#always insulting the lord based on his actions or lacks of

[randomnameless]

Also, the fact that Edelgard assumes every person fighting against her is one of the goddess' vanguard is fucking stupid. People are fighting for their lives because of a war SHE started and invasions SHE started. But if they defend themselves, if they don't want to be turned into New Adrestia What's Fodlan, they're just "the goddess' vanguard" now. Not, you know, people defending themselves/their home/their families. You're either on her side or a vanguard of the goddess. There's no for her or against her for her violent actions causing the deaths of your countrymen, friends and family as she tries to reform your entire land into New Adrestia.

She doesn't care about the people. She cares about wiping out the Nabateans and conquering Fodlan like every Adrestian emperor before her has tried to. She wants to wipe out the Nabateans and the other leaders because she doesn't want anyone else to exist who is powerful enough to stop/kill her in the future.

I want to say it's so gross that people actually defend this shit and say that she's a heroic figure who is "uwu progressive", but that's not really even a strong enough word anymore for what they do and the lengths they go to defend her. I bet if this happened to them in real life, what she does to other people, they would change their tune REAL quick.

Eh,

Given what is happening right now in a certain server, I don't even want to guess what some people who think this writing presents her as a "progressive" character are actually thinking.

Back to the game,

Her reasoning - explicited in Nopes - is clear, you are either with her, or against her. And if you are against her, it must be because you oppose her reforms/uwu ideals.

No one gives a fuck about the "blood pooling" at her feet, unless it's to express her sorrow at the sacrifices she had to make to reach her goals.

(that's what I ranted about in the Zahrofl post about Claude and consequences, who deals with consequences of people dying in a war ? Dimitri, who has to deal with Flèche's resentment. There's no Flèche on Supreme Leader's route, aka a NPC that gets a special event where they try to kill her to avenge someone she "had to" cut down in her path of conquest!).

And as Supreme Leader makes everyting about her war centered on "war against church'n'the goddess" PR, while leaving the "MAGA" motive only for the narrator or Hubert to give any exposition, the game cannot have anyone oppose her because, no, they don't want to be part of Adrestia - m-ass-terful writing strikes again, the only person who "complains" about her conquest receives the award winning "no u" explanation, and the game leaves this "issue" at that, no one gets to call her out on her war of conquest, and actually challenge her.

:/

I still find it fascinating how, in CF, Supreme Leader explicitely calls for Dimitri's head - when she can let Billy spare Claude - because she realises (something Nopes erased from her character because elsewise no "uwu what if golden route uwu") Dimitri, aka Faerghus, cannot exist if Adrestia has to be Great Again - Dimitri will always want to oppose her vision and Adrestia's expension in Faerghus (and people will rally behind him).

Opposing Nabateans though, while I think Rhea would be opposed to a continental MAGA war, if Adrestia never targetted Garreg Mach, I wonder if she would have lent the KoS to either the Alliance or the Kingdom - she might try to stop the war and asking for peace talks or what not, but intervening in a human, on-going conflict ? Remember, she only stepped in when Loog already defeated the Adrestian Emperor, aka when Adrestia "lost" to act the end of the War.

So, imo, taking Rhea out isn't due to her possibly opposing with her knights a conquest of Fodlan, but it's more due to the shape of her ears - FE16!Supreme Leader really really really doesn't like Nabateans, and the idea that they can exist and have any sort of influence on "Humanity" - Rhea has to go beause her ears are pointy.

[felikatze]

harriet is to me very interesting as the obligatory tsundere because she breaks tradition in that regard

yes she has the short temper and is easily flustered, but a tendency with tsunderes (especially in more low-brow anime) is that she will be in some way superior to the protagonist and lord that over him. also slapstick violence! because, you know, violence is funny if its against men /s

initially harriet is a classist ass because she's born with a silver spoon in her mouth and she is completely used to everyone bowing to her talent and status. she gets to have this haughty persona because she's never been challenged before.

thus, she is easily flustered when she is challenged. reinhardt can get through her defenses so easily because he simply does not give a shit. he does not care about her status at all. (at least, he pretends not to care outwardly, but that's another can of worms).

Harriet is flustered because he is so far below her standards that she cannot fathom how he could do this. so she walls off and calls him an idiot which he also does not care about because he just throws it right back.

rich noble talented harriet is called an idiot by a beggar. of course she's angry.

(he just likes metaphorically pulling on her pigtails cuz her pouting face is cute. she is a wet kitten in a cardboard box.)

harriet learns that sometimes, there will be people she can't plead status to (like her father, or bertus) and people who will ignore her status (reinhardt, and basically all temple staff)

he forces her to interact like an equal for the first time in her life. she's all bluster. so she only manages to change their dynamic and gain his respect when she starts showing actual skills. ykno. accomplishments by her own merits.

i feel like this is first really seen in the fuckin. what's it called. king of the jungle arc. where she started learning useful small magic instead of just spell of huge explosion, which ends up having way more utility for the whole thing. like underwater breathing. or spell of flashlight. and then she does end up being one of the last people still in the game!

and even later then that. after the darklands arc she grows closer to her class bcuz reinhardt is too busy trying to cope with ptsd. and there we already see character development from her because in this situation where reinhardt is obviously struggling mentally she forgoes her usual banter and instead just has an emotionally honest conversation with him. and they do bond! as equals!

i do actually understand how her embarrassment from reinhardt's teasing would evolve into a crush? because again he's the first person to challenge her. it's not just love at first sight. he challenges her to be better.

again, he's the person who needles her into learning magic based on its utility and not the prestige of the spell. he's the one who shows off her skills to her classmates in the jungle arc. he's good at making other people better themselves. it's vry understandable for someone to want recognition from a person who does that.

and after the beach arc, where again, they have an emotional conversation and actually bond and show each other respect, their dynamic takes a definite shift.

harriet starts teasing him back. and he hates it. instead of attacking his own lack of status, she starts firing back his variety of insults, namely questioning his actions and motivations whenever she can, and now he's on the backfoot in conversation.

after a moment without teasing, its now full force from both sides, and shows off the utter truth;

they're both tsunderes. and always have been.

[heyovivi]

Gwyn and Azriel and Prejudice

Hello, back again with some possible theories and this time it's about one of my favorite Valkyries, Miss Gwyneth Berdara and some more controversial subjects such as the prejudice that surrounds her and other characters.

Now I'm sorry I haven't been posting a lot--though I'm sure not people even notice seeing how we have a large community of readers who also come up with some amazing theories! But I needed to slow down on posting my wild theories and imaginations because I felt that some of my readers who read my fan fiction were starting to catch onto the plot of "A Court of Shadows and Scars"--but I've been waiting to post about this one because I think it's important and because I've already addressed it in my story.

Moving on.

Gwyneth Berdara.

Although she was very much a newly-introduced secondary character to Nesta's story she is oh-so important and beloved by our reading community. Gwyn has stolen the hearts of many with her wit, charm, and inquisitive personality--and not just readers but her fellow characters as well.

All except a very few including Merrill and the main antagonist of ACOSF, Queen Briallyn--though there are many others I could mention, such as the Illyrians, but my main focus will revolve around Merrill and Briallyn and their prejudices against Gwyn along with other characters with their own prejudices such as Beron and even our own brooding shadowsinger, Azriel.

Yes, Azriel.

Now we know the story of Gwyn and we also a know a bit of her past as well.

Gwyn's grandmother was once a river nymph who seduced a High Fae male hailing from the Autumn Court and fell pregnant with Gwyn's mother who was sent to be raised at the temple of Sangravah because she couldn't dwell in the rivers of Spring Court and was too wild to be confined in the Forest House of Autumn Court.

"My mother was unwanted by either of their (Gwyn's grandmother and grandfather) people. She could not dwell in the rivers of the Spring Court, but was too untamed to endure the confinement of the forest house of Autumn. So she was give in her childhood to the temple at Sangravah, where she was raised..." (Gwyn Berdara, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 316)

Now what we know about nymphs is extremely limited in the ACOTAR world. But in Greek mythology--from which they hail from--nymphs were idolized as guardians of nature. They were revered as the spirits of specific natural features and were often identified with parts of nature such as the Oreads (mountain nymphs) and the Hamadryads (tree nymphs).

The name "nymph" comes from the Greek word that means "young woman", and so naturally these beings were considered to be female. Indeed, they were represented as young, beautiful, musical, amorous, and gentle youthful creatures. And while there is some question about whether they were immortal or not - Hamadryads in particular were linked with the lives of their chosen trees - it is believed that they were extremely long lived.

A beautiful, ever-young creature that inhabits the lovliest of all wilderness places including clear lakes, streams, and crystalline caverns. They do not like any form of intrusion but there is a 100% that a nymph will be friendly if approached by another good creature. Nymphs are exceptionally intelligent and are very rarely found.

Gwyn's lineage of nymph, according to Greek mythology, would be categorized as a Naiad, the nymphs of streams, rivers, and lakes. The Naiads, or water nymphs, dwelt beside running water. Like their cousins, the Nereids and Oceanids of the oceans, the Oreads of the hills and the Dryads of the forests and trees, they were usually sweet, benign spirits. Naiads, especially, were helpful and healing, nurturing fruits, flowers and mortals. Yet the youth Hylas who went to draw water from a pool was lured by the nymphs into the water and was never seen again--meaning that despite being creatures of nature they also possessed darker roles in certain legends.

I interpret this as Nymphs being hostile around creatures who were unwelcome in their lands for being ill-intentioned.

Many times in Greek mythology, nymphs were often seen as the symbolism of beauty and love; such as Aphrodite--and because they were always describe to be beautiful and graceful women with soft, sweet appearances they often drew the attention of the Gods creating legends of romantic affairs and infidelity.

Their very beauty caused the Gods to lust after them to a ravenous extent, making the Nymphs sometimes turn to the Goddesses for help. However, not all Goddesses were kind towards the nymphs--such as Aphrodite or Hera who grew jealous of their beauty when their very beauty and natural loveliness challenged the fidelity of their lovers.

In this case, let's assume that role of Gods, of higher beings, were the High Fae in the ACOTAR realm.

In the ACOTAR realm, it's easy to assume the nymphs are somewhat--if not--wholly the same as they are described in classic literature. When Gwyn tells the story of her grandmother she states that her grandmother seduced a High Fae, resulting in the birth of her mother. If this is the case then I think I can understand why characters such as Merrill and Briallyn look down on her lineage so much because again, Nymphs, in the eyes of major Goddesses such as Aphrodite and Hera, were essentially home wreckers (even though many confrontations with Gods and Nymphs were not always consensual).

With the reputation of being male-thirsty seductresses, nymphs are looked down upon as lower-beings, that and their lack of immortality (more often then not Nymphs linked their lifelines to an object in nature: a tree nymphs links their life to a tree, water nymph links their life to a stream (but I suppose that makes them immortal?)).

With this devious reputation placed on her lineage, Gwyn is often the butt of insults with being call half-breed and all by the likes of Briallyn and Merrill.

"But you made it easy for me: you went right to her house in Windhaven. Spared me the trouble of luring you. I let those witless Illyrians take her and the half-breed as an amusing bonus." (Queen Briallyn, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 721)

"I am descended from Rabath, Lord of the Western Wind...Unlike Gwyneth Berdara, I am not lackey to be dismissed." (Merrill, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 315)

Merrill glanced between her and Gwyn before saying, "get back to your work, nymph." (Merrill, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 315)

Okay--so Merrill doesn't specifically call her a half-breed, but dismissing her as a lower race and simply calling her "nymph" is basically comparable to an insult.

Now, that we've got Gwyn out of the way, let's move onto Autumn Court, more specifically Beron.

Beron is an ass--plain and simple. He is the personification of a conservative abuser and is honestly one of the most disgusting characters I have ever had the displeasure of reading. However--I suppose the problems he brings do push certain character formulas forward such as Eris and Lucien. Such as executing Jesminda for simply being involved with Lucien and for being anything but High Fae.

"Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considers to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn't care that wasn't one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father's court to his scheming brothers...His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch." (Tamlin, A Court of Thorns and Roses, pg. 160)

I don't think I need to go ahead and explain Beron and his prejudices against those who are not High Fae--his actions speak enough as is. But what I do want to do is go back to the specific wording Gwyn uses when explaining how her mother ended up in Sangravah, she says: "She could not dwell in the rivers of the Spring Court, but was too untamed to endure the confinement of the forest house of Autumn."

Confinement.

Not dwell. Not live. Not prosper. Confinement.

Now, we haven't navigated Autumn for all it's beauty and culture. We've only seen the Autumn Court through the eyes of Feyre when she is traversing through the courts in ACOWAR.

But I wonder how he approached with dealing with those who are not High Fae? What if the Autumn Court is much like the Summer Court where the court works around a system of class where High Fae are put at the top and anything but is put at the bottom? Therefore assuming that the treatment of such beings is cruel and unjust, creating a defining line between the races in which they can never reach equilibrium.

If that is so that brings me to the idea that many courts outside the jurisdiction of Night Court have assumed systems such as this, making there a limited amount of options for people like Gwyn's mother to prosper peacefully. Because we already know that the main reason why the first war with Hybern happened was because Hybern demanded to keep human and low fae as slaves, placing High Fae at the top. Spring sided with Hybern, because remember Amarantha and the former High Lord of Spring were close friends, Summer Court most likely fought to keep slaves as they still continuously oppress lesser fae, so I imagine it was worse for humans. And let's be honest, Autumn remained "indifferent" but one look at their current High Lord tells me that they weren't that indifferent--not unless Beron wasn't the ruling High Lord at the time.

So with that in mind, Gwyn and her family couldn't flee to Summer, nor Spring or Autumn. Night was probably never an option--as their reputation of being dark and gloomy more than likely frightened the idea away. Winter Court was obvious seeing how it's a winter wonderland of frozen lakes, streams, and rivers. Then there is Day Court which based on their current High Lord and aesthetic, is a desert land of sand and heat--with little to no water supply for any Nymph.

However there is one court that still remains. Dawn Court. From what we know they are a more than neutral court among the courts of Prythian and mostly value innovation. Geographically, Dawn is a lush, eternal countryside rich with the weight of summer upon it. The towns were red-roofed villages with sparkling rivers--a perfect destination for any relocating half-nymph- half-High Fae born child. However we also have to take into account the time period of when Gwyn's mother was born. Remember, prior to ACOTAR, Prythian was under the rule of Amarantha for fifty years--and even if that wasn't the case Summer was under the rule of a High Lord who didn't harbor the same compassion to change the unequal class system like Tarquin did when he assumed his place on the throne. Autumn was being ruled by Beron by that time already who'd probably have her confined. And Spring was under the traditional rule of Tamlin--and despite that Gwyn's mother would've still be considered as unwelcomed by the other nymphs.

If you take the time and current dilemma of Prythian--then there was really no where to go but Sangravah--putting into question the prejudices certain courts have against beings that are of the Low Fae variety.

I predict that despite being beautiful, charming, and compassionate, Gwyn still faces so much prejudice for simply being 1/4th nymph--which to the High Fae is a stain in her lineage to be a descendant from such a deviant being.

Now, let's move onto Azriel.

Azriel, as we all know, has his own conflicts with the Illyrians. Of course, that is to be expected, especially after learning of his backstory with being abused by his family and then later forced into training with the Illyrian army. The only comfort he had ever received was from the likes of his chosen family and so I believe he is projecting his own, personal experience of being an Illyrian into his hatred of Illyria--seeing the Illyrians as no more than a means to end due to their constant reluctance to move on with the times.

Don't get me wrong, I love Azriel. But I think a big part of his character is accepting who he is. He is an Illyrian--and I believe that with the combine power of him, Cassian, and Rhys they can bring the kind of change that Cassian had only ever dreamed of to Illyria. Yet, his own prejudices against his people hold him back and that's probably because he hasn't fully faced his trauma and instead skitters back at the mention or thought of it. I think if Az was healed he wouldn't be so reluctant to visit Illyria or wish for it's demise.

