book 6: stars #king viren #king harrow #character analysis #tdp character analysis #tdp lord viren

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ladylaviniya · 7 months

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Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 5 || Masterlist || Chapter 7

Chapter Summary: A carriage ride to Groveland parks leaves you and Sherlock in a snippy mood.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, domestic abuse, No sex, (mentions of past events) .

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This took a while. I'll be posting chapter 7 very soon.

Inspiring Song: "Achillies" by Gang of Youth

7:01am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England

Early day on the street of London was a thick blanket of fog and horse cabs awaiting their clients. People in uniforms marched the streets, servants and servicemen that did not have lodgings with their employers.

Sherlock and you avoided the mud and horseshit on the cobblestones, stepping carefully. His hand was strong, cupping yours as you lifted your skirts above the stench. The floor path was filthy and the boy who usually scrapped the dung of the road was not to be seen so early in the day.

You shivered slightly at the cold breeze. Your jacket was not as warm as you had believed. You felt a pity for the sight of maids passing you both without even a shawl to protect them, their faces were flushed and pink, they cupped their bare hands and blew hot breath into them. You were grateful for your gloves.

You wondered if anyone down here in the street could’ve heard your shrieking up in the 221B apartment. You weren’t particularly quiet not holding back your screams. Your warm flesh was a fresh reminder that your detective husband walking so nobly and leading you was in fact a sexual deviant.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and was careful not to plant his walking cane into any muck.

As you stepped closer to a hansom cabriolet, Sherlock pinched your elbow and walked you both closer to a hackney coach behind the latter.

“Jarv! I dare say! Jarvey!” Sherlock called up to the driver sitting on top. The man fixed his uniform cap and peered down at you both from the height.

“Where are you off to sir?” the driver called down.

Your husband smiled and opened his coat, his fingers slid into his pocket as he stated, “To Groveland Park, Southgate.”

Your eyes widened, from baker street it was a feet of travel one normally wouldn’t take. You were sure your own husband had to have been mistaken.

“Sherlock,” you softly informed while gently touching his arm “that’s over an hour away.”

He ignored you. His thumb skated across your back softly.

“Of course sir,” the driver nodded, “that should cost you one crown and a tanner.”

Your lips tightened, it was such a large expense. Now you really started to regret using your dowry to pay of Sherlock’s selfish debts. Why the hell was he taking you both across country side!?

The detective saw your disapproval and smiled, patting your hand he exclaimed, “Fret not wife, the expense is reimbursed by Scotland Yard.”

He gave the driver half the require costs from his pocketbook before he opened the door of the carriage for you. As you climbed inside, you jumped with a noise feeling his hand squeeze your backside.

You hissed as you sat on the leather seat. You tried to maneuverer your body to sit mostly on your hip. As he climbed in and sat across from you after shutting the carriage door, you pinned him down coldly with your gaze.

He returned an expression beaming in smirtle and tapped the roof with his cane, “Drive on Jarvey!”

You felt the carriage move with a jolt and sighed as the horse carried you through London’s different roads and pathways. You looked out the window and sighed as the carriage circled down the Regent Park and past the Zoo. You had never been to a zoo in your life, your grandmother stated it was too filthy and uncouth to stroll in pens merely to gaze at queer animals from different countries.

You tried not to stick your head out the window as you kept your eyes on the entrance gates you passed. Now that you lived so close and were a married woman with free time...you pondered if Sherlock would permit you a visit.

He was watching you the entire time. A soft smile came to his face. He took a glance out the window with you.

“I presume you’ve never been?”

Your eyes flickered between him at the steel zoo fencing and you timidly nodded, “I have always wondered what a lion looks like to the real gaze, my father promised to take me when I was a girl but-” you drifted off into silence and looked away from the window.

But he abandoned you for a cold woman in a opportunistic marriage...you hadn’t seen him for years.

“My grandparents would never approve,” You stuttered.

He nodded slowly with his silent thoughts and did not question you further.

You sighed, if you had known the journey would be to Groveland Park, you would’ve brought a novel with you to read. You cupped your hands and leant your head back.

As the cobblestones turned to soft mud and dewy grasslands you heard Sherlock finally clear his throat.

“Dear wife,” he said leaning back, racing his eyes all over your body, “What do you actually know of the Pennicott case? What details have come to light for you?” He spoke with balance.

You pursed your lips and blowed slowly. You didn’t want this to be another test of Sherlock in which he might insult you. You pinched your gloved finger and stated factually, “I recall hearing the Baron went missing a week or two ago. He took a ride on a horse in the middle of the night from his home and then sighted on a ship in Limehouse headed supposedly to France. That’s what the papers say. Then the information you shared with me this morning. You said he made a profit in his company?”

Sherlock nodded and shut the carriage windows. The light darkened the pair of you. Now your eyes adjusted to watch his face as he retold in secrecy, “Yesterday, while at the New Scotland Yard office building I decided to investigate his warehouse expenses. He was making a profit, he was destined to achieve a beating record.”

Lord Pennicott owned the largest suppliers of metal works and machinery parts, ranging from trains, to ships to food cans, to weapons.

“He partakes business often with the Vanderbilt family, very new money in the past thirty years, yes?” you noted aloud. American royalty.

There was talk of Vanderbilts heirs coming to marry English society members, Pennicott was a frequent mention in business.

Sherlock nodded and huffed, “His consultants were blithering idiots however who had barely any insight to his personal life. He was quoted being a private man...what they knew of him was that he was about to have his sixth child. I believe it is time his wife to be questioned. She has given a small testimony to the police already, but I have been offered to consult in this case by Scotland yard...and it is you that officially provoked my interest.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Me?” you exclaimed with disbelief.

He had been so hot headed the last time the topic was even mentioned. You hadn’t dared ask about it again.

“Yes,” he rubbed his hands together, “you.”

You looked at him with apparent annoyance, “Shall you elaborate how it is I that provoked you?”

He chuckled sheepishly, “because you made a an inquiry and berated me when I told you to pay attention on other matters...” His eyes glanced to the floor of the carriage before meeting yours, “I may have...reflected...and deemed it the necessary duty to follow up on the imbeciles of England’s detective division. You are perhaps not as dim as I took you for originally...”

You felt a strange buzz at the bottom of your spine with a tiny seed of smugness blooming upward.

A flutter of pride filled you from his praise until he snorted, “You’re still rather stupid, but with a value of insight.”

Your spark of light blew out. You tried to not roll your eyes.

With most of your diverse self, you desired to throttle him and argue. Instead you took your turn at observing what you could in the dim carriage.

Sherlock was not like the average gentleman. In fact, he was very abnormal to what you had gotten to know... He was incredibly unorthodox. He didn’t adhere to social norms and behaved in contradictions. Therefore you took a moment to hear his words and accept them as a hidden message. A riddle.

You smugly smiled.

“Was that an attempt to...apologise, Mr Holmes?” you finally mused.

Sherlock smirked, “That would require me to be have a sense of regret my dear wife, and I do not account such a folly.”

You smirked back and said sassily, “The words you seek, are ‘Sorry’ and ‘please forgive me.’”

Your toe nudged his ankle playfully.

He glared reliving the warm humiliation you inflicted to him this morning over Mrs Hudson. His grim look was contagious.

He shot back, “And pray tell, how does your backside feel Mrs Holmes?” he chewed his bottom lip. His brows lifted, "Mayhaps you've forgotten and in need of a firm reminder?"

When your smile fell and his grew. He had won this small battle of wits. You looked away from him, your face felt incredibly warm like your bottom.

“Come now,” he purred and lean forward to pat your knees, “Don’t be so bashful. Deep down, I know you just want to be run through...” Your eyes narrowed as he continued confidently stating, “You put on this coy little show last night.” Your lips parted, your teeth bared, yet he kept running his mouth further, “I have intuition like no other man my dear and you...you are scared I will find out all those lustful secrets inside your mind-“

You didn’t let him finish his words before you ripped off your glove and delivered a sharp ringing blow to his cheek. It was a foul sting that ricocheted into your own delicate palm. You huffed angrily.

“What I did last night was not a show,” you spat, uncontrollably hot tears touched the back of your eyes, “What you did was wrong and cruel. You threatened our marriage unless I debased myself. I did what I had to,” you jabbed his chest with your finger, “and I will continue to as long as you remain faithful...”

‘or I will kill you Sherlock Holmes.’

Your words echoed both in his and your memory. He didn’t really believe you were capable of murder, and yet he also knew not to press his thumb against the sharpened knife.

His rubbed his hand on the pink print you left on his pale cheek. He plucked his cane leaning on the seat beside him and hooked it into your collar, tugging you unceremoniously forward into his lap. You were forced to sit directly over his right thigh from the awkwardness of the carriage size. He curled his walking stick behind you and trapped you on top of him.

You could feel the heat between his legs. Oh how Sherlock really was just a animal.

“I find you may come to regret those words...” he panted and licked the spot under your ear, “You think me cruel now? Just you bloody wait until you feel the thrash of my cane.”

You fluttered your eyes shut, squeezing the tears away as you regained your breath and whispered icily back into his seeking mouth, “I look forward to it.”

He pulled back to gaze at your entire face. His eyes were full of confusion. He looked like he was lost on a foreign road with know knowledge on where to go. His lips twitched, unsure to smile or frown.