"A rare visit from the shadowsinger. Both myth and terror. Az looked just as displeased to be here, but he'd come when I asked...It was healthy, perhaps. For Az to sometimes remember where he'd come from. He still wore the Illyrian leathers. Had not tried to get the tattoos removed. Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget." (Rhysand, A Court of Frost and Starlight, pg. 222)

"Cassian rolled his eyes. But they both knew Azriel would sooner disband and destroy Illyria than help it. Convincing their brother than the Illyrians were a people worth saving was still a battle amongst the three of them." (Cassian, A Court of Silver Flames, pg. 42)

Now, moving onto the conclusion, finally. If Gwynriel's story was to happen, I think there is a sufficient amount of evidence to claim that Azriel's plot would revolve around the Illyrian conflict.

I'm just going to drop down this link: https://yazthebookish.tumblr.com/post/648449405425516544/the-illyrian-conflict-being-set-up-in-acosf-along

@yazthebookish highlights textual evidence that hints at a possible story arc for an Illyrian plot line because yes, there is still so much to uncover in Illyria and although I believe a large part of that was suppose to be Cassian and Nesta's story I also understand why it could go to Azriel.

Azriel needs to learn to accept his race, and the Illyrians need to learn how to accept change. I think they can learn something from one another and I believe Gwyn will play a role in Azriel's adventure. Do I think she's going to be the face some enlightenment in Azriel's journey--no. That's stupid. And if you twist my words, read it again. I believe because of Gwyn's past with prejudice against her and what she is, she can level with Az and understand him in a way that can potentially help him develop better as a character. Yes, she might be there for guidance or to give Azriel counsel, but in the end I think it's Az's job to tackle down the Illyrian conflict while Gwyn, with the help of Azriel, tackles down her own, whether that be discovering her lineage or where she came from or even healing from her trauma as a SA victim.

Please be respectful and leave your thoughts in the comments.

[solomonish]

Love is Just a Feeling I Do Not Need (Lucifer x Reader)

Even if this dream isn’t yours, just keep dreaming it.

based off of this song.

ao3 link: here!

Ah, don't you know all this shit is annoying me It's not my act and it's driving me crazy That gaze you're giving me, that voice and that face I see Ah, don't you know? I hate them so-o-o

Though Lucifer was normally a fan of reliability and structure, this was a routine he wouldn’t mind going on without.

Every Thursday, sometime between the hours of 5 and 6 o’clock, you and Mammon would find yourselves shuffling nervously in front of his desk, shoulders hunched in anticipation for the verbal lashing you were about to receive. Most often than not, he’d direct his frustration towards Mammon, saving the gentler reprimands for you. It isn’t that he intended to go easy on you - if anything, he truly thought you could do with a little more firm punishment - but you normally got roped into Mammon’s schemes in the middle of trying to stop them. It was a noble, yet foolish, effort, and forcing yourself through the same vicious cycle seemed punishment enough for your naivety.

If ever there was a chance at levelling with you, Lucifer would hope you’d agree that receiving such a punishment was him was a blessing in disguise. He never lacked in the discipline department, but compared to the types of demons out there that weren’t bound by honor or loyalty and would love to take a bite out of you, his lectures were hardly anything to complain about. Though you’d furrow your brows or glower at him every now and then, it was your sweetness that got you into your messes and it was what allowed those transgressions to pass. He could tell that, as burdensome as you clearly thought he was in these moments, you never intended to interrupt his work or irk him beyond repair.

However, even the sweetest of fruits could rot if left on the table for long enough, and you were no different.

Lucifer had hoped that you might be a good influence on Mammon, or at least teach him a little bit of responsibility, but it seemed the influencing was happening the other way around. You got braver with your challenging looks and quips of defiance, only pushing the boundaries further the longer you were in the devildom. Perhaps, in his effort to allow you to ruminate on your actions yourself, he had spoiled you, for you were certainly acting far out of the bounds of what was appropriate for your situation. Not only did you seem to find your consistent troublemaking a persistent problem that needed fixing, but you also thought that, in a house filled with some of the most powerful demons in the realm, you found it a wise decision to directly challenge him, the oldest, the one most capable of hurting you. Lucifer wasn’t known for his tendency to hold back his anger or his punishments, and exchange students didn’t exactly have the privilege of diplomatic immunity.

Even worse, when he told you as much, all you had to say for yourself was, "You know, you don't have to put on this authoritative act for every little thing just to earn my respect."

Even worse for you, you had a lopsided smile that you couldn't repress, one full of arrogance and challenging him directly. He clenched tighter onto his desk, not quite sending spindling fractures through the wood but hearing it creak in protest all the same. Almost immediately, that cocky grin slipped off your face and you murmured an apology, lowering your head in submission in the hopes he would only continue his lecture and not add on to the punishment.

If the work slotted into his day had been any less, he would have come up with some sort of punishment for you. Your sudden cowardice was not enough to force his pride to keel. But his workload was already too immense to be dealing with a human’s daring - stupid - display of defiance, so he waved you off shortly after and stewed over his reports.

Lucifer didn’t miss the way you practically scurried out of his office, nor could he block out the harsh whispers outside his door as Mammon fussed over you. For a brief moment, he figured that he should call you back, give you a fitting punishment for your continued antics and save the future version of himself from these headaches. However, he knew that it’d only breed harsher animosity within you, and you would only work harder to annoy him. At the mere thought, his headache returned, and he focused on the paper on the desk in his attempt to block out the pain.

Whether it was due to your tendency to attract danger or his own tendency to micromanage once given a job (and dedicated to his task to assist in the exchange program he was), Lucifer found himself keeping an eye on you whenever he could. Oftentimes, he was out of your range, working in his office or assisting Diavolo wherever he may be in the expansive school. Even during class, when he wasn’t pulled aside to help Diavolo, he was in some of the most advanced classes in the school, all far above your level as a human thrown into an unfamiliar realm. That was one of the reasons he assigned you as Mammon’s responsibility - even though he did know, deep down, that his brother would rise to the occasion, he was also the only brother in a few of the lower level classes you had. That was a thought he didn’t dare linger on for too long, lest he feel another flare of anger build up.

Still, there were moments when he passed you in the hall, or beckoned you to follow him into his office to smooth over some administrative details regarding your exchange student status in the Devildom. Each time you turned your back, he found himself watching you leave, as if his gaze alone was enough to send you safely on your own. Nobody caught him staring - and if they did, they had the wisdom to pretend they didn’t. Yet you were human in every aspect of the word, tactless, weak and unwise, and when you caught his gaze - which he hated to admit had happened, and hated even more to count exactly how many times it happened - you smiled at him kindly. Those times, you weren’t planning anything or hoping to annoy him. You were merely treating him like a friend, giving him a silent greeting when you knew he wouldn’t make his way over to you to meet you properly.

Treating him like a friend...treating him with as much familiarity as you did his brothers? The thought insulted him. If you weren’t afraid of him, he would have to amend that quickly. Until he could see the respect in your gaze, and until he could be certain you feared him how he wanted you to, he loathed that stupid grin on your face as much it made his stomach churn.

It isn't fate or a miracle that brought us here Expecting nothing, it all remains so unclear Since I don't mind if you aren't really the best I'm sure that we'll be fine Come and hold me tight

Weeks and months did nothing to quell your troublesome nature. If anything, the more familiar you found yourself with your surroundings, the more you tried to bend the rules until they broke. Lucifer was aware of all of your antics - at least, he certainly hoped there weren’t any he was missing, because then he’d wonder if your feeble human body could handle all of that activity. Still, Lucifer was a man who knew how to pick his battles, no matter what his behavior with his brothers may say. More often than not, he warned against the stupid ideas he could see brewing in your mind, figuring that if there was no stopping you he could at least instill you with the proper sense of caution.

If he sat too long on the thought of how much trouble you really did cause, the only thought in his mind screamed the audacity! What kind of entitlement did you think you had? How could one human decide this realm was theirs to meddle with?

It was infuriating how much you managed to get wrapped up in, despite your inexperience. Perhaps it was that inexperience that had you scrambling about the Devildom like a new, untrained puppy that insisted on chewing everybody’s shoes? (This is why Lucifer never allowed pets, he realized. If his brothers couldn’t control a creature they could communicate with, how could they control an animal?) Maybe you assumed that being under the care of the seven demon lords meant you had some sort of immunity to the consequences of your antics. But being under their care did not mean they cared for you, and it was time that you realized just how lucky it was that you managed to survive this long.

Brash as it may sound, you weren’t anything special. At best, you were extraordinarily lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you enjoyed the exchange program); one human chosen out of billions. You had no standing here, not one of chosen status, no power or understanding of the magic that ruled the world around them.

It did work in your favor, if only a little bit. At least this way, Lucifer had no expectations of you coming in, so your disruptive behavior was no more disappointing than was to be expected. He had no image of you in his mind, nothing for you to contradict. It’s not as if you really cared what he thought, but it sure saved him the bother of reconciling his mental image with the unfortunate reality you were. Of course, that also meant that he didn’t always know what kind of trouble you were about to stir up, just that you would definitely stir up some trouble.

It isn’t until he hears a loud crash and your voice among the startled yelps that he realizes how much time he took from his reports to reflect on you.

Or rather….on your behavior.

Love is just a feeling I do not need I can't handle it so I'll go on tirelessly Close your eyes and feel me breathe down your neck Even if this dream isn't yours, just keep dreaming it

Yes, this was the best solution.

He noticed the way your shoulder tensed when you heard his footsteps. Have you learned the sound of his footsteps already? How cute.

You were sitting at a table in the library with Satan standing not too far away. Lucifer remembered Mammon begging someone to be your escort home so he could take care of some business with the witches, and after some arguing and a firm interruption by yours truly, Satan was tasked with bringing you home safely. Of course, he had to stop in the school library first - some human wasn’t going to force him to change his plans. You had the wisdom to take out an assignment to work on, clearly one of the easier ones that wouldn’t be too disturbed if you stopped in the middle when Satan was prepared to leave.

Lucifer didn’t plan on stopping in the library, but Diavolo was stuck in a separate meeting and he happened to be walking by, so why shouldn’t he check on the human in his charge?

He approached you with quiet, even steps, enjoying the way you went stiff as soon as he was near enough to start speaking to you. You looked to be expecting that, though, and he just couldn’t have that. No, instead he stepped directly behind your chair, placing one hand on the back of it so his gloved knuckles barely brushed against your shoulder. Bending at the waist, he leaned down so his chin almost touched your other shoulder, his breath ghosting your ear as he peered down at the paper in front of you.

“I see you’re taking your duties here in the Devildom seriously for once,” He started, his voice almost a deep purr. “Diavolo will be pleased to hear this report.”

You were fighting a shiver at the sound of his voice alone. He knew that you knew that he could feel the way you held back your shiver. That probably pleased him more than if you had actually done it.

“U-uh, yeah,” You stammered, fiddling with your pencil. “I’m just...trying to get some work done.”

He hummed, looking over your answers and taking his sweet time doing so. The longer he remained leaning by your side, the more he could hear your breath shallowing. Even if he was in charge of your safety, that didn’t mean he couldn’t still have a little bit of fun with the human that had a penchant for having too much fun with him.

Before you could swat him away, he quickly straightened himself out and patted your shoulder. Satan had returned by that point, just rounding the corner of a bookshelf and narrowing his eyes the moment he saw Lucifer. A second later, his eyes drifted down to you and he furrowed his eyebrows - clearly, Lucifer had affected you much more than he could see, and the thought made him preen himself on the inside.

“I trust you’ll keep up the good work. Keep an eye on them, Satan.”

His cold demeanor was back, and neither of you had anything to say about it. How joyful things turned out to be.

Much to your chagrin, Lucifer was a fast learner, and he took to flustering you just enough to keep you sedated when he felt you’d cause trouble. At first, all it took was a little invasion of your personal space, a targeted breath or a pat on the shoulder, all things you could easily brush off as just him trying to communicate a point the way humans do. After a while, you built up a feeble tolerance that he could send toppling down again by switching those pats to gentle strokes. He might be getting friendly with you, but you never made any attempt to push him away.

He didn’t have any ulterior motives. He could justify himself by saying this was the only way to keep you under control. Lucifer may not have been the avatar of lust, but he was never one to be shown up by his brothers. Seduction was an art form he had mastered long ago, and even if he wasn’t purposely intending to bed you, he was a maestro at using his skills to affect you. Besides, the faces you made and the way you flustered yourself when he was even in the same room as you was enough to encourage him to keep going.

It didn’t matter that, after a while, Mammon had convinced you to get back into his schemes. It didn’t matter that when Lucifer asked you sly questions about finishing your work, you had some response about needing to have time to make his life even harder.

There was no harm in trying to keep you charmed, was there? Not when you seemed to be enjoying it so.

It's no use to just regret all night long So instead of mourning why don't you take me along? Just admit that I'm the best, can't you see? Love me till I hurt oh baby, come dance the night away with me

This was a song and dance the two of you learned the steps to quickly, one that went on for much longer than it had any right to. This was a fact you realized when it, quite literally, culminated in a dance.

Lucifer considered himself a master of tact, figuring that he could settle your tomfoolery once and for all with a rather serious talking to. Maybe, since this time you conversation would happen in public with the prince as a witness, you might listen and take some of his words to heart. Or, in the worst case scenario, at least he could be sure to keep your attention for long enough to get a meaningful message across.

Getting you alone was easy enough. Though you were surrounded by some of his brothers, it seemed Mammon was the only other one interested in separating you from the group and was stumbling over himself in his efforts to make it happen. Besides, even with the way you disregarded every warning he gave you, at least you learned that Lucifer only ever asks as a formality. So, he found himself leading you by the hand to the middle of the floor, placing a hand on your waist as casually as one can and mimicking the way the others moved around you.

“What is it you’re plotting with Asmo?” In order to keep the conversation between the two of you, he leaned down slightly to mutter in your ear - not close enough to raise any suspicions, but close enough that you could certainly feel just how much he had you in his grasp. Moments ago, he had already made you aware of his intentions, so the shocked expression on your face really had no right to be there. Still, he couldn’t say he didn’t find a sort of pleasure in the way he could practically hear your blood rush through your veins as you tried to keep up your facade of control. Unfortunately for the both of you, you were as easy to see through as you were frustrating.

“Let me make one thing clear,” He practically hissed, enjoying the way you shivered. “I respect my brothers’ freedom to do as they wish. However, if I ever sense that you’ve become a threat to Diavolo or us, then I will show you absolutely no mercy. Understood?”

Lucifer made sure to snake his arm around your back, holding you against him and gripping your hand with as much strength as he could without truly hurting you. He had effectively caged you in, making sure that you knew there was no escape from the way he knew things needed to be done. And you really needed to stop poking your nose into their business.

“I-I want to be good friends with all of you, Lucifer,” You answered, giving a pathetic tug to the hand in his grasp. Without responding, Lucifer narrowed his eyes at you and relaxed his grip slightly. Somehow, you proved yourself to be a bigger fool than he originally thought.

“Well, that is not what I want.”

He watched your face fall at that, and there was the strangest coil in his stomach at that reaction. What, had you genuinely thought you could just waltz into the Devildom and call the Demon Lords your pals? What would you even have to gain from that?

Before he could admonish you further, Solomon appeared from the crowd, offering you a smile that was so casual it could only be practiced. For just a moment, his eyes flickered to your waist, where Lucifer’s grip was still strong - Lucifer didn’t dare loosen up, lest Solomon think he had any shame in being “caught.”

When Solomon asked to steal you away, Lucifer obliged, sending you off with what could only be described as a warning glance. You seemed relieved to be in the hold of somebody else, and Lucifer couldn’t blame you. At least you seemed to have some common sense about you. Still, he couldn’t deny the way the coil in his stomach only got tighter.

He figured it was just a result of both human exchange students being massive headaches and did his best to brush it away.

Ah, don't you know all this shit is annoying me You're in my world now, away from reality As long as I can toy with you for just a moment Then I don't mind, if you aren't really mine

Perhaps Lucifer was a fool for thinking if he left you alone you wouldn’t fester.