“I see,” he swallowed, “You can play martyr all you want then, my future masochist...and then we will see whether you truly are a slut...or a saint...but I doubt you’ll like either result...”

You would never describe yourself as a masochist. You didn’t particularly like pain...but after a period of time when he struck your bare bottom this morning you felt warm and floating. Your belly buzzed like last night. It was wrong and you knew it was. A spanking was a punishment not a entrance for pleasure.

Sherlock set aside his cane and cupped your waist. His thumbs ran up and down your torso. He pressed his nose to yours.

“Definitely stupid,” he whispered over your lips hotly before he gently pushed you back until you sat on your side of the carriage.

You felt a slight dizziness. You couldn’t understand Sherlock no matter how much you tried. You slumped in your seat and rubbed your forehead. You pulled back the curtains and watched as the many houses turned into more trees.

Sherlock in the meantime pulled out his pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco for his pocket tin.

The bright luminous shine of the match flame filled the dark carriage as he lit his pipe and puffed. He stared you down as his gums sucked and smacked the thin mouthpiece. A swirl of grey and white smoke tails snaked from his lips and nose. His eyes held no colour, only darkness. You wondered what urged him so drastically to hate and disrespect you.

His cheek was a huge darker in this lighting.

You shut your eyes and controlled your breathing. You tried to stare at your glove that you’d dropped on the carriage flooring.

You sat both in silence for the rest of the lengthy roads to your destination. You pinched the curtains and opened them.

8:23am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.

The forestry and gardens of Groveland Park were magnificent. Giant trees replaced tall buildings. Bird chirp washed out the gossip and clatter of people.

You sighed as you breathed the clear air hunted with the earthy dew scent on the wind.

Your husband finished his pipe and tucked it back into his pocket.

The carriage rocked and creaked to a stop. You felt the driver climb down and opened the door. Sherlock climbed out first, he cleared his throat and hugged his walking stick to his side. He held out his hand for you.

“Come along Mrs Holmes.”

As you reached for him, the both of you matched eyes. Your hand was trembling.

You stepped down to the gravelled path and Sherlock released your hand to pay the remaining wage of the journey to the driver.

You quickly ducked back through its little door to retrieve your lost glove. And when you grasped it you felt a warmth behind you.

Sherlock’s hands with his cane cupped your waist and pulled you back against him slowly. There was something cruel and intimate about it... He stole your glove from your covered hand and slid your naked palm through the material but not before pressing his lips against the inside of your wrist.

Your eyes flickered and your heart thrashed. What the hell was he doing? The driver saw it all and smirked. He climbed back to the top of the carriage and clicked his tongue, fleeing slowly away. Sherlocks eyes were full of obsession.

You crossed your brows and tore yourself from his arms.

“No,” you whispered. You didn’t truly know what you were saying ‘no’ towards. It wasnt right of your husband to play a angered beast to rise fear in you only to transform into an adoring dove.

His false softness reverted back to his smirking wickedness.

His eyes glance back over your shoulder and he chuckled.

“Good morning Inspector Lestrade,” he purred.

You turned around to take in the sight of a short gentleman who was the owner of a thick black friendly mutton chops.

He wore a happy and surprised expression.

He was also carrying on his forearm a walking stick. He nodded his head and tipped his top hat to the both of you. He wore no gloves and to the private eye you could see the darkened yellowing skin of his knuckles and back of his palm.

“Good morning Detective and-“ he paused glancing you up and down.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock cleared his throat, and turned to wave a hand in regards to your presence, “Meet my wife, Y/N.”

The officers whiskers twitched. He bowed his head briefly, acknowledging, “Mrs Holmes.”

You granted a small polite curtsy, repeating back with a soft tone, “Inspector.”

You graced him with a small smile and he flashed you a nervous grin.

He scratched the back of his head and said with a strain in his voice to your husband, “Sir, this is a matter of professional business, your wife present I fear might be deemed....” he grimaced, “irresponsible?” he shook his head at the thoughts, “I must insist she returns to home,” he waved out his arm to direct you to a buggy and horse besides the entrance gates, his vehicle no doubt, he smiled, “Madam.”

Inspector Lestrade was a clear average man with common decency and a good sense of propriety. Sherlock was bring you into his space of work fit for men, you had no place here...nonetheless you willingly came along...he didn’t need to spank that out of you at least.

But before he could take grasp of your delicate hand, Sherlock reached forward and lowered your reaching wrist with an annoyed sigh, “I invited her. She has valued skills I need. It’s the least you can do after yesterday.”

Sherlock lightly tapped to the dark spot growing along his own jawline.

“Mrs Holmes,” The inspector flushed and nervously smiled, “I apologise greatly for the deformation of your husbands face.”

You looked between the two men. From Sherlock’s jaw to the Inspectors knuckles. The dots connected within seconds.. A light noise mixed with amusement, shock and horror slipped out of your tongue as you exclaimed, “You struck my husband?”

“In my defence Mrs Holmes,” Lestrade leaned against his walking stick and glanced to the gravel unable to meet your eyes, “One might argue he deserved it. And he returned a brightful force himself...”

Sherlock deserving a punch? Noooo surely not! After all the pair of you had experienced these two or three days, you understood entirely. For you wished to do nothing more than the same as Inspector Lestrade.

Sherlock snickered, and you released a bubbling giggle, “That does not surprise me. I’m curious what drove you to such lengths as to strike him.”

It wouldn’t take a lot you suspected, Sherlock already proved his habit on making more than one person uncomfortable and offended.

But instead of a confident man of the law, he was still sheepishly pushing the gravel around with his walking cane.

“Oh yes, Lestrade,” Sherlock barked in amusement, “Regale to my wife what I did to provoke your fist...”

Sherlock slapped his cane against Lestrades forcing the inspector to lose his balance and fall on one knee.

“Blast!” the inspector cried as he wobbled to stand back up.

You smacked a hand against Sherlock’s chest and shook your head at him and for that he discreetly tapped your backside with the head of his cane. You bit back the gasp and clenched your fingers on his coat. You didn’t like witnessing your husband behave so openly as a bully. It was very unsightly.

“Your husband, Mrs Holmes,” Lestrade winced and dusted dirt off his knee, “decided to elude to that which I am incompetent in my work therefore in other things.”

You accusingly turned your attention back to Sherlock, “Other things?”

“I think the inspector has trouble,” he smirked, “getting it up.”

‘Getting it up? What up?...oh!’ your eyes flashed wide

“Sherlock you didn’t!”

Your husband cackled meanly and rubbed soft circles into your back with his thumb.

“I’d rather say he started it,” Sherlock claimed fluttering his eyes at you before he snarled in the inspectors direction, “Go on Lestrade...now, you tell her what you said to me before I insulted your virility?”

You turned your attention back to the officer.

The mutton chop cop sputtered embarrassingly. His hands straightened his jacket and lifted his hat to smooth back his hair.

He licked his dry lips and hastily muttered, “I dare not repeat the words I so indecisively chose especially in front of such a fine and polite lady.”

Sherlocks mouth was close to your ear as he whispered, “I think he’s rather scared.”

“Of what?” you snipped back still crossed with Sherlock’s behaviour.

“What you’ll do to him...after what he called you.”

‘After what he called me? What was said? When was it said?...’

You softly hummed, “Did he insult me?”

“Detective Holmes,” the inspectors face turned a darker shade as he tensely pressed, “This really isn’t professional.”

Your husband moved his hand and lightly guided you to stand behind him as if to be a protective wall between you and the inspector. He stood a full foot above the inspector.

He glared down and sneered, “Then why bother saying it yesterday when you can’t even say it today in front of the woman herself?”

You saw how his hand squeezed his cane furiously. It was that action alone that sent an icy stream of fear down your spine. You weren’t sure of it, but you couldn’t put it passed Sherlock to start a brawl, particularly since the two men had clearly tussled fearsomely yesterday.

You sighed obnoxiously loud and very unladylike. You clapped your hands to snap both their attentions your way.

“Listening to a pair of men bicker is tiresome and leaves my learning brain in wanting,” you rolled your eyes and walked ahead of them both, calling over your shoulder, “Let us put aside what frivolous nonsense occurred yesterday and perform our duty instilled by the righteousness of God and the Queen herself, yes?”

You were stepping towards the main large house where you were confident was the Pennicott Estate. The gravel crunched beneath your striding walk.

Sherlock and Lestrade appeared gobsmacked by the sight of your leading March.

“Very well,” the inspector relented and walked ahead.

Sherlock caught up with both of you and squeezed your elbow, he gestured forward with his cane, “Lead the way Lestrade.”

And as the gentleman walked ahead of you, Sherlock sucked his head back to your ear with a smug tone, “Nicely done, dear wife.”

You rolled your eyes and shook him off, as if he wasn’t the reason you performed such a song and dance if tell them to return to their work over his foul demonstrating behaviour.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#sherlock holmes x female reader #sherlock holmes x poc!reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #milky fics

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lazybutsmexy · 2 years

Text

Choices have consequences

Alejandro Vargas x reader (GN)

Warning: light angst, culinary crimes, talk about past food insecurity.

Summary: There is an unwritten rule that you assumed Alejandro would have learned by now, after three years of committed relationship: don't anger the cook. You were wrong.

On AO3

A/N: I'm like, five vodka cocktails in. If there are any mistakes I'll fix them when I'm sober. Also I got inspired by @ragingbookdragon 's badass reader because I just know Alejandro is. So. Whipped.

When you had decided to move in together, an arrangement was made: all household chores would be shared when he was present, but you would be in charge of meal planning and cooking.

It was a convenient set-up for the two of you; you wouldn't be burdened with all the chores when he was off-duty, and would only look after your own load of housekeeping when you were by yourself. Besides, Alejandro was by no means an incapable man when cooking, you were just better than him in that regard - by a lightyear.

To you, cooking wasn't just a means to an end - it was an act of service, a declaration of love. And to date a passionate man as Alejandro, you showed the same passion for your culinary art.

The kitchen was your realm, and you were the regent. No matter whoever was going to be the recipient of your hard work, you always chose the finest ingredients. You loved to experiment with flavours and aromas. You had transformed an unused closet at the far end of your kitchen into a walk-in pantry - your spices occupied nearly an entire wall in there.

You put your heart and soul into every dish, it didn't matter if it was for Alejandro and you, a house full of guests, or just yourself. Those close to the both of you knew that a dinner invitation to your house meant a culinary experience that could rival that of a Michelin star restaurant.

And you were damn proud of yourself for that. You nurtured yourself on the faces of your guests when their head tilted slightly backwards, their eyes closed, and a soft moan escaped them as soon as they tried your meals. Alejandro himself had more than once interrupted himself from eating to cup your face in his hands and kiss you to thank you for your efforts.

Which is why the very words that came out of his mouth hit you like a train dead on.

Granted, he didn't say them to you directly, you overheard him on accident the previous day while he was talking on the phone. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he wasn't being secretive either. He was sitting in the living room, and the conversation was quite light-hearted, so you assumed that the topic was nothing related to his work. You still kept quiet, sneaking behind him to grab a book you had meant to start reading for a while.

The conversation had shifted to meals, somehow, and it caught your attention immediately when he mentioned some of the meals you often made. It never failed to warm your heart when he gushed about your culinary skills.

"...I mean, I appreciate the effort because it's such a hassle to cook and they do it all from scratch, but a few times it felt like I was eating rations in the field."

...What?

He couldn't be talking about your food, right?

...Right?

He ended his sentence with a chuckle, and you just stood there, fingers grasping the spine of the book. Your eyes were fixed on the shelf as his conversation moved on, his voice fading from your perception.

There was a weight on your chest that expanded to the bottom of your stomach and to the middle of your head, settling right behind your eyes. Knowing what was to come, you left the book in its place and walked back to the room you'd come from, just as quietly as you'd arrived.

After twenty minutes or so, you emerged from your hiding place, face freshly washed and - hopefully - no traces of the little angst marathon you went through. Alejandro still sat in the living room, this time he was watching a rerun of some fútbol match, completely unaware of the beast he had unknowingly set loose.

You walked straight to the kitchen with a newfound determination, a mission if you will. After gulping two cups of water to rehydrate yourself - and a quick prayer to your late abuela for forgiveness for the crime you were about to commit - you put your hands to work. You usually took about two hours to cook, but you were sure that you would be over much quicker than that.

You carefully washed, sliced, and prepared the main ingredients, making sure that the meal would have everything necessary to look absolutely normal. You were akin to an explosives expert assembling a bomb, every step carefully calculated to achieve your goal.

The light scent of that escaped from the pot caught Alejandro's attention, and he robotically moved to set the table. You stole a glance at him, finding him eager and looking forward to dinner with a tiny grin on his face.

Estúpido mimado.

A few more minutes passed and the rice stew was ready. You looked at it, quite bland and lacking some colour, and knowing exactly how it would taste. Memories from a time long past flashed in your mind and you forced yourself to shoo them away. Carefully, you brought the pot to the table and filled two plates - Alejandro's, like always, had a extra spoonful.

You both sat down and started eating. You kept your eyes on your plate as you heard him chomp down eagerly, then quietly slow down until pulling to a stop. You tried your best not to break into a devilish smirk as he finally spoke to you.

"... Mi amor?" He sounded confused, if not a bit concerned, "the food tastes... Uh... Different than usual."

"...Yeah?," You quipped, knowing exactly what was wrong with the food, it wasn't just bland. It was sick dog level of blandness. No spices at all, no herbs, not even salt. "I tried a new recipe today."

"Uh, okay?," He frowned a bit, slowly pushing the food around with his plate, wondering how to tell you that he didn't like it one bit, "it just... It has no spices...?"

You can't contain your smirk this time, it felt like getting away with a crime. It was a criminal masterpiece.

"Pues claro, mi amor," your voice was sweet, but the mirth in your tone couldn't be hidden, and ran a shiver down his spine, "I wanted to emulate the flavour of the rations you seem to love so much."

Alejandro blinked once, twice, and felt his blood run cold. Had you heard him?

"Mi amor-" he began, but you interrupted him, pointing your spoon to his face.

"Escúchame bien Alejandro Vargas," you scolded him and he gulped and shut his mouth, sitting straight in his chair, "this kind of food would've been a banquet for me growing up. The sort of food I so lovingly dedicate myself to prepare everyday is the result of my dreams and desires from when I was a kid, and you disrespected that by acting como un estúpido mimado."

"Pero claro," you pitch raised and Alejandro had flashbacks of his own mamá whenever he got a scolding, "el señor put my meals at the same level of the rations he gets from the army, which I know how they taste like and don't you forget that," you accentuated every syllable with the spoon, which was still pointed at his face. Alejandro gulped as he watched you, and you continued on, "so I decided that you will eat this meal - all of it - and be thankful for every meal you receive from today on, mine or the army's, because making fun of the meals I so lovingly make for you is the same as making fun of me as a kid who got this only when there was something to celebrate. Entendido?"

"...Si, mi vida," Alejandro stated with a nod, feeling like a little kid under your harsh glare, "cada palabra."

"Good," you nodded, and carried on with eating your own meal, "que sea la última vez."

Alejandro took a few seconds to carry on with his meal, making a mental note to bring you a bouquet of flowers in the morning with your breakfast.

#alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro x reader #alejandro cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #alejandro vargas fanfic #im a native Spanish speaker trust me

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farity · 5 months

Text

Sorrow, part 16

"Aegon."

It was silent in the king's room. Aegon II Targaryen slept aided by milk of the poppy and various other treatments that everyone knew would never heal him completely.

His once handsome face was a study in contrasts - one side perfection, the other marred by burned skin. His legs had been reconstructed as much as the maesters were able to. He would never walk again, but at least the extremities had been saved, and on his better days he could even sit up for an hour or two.

"Aegon."

The king turned, eyes opening slowly. "Prince Regent," he murmured drowsily.

Aemond wanted to leave, to stop looking at his broken and scarred brother, but as always duty called, and as always Aemond answered.

"I have news."

Aegon opened his eyes fully. The septas had washed him and tended to him, and despite the pain that flashed across his features, Aemond could tell that his brother was aware and not in the constant fog that he'd lived in the first few weeks after his injury.

"Helaena is to be wed again."

Aegon frowned. "She is married to me."

Aemond said nothing, letting the thought marinate in his brother's exhausted mind. He saw the play of emotions on Aegon's face - the immediate, childish impulse to claim ownership, then the momentary, opposing thought of being free, and finally the realization that he would never be free to do as he pleased again.

"Why?"

"You have heirs."

Aegon smiled bitterly. "Good thing, since I cannot manage to make any more."

Aemond continued, "there is a group of healers in Highgarden who have concocted a new tonic for pain. It is said to leave the patient quite alert, without clouding of the mind. I have summoned them to tend to you."

Immediately, wariness filled Aegon's eyes. "Why?"

"Because I would see you live rather than spend your hours slumbering. Because you-"

"Aren't you afraid I'll take the throne away from you?"

Aemond simply looked at his brother.

"My throne, little brother." Aegon yawned wearily. "Mine."

"If you recover enough to sit the throne again, Aegon, I will gladly give it back."

"Go away. I will not have you sully my mind with these ideas, Aemond. Leave." Aegon turned his back on his brother, clinging to one of the pillows set on his bed.

* * * * *

"You must see how sudden this all was for him."

Aemond stared into the fire.

"He's been like this for weeks now, and now you tell him he might get better and that Helaena is to marry again?" Elyse smiled gently. "I am not surprised at his reaction."

"Maybe you would speak with him?" He reached out and grabbed Elyse's hand. "I fear there is too much resentment between Aegon and me."

Elyse stared at him. "I barely know him," she said quietly. "But if you wish me to, I will try."

"What I wish right now, sweet wife, is to taste the delight of your lips," he replied, tugging her closer. She went to him as she always did, the natural shyness in her always turning her cheeks pink, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her mouth to his.

"Elyse," he murmured, "you are the gentle breeze that clears the rage from my heart." He began to kiss her neck, and when she sighed and pressed herself against him, he wrapped an arm around her hips and lifted her.

Too frantic to wait, he placed her on the bed, raising her skirts until they bunched around her waist and tore at the laces on his breeches while she held his face, her mouth welcoming, her legs spreading open for him. "I must have you now."

He drove into her, the heat of her nearly making him come, and she moaned, her fingertips digging into his skin. Desperate to stop before it all ended too soon, he pulled out of her, dragging her legs to the edge of the bed, and knelt before her.