You had managed to be so, so much worse than he ever expected you to be. It wasn’t enough to simply meddle in the affairs of the brothers so readily available to you - no, five demons were not enough to sate your endless need for trouble. So, in the few months you had been in the Devildom, you decided to somehow find the one brother he needed to keep hidden from you and, in the process of going against explicit orders, set Belphegor free and get yourself killed. For a moment, seeing your lifeless body in Mammon’s arms, Lucifer wasn’t sure what had thrown him off: seeing his brother free and knowing the punishment that was charging towards him fast enough that he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop it, or the mountain of paperwork that would surely come from this turn of events. Mammon’s desperate denial echoing through the entrance of their manor wasn’t exactly helping, either.

But then you did the only thing you did better than causing endless migraine for Lucifer: you fixed your mistakes and started building something better from them.

After you revealed yourself and let the brothers know that you were still alive - while also somehow airing everybody’s dirty laundry at once, something he made a note to talk to you about - he watched as somehow, slowly, his brothers looked at each other with the same appreciation they used to in the Celestial Realm, lurking just beneath the surface. Sure, there was still plenty of progress to be made, but he finally saw a fracture in the insurmountable mountain he had been facing for thousands of years - and it was all because of you.

With the churning feeling the thought brought him, he started to understand how love and hate were thought of as two sides of the same coin.

Leviathan could be found peeking out of his room slightly more often, gravitating to the room you were in with a handheld device and offering to show you what he was playing. Satan took his books out, too, sitting in the same room as you and occasionally casting what he thought were sneaky glances your way. Asmodeus insisted on spending more time with you in his own way, trying to hide the way he held your face in his hands a little longer than necessary by saying he was assessing the state of your skin. Beel seemed more open around you, occasionally dropping snacks in your lap without needing to be asked, giving you a look that seemed to both ask if you were alright and assure you that he was when you met eyes. Even Belphegor had warmed up to you, trying to sandwich himself in between you and anybody close to you or pulling you away to quieter spaces where he could nap in your presence. Lucifer watched as the unease gradually melted away from your expression with each attempt he made to get you alone, until you seemed to feel safe with him.

As usual, Mammon stayed by your side, especially in the days after your...incident. There were many times when you would sit on a couch in the common room, only for Mammon to come flying in moments later and sit so close to you he was practically on your lap. Lucifer bit his warnings for him to be careful back at least half of the time, deciding that this puppy-dog behavior at least seemed to be keeping the two of you out of trouble.

Trouble…

It only took your untimely death and a harsh reminder of just how close you had managed to get to his brothers to force him into realizing that trouble was all he ever thought you of. Lucifer couldn’t quite decipher why that left such a sour taste in his mouth. Perhaps it was the fact that since the incident with Belphegor, he had barely seen you. Honestly, he only saw you a fraction of the day compared to the amount of times he needed to usher you into his office to set you straight beforehand. As embarrassed as he was to be suffering through such...withdrawal, a long day of stress from his brothers had him summoning for you before dinner.

You only opened the door enough to squeeze yourself through, sneaking in as if he were a sleeping lion you shouldn’t dare to wake. He watched as you slowly made your way in front of his desk, fiddling with your fingers the way you did when you were nervous. Strange. As far as he knew, you hadn’t done anything wrong. He hoped that if you did, you had the wisdom to keep your mouth shut.

“You wanted to see me?” You asked in a small voice. Lucifer held you in a steady gaze, glad that Mammon decided not to follow you this time. He’d have known how much of an act this was from the get go and scold him for ‘making the move on his human.’

“Yes.” Lucifer took his sweet time shuffling through the papers on his desk, watching you through his peripheral vision. He could feel your stress levels rising as you waited for an unknown blow, watching as you subconsciously fidgeted the longer he let the silence go on. When he decided that he had teased you enough, he leaned back in his chair and said, “I merely wanted to see how our exchange student was doing.”

“H-huh?!” You asked. Indignation flashed on your face in the most wonderful display before quickly being taken over by your practiced calm facade. “O-oh, I’m fine, thanks.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just fine?”

“Well….yeah. I’m good.”

Clearly, you weren’t one for conversation right now. With a sigh, he leaned back and thumbed through the papers on his desk again before pulling one out of the stack and placing it in front of him. Furrowing his eyebrows, he reached in his drawer and pulled out a small stack held together with a paperclip and dropped that one on top of the single sheet, holding back a smirk at the way you flinched.

“Good. Then I suppose we can get started on this paperwork about the whole accident.”

“What?!”

“Well, we still have to file an accidental death report. Or perhaps we should fill out an injury notice…? Ah, nevermind. It seems you’re up for both.”

He allowed you to turn on your heel and leave without another word. After staring at the now-empty space for a moment, he put the stack of absentee notices back in his drawer and continued on with his work.

It isn't jealousy or hate that made me act like that I'm not like her, so there's no need to get mad I know my way around this heat that we feel So don't worry, just enjoy Don't give me that look, boy!

You ran your hand down the side of your face, trying in futility to wipe the sleepiness from your mind. Sitting in the dimly lit office, you listened as Lucifer droned on about your test grade. The lecture had turned into a study session, which you appreciated, but it quickly turned back into a lecture after one too many mistakes on your part. You could see the irritation clear on his face, yet he was speaking to you as if you had just been caught plotting something treasonous against Diavolo.

You tried to huff quietly, but Lucifer’s sharp ears heard you. The stony glare he held you in woke you up instantly. “Oh, is this too boring? Perhaps that explains your performance.”

Already having been caught, you sighed. “No, Mammon has just been keeping me up lately.” It was too late in the night to think about how you accidentally ratted him out.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed so you could only see the red seemingly glowing with the rage he was hardly holding back. Stopping the pacing he had taken up an hour ago, he turned towards you and took long strides to stand in front of the desk until he was beside his chair. You kept your sleepy gaze locked on his eyes, a silent challenge for him to back down. What would he do to the precious, fragile little human while they’re half asleep?

With a sigh, Lucifer closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his own way of breaking the stare-off without really admitting defeat. “I should have known he had something to do with this.”

“Hey…” If Lucifer ended up punishing Mammon for your own slip-up with your grades, you’d be feeling guilty about it for weeks. “It wasn’t really his fault. I should know by now how much studying I need to do…”

“Hmph. Since this leads back to him, I suppose I have no choice. The two of you are banned from seeing each other until I can come up with a fitting punishment and study regimen to set you both straight.”

“What?” You stood up from your chair, not changing how he literally looked down on you but feeling as if you looked more imposing. “You can’t just do that!”

“I will do what I must to keep you on track, as is my responsibility.”

“You cannot forbid me from talking to your brothers. Besides, isn’t he supposed to be my guardian?”

“You have more pacts, should the need arise. If he insists on hoarding your time as he has, then-”

“Oh, is that what this is about? I didn’t expect you to be so jealous about it.” You scoffed. “Now you’re really being a Mammon.”

“Do not compare me to him in that way ever again!” He barked at you, slamming a hand down on the desk with a loud bang! That shut you up quickly, and you watched Lucifer warily in case he lost control of himself. For a brief moment, the human glamour surrounding him faded and you saw a flicker of his wings, feathers splayed out and bristled in his anger. “This study session has gotten away from us. You may turn in for the night.”

Despite his mighty anger, the time you spent with him and your inherent recklessness left you unable to cower. The longer you stayed in a stand-off, the more pointed your expression got until you were giving him the most doubtful expression he had ever seen on your face. “You know, I wouldn’t mind spending these nights with you if they didn’t always end with you yelling at me.”

As if on cue, the D.D.D. you left on the desk lit up, allowing Lucifer a glimpse of the many messages and calls left by none other than the second brother. Fighting back a grimace, he watched you snatch it up and collect your books in a hurry. Some of the papers crinkled as you shoved them into your bag, but he didn’t wince - he did play a part in your haste, after all.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who you were going to vent to in a few minutes. Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to care, though, not when he had the distinct feeling he had ruined his chances at a goal he wasn’t aware he was trying to meet.

Love is just a feeling I do not need I can't take it so untie it as much as you please Close your eyes and stop your breath if you dare Even if this dream isn't yours, just keep dreaming it

He hadn’t intentionally softened up on you, yet he found that he took those words to heart.

After the incident in his office, you told him that you thought you’d study better on your own and improved your grade with your next test. In the weeks leading up to it, Lucifer could hardly get you to stop for him, only seeing you at dinner and when he would text you about urgent transfer student business. Even after he got word of your improved marks, he still had trouble getting to you for long enough to offer a proper congratulations. You really did prove yourself to be a ton of effort time and time again.

It wasn’t until you started to seek him out that he was able to properly communicate with you again.

You found him in the kitchen when he had dinner duty, on a rare night when he didn’t need to bribe someone to pick it up for him. He could feel your presence even with his back turned, aware of the way you leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms. He finished chopping the ingredients on the cutting board in front of him before looking over his shoulder at you curiously.

“Need a hand?” You asked. Something in your voice was different - more confident. Lucifer could hear the challenge in it, even if the details still hadn’t made themselves known.

He gestured to the small pile of dishes in the sink, not about to turn your company away. You nodded and started to run the water, letting silence settle between you. Finding himself watching you for a few beats too long, Lucifer cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his chopped vegetables. He noticed that the second half were chopped a little more unevenly than the other pieces, and he quickly pushed them into the pan.

Clearly, you had taken a page from his book and decided to leave him in wait, biding your time before finally hitting him with your carefully chosen words. Unlike you normally were, he wasn’t on the edge of his seat, sweating in anticipation - but the longer the silence wore on, he found his patience wearing thin. Even if this performance of yours was amusing, he still found himself aggravated by just how far you thought you could push your luck.

Finally, you decided to speak up. “Have I been avoiding you these past few weeks?”

Lucifer didn’t let himself falter in stirring the pot on the stove. “I believe that’s a question only you know the answer to.”

“Hm. Well, I haven’t been meaning to.”

“Based on our last meeting, that much has been hard to tell.”

“Do you really think I’m so petty?” You turned the water on to rinse the bowl in your hands, forcing him to wait until responding.

“With so many strong personalities now bound to you in pacts, it’s hard to tell how their influence will manifest.”

You gave him a bitter laugh, shoving your hands in the water until your palms flattened out on the bottom of the sink. The warm water felt hotter on the skin on your forearms that hadn’t been able to build a tolerance to it. Even if your intent was not to start a petty argument, his intentions clearly didn’t align with yours.

“No, I think I have to solid a grasp on myself to let them do that to me.”

He said nothing, but you could hear his confident footsteps as he approached you. His gaze met yours in a silent challenge as he slid the cutting board in the water, unconsciously allowing himself to gravitate towards you. When he got too close for you, you grabbed a spatulat from the bottom of the sink and gently pressed the flat end against his chest to push him away. Lucifer glanced at his shirt, clearly miffed at the damp stripe across his chest.

“You know, Lucifer, if you want a pact with me, you just have to ask.”

For a moment, the expression on Lucifer’s face was too convoluted for you to make sense of. He certainly didn’t look caught off guard, but he also wasn’t as furious as you thought he’d be. With his eyebrows furrowed together and his gaze searching yours, you couldn’t figure out where his shock and confusion ended and his anger began. You cursed him and how he always seemed to have a grasp on what he let you know through his expressions alone.

Lucifer stood there, hoping that the confusion on your face wasn’t covering something else that would force you away from him. He couldn’t understand how you always managed to pierce through him and see directly into his mind. As he was coming to understand it, he did want a pact with you. Certainly not because he saw how close those brothers of his were to you now, though - he was not the avatar of envy, and he had nothing to be envious of, especially in regards to them - but the thought of his mark on your skin, the thought of you belonging to him in such a way was undeniably appealing.

However, every interaction with you didn’t seem to push him in the direction of ever obtaining such a relationship with you.

Quickly gathering his wits, he only scoffed and went back to his post on the other side of the kitchen. You turned towards your job, too. This time, he wasn’t the only one ruminating in stubborn silence.

I don't feel no guilt, oh, is that so wrong? Ah, instead of asking why don't you take me along? Just admit that I'm the best, now you see Love me till I hurt oh baby, come over here and set me free

Asmodeus: You won’t believe what I just found out about the succubus I was telling you about yesterday! Satan: Have you gotten to the seventeenth chapter yet? It really is the turning point, in my opinion. Leviathan: ok thx Lucifer, YOU S*CK!: Heh, yeah, that’ll be perfect. Mammon: Oi, are you even paying attention to me?!?

With a sigh, you turned your D.D.D. off without responding to the messages and tucked it back in your bag.You were already on your way to the House of Lamentation. The brothers could (and would) bother you the moment you walked through the door.

“I’ve sighed like that many times,” Lucifer said beside you, looking down at you with a polite half smile. “My brothers are hounding you again, no doubt.”

“Yeah...they’re quite...affectionate.”

“That is a word you could use,” He agreed. “Though sometimes, not the most accurate.”

You chuckled them, purposely averting your gaze. Part of Lucifer wanted to direct your attention back to him so he could watch the pretty blush that painted your cheeks as you laughed, but he kept his hands to his sides. It was so difficult anymore to know what you were thinking. The closer he got to you, the more he learned to find comfort in your presence, the more he found the pesky feeling of hope cloud his judgement and his crystal-clear vision. How could he be sure that, now that the two of you were finally on good terms, you weren’t comfortable with the relationship? It had been so long since Lucifer had to forge an entirely new relationship, and he had the world’s most troublesome (or second most troublesome, considering your competition) human to work with. Though he was never one to question his own judgement, he still couldn’t help but tsk at the sheer absurdity of the task.

“This is probably the most peaceful walk home I’ve had in a while. It’s astonishing how easy they make getting caught up in trouble on the way seem.”

“Is that why the other day you seemed so shocked when we told you the walk was only a few minutes?”

You chuckled again. “Yeah. All the detours make it seem longer.”

“Perhaps one of these days, I should take you on a detour of my own then?” When you stopped walking, he turned back to give you a sly smile. “I’m not one to be bested by my brothers, you know.”

“Wow, ruthless,” You began walking again and fiddled with your backpack strap nervously. “Maybe I should be the one to plan it, though. I’m not entirely convinced your version of a detour wouldn’t involve more paperwork.”

“Shall I be looking forward to this date, then?” Lucifer could feel the embarrassment radiating off of you. He loved to make you this flustered, so he could realign his sights while you were too preoccupied to hide behind anything. And you just so happened to be unbearably cute with your face turning red. The way you muttered ‘yes’ and dashed up the steps to the house had him preening.

Love is just a feeling I do not need I can't handle it so I'll go on tirelessly Close your eyes and feel me breathe down your neck Even if this dream isn't yours just keep dreaming it

Bit by bit, Lucifer found himself finally, finally getting closer to you without any unpleasant endings. (Well, save for the ones where one of his brothers interrupted and dragged you away, but the two of you shared a fondness for their shenanigans that made it difficult to stay mad at them.)

Or, well...staying mad at them was difficult for you/.

Lucifer wasn’t upset with his brothers, but there was a certain frustration bubbling up beneath the surface that he had to wrestle down every time he had a moment to wonder about their actions. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to spend time with you - after all, he himself was trying to make himself time in your schedule. Not only that, but the ever-approaching end of the semester was looming over them, and everyone could feel the desperate attempts to get one last bid for your affections in before you left. The whole situation was rather distracting, his far-wandering thoughts only adding to the time he spent hunched over his desk instead of out with you.

Lucifer was not a man to waste time bemoaning facts that he could not change. That did not mean he was immune from all feelings of doubt or irritation. He might have been able to concentrate if there wasn’t such a pesky thought creeping up on him the second he let his mind stray from his papers. Still, he couldn’t help the ugly sensation of being caught in a competition where he might actually be losing.

Though he had faith in your tenacity - that and your boldness were truly qualities to marvel at - Lucifer did wonder just how much you valued availability. He thought that the two of you had come to a silent agreement - that you thought alike, that you felt alike - but as much as he knew what happened beyond the door to his office, you remained the enigma.

It would be so easy if he could just get you to admit that he was the one you thought of above all the others. The desire for such a simple statement, he hid with faux aggravation at your refusal to admit such a simple task. As much as he tried to convince himself that you were hanging out with the others as a replacement for him, he knew just how much and how uniquely you valued the others.

He didn’t need to use force to get what he wanted, but he was slightly accustomed to nothing standing strong in the presence of his power. You, however, never bowed, and it grated at him how much he wanted to rightfully earn that place in your heart and how difficult it was to just get you to say it.