Her moans grew louder as he feasted between her thighs, her breathing ragged and broken as he drove her hard and fast until her legs tightened around his head and she screamed. Aemond didn't stop, tongue and lips working her to a second and third orgasm, until she was limp and spent, her skin flushed.

He loomed over her then, pushed into her and she whimpered. There were tears on her face and he swiped one with his thumb as he began rocking his hips. Elyse opened her eyes, dazed from the pleasure, and saw him tasting her tears.

"I would taste all of you, wife."

She reached up to him, one slim arm pulling him to her until she could kiss him. "I love you, Aemond," she whispered, "I love you."

He came with the sound of her voice in his head, let himself fall and later, when he held her against him, and she was soft and pliant in the aftermath, he told her.

"I love you, Elyse."

* * * * *

"Your Grace?"

Aegon had finished eating and was savoring the one cup of wine Aemond allowed him at each meal. He looked over and saw her, standing in the doorway.

"Ah. Has Aemond sent you as his ambassador?"

She stayed where she was for a moment until he motioned her over. She curtsied before sitting next to his bed, and waited until the servant took the cup and left before speaking.

"So, are you here to convince me to allow Helaena to marry? How would such a thing even work?"

"First I would ask if you would allow the healers from Highgarden to see you," she began, "it could not hurt, and it might help." She glanced at his legs, which he kept under a silken cloth. She had seen them soon after the injury, had seen the maesters doing their best to reconstruct the many pieces of torn bone and muscle. Aegon had been unconscious through most of it, but during the times he had been aware, his screams of pain had infiltrated every corner of the keep.

"I will never walk again." He smiled bitterly, "never ride Sunfyre. Poor Sunfyre."

"You might live easier, without so much pain. There is no reason to not try, Your Grace."

Aegon watched her for a few moments. "Aemond has changed. Because of you."

Elyse held her breath.

"It is not a bad thing," Aegon continued, and pushed himself up higher on the bed. Elyse placed an arm behind his back, adjusting the cushions, and he leaned back with a long sigh. "There is less rage in him."

She said nothing, simply sat back down and listened.

"There is no rage in me," he smiled sadly, and then nodded. "Helaena should be happy. She has put up with much in our marriage."

Elyse looked down at her hands. "She has been so kind to me."

"She is kind to everyone. Even those of us who don't deserve it."

When she looked back up, there were tears in the king's eyes.

"I never wanted . . . I didn't want to marry her. Because she is odd, because I never desired her," Aegon looked around the room, "this family makes monsters of us all."

"That is not true, Your Grace."

"Well," Aegon smiled, "not Helaena. I drank even more whenever I had to bed her, whenever my mother pushed me to her door and said I had to, that this abomination of a marriage had to be fruitful. Wine!" Aegon yelled, and the servant came back in with cup, bowing before leaving again.

Elyse didn't want to hear any more. But she sat and kept quiet.

"I never wanted to touch her, I didn't want to see her face," his voice broke, "after, I had to find someone else, anyone." He took a long sip, wiping his nose. "As if that could erase having fucked Helaena." He downed the rest of the wine. "She never said anything. Never complained. I couldn't be in the same room with her unless I was drunk."

She took the empty cup from him. "I am sorry for it, Your Grace."

"For fuck's sake, call me Aegon."

"Aegon."

He glared at her, at her meekness. "Does he treat you well?"

Elyse looked up. "Your Grace. I endured mistreatment of every kind for a long time. I would not do so again."

"If the healers come here, and I do not like their treatment-"

"They will be sent away as soon as you wish."

"And if Jacaerys Velaryon raises his voice to Helaena-"

"I will see him hanged."

One corner of Aegon's mouth lifted every so slightly. "And his cock cut off and stuffed in his mouth."

"And . . . that."

Aegon threw his head back and laughed. "You should visit me more often, sister, you make for delightful company."

"I am glad you think so, You- Aegon. I must go make arrangements." She rose, curtsied, and left the room.

* * * * *

"Tell me why I shouldn't leave you to rot in the dungeons."

"I have loved your sister for a long time and I believe I can make her happy."

Aemond stared down at Jacaerys, who kept his own composure in check despite his precarious situation.

"And I will be a good advisor on your council, if you still wish it, Prince Regent."

Smirking, Aemond wondered how much pride the bastard boy had to swallow in order to say those words. "I do not."

Jace immediately tensed, but only nodded. "May I know why?"

"Because I wish for you to be Hand to the Prince Regent."

Aemond waited and watched, and was impressed by the self-possession in Jace. If he accepted, it would serve him well to not reveal his reactions.

"Why would you want that?" Jace asked eventually.

"Because your new station, as well as your marriage to my sister, will bring peace to the realm."

Jace's eyes widened, his mouth opening as he took in the full meaning of Aemond's words. "You will allow it?"

"I will allow it. Because my sister wishes it."

Aemond leaned in, "but if for one moment, I believe you are turning traitor, I will have you fed to Vhagar. And if for one moment, I believe my sister is unhappy because of you, I will cut off strips of your skin until you are nothing but a bloody, begging mess."

Jace let out a long breath. "I do not doubt your words. And if I cause Helaena to be unhappy I would give you the knife to begin your work."

It was only years of practice masking his emotions that allowed Aemond to keep any surprise he felt to himself.

* * * * *

"My mother will not be happy, you know," Helaena said softly, "she once denied this very alliance."

Elyse watched her friend, her sister, fidgeting while her maid tried to brush out her long silver locks. "Will you be happy?"

Helaena's cheeks turned pink. "Yes, of course. I always thought he was so very handsome. And he was kind to me. I spoke to Aegon," she added. "I told him I loved him so much and I always will. I never knew Aegon could cry so much."

"He wants you to be happy."

"Oh yes, he said that, too." Helaena looked up, her pretty face framed by the flowers the maid had woven into her hair. "Is it time?"

Elyse smiled. "It will be time when you decide it is time. But if you mean is Jace waiting, I believe he is."

The two women left Helaena's rooms, arm in arm, and walked to where two men and a Septon waited for them.

* * * * *

#hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd smut #aemond x oc #helaena x jace #helaena x jacaerys

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gluion · 1 year

Text

of guitar strings and peeled tangerines (i'll bruise my fingers just for you) ➵ masterlist

non-idol!jacob bae x reader, slight non-idol!ji changmin x reader

when you are unable to continue living in the city, you are forced to move back to the small provincial town you begged to stay away from. but when you come face-to-face with the reliable village co-chief, jacob bae, you learn that your stay won’t be so pleasant after all.

general genre/warnings ➵ childhood friends to strangers to lovers, slow burn, slice of life, angst, but also fluff!, afab reader (they/them pronouns), hurt/comfort, a lot of flashbacks, being lost (and trying to figure things out) in your late 20s, a lot of trauma that stem from mommy issues, themes of grief, forgiveness, and pressure to succeed, jacob writes songs to reader and reader peels tangerines for jacob (hence the title), juhaknyeon has witnessed your relationship with jacob from blossoming to downfall to reigniting stages, ji changmin is the second lead (i am so sorry), taking care of jacob because he gets sick :’), you and jacob end up working at your father's restaurant together!!, your dad has a lot of regret & wants to take care of you to make up for both his and your mom's mistakes, kissing, cuddling, suggestive themes

word count for official parts ➵ projected to be 40-60k words (oops? lets see if i stick with it)

taglist ➵ @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @miusgirl @jenoscafe @sweet-unicorn-world @vernyangel @mosviqu @tbzhub

playlist ➵ dreams, books, power and walls by jannabi // slow down by laufey // for lovers by lamp // dried flower by wave to earth // behind the moon shadow by lamp // i'm your man by mitski // my mother and i by lucy dacus // what used to be mine by faye webster // hagupit by ichiko aoba // kodoku by mei semones // matilda by harry styles // when you love someone by day6 // francis forever by mitski // right side of my neck by faye webster // nan chun by se so neon // kind of (type of way) by faye webster // regent's park by bruno major // dreams (demo) by grentperez // let you break my heart again by laufey // class of 2013 by mitski // happiness by taylor swift // clementine by grentperez // in a good way by faye webster // absence of you by grentperez // ripples by beabadoobee // araw-araw by ben&ben // sweet decay by chasu // sunny days by wave to earth // glue song by beabadoobee

a/n ➵ finally introducing the one work i've been very excited to release!!! this idea has been sitting with me even before i wrote “of linked arms and bruised hearts (you are the reason i keep on going)” :OO i hope you come along with me in this journey!! i would really appreciate it if you could take the time to reblog this!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

official parts ➵ one

when you are unable to continue staying in the city, you are forced to move back to the small provincial town you begged to stay away from. but when you come face-to-face with the reliable village co-chief, jacob bae, you learn that your stay won’t be so pleasant after all.

➵ two (coming late january-early february)

jacob makes it clear that he wants nothing with you anymore. after that argument, you share the sentiments. but would peeled tangerines make him hear you out?

➵ three (coming late march-mid april)

you've finally come to terms that the corporate life isn't for you. with that, you decide to work part-time in your dad's restaurant. now, there's no way to escape jacob—and absolutely no way to escape rekindled feelings.

➵ four (coming early may-mid june)

as you take a trip to the outskirts of town, you have to come face-to-face with everything you've kept buried the past years. and although it may be scary, you're glad that you're coming to terms with them—all thanks to time and your best friend.

drabbles/oneshots

coming soon...

note that number of chapters, titles, release dates, and and synopses are subject to change

#zzoguri works #deoboyznet #kflixnet #bjnet #k-labels #the boyz #jacob bae #the boyz x reader #jacob bae x reader #the boyz fluff #the boyz angst #jacob bae angst #jacob bae fluff #of guitar strings and peeled tangerines (i’ll bruise my fingers just for you)

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strangeharpy · 4 months

Text

Prompted by @sameenbyhat over on this post. Have another snippet of AuDy and Cass being completely normal:

AuDy climbing into the Megalophile to get Cass out when Cass falls asleep in the cockpit?

It's 0233 the night before their next job, and Cass is nowhere to be found. They aren't in the common area, nor are they in their quarters. The on-board kitchen is empty, devoid of Cass stress-cooking as they sometimes do when they're concerned about the task before them.

AuDy expands their search beyond the living area of the Kingdom Come, tapping the keypad to allow them entry to the hangar bay. It's a cramped affair that can barely hold the two riggers on its manifest. The Regent's Brilliance stands closest to the door, but that's not what grabs AuDy's attention. The hatch of the Megalophile's cockpit is open.

That's where they'll find Cass.

AuDy picks their way up the scaffolding, taking care to step around the various tools strewn around the platform at the top. From this vantage point, it's easy to see where Cass is: sprawled out in the pilot's seat, wrench loosely held in their lap, with their eyes closed. The state of the maintenance panels in the cockpit paints a picture of Cass, tired but determined, working late into the night trying to make sure their mech is in top shape in case it's needed the next day.

(Unfortunately, AuDy is fairly certain it will be needed by the time they're through with their mission.)

Still: it's 0235 the night before their next job, and a cockpit can't possibly be a restful place to sleep. If they're going to stand any chance at making it through the job without incident, then the entire crew is going to need to be well-rested.

That's what AuDy tells themself as they reach into the cockpit, remove the wrench from Cass's grasp, and gingerly pull them free of its confines. Cass stirs a little as AuDy shifts their grip on them, but that doesn't stop AuDy from hefting them into a bridal carry.

"Buh?" Cass mumbles.

"You fell asleep in the Megalophile," AuDy says, keeping their voice modulated to a quiet level. There isn't anyone else around, but it seems reasonable not to speak at full volume nonetheless.

"Nooo," Cass groans, drawing out the 'o' sound. "Wha' time izzit?"

It's 0236 now, but AuDy simply says, "Late."

In their arms, Cass raises a hand to scrub at their face. "And you're carrying me, why?" Wakefulness is starting to creep into their voice. Suboptimal.

"You need rest. The Megalophile is not a recommended place to sleep. I am escorting you to your quarters." These three statements are factual, but one of AuDy's subsystems—the one that helps them lie—spools to life.

"I can walk," Cass says.

This statement is also factual, as is the one AuDy retorts with: "You must conserve your energy until we are ready to move tomorrow."

"I'll be fine, AuDy."

While this may be true as well, AuDy does not set them down. Instead, they angle themself through the hangar bay door in such a way as not to crack Cass's skull against the bulkhead. Their quarters isn't that far.

"AuDy," Cass says with a stern undertone to their voice.

"Cassander," AuDy says in return.

"You can put me down now."

"I cannot," AuDy lies. "My joints have seized."

"I can wiggle out of your arms."

They have a point, but AuDy does not stop their trek to Cass's quarters. Notably, Cass does not follow through on their threat. Instead, they still in AuDy's arms until the pair of them reaches the door to their quarters. They extend an arm and punch in the entry code, causing the door to open with a familiar creak.

Again, AuDy angles themself so Cass's head does not acquaint itself with the doorframe. Then they deposit Cass on their narrow bed. Cass favors them with a look they don't quite know how to interpret.

"What happened to your joints seizing?"

"They resumed normal function."

"You wouldn't do this to Mako," Cass says as they kick their shoes off over the edge of the bed.

"I would not," AuDy agrees. "Good night, Cass."

Cass sighs, then says, "Good night, AuDy."

AuDy is sure to turn out the light on their way out.

#cass/audy #writing #fanfic #boat party is best party tbh

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omgkalyppso · 5 months

Text

15 Lines of Dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture their character/personality/vibe. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well.

I was tagged by @dustdeepsea which is very funny because I also tagged them. We are like passing ships in the night, you and I. fgdhfdg

I already did this for Étoile and Faedolyn here. So this time I will do Borgakh. You can press J on desktop to skip this post if it's either too long or gruesome. Some vague gore / body horror / horror descriptions in her dialogue.

I'll also tag @cherrypikkins (yes again. you have all those Kitt supports), @peachiehambo, @bladesandstars, @bhaalbaaby and YOU.

Borgakh

"I did, but perhaps I spoke out of turn. I learned a little from our warband, but… I slowly stopped my questions. Do you honor your dead another way? Was I rude in asking?" - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 1: Arrival

"Well, I have lived here five months now…" she chuckled, "so what is that? Thirteen elf years? Living among them in Halfhill was what synched it for me. I couldn't order pumpkin seeds if I couldn't speak to my local grocer." - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 1: Arrival

"For as long as you need. I will hold him," Borgakh promised with a darkness in her voice. - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 2: Broken Chains

"Are you sure? Most ranking members of the Horde want to know: Where were you … during the crossing of the Dark Portal?" He pursed his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but Borgakh plowed forward, her tone more sincere and apologetic. "I was ten when I came to Azeroth. I am entering my fortieth year." - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 2: Broken Chains

She raised an eyebrow as she answered, "You make it sound as if I've never had anyone to guide me. Of course I've had mentors: in language, in cooking, in how to hold a bow or dismantle a gun. I am not undisciplined." - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 2: Broken Chains

She laughed in response, a heady growl; maybe a little more orcish than he was expecting. Lor'thermar's hands went to his sides, as if to reach for a weapon. Borgakh laughed a little more freely before saluting him. "Get fucked, Regent Lord." - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 2: Broken Chains

As soon as her arm came free, she twisted away from him and started untying her remaining restrictions. "I … I also thought to open my wounds." She sat up and turned to look at Lor'themar, eye to eye. "Not to injure myself," she explained, fisting her hands in the sheets on her knees. "I've simply … heard stories of spells and curses being etched into the flesh of my people and then sewn back down so that we are ignorant of their extent and meaning." She looked away again, ashamed. Lor'themar could see the soft twinkling of her eyes through her dark lashes. "I see now that this … was likely paranoia." - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 3: Injured

"Then I will die there," she agreed, meeting his eye. "I know this. Just as you must have, once. Your soldiers do." She sighed, "But perhaps your people have the privilege of time, and can expect that if they simply crush that threshold, the remainder of their days can be spent in the walls of Silvermoon or somewhere else far away. Every home I've ever had has been a battlefield. If anyone will ever miss me, it will be in the context of war." - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 4: At The Mercy of Responsibility

She reached down between his knees to pluck the brown bottle from his hands, and leaned away to look him in the eye, answering more seriously, "But I know: that you would be ridiculed, and I will have done the opposite of proving my worth here, if we are discovered." - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 6: Questions Of Worth

She lapped at his ear and he twitched all over as she whispered, "I'm going to put my mouth on you. If you move too much, you may bleed. That might be pleasurable to you in some places … and certainly not in others." She kissed his ear more seriously, nipping at his ear lobe with the teeth between her tusks as she gave him one last word of warning, "Behave." - On The Isle Of Thunder, Chapter 6: Questions Of Worth

"An orc is an orc is an orc Khadgar; or is Garona not proof enough of that for you?" - In Dalaran

"No, no. Khadgar, tell your mate that if she should ever find herself taken by the Horde, or in another scenario where it might help, that she can ask for me. I'll pay her ransom. I'll fight in her name. Whatever it may be." Borgakh's eyes sort of crossed then as she finished her statement in a whisper, "And … I'll go on hoping never to hear from her." - In Dalaran

“This orc can hold her tongue,” Borgakh answered in chipped elvish, and Ga’el laughed. - Meet Me At The Border, Chapter 2: Reliable, In All Things

"I met a couple from Northern Morning today who didn’t speak a word of elvish. We had a whole conversation in common sign language! I was worried I might have forgotten too much, falling out of practice. It was nice. I hope however you’re talking to people lately that it’s going well!" - This post

“Are the elves under attack?” <- Context for this one. In one of the dnd games Borgakh was a part of, her asking this question and proposing that the elven kingdom was as afraid of something happening with a necromancer raising long dead people from when a continent split and that they weren't simply acting to expand their kingdom at a poorly timed moment when the kingdom we were in was being tormented by this necromancer, prevented a war and apparently changed the trajectory of the campaign (or would have, if it hadn't ended three sessions or so after this).

#long post #borgakh

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silverjetsystm · 1 month

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SONGS TO WRITE MY MUSE !

whether it be melodies that give you inspiration for your muse or songs that get you into the writing mood — pick 10 songs you find to give you the urge, the drive, or the creativity to write for your muse !!