His thoughts distracted him from his papers, his papers distracted him from his thoughts. They all distracted him from you, aside from when he wondered if you were thinking something similar about him.

Are you really asking why you're alone? Turned your back on me and I get why you don't want more Come back, hold me, dear, love me till I scream

Your departure was approaching, and Lucifer found himself alone.

His moments not spent on work or cleaning up after his brothers were normally spent with you. Unless, of course, those moments happened in the early hours of the morning and he should be dead on his pillow.

Perhaps if he found himself graced with your presence, he wouldn’t have slept anyway. It wasn’t sleep he was chasing, after all, but you. You were the one he was vying for, even if his pursuit felt less romantic and more like running after a wild goose. No good things came easy, he told himself. He didn’t need easy.

But your longing glances were getting harder to pull away from, and the days until you left were already in the single digits. It was hard enough to steal you away for a moment, let alone enough time to lay his intentions bare and finally get what you both wanted.

He hated the thought that he had let you take the lead in the relationship in a roundabout sense, so he preoccupied himself with anger over having to do all the hard work himself.

He could list off all the reasons you would return to him, the obvious choice, for hours if asked, and even then only put a dent in the miles of options. The fact that he even considered justifying himself to anyone felt foreign, but he let his mind settle on the thought anyway. Still, it didn’t go unnoticed how you didn’t try to leave the sides of his other brothers, how nobody bothered to knock on his door anymore, too preoccupied with you. He missed you already, and he hadn’t even seen you off yet.

Lucifer knew that you’d come to him eventually. He didn’t doubt you, and he certainly didn’t doubt himself. But you had a habit of making him wait and wonder.

He was just about tired of waiting, he was tired of wondering, and he didn’t know if he could take another dream that only left him more confused than he was when he fell asleep.

Don't you ever wake up baby, keep on dreaming our dream

[jojo-fantasy-aus]

Fantasy AU!

Josuke x F! Reader- ch9

It takes two!

Minor TW for bullying.

Can't wait to see ya'll next week!

"So," Josuke starts. "What did you have in mind?" Shigetchi smiles, almost vibrating in excitement. You were all seated comfortably in the carriage, promptly entering when Shigetchi asked you to, and unfortunately, Shigetchi had a bit of a rambling habit. Finally, after a few minutes on the road to his villa, he stopped talking long enough for Josuke to get a word in.

"I'm throwing a party this weekend." Shigetchi paused as if he was expecting immediate praise, but the carriage was silent. Okuyasu whistled and started to clap out of pity.

"... anyway." Shigetchi rolled his eyes. " I thought it'd be a better fit for the three of you to gain some leverage on the whole rescue situation. Viscount Brimsey, his family, and his colleagues all will be attending." Your face scrunched up in disgust.

"Family?" The Viscount has only one family member to speak of. His daughter, a redhead named Gwendolyn, was intolerable. Just like her father, she was a Royal suck-up, only she was more of a spoiled brat than her father. Shigetchi nodded.

"Yeah. I'm not too 'xcited about that. His daughter's always been a… well," You frowned.

"Trust me, I know. She used to visit the palace during her summer vacations." That, and pay the stable boys to put mud under your pillows. She's always been a rather jealous thing, and you can't imagine how well a future meeting would go without Yukako by your side to defend you from the Royal menace. Okuyasu scratched the back of his neck, looking quite confused.

"What's so bad about her? I thought all those rich ladies are supposed to be hot, and well mannered, and..." You couldn't help yourself from laughing. Where in the world would he get that idea? Josuke sighed out of embarrassment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Okuyasu, You've been reading too many newspapers." You giggled. Josuke's warm smile was a welcome sight at the action.

Shigetchi stretched widely, causing Okuyasu to shift uncomfortably next to him. He snatched a fancy flask from the inside of his coat pocket, taking a swig of something you hoped wasn't alcohol before shoving it away again. You could feel Josuke stiffen next to you. Wonder what was up with him?

"Anyway, if the three of you are up for it, I have jobs for you that I think will work perfectly for the information you're looking for." He smirks in an almost evil way. "What do ya say?"

----

"I can't believe you agreed to this." You muttered in a playful tone. All the jobs Shigetchi assigned to you were fitting, you as a server once again, Okuyasu as the guard just outside the doors, but out of all the jobs for him to give Josuke…

Apparently, he had caught Gwendolyn's eye while the three of you had been traversing the town over the past few days. Unfortunately for him, (and you) she had asked Shigetchi about him. After a little conversation with undoubtedly some bribery involved He agreed to get Josuke to be her escort. That's how you found out the real reason the kid had "invited" You all.

"She can't be that bad." You shook your head as you buttoned Josuke's borrowed tailcoat. He had no clue about this woman. He also had no clue on how to dress himself properly in such formal fashion, which was why you demanded to help him with his many layers. Honestly, it felt good to be this close to him.

"Oh please, she's like your worst date experience times ten."

"... well, I'm sure I'll be able to handle her." You rolled your eyes.

"Maybe. Rich girls like that tend to fall easily for a handsome face," Did you just say that out loud? Josuke stiffened a bit, and you prayed that it wasn't because you made him uncomfortable. You had to change the subject fast.

"Let's just hope she doesn't try insulting that hair of yours," you giggled a little awkwardly as Josuke ran a hand across his carefully styled pompadour defensively.

After finishing with his coat, and flittering around him to make sure everything was fine, you took a step back. You looked him up and down, appreciating how nice he looked in the clothes, even if they did look a little stuffy.

"You look great!" Josuke chuckled, a light blush on his cheeks. For a moment, but just a moment, he stopped, looking at you fondly with a smile. You smiled in return before a sudden look of shock flashed across his face.

"Hey! Before I forget…" You followed him with your eyes as he walked over to the grocery bags on the bed, pulling a round hat box out of the fray. You immediately recognized it from the same ones behind the counter at the market earlier today. Josuke walked over to you, holding out the box for you to take, and after a moment of confusion, you realized what he had done.

"You didn’t!" You gently scolded. He smiled, nudging the box forward again. You gently lifted the lid, a bright smile spreading across your face at the sight of the old hat.

"I meant to give it to you earlier, but with Shigetchi rolling in I didn't have time." You picket the hat up by the rim, holding it delicately in your hands. You were overjoyed, at first. But when the doubt sunk in it was impossible to get rid of.

The three of you only had so much money to use while you were here. Not to mention you weren't sure how long you would be away from your job. You were sure Okuyasu and Josuke weren't going to be paid by the foundation either. Why would he spend this money on you? There were so many other things you all had to worry about-

"But… Why this? Why for me?" Josuke paused, furrowing his brows at you with a sigh and setting the box back down in the bed. When he turned to look at you again it was hard to look away from his blue eyes.

"You deserve to enjoy the little things sometimes. Everyone does. Whether that little thing is an old, out of season hat or not." He started to reach out for you, but hesitated, sticking his hands in his pockets instead. "Plus, with everything going on, you gotta give back to yourself once in a while. Trust me, I know."

You smiled softly, that fluttery feeling blooming in your chest once more. Without thinking, you carefully set the hat back down in the box. Josuke looked like he was about to question you, but he didn't have time before you grappled him into a warm embrace.

Josuke returned the hug promptly. The two of you sat there for a good moment before a servant knocked on the door, letting you know that the guests have started arriving.

"I hope you're ready for this."

"Trust me, as long as you're around I'll be just fine."

----

It started just like any other party. With hands gingerly reaching out for oeuvres, simple gossip, sneering Nobles. It wasn't anything you hadn't seen before. It was easy to glide through the crowd, to catch snippets of conversation. Whatever you lacked in strength you definitely made up for in your ability to eavesdrop.

One by one businessmen and noblemen and their wives and family were announced at the door, every once in a while you'd glance up to see the faces entering. You tried not to let it get in the way of the job you were supposed to do, but when Gwendolyn Brimsey's name was announced you couldn't help but lookup.

What you saw made you go red in anger. It wasn't the fact that she was escorted by Josuke, or that she was smugly attached to his arm, it was the disgusting, powder pink dress she had on.

Wrong. That's what it was. It was wrong. The floral elements and lace were gone, replaced by satin and useless frills. The slim, A-line changed and puffed up with surely more petticoats than you could count. That was Yukako's dress. That was your mother's design. Or at least a cheap knockoff of the beauty that it was designed to be.

"Miss...?" You were startled out of your angry stare by one of the other servers. You smiled politely at the young man, hoping that the disgust hadn't been too evident in your face.

"Lord Yangu says that we should start serving champagne now."

"I'll be right there." You nodded, heading over to the kitchen. You pushed down the anger and disgust as you walked. Gwendolyn was not innocent as to what her display meant. That design was the last dress that Yukako was seen in. Your mother's dresses were remarkable. Each cut, design, frill- all of it was signature as your mother's specific tailoring. Everyone who looked at her knew. The only difference is that you knew she was begging to replace your best friend in the social circle of nobility.

You wove in and out of groups with the tray of champagne, trying your best to focus on what they were saying instead of the hate in your heart. You had a job to do, and no spoiled girl was going to take that from you.

"They say the duchess-"

"Oh! These are quite divine-"

"-and he said that to you? I'd-"

"... I can't wait till we can get that bitch out of our hair." The quick part of the conversation caught your ear. And you slowed for a moment, offering the tray to the others around you all the while Laser-focused in on the conversation, it wasn't hard to realize that it was once again the Viscount's goons from the dinner the night before. One out of the duo of men speaking shushed the other, glancing around before speaking softly.

"In more ways than one." The other scoffed. "I've been pulling my hair out for weeks with my stand-" There was that word again. Damn, it was so hard to tell what it meant based on context. Frustration aside, you knew that it was important to mention to Josuke. You busied yourself by refilling glasses around you, intent on listening to the remainder of the conversation.

At least, that was the plan. The high-pitched squeal of your name caught your attention. It was Gwendolyn, still attached to Josuke's side, and waving you over to her crowd with an empty champagne glass.

You begrudgingly trudged over with the bottle, making quick eye contact with Josuke before slowly filling glasses. After calling your name, Gwendolyn paid you no mind as she continued her conversation.

"Honestly, how did you find such a beautiful dress? It looks so much like the one Princess Yukako… " The woman trailed off as Gwendolyn shot her a glare. "It's incredible, I mean." Incredible was an exaggeration. You managed to hide your annoyance for the time being.

"I know~ I saw the design on some street in the royal city and just had to ask my seamstresses to recreate it!" You tried not to scowl outwardly. Gwendolyn was only mentioning it because she knew the shop was your mother's. It's like she's just trying to get under your skin.

"It's quite flattering on me, don't you think Josuke?"

"I-erhm," Josuke coughed politely, and unfortunately for him, she held his arm closer. The anger you felt now started to feel like a sad, stabbing pain as she did. Josuke's confident posture hardly changed through the conversation, despite his stuttering, and honestly. It hurt. You knew he was a lady's man, you had known since you met him. Did that fact stop you from being hurt? From being jealous? No. Should it have? You weren't sure.

"The dress is beautiful." His confident tone returned. "Who was the original designer?" Josuke's eyes flickered towards you for just a moment as you finished pouring their drinks. You had had quite enough and quickly walked away from them. You almost felt bad for leaving Josuke behind, but he looked like he could handle himself. He surely didn't need you to chaperone his little date.

----

Josuke honestly had no idea how he was going to go the whole night without snapping, and with you walking away from himself and the Red-head girl, angry and torn, he wasn't sure if he could.

He was distracted as the women continued to talk, following your form with his eyes as you faded into the party-goers.

"Sir Josuke?" He snapped out of his haze, turning towards Gwendolyn. He gave her a half-assed hum in response. Her face scrunched up in a mock-up anger.

"Were you even listening to me?" He smiled sheepishly. Damn, he has to think fast.

"No, sorry. I've been a little distracted, I haven't eaten yet today." Gwendolyn's face lit up into a smile again, waving the other noble Woman away as she led him by his arm. Josuke tried not to cringe. The feeling of her skin on his was just… It wasn't welcome. It didn't feel right. It didn't help the fact that he wasn't actually hungry.

She wasn't you.

"Oh! That's completely understandable!" Gwendolyn started walking over to the small table of savory appetizers, and he begrudgingly went along with her. He didn't want to respond when she kept talking. But the responsible part of him said otherwise.

"The food here is usually good, but honestly, the selection today is awful."

"Is it now? I thought everything was pretty good."

"Oh dear sir, you can't mean that. Look-" "Hate that- hate that. I'll only have caviar with truffle- oh! You should try the deviled eggs~"

Josuke smiled nervously as she shoved the egg in his face, offering to feed him. Oh no. No-no-no. He needed an excuse to get out of her grasp, and fast. Then, in a sudden moment, he spotted you across the room, heading into the kitchen. An idea flashed in his head, but he had no clue about the consequences that it would cause.

"I'm so sorry, but if you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with my friend over there-" He moved away from her tight grasp with ease, her strength nothing compared to his, but he caught his arm again, looking at him with an accusing, disgusted look.

"Friend? That servant is your friend?" Josuke stiffened. Maybe you were right about this woman. She was awful after all.

"Yes. She is. I'll see you again in just a moment." He said, turning curtly and staking away, all the while a polite smile played on his face.

Although a few groups closest to where they had been started to gossip, most guests were completely unaware as Josuke wove through the floor and over to you. Gwendolyn snarled at no one in particular, narrowing her eyes as Josuke walked away.

"Need any help with that?" The deep voice startled you, causing you to almost drop the tray of dessert in your hands. Two hands steadied you, and you scoffed at Josuke.

"What are you doing? Where's Gwendolyn?" At this point, you were somewhat concerned. Josuke smiled sheepishly, warm hands brushing against yours when he was satisfied that you wouldn't fall.

"Well…" After his short pause, it took less than a second to figure out what was happening. You smirked.

"You couldn't handle her, could you?" Josuke rolled his eyes, a smile still wide on his face.

"Let's just say I needed a quick break from the party." You laughed.

"Sure, but try not to get on her bad side in the process." You mused, lifting a finger to point to Gwendolyn, who was still staring at the two of you, a dirty look on her face you were sure that she would hide once Josuke turned around. And she did, scowl turning into a bright smile when the knight spotted her. She waved him back over, and he sent a quick nod back, turning to you again.

"What time does this thing end again?" You couldn't help but burst out laughing from his words, switching the tray over to one hand while you pushed him with the other. His dazzling smile flooded your chest with comfort before he said goodbye, and walked over to the woman he was escorting.

The rest of the night flew by for you, but you can't imagine how long it must've felt for both of your companions. Strangely, it felt nice to be working again. Your feet started to hurt from all the walking, and you savored the thought of how wonderful you would sleep tonight. Unfortunately for you, a pair of envious eyes caught your daydreaming look. A sharp tug of your earlobe made you yelp, and you stopped in your tracks.

"Pay attention, Churl. Or you'll lose your footing." You glared at Gwendolyn, remembering about politeness and appearances after, and shifting your face into a lin-lipped smile.

"Sorry miss, did you need something?" Her smile did nothing to hide the malice in her eyes.

"I need you to remember your place. Low-borns like you have no place mingling with nobility." So that's what this is about. It was laughable. She had only known Josuke for a few hours at most and yet she was still laying her claim on him. You'd seen it multiple times before, with other various young men at court who she simply couldn't give away to any other woman. She'd lash out at anyone who spoke to the man she had fixed her desires on until she had bored herself with him and moved on to the next.

It wasn't healthy, and you used to hope that she would get help. To be better. But that was when you could still see good in her. Now, all you could see was the entitled person who her father had made. You didn't want to disrupt your appearance as the mild-mannered, polite servant, but someone had to burst her bubble.

"Sir Josuke has every right to speak to anyone he wishes." You had more to say, but you stopped prematurely. You had said enough. She certainly wouldn't take it well if you continued to say that she certainly wasn't exclusive to his affection- attention. Attention.

You had to remember before you went any more down the rabbit hole that whatever relationship you had with Josuke- or whatever you wanted to have, was one-sided. You were pining over a man who wouldn't return your feelings, and yet you wouldn't give up his friendship for anything in the world. If you could just stay his friend, that would be enough for you.

You didn't stop to look at Gwendolyn's face before you turned away from her to walk back to the kitchen. You thought she had taken the words rather well until your foot caught on something.

The ground came fast, and when you hit the marble, the tray of deserts pushed into your stomach. After a moment that felt like an hour of you desperately trying to catch your breath, you sat up slowly, covered in the frivolous dessert. You scowled at the giggles and laughs of the girls behind you, and began scooping the mess off the floor and into the trey.

"Some servant you are, can't even walk without tripping over your own feet. How sad." Gwendolyn sneered at you. You promptly finished cleaning up to the best of your ability, and stood. The red-head stood in your way when you tried to leave however.

"First you were fired from the palace, and now you're failing Lord Yangu and Sir Josuke. I'd just quit now if I were you." Hell. No. Usually you knew when to hold your tongue, especially in situations and settings like this, but you had worked too hard for your place at the palace to let that disrespectful statement slide. You'd been through hell in back for both your station and your friends and this was your fucking snapping point.

"I wasn't fired from the palace, you'd know that if you plucked your head out of your ass during your summer trips and paid enough attention to Princess Yukako and the King to figure out that she wasn't going to let me go anytime soon. And another thing-"

You quickly snapped yourself out of your daydream, completely aware that such words could get you completely kicked out of both your mission to find Yukako and the inner circle of Viscount Brimsey. So instead, with hands shaky from adrenaline, you simply tipped the trey forward. A simple mistake for a shaky servant. You looked straight into Gwendolyn's eyes as a glob of cake fell on her infuriating intricate, powder pink dress.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! That's entirely my bad, madam. I'll bring you some towels after I clean myself up." You relished in the sounds of her immediate wailing. What you did not expect however, was the skinny teenager to grab you by the collar of your dress and seemingly ready herself to hit you. The trey slipped from your grip once more.

"You little twat! I'll-" A pair of strong hands separated the two of you, Josuke pulling you back from her and making sure the trey was held tightly in your grip. When did it- you were sure that you had just dropped it!

"There we go!" He smiled, face a complete contrast to his eyes, which burned with anger. "You still seem a bit shaky, I'll escort you to the kitchen." Gwendolyn huffed, but didn't say a word to Josuke as he led you away.

As soon as you stepped through the kitchen doors you set the tray down, hands shaking even worse now. God- you thought you had seen spoiled brats in your days at the palace, but this chick was impossible!

"Are you alright?" You rolled your eyes.

"Oh, sure. I'm just dandy." Josuke frowned at you, stepping closer.

"Look, you know she's hard to handle. Just try to make two more hours, alright? Just two more hours and you'll never have to serve her again." You scoffed at him, grabbing a kitchen rag from the cabinets to wipe off the sticky mess that used to be desert.

"You don't think I already knew that? I don't know what's changed but she's completely- it's like she's gone mad! She managed to turn worse than she used to be. I just don't understand how she's managed to inflate her ego so much since the last I saw her." You turned to the indoor water pump and grabbed a bucket, slowly filling it with enough water that you could rinse your arms. Josuke paused after your words, brows furrowed, thinking.

He was about to speak when Okuyasu burst through the kitchen doors, he scared the shit out of the both of you. The bucket almost knocked over until it rocked back onto its bottom, the water stilling unnaturally. When you turned, Josuke's gaze was still on you. Soft gaze shortly turning to Okuyasu as the loud man sighed.

" 'don't know about you guys, but I'm starting to think that this is a waste of time." He looked up, scanning faces in the room, immediately sensing the fading tension.

"Everythin' alright?"

----

The moment you got back home you went straight to your room without speaking to either of your companions. You were frustrated, angry, sad- today had been such a disaster. You sighed, folding back the covers on your bed and preparing yourself for bed. You had just finished changing out of your ruined clothes when someone knocked.

"Come in." You said, maybe a bit more sour than you had planned. Josuke enters, face already scrunched up in a concerned look. Fuck! You were so tired of that look- even if it was from Josuke, you were tired of being worried about. It's not like he actually… cared.

But you know he does.

It's just not in the way you wished it could be.

"What's wrong? You haven't said a word to Okuyasu or I since we got home." You huffed, busying yourself with removing the necklace and setting it down with unnecessary carefulness.

"I'm just not in the mood to talk, ok?!" You snapped. Josuke slowly approached you from the door, sitting down at the foot of your bed so that you couldn't ignore him or go to bed unless he moved.

"Is it about Gwendolyn?" You stiffened.

"Who else would it be about? Josuke, she humiliated me today." He frowned.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?..." You said, your tense shoulders had fallen. You felt dejected. Remembering just how she treated Josuke, how she touched him.

"She was all over you Josuke. I'm not sure you would've even noticed the accident if she hadn't been the one to do it." The words felt wrong as they fell out of your mouth, and the wrongness increased as josuke stood, insulted.

"I- you really think I wouldn't notice that?"

"I don't know!" You tore your eyes away from him, looking at the floor instead. Your insides felt like they were tearing themselves out.

"... I don't know." You repeated. Josuke started slowly walking towards you.

"Have you really not realized it yet?"

"What Josuke?! What could I possibly be missing right now besides a temper?" You said bitterly. Josuke's skin burned hot against your own as he grabbed your arms gently, staring straight into your eyes with an almost- an almost sad look. He lifted a hand to your cheek, caressing your face fondly. You tried your best to not melt into his touch. Regret immediately flooded you. Why were you acting so mean? So jealous? There was no point in it. Josuke deserves to love anyone he pleased. You certainly weren't on the table, you never would be-

Josuke called your name.

"I am hopelessly, irrevocably, in love with you."

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Defending Jon Snow’s Honor

Re: "Jon Snow is Trash": Because if you accept the season eight depiction of Jon Snow as credible, then you might as well admit that Daenerys was mad all along.

Disclaimer: This is not a defense of Jon Snow's actions in season eight, but a refutation of his portrayal.

To begin, we must confront the elephant in the room: In season eight, the character of Daenerys Targaryen was butchered both literally and figuratively. It was such a brutal and heinous maiming of her character that by the end of the series, it was impossible to suspend disbelief and accept the inane and illogical choices of the writers.

But when you then turn around and insist that Jon Snow has always been "trash"—it's no different than the people who insist Daenerys has always been mad. The hit job on Jon Snow was, admittedly, a bit more subtle. But it was a hit job nonetheless. Do not let two talentless writers convince you that Jon Snow, at any point in season eight, acted within the bounds of his established character or even within in-universe show logic.

Because he didn't.

And no, I won't put any of this under a cut. Let the sheer length of this post serve as proof, itself, of just how dirty David Benioff and D.B. Weiss did Jon Snow.

The Real Jon Snow

While the writing on Game of Thrones suffered the further the story strayed from the books and from its original creator, George R.R. Martin, season seven—for all its faults and imperfections—still seemed to follow the natural progression of the story. Everyone still felt more or less in-character, particularly Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen.

So, that's where we'll start. To me, season seven Jon Snow is the rough culmination of exactly where I believe his story arc will lead—and it's a great season to help showcase his qualities.

Regardless of any personal preference for characters, in season seven, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen are equals. She is a queen and he is a king.

When they meet, she appeals to her power and her claim by inheritance in order to convince Jon to bend the knee. Of course, it was never going to be that easy. Jon's a stubborn man and he has no reason to put his blind faith into well, anyone.

It is only upon revealing her true nature—her selflessness and willingness to use her power to help others—that Daenerys earns not only his respect, but his heart.

To say that "Jon Snow was always trash" is an insult to Daenerys and her judgment.

Dany's love for Khal Drogo was born of adaptation, to make the best of a situation she never asked for. Unlike Jorah Mormont, Jon's devotion to Daenerys had nothing to do with her looks. Unlike Daario Naharis, Jon's devotion to Daenerys had nothing to do with her power or status... and everything to do with who she is fundamentally. Jon Snow pledged to fight for Daenerys based on the content of her character rather than her beauty.

Further, Daario Naharis really stood face to face with Daenerys Targaryen, the Mhysa, and said "fuck the people". Meanwhile, it is Jon Snow's mysterious scars that prove he and Daenerys harbor similar ideologies—demonstrating that Jon is willing to stop at nothing for his people—even if it requires giving his own life.

Many have called Jon Snow "stupid" for exactly this, completely missing the point that there are qualities that deserve to be held in higher esteem than self-preservation or cleverness.

Compassion.

Self-sacrifice.

Humility.

Dignity.

Honesty.

When Jon Snow declares his loyalty to Daenerys in the Dragonpit in front of everyone—this is yet another moment people like to point to as "stupid", yet...

"I'm not going to swear an oath I can't uphold. When enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies."

Jon Snow's integrity is more important to him than lying just to save his own hide. After all, he tried that once before, and the only thing it resulted in was heartache and regret. Jon Snow more or less asserts that a life wherein he must pretend to be something he isn't—isn't a life worth living.

This is as profound a revelation as it is bold.

Whether or not you agree with his convictions... Jon Snow's moral foundation is as unyielding as Valyrian steel. It is no wonder that this was the man who ultimately won the heart of Daenerys Targaryen. A man whose favor cannot be bought or exploited.

One fundamental change in Jon Snow's character from page to screen, however, is his ambition. This emphasis on his reluctance in ruling becomes an unfortunate cornerstone of season eight. But if Jon Snow's book counterpart—the one who dreamt of becoming Lord of Winterfell, of conquering and leading men into glory—lacks this hesitation, and instead, takes leadership so seriously that he only celebrates becoming Lord Commander with one gulp of alcohol... then what impact could his ambition have on the story?

Upon learning that Jon is Rhaegar's son, it's easy to jump to the conclusion that he'll suddenly start vying for the Iron Throne. But if Jon Snow pledges himself to Queen Daenerys in the books, then we have every reason to believe his word is as good as gold. Jon is not a man who takes his oaths lightly. Nor is he a man who is easily manipulated.

Jon Snow deciding to swear fealty to anyone is momentous.

Take, for instance, Stannis Baratheon. Jon's 'father', Ned, pretty much died in support of Stannis' claim to the throne, so he approaches the boy and appeals to Jon's deepest desire—the first thing he can remember wanting—to become a Stark.

All he had to do was say the word, and he would be Jon Stark, and nevermore a Snow. All he had to do was pledge this king his fealty, and Winterfell was his. All he had to do ... was forswear his vows again. And this time it would not be a ruse. To claim his father's castle, he must turn against his father's gods.

This is not an easy decision for Jon Snow. He spends a great deal of time considering the offer from just about every angle one can. Admittedly, it's hard to showcase deep internal reflection on a television show, so we didn't really get to see that process for Jon on screen. But it's always been apparent that two men of privilege—David Benioff and D.B. Weiss—struggle in writing from the perspective of a bastard. Fundamentally, they cannot fully inhabit Jon as a result, because they've never experienced a lifetime of unprovoked contempt, resulting in an unfortunate lack of depth in Jon's translation from page to screen.

Even so, we do get some insight into the depth of Jon's character in season seven when Theon Greyjoy says to Jon:

"You've always known what was right. Even when we were all young and stupid, you always knew. Every step you take, it's always the right step."

In turn, Jon replies:

"It's not. It may seem that way from the outside, but I promise you, it's not true. I've done plenty of things that I regret."

So, by the time that Jon must decide whether or not to accept Stannis Baratheon's offer, he does so with the consideration of future regret. It is in a reflective moment that Jon decides that his greatest desires are not worth the moral expense.

And so, Jon refuses to betray his father's gods, and remains a Snow.

The Kinslaying Problem

Speaking of gods... Way back in his wildling heyday, Ygritte recounts the tale of Bael the Bard to Jon Snow, in which she reveals a curious detail:

"The gods hate kinslayers, even when they kill unknowing."

While you could make the case that this foreshadows Jon as a kinslayer regarding Daenerys... considering it was their kinship that drove a wedge right through their relationship in show canon, it's safe to say season eight Jon knew full well he was kin to Daenerys when he killed her. So what else could this quote mean?

The "kinslayer who kills unknowing" probably won't refer to Daenerys at all—but the mysterious figure known in the books as the Night's King, of whom all records have been destroyed, his very name forbidden.

But... Old Nan insists we do know his name. At least one of them:

"He was a Stark, the brother of the man who brought him down."

Keep in mind that it's Bran she tells, not Jon. And her words even echo the kinslaying element between these mysterious and legendary figures in and around the North.

Interestingly, one of the most prominent kinslayers in the story is the one who, in season eight, ultimately convinces Jon Snow to murder his queen. And somehow, it takes virtually no effort on Tyrion's part to persuade Jon Snow to commit not only regicide, but kinslaying (whatever happened to "The man that passes the sentence should swing the sword"?)

This may mean nothing in the show, but in the books it's reiterated over and over again we're told how accursed such an act is. And we have a pretty good example that it might be true. Rickard Karstark warned Robb Stark prior to his execution by the Young Wolf's hand:

"We are kin, Stark and Karstark. Old gods or new, it makes no matter. No man is so accursed as the kinslayer."

And we all know the fate that befell Robb Stark.

The Incest Problem

Speaking of kin... let's talk incest! While there's no question that on earth, discovering you've been copulating with your aunt might be a cause for surprise... In Westeros? It's not even considered incest. No, not even in the North, where we're given two examples of uncle-to-niece pairings:

"In Westeros incest is only applied if father lays with daughter, mother lays with son, or brother to sister, and the children of such unions are considered abominations. The views regarding marriages between an uncle and a niece (or an aunt to a nephew) might differ between the Faith and the old gods. In the north, Serena Stark had been wed to her half-uncle, Edric, while her sister Sansa Stark had been wed to her half-uncle Jonnel Stark."

In the original draft of the story, Jon was supposed to have a romantic relationship with Arya Stark—his cousin by blood, but who, for all he knows, is his sister. Seeds of this are still scattered in early chapters of ASOIAF, as illustrated by the sheer tenderness of their relationship in A Game of Thrones.

For years, Arya Stark was the only woman who treated Jon with respect. It's no wonder that his feelings for her have always bordered on romantic (and let me make a clear distinction here—I said romantic, not sexual). Considering that it was George's original plan, it's pretty safe to guess that being a willing participant in an incestuous relationship is not necessarily out of character for Jon Snow, as was predetermined by the man who created him.

Jon Snow is a polarizing character for people who love Targaryens and hate Starks—and vice versa. Whether or not you like it, Jon Snow is a Targaryen. And thus, the Doctrine of Exceptionalism applies to him, which states:

"The Targaryens wed brother to sister as the Valyrians had always done, and as the gods had made them this way, it was not for men to judge." 

While the show canon did next to nothing with Jon Snow's true Targaryen lineage—never forget that the entire reason David Benioff and D.B. Weiss were given the rights to Game of Thrones was that they could correctly answer the question "Who is Jon Snow's mother?"

An incestuous scandal was the best that the lackluster show writers could come up with. And to then accept that the only reason George R.R. Martin penned this central plot twist in his medieval fantasy story exclusively to create some modern-era incest drama is, frankly, insulting.

David Benioff and D.B. Weiss are creatively barren. As barren as... um, Daenerys apparently?

To further exploit the show's lack of logical reasoning—it turns out that, yes, according to show canon, Daenerys was barren the whole time. While Jon doubted the validity of Mirri Maz Duur's claims... he was wrong. And Daenerys was straightforward with him that their union would produce no offspring. And apparently, despite all the wasted dialogue used to foreshadow, she was right.

This means that even within the boundaries of the show's broken logic, the anti-incest angle never held water.

So... if season eight Jon Snow's rejection of Daenerys is what ultimately causes her to "snap", yet it's unlikely that book Jon Snow will feel the same strong aversion about their relation... will she "snap" at all?

The Execution Problem

When it comes to the 'old way', Ned Stark has taught his sons well, Jon Snow among them:

"We hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

When Jon encounters Ygritte, he can't bring himself to kill her despite the command to. She reminds him of his sister, Arya—the girl he loves the most in all the world. And so, he asks Ygritte to yield. Jon Snow, simply reminded of a girl he loves, cannot bring himself to kill Ygritte.