"MANTRA" - Bring Me The Horizon

Before the truth will set you free, it'll piss you off Before you find a place to be, you're gonna lose the plot Too late to tell you now, one ear and right out the other one 'Cause all you ever do is chant the same old mantra

"Traust" - Heilung (English translation; I don't have a specific part. It's the soundscape and the live concert video I find gets me)

"Alone In A Room" - Asking Alexandria

I saw the world a couple of times, tried to cure the ache with absence But that hole was still a hole and my mind kept playin' tricks on me Feelin' older every day, took everything I had to not crash and burn But I'm starting to learn Sometimes I'll fall down, sometimes I'll lose hope But those days will be few if I keep my feet on the ground I might be lonely, but I ain't alone here So I keep pushin' the limits of what makes me me

"Guilty" - TAEMIN

[English Translation] Poison apple Spellbound, you wanna take a bite? Hand outstretched In danger, sinking deeper Just a little more, that’s all it takes Messing you up, I throw it all away Gift you once as a bait, then I take everything Make you addicted, you can't tell pain from love That's what we've become It's all for you

"One Finger and a Fist" - Drowning Pool

One finger and a fist I'll claw my way out of any situation I got a one, two punch I'll fight my way out of any confrontation

"Fiddler on the Roof" - Itzhak Perlman

Yosl Ber / A Patriot - Daniel Kahn & The Painted Bird

Yes my name is Yosl Ber & I serve the militar' Ya dai dai dai dai dai Steel-toed boots, a uniform Keep this soldier's carcass warm Ya dai dai dai dai dai

"Popular Monster" - Falling In Reverse

'Cause I'm about to break down, I'm searching for a way out I'm a liar, I'm a cheater, I'm a non-believer I'm a popular, popular monster I break down, falling into love now with falling apart I'm a popular, popular monster

"Mosaic - Yohan & David Remix" - Billy Esteban, Ghenwa Nemnom, Cafe De Anatolia

"Throne" - Bring Me The Horizon

Rebuild all that you've broken And now you know Every wound will shape me Every scar will build my throne

tagged by @magnetic-regent-magneto

#playlist #asked and answered #long post cw #on the internet everyone thinks you're a duck #dash games

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 3 months

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Just in case you needed a laugh today - my (incredibly random) notes I took whilst reading Masque of Shadows:

*notices all the little writer things to show what the characters look like, etc, so as not to exposition everywhere*

Me: EEEEEEEEEE! 😍

*~*

Love me a good badass spymaster, huzzah.

*~*

Pheonix feathers are FIREWORKS!

*~*

No trauma or needless explanation of sexual or gender orientation - it just IS. 10/10, no notes.

*~*

I'm weak for green eyes (Dean Winchester, my beloved) but ma boy Eddie Diaz has turned me to brown so I FEEL YA, MATTHIAS!

*~*

The regent of Serenissima had been stabbed ten times.

Me:... Well, that's not good.

Also me: It's the whole point of the story, dingus.

*~*

Where was this book last year when my fiancé proposed, I want an engagement dagger!

In his defense, he has bought me so many books over the years, so. That's awesome.

*~*

Careful with that past tense, Matthias, Lyria isn't an idiot.

*two seconds later*

Told ya.

*~*

Oh, Jacques, you poor puppy. 😂

*~*

'It wasn't endearing' my ass, bless your heart, Matthias.

*~*

*finishes chapter twelve*

*cackles*

*~*

Nooo, Festivity!

*squints* Hang on...

*~*

See, I guessed Allegra, but then got all up in my head when Matthias accused Piper!

*~*

*Sapphire mocks Jacques getting railed*

Matthias: flustered

Me: *cackles*

*~*

Plague doctor mask for the win

*~*

Jasmine for White Masque. 💔 (My mum died some years ago and her favourite scent was jasmine)

*~*

I, too, struggled in maths

*~*

Inara! 😍 #fireflymybeloved

*~*

Ha! See, never trust the kid. 😅

*~*

I knew it was Antonio! Vindication dot gif!

I've been tearing up over this ask for a couple days now, and I considered not answering it so I could keep it to myself forever, but I wanted you to know how much it was appreciated.

I've been really struggling lately with my original novels. To be honest I've struggled for years with the idea that I'm not good enough as an original writer, creating my own worlds, and summer is when my seasonal depression hits so I'm not doing great in general (life has also been kicking my ass in some other ways but I'm not going to get into that).

I decided after talking it over with some trusted people that I would take a break. Focus on finishing my planned fics, so that I still feel I'm accomplishing something, and then when I wrap everything up for Halloween, I go back to my novels and see how I'm feeling. I don't like sharing all this publicly, but I know I have been making noises for a year now about trying to self-publish - creating a Patreon, submitting to lit agents again, making a separate blog under my professional name - and I feel like people deserve to know why I haven't yet delivered on those plans. I never want to be someone who's just all talk.

And I want you to understand just how very deeply I appreciate you sharing your reactions as you read my original story. I really love the whole cast of characters, some of whom like Festivity have lived in my head for over a decade. To know that you actually read and enjoyed it means the world. I'll be coming back to this ask and your lovely comments, and I hope it'll help me, come October, to feel ready to devote myself to my novels again.

Oh, also, my love and condolences about your mom. Jasmine is a smell I associate with a few different loved ones as well as clean, elegant spaces, and while I love how some cultures treat death as a celebration (Dia de los Muertos, Irish wakes) and not something to fear, I liked the idea of Serenissima, this generally party-heavy city, taking a break from all that in order to give the memory of the dead solemnity and dignity. I hope it was overall positive to have that part of the story remind you of her. ❤️

#lincoln answers things #mairaiscarrierofthepaperclips #I also worry people are going to pitch a fit when I pivot to doing only my novels #I'm not saying I'll never write fanfic again #but it's really time I devoted more like 75% of my writing to my novels and 25% to my fics #rather than the other way around #and I feel like people really don't care about my novels and only care about the fic and won't read the former #but that's for me to work on getting over and making peace with #and if only 20 people read my novels well that's still 20 people and I still deeply appreciate them #also you mentioned something that tickled me because I've wondered if anyone will realize the massive Easter egg I slipped into the novel #I love slipping in Easter eggs/references that only I will probably ever know

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princesssarisa · 2 years

Note

Character ask: Cinderella Broadway

For context, here's my review of the entire 2013 Broadway production, which I wrote for my "Cinderella September-through-November" review project two years ago.

Favorite thing about them: Besides the fact that she's sweet, kind, poetic, and full of imagination – traits that she shares with every version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella – I like that she's a political idealist thanks to her friendship with the revolutionary Jean-Michel, and that she helps Prince Topher to realize his people's needs and become a better ruler. She's going to be an excellent queen. I also like that compared to the earlier R&H Cinderellas, she's funnier and more imperfect in an endearing, human way, which makes her compliment Prince Topher – who's also distinctly dorkier than the earlier Prince Christophers – especially well.

Least favorite thing about them: This isn't about her personally, but I do think her version of the story is a little bit inconsistent in tone. The 2013 Broadway version of Cinderella doesn't quite seem to know if it wants to be an innocent, romantic fairy tale or a more satirical, politically relevant retelling. And it irritates me slightly that this is the version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical being staged by most theatres today, even though the "classic" version based on the original 1957 TV script is still available.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I'm an idealist who wants to help the marginalized.

*My imagination is full of beauty and romance.

*I once befriended a mentally unstable homeless woman. (She didn't turn out to be a fairy, but she was very sweet – I eventually lost touch with her, but wherever she is, I hope she's doing well.)

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I don't focus on politics very much (it makes me too anxious).

*I don't have a stepmother or stepsisters.

*If I were to imagine a ballgown for myself, I wouldn't choose a white one, because I know I would probably spill something on it.

Favorite line: As in all versions of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, the lyrics to "In My Own Little Corner," "Ten Minutes Ago," and "Do I Love You Because You're Beautiful?"

And this one new line of dialogue, when Prince Topher finally asks her for her name, and instead of "Ella," she replies "Cinderella":

"It's a name I once hated, but starting today, I'll keep. So that from now on, when anyone things something is impossible, they'll just say my name. And know better."

brOTP: Her nice stepsister Gabrielle, Jean-Michel, and the fairy godmother Marie.

OTP: Princ Topher.

nOTP: Her stepmother Madame or the nasty regent Sebastian.

Random headcanon: During her two-day "disappearance" before the slipper-fitting, she secretly stays with the fairy godmother, wherever the latter lives in her guise as Crazy Marie.

Unpopular opinion: I like this Cinderella, but I do wish more theatres would use the classic stage script of the R&H musical based on the 1957 Julie Andrews version again.

Song I associate with them:

"In My Own Little Corner"

youtube

"Ten Minutes Ago"

youtube

"When You're Driving Through the Moonlight"/"A Lovely Night"

youtube

"Do I Love You Because You're Beautiful"

youtube

Favorite picture of them:

Laura Osnes

Keke Palmer

Carly Rae Jepson

#character ask #cinderella #fairy tale #rodgers and hammerstein #musical #broadway #2013 #ask game #fictional characters

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reginrokkr · 2 years

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𝐋𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈. Motives behind Twilight Sword's predilection for murder.

In the last minicanon I wrote concerning Dain's kill count, I mentioned that it's composed mainly of Abyss Order members. I think that this should be pretty obvious by now (specially after Requiem of the Echoing Depths), but I didn't mention that he doesn't take pleasure for killing them— it's more a matter of I have no choice.