Later, we directly witness Jon applying Ned's logic to his execution of Janos Slynt. After advising Janos on how best to achieve a quick death, he says:

"If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them."

"Please, my lord. Mercy. I'll … I'll go, I will, I …"

No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended.

Like his father before him, Jon advised Janos to speak his last words. And upon hearing them, deemed him fit to die.

This is Jon Snow's execution style.

We see it repeated even in season six when he executes his murderers:

"If you have any last words, now is the time."

Patiently, he waits for each of his four murderers to speak before letting them hang.

This is Jon Snow's execution style.

Alternatively, we see another style of execution when it comes to Jon Snow's own murder, as carried out by Alliser Thorne. Let's just go ahead and refer to this style as dishonorable and cowardly (two qualities that we've now established that Jon Snow does not possess).

Jon Snow was led, unarmed, into a false sense of security—where he was then cornered and stabbed in the heart by his enemies, left lying in a pool of his own blood.

The change in Jon Snow's execution style to suddenly emulate the way in which he was murdered is a cold-blooded betrayal of Jon's character.

But back to Janos.

On the surface, Jon Snow made a snap decision to execute Janos Slynt for disobeying a command—though if we're being honest, it was more-so because Janos was an entitled and sniveling Lannister loyalist that couldn't be trusted, or, a clever political move to ensure Jon’s future safety as Lord Commander.

Jon then severed the man's head as he cried and begged for his life.

You expect us to believe that this man...

...would be bothered by the execution of attempted murderer and traitor, Varys? A man who openly suggested they collude and commit treason?

While the above gif looks a little more like the Jon Snow we know, it’s not. Especially considering the writers tried their hardest to make us believe Jon Snow is incapable of dishonesty and lying, even by omission, he neglects to tell Daenerys of Varys’ treasonous ways. He cannot lie to his siblings or to Daenerys about his Targaryen identity, yet he can omit a very troubling piece of information regarding one of the allies of the woman he loves and is pledged to. What?

Further, compare the execution below with the above gifs of Jon Snow's two executions. He even shows more satisfaction in the deaths of the lives he’s taken than Daenerys did. Varys surviving means Dany’s life will forever be at risk. Not only is Varys an oathbreaker, but he attempted regicide by poison. Having Jon Snow judge Daenerys for this action is a blatant double standard that makes zero logical sense.

And speaking of attempted murderers... Let's discuss Randyll Tarly.

Randyll Tarly is no stranger to Jon Snow. Sam told him all about his father way back in episode four of season one:

"You're almost a man now, but you're not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow, you're going to take the black, forsake all claim to your inheritance and start north. If you do not, then we'll have a hunt, and somewhere in these woods your horse will stumble, and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die. Or so I'll tell your mother. Nothing would please me more."

So, you're going to tell me that Jon Snow is suddenly perturbed by the execution of a man who both threatened to murder his own son and who betrayed his liege lord?

To fight alongside the Lannisters, no less?

According to the books, this is what Jon Snow thinks of the Lannisters:

"It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn."

And in case you missed it, this is how Jon Snow punishes those who betray their liege lords:

Maybe you’re itching to argue that it’s Dany’s execution style that is the problem. That perhaps, 'death by fire is heinous and cruel! Beheading and hanging and punching someone to death are all "merciful" deaths!' Because, stupefyingly, that's a popular argument for those that (also stupefyingly) defend Randyll Tarly.

That argument might work if not for the fact that Jon instructed his men to launch flaming arrows at the Battle of Castle Black, thus using fire as a means to kill.

The Arya Stark Problem

We've already discussed Arya Stark a little bit in terms of her deep bond with Jon Snow... but in order to truly show how out-of-character their reunion was, we need to backtrack a little bit.

Upon gifting her Needle, Jon and Arya have this exchange in the books:

"And whatever you do..."

Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together.

"...don't ... tell ... Sansa!"

Not only do the pair have an understanding which excludes their sister or trusting her with sensitive information... when Arya is caught with Needle later on, this happens:

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father.

And when Arya attempts to shed her identity at the House of Black and White, she can't bring herself to part with Needle, because:

Needle was Jon Snow's smile. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can't have this.

Arya Stark refuses to part with the physical representation of Jon Snow's smile.

For the most anticipated reunion in the entire show, it fell flat. Don't get me wrong, it was exhilarating to see Jon Snow and Arya Stark embracing after being apart for a decade—and Kit Harington and Maisie Williams did their absolute best with the poor dialogue they were given.

But this was not the reunion of two characters who survived some of their toughest challenges by merely recalling the memory of the other. Jon and Arya shared a bond that nothing could tarnish—not even time. A bond that no one—not even their fellow family members—could penetrate.

The nerve of the writers making Arya Stark, one of the cleverest characters in the books despite her age, say that Sansa Stark is the smartest person she's ever met? No. For one, Arya Stark did not need to live as a bastard in order to empathize with them—which means that even as a little girl, she possessed wisdom that is years ahead of her elder sister's.

Much like Jon Snow, Arya Stark is not a character who is easily persuaded by the opinions of others. Which is why she and Jon are close at all—she never once believes the stigma attached to his bastardy, because it's so blatantly obvious to her that his character simply doesn't fit the rhetoric.

I'd be willing to bet that Jon's incredibly loyal sister would trust his judgment in pledging himself to Daenerys. And I won't for a minute believe that the girl who said to Gendry...

"I can be your family."

...would suddenly regress into intolerance, particularly not at someone else's behest.

I won't believe for a minute that the girl who said...

"The woman is important too!"

...would turn around and suggest that the woman who provided her armies, dragons, and resources to save the North should then be discarded afterward.

I won't believe for a minute that the girl who makes allies and friends everywhere she goes would turn around and argue that allies aren't important.

I won't believe for a minute that the girl who named her direwolf after the warrior queen Nymeria, the girl who said...

"He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!"

...wouldn't at least give the person she loves the most in all the world, Jon Snow, a few minutes to explain why he supports and believes in Daenerys.

Lastly, there is absolutely no reason to believe that Arya Stark would ever betray Jon Snow. It is an insult to one of the purest and tenderest relationships in the entire series to suggest otherwise.

The Winterfell Problem

Even on Jon Snow's AWOIAF Wiki page, he is described as "quick to sense a slight", as well as observant, "a trait he developed on account of being a bastard".

Yet, during the feast following the Night King's death... Jon Snow is suddenly portrayed as oblivious all in service to the plot to alienate Daenerys. Jon Snow's sudden disinterest in the woman he spent season seven so intently studying was both frustrating and compromising to his character traits.

After all, the most impressive leader Jon Snow has ever witnessed followed him into his homeland to save his men for nothing to gain (and in fact, to sacrifice her own men and resources), not just for the man she loves—but because it's the right thing to do.

The writers really expect us to believe that this man, who turned Janos Slynt's insubordination into an example of what happens to men who openly disrespect him and his orders...

...is going to suddenly sit idly by while his own people make a fool of him by disrespecting his chosen queen, and by extension, him.

Don't let the writers believe for an instant that he would stand for it.

Taking a step further back, what in seven hells was going on during that battle?

The betrayal to Jon Snow's character is the most glaring during episode three of season eight, in which the writers really decided to sideline the most talented and quick-thinking swordsman in their cast (next to Furdik—who, by the way, was also sidelined).

Jon Snow conveniently forgets virtually everything he learned from defending the Wall in season four and reclaiming Winterfell in season six. The King in the North who travels all the way to Dragonstone for not only dragonglass, but in hopes of gaining the help of the queen and her armies is really going to let one of those armies gallop head-first into the army of the undead with metal weapons? Jon Snow is the first character in the show to learn that regular weapons don't work against wights!

And while it may not be Jon Snow's fault that the trebuchets managed to make it to the front line of all places, he certainly would've pointed out the flaw in that decision. As well as the placement of the trenches—which physically severed the troops from the safety of the castle upon retreat. Retreat, if necessary, would be a priority for Jon Snow especially, as he, above everyone else, knows that every fallen man means one more undead soldier they must deal with.

And speaking of the trenches...

To add insult to injury, the writers really decided to add a shot of Jon Snow sitting idly next to the trenches on top of Rhaegal, a dragon that he was just using to light the dead on fire, as Melisandre struggled to light them with magic:

What? You mean this Jon Snow?

The Jon Snow that once used his quick-thinking to discover that fire kills wights... doesn't think to use dragonfire to light a trench on fire? Come on.

And since when has Jon Snow ever balked during battle? Of all the characters, he's one of the few who actually understands what the Night King is, how big his army is, what the odds are, and what it's like to be in the midst of not only battles—but ones that are going really poorly.

Yet at Winterfell—the place he fought so hard to reclaim and that he reluctantly went south to rally support for in order to protect it—he suddenly has no idea what to do? He's historically one of the most quick-witted and innovative fighters in the entire show, if not the most.

And speaking of battles...

"We find our true friends on the battlefield"

Whether or not you agree with the writers' choice to have Sam attempt to persuade Jon to commit treason against his queen... I just cannot accept that Jon Snow willingly turns away from his oldest friend in a moment like this:

Even in the most hopeless of situations, Jon Snow won't hesitate to save someone he loves. Like when he tried, against all odds, to save Rickon.

Even with complete strangers, Jon Snow has shown his gallantry.

As well as his aptitude for forgiveness.

Whether or not Samwell Tarly offended Jon, he would never leave him to die. Their principals may no longer converge the way they once did... but never forget that when, in the books, Chett suggests Thorne should kill Sam for being weak, Jon speaks up on Sam's behalf:

"Lords are gold and knights steel, but two links can't make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper and bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the like. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people. You can't hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn't mean tin is useless."

The Night King Problem

Speaking of the battle for Winterfell... By denying Jon Snow the climax to his story arc—squaring off with the Night King—and instead, granting that honor to Arya Stark (who has no relation to anything happening north of the Wall in either book or show...) it disrupts the natural conclusions for both characters.

Jon Snow and the Night King had unfinished business—at least, that's what all those long and intense stare-downs seemed to indicate. Even in the books, the only POV chapters that mention the Night's King are Jon, Bran, and Sam.

Kit Harington was very gracious when trying to explain why he would've liked to get the killing blow:

"I was a bit pissed off, only because I wanted to kill the Night King! I think I felt like everyone else did, in that it had been set up for a long time, and then I didn't get to do it."

But even in all his graciousness, Kit points out that it's been set up for a long time. And you know what George R.R. Martin has to say about changing your plan mid-stream:

"If you planned your book that the butler did it and then you read on the internet that someone has figured out that the butler did it and then you suddenly change in mid-stream and it was the chambermaid who did it? Then you screw up the whole book because you've got this foreshadowing early on and you've got these little clues you've planted and now they're dead ends... and you have to introduce other clues and you're retconning. It's a mess."

Yet... The fact that Jon Snow vs. the Night King made sense was exactly why the writers chose not to do it!

"We hope to kind of avoid the expected and Jon Snow has always been the hero, the one who's been the savior. But it just didn't seem right to us for this moment." 

Sure, Arya Stark killing the Night King "subverted expectations" (I'm so sick of typing those two words together at this point, but it's impossible not to do when trying to discuss season eight)... but at what cost? The cost of any emotional impact.

Just like virtually everything else in the last season. 

(As an aside, if the writers really felt Arya Stark was the right person to land the killing blow, they should've had Jon lose the swordfight and before the Night King is able to finish him, his ride-or-die sister comes flying out of the darkness to save his life. The audience gets what they were promised and Arya still gets to be the hero in a way that not only makes sense, but fits her character…)

Of course, the showdown with the Night King was not the first major plot point that was teased over the course of the series to be ultimately robbed from Jon Snow.

Nor would it be the last...

The Prophecy Problem

To claim that Jon piercing Dany's heart with a quick sneak attack has any resemblance to the legend of Azor Ahai is a gross oversimplification. Let's take a look at what the legend actually says:

"He summoned his wife. 'Nissa Nissa,' he said to her, for that was her name, 'bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.' She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel."

Yes. Daenerys was stabbed in the heart. That is the only similarity her season eight murder bears to the above legend.

Where was the declaration of love? Where was the permission asked? Where was the consent given? There was no cry of anguish and ecstasy—there was a gasp and a gurgle. Dany's life was not given in exchange for anything, it was simply taken. There was no transference of courage or strength—just a quick and (troublingly) unimpactful "shock" death.

Of course, it's important to point out that Azor Ahai is never even mentioned in the show. And while The Prince that was Promised was mentioned (as late as season seven)... So far as show canon goes, this prophecy meant absolutely nothing in the end.

That makes two of us, Kit.

Jon Snow (and Kit Harington) Also Deserved Better

Aside from George R.R. Martin, the man who knows Jon Snow best, Kit Harington, was overcome with heartache, disbelief...

...and frustration upon reading the treacherous turn his character took in the season eight script.

David Benioff and D.B. Weiss completely neutered Jon Snow's character.

Figuratively and well, maybe literally? Year after year, they have shown themselves to be petty and spiteful with various cast and crew—from Kit Harington to Ian McElhinney to Alexander Siddig to George R.R. Martin, himself.

Remember that stupid dig at Jon Snow's penis size upon his resurrection? Just a dumb joke, right?

Or was it?

It was sure important enough for them to go on record with major publications and clarify that, no, it wasn't just a joke, but canon! Pay very close attention to how it's worded:

"He just had the look. The brooding intensity; the physical grace; the chip-on-the-shoulder quality that we always associate with extraordinarily short people.

There has to be some downside to being Kit Harington, right? It's impossible not to like him. Maddening. The one thing we can do is saddle his character with a tiny pecker."

This isn't about Jon Snow's penis. It's about taking Kit Harington down a peg. Not only did they give Jon Snow a canonically "small penis", they had to give Daenerys lines about how he's "too little for her", to poke fun at Kit's height. You know, because he's apparently "extraordinarily short".

Utterly juvenile.

Much like with Tyrion Lannister, Jon Snow's cleverness far exceeded that of the men who were in charge of writing him—and they failed to replicate it. And so, the further Jon Snow strayed from his creator, George R.R. Martin, the further his IQ dropped until, by season eight, he was reduced to a bumbling idiot shouting at dragons and saying little more than "muh queen". Why? Because if you're actually an idiot, you cannot write a clever person.

As for the books, Jon Snow's true fate remains to be seen. And for as much as I don't want to get my hopes up for a better ending, I cannot ignore that Jon Snow's foreshadowing just doesn't point to futility, and that if it does—George R.R. Martin sure put in a lot of work to convince us otherwise.

As the man, himself, recently said:

"People know an ending—but not the ending."

It is as much an insult to Jon Snow to have Daenerys descend into spontaneous madness as it was for the fans who loved her. Over the years, Jon has proven himself to be a great judge of character—and this was the man who assured Daenerys, in her most vulnerable moment, that she does deserve to be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

After all, there’s just no denying their similarities as characters:

"From the very beginning, Jon and Daenerys' stories have paralleled and contrasted each other, with both starting from a position of weakness and insubordination before ascending into leadership roles. Both had to maneuver their way through the difficulties of power while maintaining their sense of justice, and in doing so, had to face many hard decisions along the way. Both were mocked, attacked, and betrayed for doing the right thing. Both reached their low points and were figuratively reborn at the same time, both coming out stronger as a result." -Brandon Jacobs

If you loved Jon Snow prior to season eight, you were never wrong or misled, nor was your judgment unsound. I hope that, somewhere in this post, there was at least one example that reminded you of why Jon Snow was able to win your heart in the first place. Writers who don't understand the most fundamental qualities of a character should not be given the power to rob you of your love for them.

I am willing to bet that like me, and like all of Jon Snow's fans... you know him better than the two men who were granted the honor of writing his television canon. An honor they proved in season eight that they never deserved.

Please do not grant these two incompetent writers and poor storytellers the power to turn you against one character while praising the other, especially when both were ruined beyond repair or recognition.

Forgiving Jon Snow as a character ≠ condoning what he did in season eight, just as forgiving Daenerys Targaryen ≠ condoning mass genocide.

Like Daenerys, Jon Snow deserved better.