So to elaborate on this, let's go back to Khaenri'ah. As in all places, there are good people like Halfdan + the Schwanenritter (those who fought in Sumeru to defend it from the Black Cataclysm in Ruin Golems) and people who were obsessed with creating ruin machines via biomimesis so that one day they replace the creatures they were inspired by. We can also see this obsession in abyss woofies descriptions and another striking case is Susbedo and his drive to replace Albedo, but also the fact that he can create others like himself to replace others like it was implied with that kiddie's father who went missing and appeared in the last moment of the event.

Moreover, among these people that are obsessed there are those who are following King Irmin's madness and dreams to engulf everything in darkness which is later on reflected on the Abyss Order we know (I'll return to this later). And finally, we don't know about other nations but Enkanomiya saw Khaenri'ah with bad eyes and the latter was being pretty hostile in the envoys' attempt to retrieve the Before Sun and Moon book. This last thing happened 500 + at least 2,000 years ago, which is pretty telling of how long this obsession for knowledge of the past and the creation of ruin machines lasted, if not more.

In a kind of secret Aranara-related quest, we're told by one of them that the Abyss Order wants Marana to return. There is also known through various of its members' descriptions that they dislike those who don't know the truth (aka what happened / what's happening mainly with Celestia). By seeking this poisonous Marana and by wishing to engulf everything in darkness as King Irmin wanted, these are people turned into monsters that would destroy the whole world and damn innocent people whose only sins in the eyes of these "people" are 1) not knowing the truth (how would they when Celestia is out there after people's heads if you let the cat out of the bag) and 2) for being born and living in a nation ruled / protected by an Archon.

Some of these obsessions were already seen back in the day when Khaenri'ah had yet to be destroyed and the last Regent wanted to do something about it to fix the kingdom (which unfortunately he couldn't), Dain as the Twilight Sword most likely knew about this too. He isn't going against the Abyss Order for nothing and sadly for him, he doesn't have any other choice than putting an end to each one of them in order to stop them. Perhaps there is an underlying personal reasoning for this, which may be to not see other innocent people end up like that at the hand of the Abyss Order this time. But one thing remains true and it's the fact that Dain is looking for the good of others who may suffer the consequences of the Abyss Order's actions if someone doesn't put a stop to them.

#◟༺✧༻◞ events to be remembered in blue veins ┊addendum.┊#I hope this makes sense #there is one more reason #why I think Dain is killing these creatures #but that is more on headcanon territory #which is this saying by one of the Black Serpent Knights #when they say that there is release in death #and I think that this release is from the clutches of corruption #and this overall dark void that adds to corruption of mind #but yis this was stuck in my mind #I hope I didn't make it sound like he's enjoying every bit of it #because no he isn't #I wouldn't put it past him to try a different way to stop them #if there was #and this is a man who had to convince himself #that they're no longer human #so I'm sure he struggled a /lot/ to come to terms with this #before solidifying his resolve to do it #despite the consequences it can have on him too #mostly mentally

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luxmaeastra · 13 days

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//for Poppy and or anyone else!!//

Eurylochus had been brought on as squire, to give him the training he'd need as King one day for Montios. His parents had been brutally killed when he'd been just 6, and he'd had a regent ever since.

The boy hadn't had a propered childhood till they'd sent Temeluchus to join his court.

Odysseus turned from adjusting Sarai's hold on the blade.

"Have you seen Ctimene darling? It's almost time for supper."

Poppy frowned and looked to Temeluchus who shrugged letting Sygael draw on his skin, and Sorae paint his nails.

"I'll go look for love."

Poppy watched long enough though for Odysseus to kneel before Sarai and whisper in her ear.

"No remember, aim for the soft spots on Uncle Kaden alright?" Try again."

Poppy grinned at Kaden.

"I think you should just Yeild right now."

------

Ctimene pouted, tugging Eurylochus closer.

"One more before you go, I don't want you to forget me."

He laughed against her, a hand curling around her waist to tug her closer. The barn was away from the main house, the setting sun made her hair looked like spun gold.

"I should take one more, I wouldn't want to forget how you taste."

His lips traced up her neck.

"I want to make sure my dreams are accurate Mene."

Aim for the soft spots, right. She nodded, not wanting to give away her papa’s direction. Keeping the element of surprise, it’s a good thing for a solider to learn. You never give away the plans in battle.

Once she knew she was clear she moved, taking aim for her Uncle Kaden and taking her papa’s suggestion into consideration.

———————

Poppy left behind the scene, knowing very well what was about to occur. Her sweet daughter was a force to be reckoned with, they all were in their own ways.

Just as was her eldest. It did not take long for her to find Ctimene, it wasn’t as if they were entirely quiet.

She smiled as she stood in the doorway.

“I think you two have had enough learning of each other for today,” she spoke up. “Dinner time, you should hope your Uncle Kaden lived to make it.”

#muse | sarai #muse | poppy

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jaysficarchive · 4 months

Text

Let's Go to Helioas

Synopsis: The gang arrives in the capital but it's only the start of their adventure.

Part 2/2

@floof-ghostie @punkeropercyjackson @mayameanderings

As soon as the barge docked at a port, the doors were opened to let Solana and YJ out. Still amazed at how the city looked, they continued looking around. The streets and airways were busy with people moving about. The reconstruction had been successful, just as the royal family promised.

"Solana, this is amazing." Cissie was especially in awe of the clothing the women wore. Jewels unlike anything she'd ever seen before sewn seamlessly into silk. The headdresses on top of their heads were elaborate, ranging from gold to silver to bronze.

Solana smiled. It felt great to be able to share her home with her friends. "You'll like the palace even more. Come on."

Accompanied by the guards and servant girls, the group made their way to the palace. People greeted them along the way. A few stopped to try and get a look at the visitors only to be shooed away by Eneka. Their shock returned upon seeing the palace. Solana wasn't lying when she said it was huge.

"That's your place, Solana?!"

Solana giggled. They'd gotten quite the culture shock in the time they've been here. "Yes. This is where I'll live when I become queen. It's also where most of my family lives as well."

"Anything else we need to know?" Naomi asked. She didn't take her eyes off the building for even a second. "I like it here so far."

"You'll probably be taking a bath once we get there since it's almost midday. And then tonight there's going to be a party."

"CANNONBALL!"

Midday was for relaxing and baths taken during the time were no exception. It was more like a spa if anything; not that anyone was complaining. In addition they got some services courtesy of Solana.

Tim sighed happily, feeling complete relief from the desert heat. Not only did he get to relax but was also getting pampered by servants. That midday bath did wonders since he felt like he just got a massage. "You must've really liked living here, Solana. Before the destruction and all."

Solana nodded. Part of what made adjusting to life on Earth so difficult for her was everything she was used to. On Helioas she was a member of the royal family, the most respected class of all. On Earth she was just another girl. It was very different.

"So about this party we're going to..." Bart looked over at her. "Who's it for?"

"It's actually for me. It's my rising ceremony," Solana replied. "That's why I chose this specific day to come here."

Everyone instantly got excited.

"Oh my god, really?!" Daliah asked.

Solana explained what the ceremony was about and how it worked. "Young adulthood for Helioasans starts at 13. Since it's a week after my 13th birthday, it's time for me to become a member of society. Now that doesn't mean I'll be marrying an adult man or that adults can marry children. It means that we have reached young adulthood and are free to make our own decisions."

"During the ceremony, there will be a series of rituals I go through to prove that I'm ready for womanhood. They will be especially rigorous since I'm the next queen."

"Solana, that's amazing! I'm so glad you brought us here to witness this." Daliah hugged her tightly. Everyone else joined in after, giving their congratulations and wishing her good luck. They were proud of how far she'd come from her early days on the team. Even more that she was comfortable enough to invite them to such an intimate, important event.

Musicians softly banged drums for the beginning of the ceremony. Everyone was gathered in the courtyard awaiting the princess's arrival. In the center was the current regent Raswana, the oracle, and the high priestess of the Temple of Rasina.

When the horns blew and the drumming became louder, that's when Solana walked through the doors. Her face was decorated with gold face paint. Her blonde hair and jewels on her fought to be the ones shining in all glory. Bart was speechless at how beautiful she looked.

Raswana and the high priestess, with fingers dipped in different colored paints, added more colors to her face. Both said a small prayer before kissing each one of Solana's hands.

The oracle raised her hands to the sky and took a deep breath before speaking. "Farqa Rasina, mwalme Solana Phoenixia Selemaine Aerius, nare qop mwal Luilla, ienare qop mwal Selemaine Ib'i Zadena Aerius. Ey teqwe rasai sotera, qer yw e mwale. Ile fekte ne?"

Solana stood proud as she answered. "Yaqa."

Thus began the first ritual of womanhood. Her wings were tied so she couldn't use them. Her Young Justice teammates looked on with both shock and worry. With a dagger, she slayed a bull and placed its heart in a box. Afterwards she left the palace for the mountains. There, she walked up the highest one and burned the heart as an offering to Rasina.

"That's a...really extreme way to prove you're a woman." Kon whispered. He'd be remembering how Solana killed the bull for years to come.

"Well it does build character." Anita whispered back.

"If you think this is bad, you have yet to see the stuff my people do." Onya added.