[onthemeander]

ACOTAR Review

I have to start off by just mentioning that this book was heavily suggested to me. I only ever heard praise of the plot, characters, and the romantic message at its core. I feel this needs to be brought up because it was the fuel for the utter frustration I felt while reading this book. A frustration at my core that drove me to write my first ever review, so thanks for that.

Let’s start with the Pros of this book.

It is an easy read. I can inhale 300 pages in only two days. It is a good relaxing read if that’s what you are looking for. The kind of book you can curl up with on a rainy Sunday and just pass the free time if you're burned out on binging Netflix.

Okay, that’s it for the Pros. Now onto the Cons.

This book, a loose reimagining of Beauty and the Beast, feels like it has been written by a 50 shades of grey fan who hates Disney princess movies because the princesses are not “tough” enough. This novel comes off as the edgy version of a fantasy world that wants to include all the dark sides of life but doesn’t want to address the life long lasting implications of those dark actions. I am looking at you Ryhsand. Oh and I will go in on him later but first let's talk about our heroine.

Feyre is a young girl whose family has fallen onto hard times and it is her single minded goal to keep them all alive. They live hand to mouth, off the game she manages to hunt in a rather inhospitable forest. One day while trying to kill a Doe she sees a massive wolf and decides to kill it as well, as it was making eyes at her doe and a girl is hungry.

She kills the massive creature and takes both animals home to skin and prepare for meals. The money and food ensuring that her family won’t starve for at least a few weeks if they ration properly. Days later another more terrifying monster comes to her cottage, a Fairy in beast form by the name of Tamlin, who says she killed his friend. Now, because she killed a fairy, she can either die or come live with him for the rest of her life. She takes the later… obviously.

Feyre is a fine enough protagonist, bland enough that you can imagine yourself in her position and fantasize about having two hot men chasing you. In my younger years, I would have happily daydreamed about being in her world, surrounded by magic but being personally skilled enough to not need the aid of magic.

A pet peeve, a totally personal bias, is that to her everything is just the worst. Her Sisters are awful, her dad useless, the cottage disgusting, hunting she hates it, the fairies vile, the Spring Court a prison, and so on. The issue isn’t so much that she has a negative mindset, that is human and that can make for an interesting shade of protagonist but in this novel, it is so one-note. Everything is described with the same level of disdain. Which makes moments where she talks about having to protect her family or Tamlin honestly confusing because with how little she seems to like them the reader is left wondering why? Because of a promise she made? To a mom she hates?

Listening, family relationships are complicated. The best line I’ve heard about a relationship similar to Feyre’s, comes from the movie Ladybird, where the titular character tells her mother “I know you love me but I don’t think you like me.” Maybe it’s the fact it’s a movie and the way it is said but it is hurt there. There is a pain in the girl’s voice that her mother and she are at odds.

Feyre at no point talks about the personal pain that comes from being so distant from her family. She just resents them. Even a short moment of remembering the better days, little memories of when her and Nestia playing together as kids or Elane showed her something in the garden. Something that shows that there is, even for the briefest moment love in these relationships.

Without those moments, Feyre’s flip-flopping between going home and staying at the Spring Court feels more like padding to extend a book that saved all of the interest for the last 3rd.My bigger issue with Feyre is she doesn’t seem to really think so much as exist and react in the world. For a series that many have commended for being about feminist agency, Feyre lacks more agency than a rock in a river. At least then the water has to move around the rock.

A story based around Beauty and Beast is always going to bring into question the nature of female agency. This French fairy tale was written in 1740, in a women's magazine, meant to help teach girls about their ultimate futures. In a society where women were the property of fathers and husbands. It urged girls to look at their “beastlike” husbands and try to find the good in them. To become okay with the fact that who they marry might treat them terribly but means well… maybe this book is a perfect adaption of that idea, but I digress.

Feyre is whisked away to this magical world and through her, we learn about the fairy world. A world of violence, court games, and so much sexual assault.

While in the spring court she is tricked by a mirage of her father, nearly eaten by Naga’s, threatened multiple times by basically everyone, sees a fairy die from its wings being ripped off, finds a severed head in the garden, and so on. Whenever she expresses confusion on what is happening there is always a Fairy there to monologue away the day with detailed pages long exposition.

She readily accepts any explanation of the fairy world a man, in particular, tells her. Its exposition for the readers but for a girl who has grown up in a world that believes fairies are violent and enslave humans she is so quick to accept everything they tell her. She doesn’t stop and questions intentions and if she does wonder about the intentions of a character she usually ends on the side of being favorable to them, l especially if they are attractive.

It's clear that Feyre isn’t there to be a character but a vehicle, an avatar for the reader to travel from point A to B. She never reacts to things in a way that a person of this world with such polarized groups would react to being forced to live in the enemy camp.

Then there is Tamlin. He is fine. Your standard brutish romantic interest that is cursed to be ugly forever, by way of the phantom of the opera mask. He is demanding and haughty and thinks he knows better than everyone. Your standard High Lord ego makes for the verbal back and forth that toes the line between sexual tension and toxic relationships.

He does that standard bodice-ripping shtick, while hopping up on fairy dust, he pins Feyre to the wall and bites her neck. She says no, he ignores and then runs off. With a lovely little moment later blaming her for leaving her room, therefore, he can't be held responsible.

While Feyre has probably never listened to a single rule in her life that is still a huge red flag.

Lucien, an interesting play on the Beast’s servants. He is torn between wanting Feyre around to break the curse but also hating her for killing a friend. Honestly, I think this could have been the most interesting relationship if there was more time devoted to it. That happens a lot in this book, interesting things happen too fast and a lot of time is just devoted to Feyres’ water bowels.

Finally Ryhsand, oh dear Rhy, how I wish I could cut you from my mind just as easily as you pop other Fairies brains. Rhys is not a bad character but his introduction into the book is right when this 400+ novel went from bland but inoffensive to outright infuriating. He is the triple threat of assault; Mental, Physical and Sexual.

We first meet the Lord of the Night Court at the Fire Festival (or in honor of Maas naming conventions Fyre) where he saves Feyre from a trio of Fairies that wanted to assault her. A fine enough intro, maybe a bit overused, but I liked the Howl’s moving castle vibes with the playboy swagger and not knowing why this guy is helping at all.

I was excited at first when he showed up, I couldn’t help but get online and see what fans had to say about the books and instantly noticed that the top pairing from the series was Feyre and Rhys. Not just a fan-loved pairing but an actual canonical couple. I was interested to see how the story went and how the author would hint at this future couple while the current story was still very much pointing to a Tamlin happy ending.

Imagine my surprise when the very next scene that Rhys pops up in, ends with him physically pinning Feyre and mentally assaulting her. I believe she refers to it as a talon in her mind ready to rip her consciousness into oblivion. What a great love interest.

To add insult to literal injury, he then mentally violates her and reveals all of her more adult desires that she has been thinking about Tamlin.

He blackmails them all, threatening to tell an evil queen, Aramantha, about Feyre’s existence unless Tamlin kneels and begs. Even then he demands Feyre’s name. She lies and gives him a girl’s name from her village.

Later we learn that the village girl, Claire, has her family burned alive in their home and is dragged to the Fairy world where she is brutally tortured, mutilated, and put on display like a bear pelt. This cruelty is all the result of Rhys not keeping his fat mouth shut about Feyre being in Tamlin’s court.

The author thinks it's okay to excuse this innocents girl's murder away and make Rhys seeming cunning, by saying that he knew that wasn’t Feyre and lied to protect her. A logic so backward I am surprised my spine didn’t snap in how far it had to bend to dodge the fact that he caused her endangerment by telling Aramantha about Feyre to begin with.

Things get darker than the night court once we enter under the mountain. There, while trying to survive Aramatha’s trials, Feyre breaks her arm to the point that the bone is exposed. A day later, bleeding out, in pain, and feverish from infection, Feyre has to talk to Rhys in her cell. He offers to heal her arm in exchange for her living with him every month for two weeks.

Feyre is not interested in his deal and tells him to leave several times. What does our future perfect mate decide to do then when denied what he wants? He grabs Feyre by her exposed arm bone and twists. This man. This sexy dream boy that so many people say is their model for relationships, grabs an injured woman’s exposed bone and tortures her. Just so she will promise to live with him. He is the little boy kicking the dog because it didn’t follow his orders.

After being physically assaulted in a way that is so painful I am sure most people would black out, Feyre agrees to his deal. However, she bargains the time down to one month. He agrees and seals the deal. Just like that Rhys becomes the male embodiment of a period, complete with all the emotional distress, muscle cramps, and blood.

So does the torture end there? Oh no. For several nights after that he makes servants strip her, paint her and dress her in fabric so thin that she is basically naked. Why paint you ask? Rhys claims it is so she and he knows if anyone touches her. Though I will say that while he states this he touches her shoulder and the paint magically fixes itself. So You know it will show if anyone but Rhys touches her.

He then parades her publicly in front of the entire court like a toy. She is forced to publicly expose her breasts and genitals to a crowd of people that from day one want to see her die. He reduces her to a sex object in a crowd that already does not see her humanity.

Then he drugs her. Not an exaggeration, he even admits to it later in the book. He forces her to drink wine that makes her blackout. The next morning she can barely remember anything and has to rely on Lucien to tell her what happened. While blacked out she is forced to dance practically naked, giving Rhys lap dances and just sitting in his lap. She is exposed so throughout that Lucien even comments that he has seen more than he ever wanted to.

All of this culminated in a moment where one-night Feyre gets a moment with Tamlin, the man she loves, and they kiss and touch each other. The paint is smeared and Rhys finds them. He tells Tamlin to leave and then pins Fyre again calling her a stupid human. Then shoves his own tongue down her throat against her will as she thrashes. Aramantha finds them then and makes sure everyone in the court gets a good laugh at Feyre’s “promiscuity”.

The act is disgusting but what really made me want to burn this book was the scene directly after this. Where Rhys shows up and gives his “reasoning” for abusing her. He was just protecting her because Aramantah would be mad if she found Feyre and Tamlin kissing. He was using her nude dances to try and anger Tamlin so he would fight back when he can. He drugged Feyre so she wouldn’t have to remember the humiliation of being someone's harlot. He did all of it to help her and him.

It's okay that he abused her because it was all for a greater plan. It's okay cause he is hot.

This is the moment when I have to step away from the book review and talk about what I have seen surrounding this novel. I have heard several fans explain away Rhy’s abuse by saying “but it was in her best interest” and “that’s what war does'”. So, let's unpack that, first “in her best interest” is basically the catchphrase of every abusive partner at this point. There will always be a reason for the abuse, it’s a gaslighting tactic that ensures that abusers can deflect any blame from themselves and onto their victim. This creates complicated emotions that will paralysis the abused person from leaving the relationship altogether.

If you find yourself in a relationship where you are always rationalizing away mistreatment then please take a step back and question why there are so many excuses to begin with.

As for the but war does that. I would like these same people to say that while looking at photos of real war atrocities. To look at images from the Nanjing Massacre or the Wounded Knee Massacre and say the same thing. Those acts of violence against men, women, and children were done during the war. Does that make it okay then if the violence was done by an attractive soldier who was deep and brooding?

I have a tendency to write my own preferred scenarios which I know is kind of pointless for a published book but fix fit fiction is a thing so hear me out.  Or don’t, that’s fine you can stop reading here as the review is over. I just have one simple idea that could fix a lot of my problems with this series.

Separate Rhysand into two separate characters.

Make the man she meets at the Fyre Festival and the guy who threatens her in the mansion and under the mountain just different guys.

You can keep the dark cunning mystery man of the Fyre Festival, maybe not even name him until he shows up again in the court to help. Have him come to her cell and offer his help. Have her say no and instead of grabbing her exposed arm bone he just says it’s the only help she will get. Hell Feyre talks herself into anyways after he grabs her bone so let's just skip that violence. Have her agree just as he is about to leave and give her the stupid arm tattoo and save her life. Then that’s it. He shows up at the end to help her but that’s it.

The man who meets her in the cell does not need to be the same man who forces her to do stripteases in front of hundreds of people. Make it Attar or some other male henchman of Aramantha who makes her do the dancing and drinking and everything else.

You still want him to be cunning and calculating? Maybe have a little bit of the grey morality that makes us all squirm?  Great than keeping the scene with the forced kiss (not great but whatever). That is easier to overlook than drugging, sexual harassment, and assault.  He can be forcibly kissing her to protect her and hell let's throw in an apology for fun.

Then you set up a situation where you have this dark and mysterious figure who we still don’t know why he helps her.

I know people say wait till book two and I do plan to read it. I got to see what excuse the author comes up with that seems to explain away so much abuse. What could she possibly say that makes me sit back and say “You know yes he pimped her out and yes he pulled on an exposed bone but you know what he just suuuuuuch a good guy.” If she is that good of an author then she should become a PR writer who makes spin articles for R. Kelly and Harvey Weinstein.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― III.i. A Funeral and a Pyre

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ PART III ⥽

— Virginia, 1857. It was supposed to be their chance at freedom — their Shadow Kingdom. Instead it has become a battlefield. Tensions rise as the nation whispers of civil war and humans and vampires alike learn even freedom demands blood. No more will they pray to be saved. Not when the Shadow eclipses the Dawn.

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Trinity will always be fighting for their freedom. The Godmaker has made sure of that.

WARNING: this chapter contains mature sexual content

[READ IT ON AO3]

Virginia, 1857

They get a fair distance from camp before it dawns on them both. They aren’t far enough.

Perhaps they have been spending too much time around mortal-kind. Not that either man would admit it.

So a fair distance goes just a little but further. Until their ears cannot pick up the din of tin flatware and the crackle of the fire. If they cannot hear their companions then they, too, cannot be heard.

The canopy is thin this time of year — summer long-gone and autumn welcomed in its place in falling leaves and nights that leave bitter fingertips come morning light.

Fingertips that, now and finally blissfully alone, come together in barely-there touches. They know the other’s touch as well as—if not better than—their own. Proven as much in the surety of their actions. In the wordless way their foreheads come together and share the things that should repulse them; the dirt and sweat and gunpowder clinging in vain.

But they know better; know one another better know themselves better than to think something as temporary as the earth beneath their boots could lessen their inevitable desires.

The rugged palm of his forever comes up to hold Cynbel’s cheek — to capture this moment in time and bring it to the reverent place where they keep every other.

Distraught are the souls who are unknown of such rapture, he thinks — and pities them, that they may try to take their god into themselves in words and scripture, but know flesh is beyond them.

He’ll never know what blind faith feels like. He walked in to his faith with eyes wide open and led by a divine hand.

Supplies are low—have been for some time though that is a thought for any time but now—but they make due. Use blood and spit and take their precious time while grass tickles their bare skin. At one point a dead leaf crumbles under Valdas’ palm and the pair laugh at the sight. Find joy in the little moments even after all these years.

And oh, how many years there have been. How is it that each time is as familiar and as new as their first had been? How is he so lucky?

Valdas stills inside of him; eclipses the sliver of the moon overhead as if he was not already Cynbel’s sky and stars. “Does my lovemaking bore you?”

What a ridiculous question. “Never.”

“Then what has you both beneath me and so very far away?”

Ah. He nods, feels the catch of twigs in his hair absently. Runs long fingers up the canvas of Valdas’ outer thigh before gripping it tight to hold them together as only lovers know.

“Do you know something I hate about this continent?”

Valdas barks a laugh. “I know many things you hate about America, my darling. You never waste an opportunity to make that abundantly clear.”

“Fair point.”

“But for the sake of the vice-grip you have on my cock, what do you hate about this continent, Cynbel?”

As amusing as it would be to torture them both for hours upon hours… They just don’t have that kind of time here.

“There are no ruins. No crumbled temples or ill-kept shrines. Well… none that have not been bastardized by invaders but —” but he, too, would seek release at least thrice tonight, “— and somehow the lack of such things makes me miss them all the more. It makes me miss your altar all the more, my Holy One.”

He smiles as recognition can be found in the dark eyes overhead. In the curve of Valdas’ smirk and the way he rolls his hips and brings them together near-seamlessly.

“While I too find myself reminiscing on such glory days —” the man beneath him keens in pleasure, body scrambling desperately to keep him inside but unable to deny him, “— I don’t let them take priority over the now. Especially when now is equally glorious.”