Solana's return from the mountain marked the end of the first ritual and the beginning of the second. This one was more intense than the last since Solana's arms were tied behind her back. She then jumped onto a nearby balcony and leaped into the nearby river.

"I understand this is to prove that she's a woman and all but did they have to tie her arms?" Bart asked as he looked on. "If this is how it is for girls, I can't imagine what the boys go through."

Once she complete each ritual, the three women circled around her chanting something. They stopped and placed a hand on her--Raswana on her heart, the oracle on her head, and the priestess on her stomach. After a series of final prayers, the oracle declared Solana was now a woman.

"Talk about intense." Cassie chewed on roasted bull meat. It tasted like beef but more savory and flavorful. "I didn't expect them to tie your wings during the first two."

"I told you it was rigorous. To prove your womanhood is to be confident and enlightened." Solana cut up her meat before eating.

"Well I'm still glad you invited us," Daliah said. "This was a wonderful experience."

"Indeed it was. Perhaps our next trip should be to Gemworld." Amethyst agreed. A servant came over to pour more juice in her cup. "It would be good for diplomatic reasons too."

Solana smiled and flustered when she felt Bart lean against her. She looked down to see him smiling cheerfully. He didn't feel like electricity this time; instead he was warm. "Did you enjoy yourself, Bart?"

"Yeah I did." He held her hand under the table, causing her to fluster more.

"So what's next after this?" Naomi asked. "Is there a ceremony when you actually become an adult or is that for marriage?"

"Next is ascension to the throne."

#fic: let's go to helioas

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pluralsword · 1 year

Text

The End of Addendum Part One and the Era of Nova Prime

A while ago, we released Chapter 13 of Addendum: Gender Diaspora, but didn't have a chance to announce it here until now. Part One of Addendum reaches it's end, as does the era of Nova Prime's rule when he leaves with Galvatron, Jhiaxus, and the rest of the Ark-1's crew, leaving Cybertron scrambling to set up a new government, an Interregnum Senate headed by Delta Magnus, while Functionism reaches the beginning of it's peak, wielding significant influence in the constitutional convention of the new regime. In these desperate times, Arcee, Codexa, and Road Rage make one final play to change the course of things before having to consider what no one in the Anti-Vocation League wants to think: if they, knight errants of their peoples and aesthetics in all but name, will have to say goodbye.

This chapter contains characters giving speeches in favor of empire, bioessentialism, genocide, gatekeeping, trans tokenization and liminality, hierarchic ideologies, all of which are soundly refuted by the protagonists (as usual). Some excerpts below. This chapter caused us to add the Ao3 tag: Shockwave: "Hi Arcee I made a theory about how you're the best girlboss." Arcee: "I'll kill you."

Chapter 13 will likely interest people who want to read a (Cybertronian) Senate be incredibly incompetent, even if you haven't read the rest of Addendum or any of our fics, the chapter is fairly self-explanatory:

“Ah, right,” Road Rage nodded and pulled a metal slate out of her wing pack, while Codexa and I sought our own document slates.

We handed them to the guard, whose optics went wide, almost circular. “You three are living Progenitors? It’s an honor, sirs, ma’am.”

“Actually um, ma’am is fine for all of us,” Road Rage smirked. “Best to ask that kind of thing even if it’s out of fashion to now, it’s the way of the Knights.”

I pressed my lips tight to hold in my cackle as the guard’s jaw dropped with a stammer: “Um right- er- go ahead in, here’s your docs back, la- ladies.” They handed them back hastily, and the four guards saluted us before opening the doors.

“This is really weird,” I leaned up to Codexa’s audial.

“Yeah, absolutely bolts that Nova’s Constitution is set up to favor people even older than him as worthy of the attention of the Senate or deciding the composition of that body by lineage no less,” Codexa chuckled as we headed into the glyph walled hall, where tall bulky and winged blue white and red Dai Atlas waited for us alongside hulking boxy blue red Delta Magnus.

“Elders, thank you for coming,” Delta Magnus bowed. “It’s about time these stale Senatorial hearings were lit up by the presence of people with different pronouns. I would have tried to bring trans members of the Primal Vanguard, but none besides me had Progenitor lineage. I may be able to get them in for testimony though.”

“Young man,” I extended my hands to clasp with his. “What can we actually expect from this meeting? Nova Prime leaving for the stars doesn’t mean he won’t come back, making the Senate regent government defunct once more. And there are certainly members of this body of lawmakers like Proteus who know enough of the past million years to want us dead.”

“On the contrary, the stars have aligned for your sakes,” Delta Magnus laughed before letting go of my hands. “Proteus seconded your presence on the floor on the grounds of your lineage and arguing you are a candidate for the Intellectual Class, primordial vanguard , as are your dear companions.”

I stiffened. Did this peacekeeper cop just compliment my entire military career as a predecessor and example to his unironically? And I don’t believe for a second that reactionaries would recognize wisdom from us without planning to mystify, demonize, obfuscate, appropriate, and destroy it.

“That’s definitely suspicious,” Road Rage crossed her arms. “The three of us, last we knew, were last classified as gender redundant in dusty Functionist files, including the shapes of my friends here.”

______________________________________________________________

“Excuse me,” Sturvius stared across the room at us. “As enthused as I am for this, isn’t gender something that has only been introduced to us by extrasolar contact with aliens, including by genetic surgical implementation upon our esteemed guest Arcee by Jhiaxus to show that we could have gender, though it is not in our typical nature? I-”

I growled loudly, rising to full height, crossing my arms, staring back, face scrunched up. Codexa and Road Rage got up to put arms around me.

“I’m sorry if I mispoke, Progenitors,” Sturvius looked away. “I know it is a sore point, a heavy thing. We have not been kind to trans folk, I think. I am just surprised you did not address rights to racial egalitarianism regarding alt modes and cold construction.”

I raised my hand, my circuits simmering. This gender deprived bot has no idea, does he?

“Arcee, you have a reply?” Delta Magnus extended his hand.

“I do,” I laughed. "It's not a race thing! This is clearly a gender and anatomy issue. Assignment to a body and function not their spark's own iteration, no choice in shape after either when a modular body could be provided, and the lack of research to make the bodies as articulated as forged ones, it shows an unconsensual disdain at creation!"

I reached out open hands to the Senator, smiling. "But you've been denied knowledge of what gender is! I can't blame you for trying to piece this together, but I can blame those of you who don’t share Sturvius’s knowledge and opposition of our mistreatment for ignoring the cycle of gender based ostracization, harassment, and murder! You all have some idea something is wrong. Why else does the Primal Vanguard come home with different pronouns and aesthetics, even reformatted bodies in that sense? It is not contracted from fellow species.”

I clenched fists. “ It is because we are part of the sapient condition, because storytelling of realization and experience of variety is part of all of us. Sentient lifeforms all transform. I, Arcee of Protohex, still remember and understand myself through the linked gender systems from ancient times, still experience multiple genders and kinship to all of our planet in that way gender or no, as does my dear friend Road Rage of Crystal City, and Codexa of Tagan. Jhiaxus did not make me a woman, I sought his help to affirm myself and he abused me! My two friends here aren’t trans like me! I remind you today that among other genders, Solus Prime was primarily a woman who used she/her pronouns! That the Knights of Cybertron celebrated our variation and expansiveness, that the Matrix of Leadership knows all this to be true!”

Gasps, shouting, and arguing broke out, largely over Solus’s pronouns. Functionists and statists shouted blatant lies at me, including: “Lies! Solus forged our path to our civilization’s pronoun of choice, he/him, devoid of gender!”

“How dare you bring such revisionist history before this august body!”

“You would push upon us non-Cybertronian ways as better than our freedom-”

“ENOUGH!” Delta Magnus slammed his staff down. “If you are going to disagree with the only three here old enough to remember it all, or support them, do so following the procedures we agreed to this morning! This raucousness is beneath you! ORDER!”

______________________________________________________________

“They and she fight for love, for hope, they do not seek to force or oppress, and a version of their and her message forms even without contact, because that want is in all of us. That is the power of contextual transformation. Those two and the Circle of Light have been the main agents through which the Golden Age has remained a period of relative equals. For all she has gone through, all the empires she has survived, all the love she has grown, all the ferocity with compassion, I posited that Arcee is the greatest among us, the greatest woman of our time, of all time! She is a Prime without title, she has done what Nova could only dream of, and she knows she cannot do it alone! For this reason, I contest the appointment of the honorable Delta Magnus as the Matrix bearer, and propose that Arcee be appointed instead, as a full Prime! Jhiaxus foresaw this day, it is for that reason he installed a Matrix receptacle in her! And that is all I have to say, I am but a forged gender nonconforming man heralding a new age.”

I cackled. “That’s very sweet in intent, in your own way, young man, but your teacher who harmed me so deeply did no such thing! There’s no Matrix receptacle in my frame, if I must be elected to something executive councilor suffices-”

I felt my midriff plating open up, and the searing pain of a Matrix sized accumulation of solid superstructure, cables, energon ducts beneath plop out in a bleeding mess at my feet before the wounds around the hole sealed.

______________________________________________________________

And that's as much as we are willing to tease, if it caught your interest, you can check it out here! While Addendum is part of the Autosignet Cycle you don't have to read the prior works besides Resolving Hope perhaps if you want to follow along, the rest are orig cont or multiverse crossovers.

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