Valdas punctuates the word with a jerk of his hand, stroking Cynbel in something akin to haste. A direct opposition to his leisurely fucking. And while the contrast is good enough to bring his devoted progeny back with him to the present something unfamiliar lingers.

Hesitation. Doubt?

“It… is found equally so Cynbel… right?”

Perhaps before he would have taken such a question as insult. Would have disparaged his god for believing him to be anything other than in a constant state of growing love for him. Before all of this.

Before the war.

Thankfully for them both Valdas knows better than to take his lover’s silence as an answer he may not wish to hear. Resumes his pace and lets it build — lets them build. But his patience has a limit. Cynbel would know… he’s been the test of it for millennia now. He will have his answer before the night is through.

And he does — his golden son’s spite showing through in that he withholds it until Valdas falls atop the length of him, utterly spent and not in the least bit sated. Sweat and orgasm smeared between the places they long to knit together. To become one.

“It is not.”

The body above his tenses, readies to pull away. But it is only in things like this that Cynbel can refuse his Lord and Light. Only in the ways that ensure they are kept close; that they are kept whole and together.

Valdas pulls his head back enough to look up with guarded eyes. Sees mirth reflected back in dim pools of blue and the frustration he feels isn’t unknown to either of them. Though it is usually reserved for their beloved third.

Cynbel cards his fingers through Valdas’ dark hair and continues, “It can never be equally so, never in all our years. Because, my petulant divinity, each time with you is made ripe with age, seasoned with our years and the things we have done together, done with Isseya.

“It is never the same. It is always better.”

It is how they came to start and how they will end.

Though, he thinks — and lets himself fall back into the embrace of the earth with his religion hovering atop him, enveloping him; keeping him safe and giving him purpose in this endless labyrinth of eternity, if they are truly so blessed it will not be for many years to come.

Cynbel always makes sure he is the last of their regiment to enter the mines. Not only to ensure the safety of his beloveds but because it gives him the chance to see the barest ridges of sunrise over the steep Virginia hills. He waits until his eyes burn and send tears tracking hot down his cheeks — and then just a moment more.

He is never more glad of having no need to breathe than he is here. The newest among them still cover their mouths with scraps of cloth as though it is the coal around them they must fear, not the circumstances in which they have found themselves.

Especially to those such as the Trinity. To have wandered the freedom of the undiscovered world only now to cower under piles of stone.

One way in, one way out.

One more thing stacked against their favor in this their war for survival.

The hard-packed dirt makes it impossible for him to settle comfortable. Cynbel tries his best to find distraction in something—anything. And would be lost if he did not have the beauty of Isseya to gaze upon in the black.

She removes her hat and goes about the same routine she always does come morning light. Removes each of the fastenings that pin up her hair with the same care she used to give to the finest silks and fastenings of pure gold. The uniform she wears now does not do her justice — rather the opposite. She makes the ill-fitting coat look worthy of royalty even now.

“You’re staring.”

His smile is biological; instinctual. “Can you blame me? You know I have a weakness for pretty things.”

“Indeed…” she cards through her hair; lets the waves rest and he couldn’t possibly find her anything other than ethereal, “as I know they will be your undoing. You linger too long, Cynbel.”

Yet even as she says it she leans against him. Emotions are beyond the touch of flesh, now. And in this dirty hole no better than the coffins they have avoided for two thousand years… he cannot imagine doing it without her comfort.

“Yes yes — save it. I’ve heard it all before.”

“When you were feeding regularly. And I don’t chide you for stealing a moment away with our beloved—really I don’t. But you’re both fools for choosing not to conserve your strength.”

Their eyes meet in the dark. Held in a gaze of mutual longing… before he throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her tighter against him. “Careful, Iss’. You almost sound responsible.”

“Someone has to be, what with you two wandering the woods like incubi.”

“What happened to the fun Isseya? I miss her.”

“Piss off…”

Their words may sting but all is soothed in a kiss. Long enough to make the vampires trying to sleep on the other side of the tunnel shift in discomfort — because she still is his darling minx at heart. But without her clear head they might not have lasted this long.

“Where is Valdas?”

Cynbel rests their foreheads close. “First watch.” Immediately he feels Isseya’s anger — holds her ever-tighter to ensure she doesn’t do anything brash. Not much for them to do stuck in here as they are, but he understands. “This is why he did not tell you. Relax, my love, please. We would not be here if it was not a secure place to hide from the daylight.”

The day watch is something they all must endure at one point or another. Such is their duty to the regiment; a task that discriminates on nothing and asks only that you do your part. As they all are doing their parts in this war.

And, as he is quite sure Isseya will agree, he rests easier knowing the one on the front line, the first defense between a den of sleeping vampires and the onslaught of the Order, is someone he would (and has) trusted with his life for thousands of years before.

For example — the scraggly boy who sits across, whose head keeps lolling around from slumber only to wake himself back up — Cynbel would rather place his fate in the hands of, say, Kamilah Sayeed. That boy looks like he can defend nothing.

But surely he looks no better. Starving as he is and now with a night of rough passion to further sap his strength.

One more day of this and they will reach Charlottesville. Hopefully with enough moonlight left in the night to sate their hunger. Even the thought of a neck, warm and not-necessarily-willing, underneath his mouth leaves him craven.

Isseya sees the needless torture in his eyes and at the very least it helps to know he isn’t alone.

Falling asleep is the hardest part. While Cynbel hasn’t slept alone in over a thousand years he isn’t exactly accustomed to sharing quarters with more than his lovers. With more than those he know intimately. Now he is expected to share the daylight hours meant for rest with complete strangers; their faces and stories ever-changing, one swapped out for another with every battle and every loss. More losses than he cares to think about — even if the dead have no one to blame but themselves for their fate.

But like all things it is made easier with her presence. Her touch, her breath on his neck. The Children of Valdemaras cling to one another among the rest and know that they are together.

And together they are made immortal.

It is rare to find a church in disrepair in these times. Faith seems to have an endless strength with which to carry humanity. And with which to draft them for battle, he thinks, and knows he isn’t the only one who finds a twisted sense of satisfaction as they pass the church’s boarded-up front doors.

Charlottesville. The last safe place left for their kind in the colonies — though even those were but a sliver of the developing nation that called itself America. While most cities and towns would be found with barren midnight streets it is the opposite here. Cynbel’s roaming eyes take in clusters of evening gatherers, are taken in themselves by the very same, and they simply know.

They were all summoned by the same man after all.

Even in the midst of a war for their very survival Cynbel finds it hard to believe the Godmaker has even the slightest capacity for compassion. Once upon a time it was simply fact that Augustine cared for naught but his ambitions. But over time all facts from the Old World were becoming irrelevant; laughable superstition even.

He would amend his beliefs, then. Allow for the same leniency Augustine had shown them no more than a decade ago — the wolves let back among the rest of the pack to ensure their species would continue. Would have a chance to continue.

The lists of names in smudge-free care that hang in the foyer, however, would challenge those beliefs further.

Near a dozen frames hang on either side of the corridor stretching back into the heart of Augustine’s Manor. He recognizes the handwriting to be the same from the missive which drew them all to Virginia in the first place. Takes in each name as passively as he does the faces of the flock.

What good does it do him to idolize the fallen? No longer will they accomplish anything worth being honored for.

Isseya’s hand brushes against his; a subtle comfort in unfamiliar territory. One he returns in kind.

“Remember,” she says to him, says to Valdas half a step ahead of them both, “all of this will be worth it in the end. Our freedom will be sweeter than the spoils of this war.”

Still, Cynbel’s upper lip curls in distaste. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then look it, perhaps?”

The last page must be a recent addition. The lacquered frame shiny and new and without dust, the wall around it smelling of fresh paint. And inside — a memorial not-yet finished, the last name still an aching distance away from the bottom of the page.

Hung in effigy and removed when the time comes to grow the collection of the dead.

“It’s these names…” Cynbel catches his reflection and stops; takes in the gaunt hollowness of his eternal youth in the protective glass, “they mock me — they mock us all.”

Valdas watches him with an unreadable expression. “They are the fallen.”

“They are the weak.” He corrects, in that moment made no more than men on equal standing.

“Weak enough to fail; to die. There is no honor in only being remembered after you’re dead. Honor me in life—demand more of me than I have already achieved. Instead of… idolizing me in my failure.”

Battles bring out in him the thrilled hunter. Wars, however, have made him old and temperamental.

Valdas’ hand finds his, laces their fingers together sure and strong. Isseya’s soft hand on his cheek is the only thing that drags Cynbel’s eyes from his contempt and to them — he could never look at them in such a way and they know it.

“We are fortunate then to never have to worry about such things.” She reminds him. And it is enough.

Together the Trinity is led onward. Passed what must have been built as a polished office but instead serves better purpose as a war room. Papers and maps strewn on every available surface and then some. The toll war takes on even those as seasoned as the Godmaker brought to life.

One map is hammered into the wall obscuring a painting of some kind. Knowing Augustine — one of his many portraits sacrificed for the ‘greater good.’ He recognizes landmarks and the border territories of Virginia’s surrounding states all hidden underneath spools’ worth of colored yarn acting as… as…

Ah, he understands after the office and map are several paces abandoned. Dark wax seals acting as markers for battles Cynbel himself had participated in… had fled from against everything gnawing hungry at his gut…

Far more losses than victories. Their supply routes bottlenecked — then extinguished. Fewer and fewer safe places to hold down fort through the long summering days to come. Battle after battle has blinded him to the truth now laid bare; unavoidable.

The Order is winning.

The air in the dining room, when they arrive, is a stifling heat. The smell of gas lingering high towards the ceiling. Antique candelabras—remnants from the Old World—stand vigil over a feast of kings. Sweet breads still steaming and the ashy aroma of well-bred meats. Vegetables no doubt from the fields they had just passed through on their journey. All decadent — all utterly wasteful.

All no better than a table of writhing maggots and soured mold in the face of the real hunger that consumes them.

“Valdemaras — how kind of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

Of course the Godmaker’s first words are a snide remark. Cynbel expects nothing less. But to bite the hand that feeds now would be suicide. He bites his tongue instead.

The King and Queen of Vampires take up either end of the long oak table. Guests — an unexpected and certainly unwelcome surprise — litter across the length of it. He can smell the blood in their wine glasses. Reaches out to cut his nail into Isseya’s palm to keep himself in check.

Cynbel doesn’t have to look up to know Augustine is looking upon the pair of them, Valdas’ only children, with disdain.

“I believe I told the messenger boy the nature of this meeting.”

Valdas nods; his chin raised among his lessers but eyes downcast in the face of his Maker. “A meeting of officers, yes. The message was relayed in full.”

“Then explain yourself.” Why are they with you, the question unasked. That he still has to ask in some form or another after all these years…

“Where I go they will follow. Always.”

Always.

But this war has changed more than the Trinity — it has changed the so-called ruler of their people. Gaius’ noise of discontent is only brief; stifled with supper. He waves to an empty seat on his right. “Enough time has been wasted in anticipation of your arrival. Join us and send your ilk elsewhere.”

“I would see them fed after the long journey.”

“Very well.”

Though their devotion is like a brand upon their shared skins — their love as famous as their cruelty, as infamous as the bodies left in their wake — Cynbel and Isseya don’t allow themselves the pettiness that might come with the way Valdas takes his leave of them. They must play their role as their Lord and Light plays his. All of it an act; dancing around a carnival faire for the Godmaker’s amusement.

When the curtain closes they will be free of him. Valdas ensures it with every placating act. He is willing to sacrifice for them — how could they do anything less but the same?

They wait until he is seated. A young boy approaches with a pitcher and pours their beloved his fresh meal. Their eyes meet over the head of a bearded officer and Cynbel knows his beloved will not consume in front of them. In solidarity.

“Leave!” Augustine barks; they do not give him chance to do so twice.

They arrive at the end of a funeral. Isseya recognizes the sight of ashes catching on the breeze; carrying whoever they once were far off and to a better life than the one that failed them.

How very… human. The sight of it nearly ruins his appetite.

In front of a dozen or so gathered stands a lone man. In his hands rests a plain box bearing no carvings or paint. The dead as nameless as the living.

Together they have no intention of stopping — when Cynbel feels resistance in their held hands he even looks at her as though she’s gone a touch mad.

But his beloved girl’s focus is cast over the field of grass to the ceremony. A furrow he does not like crinkles restless on her brow. They keep their distance but, for all intents and purposes, join in.

The leader’s voice carries rich and sweet over them all.

“It is from Her blood we are made anew; given strength and life where there was none to be found. But with each life born another must depart, for only She may live forever. And in that eternity we must believe She will be there to welcome our fallen friend, that She will accept the gift he now gives — Her strength no longer needed in this life.

“In these ill times, my brothers and sisters, the journey seems an unending path. But with each departed Her power grows… And I believe that by the end of this war it will be enough to see Her risen again, to bring Her to us in our darkest hour. Have faith beside me and She will see it rewarded.”

Cynbel would recognize such a reverence anywhere — bastardized by the New World though it may be. Of course the Godmaker had taken upon himself an opportunity that could not be passed up. The First Son of Valdemaras can’t say he wouldn’t have done the same in Augustine’s shoes.

Everyone needed something to believe in. Someone in which to rest their faith when they believed their destiny out of their own hands.

Not all were as lucky as Cynbel and Isseya. Not all were able to see the living face of their god and know the surety that came with it.

Not all yet understood that none could make their path but themselves. Divine intervention would not come unless one took it by the reins.

Or… in Valdas’ case, anyway, the fangs.

“Must we really house ourselves among these fanatics?” Whispers his darling, and Cynbel’s nod is a reluctant one.

“Better than a mine shaft.”

“And not with our heart.”

“He will join us soon enough. Rather in this life than in the home that Augustine would no doubt set aflame if we even tried.”

The look he gives her is rueful enough. Presses a solid kiss to her frown because he hates the sight of it, truly, and they leave the mourners to their invisible Goddess and Her empty promises for the promise of temporary peace.

Inside the barn has been converted into barracks for their like. Windows covered in layers of cloth and boarded up for good measure. Anything to keep the numbers of Augustine’s army. The Trinity exchange looks and know they are of the same mind; that to stay in such squalor is, as he said, “better than a mine shaft” but not by much.

They used to rest their heads under endless skies. After that with headboards of marble, of gold. Sheets beneath bare flesh woven by expert hands until they bled… and then more. Certainly more than the thin cots of stuffed hay and threadbare blankets they take up in this hellish space.

The blood is fresh enough to still be liquid in the bowls they take but only just. It curdles on the back of Cynbel’s tongue to the point where he has to hold Isseya’s hand near-breaking to stomach it. And on an empty stomach it refuses to settle — makes him feel sluggish and not at all satisfied.

Isseya coaxes Cynbel to sit on the edge of a bunk near the back of their quarters. Lets him hang his head while she comes up from behind and eases his uniform from his shoulders. That her touch does not immediately excite him is a testament to how hungry he truly is — but she knows him well enough by now not to take offense.

She’s seen him in the heat of the slaughter after all. Let her nakedness be a canvas of blood of which he was a master on par with the greats of the Renaissance.

They have before and they will again. Together. A trinity.

Though the closed-off space makes it impossible to know for certain Cynbel is sure he can feel morning dogging at the heels of the vampires who finally join them. Their things already resting by besides, some sharing a bucket of well-water to wash old blood from their bowls; they have called this place home for longer than the lovers.

The contentment of their routine disgusts him. The ageless thumbs pressing into the base of his spine eases that hatred only just.

She works him as she always has — down to the bone and further still. His muscles gone pliant under her touch, craven for it to continue. Desperate for the solace only she can provide.

Hands that once slaughtered her own family in the name of the Made-God and his Firstborn… that would have soaked endless stretches of land in blood if it meant appeasing them.

They pretend to sleep before they really are. He pulls Isseya on top of him and she doesn’t resist in the least. Here at least they can sleep comfortable even if it only ends up being the barest definition of the word.

Cynbel hears a whisper that might sound something like “They’ll break the cot that way,” but he’s hungry, he’s exhausted, and damnable hells he’s horny too and Isseya’s no prude but neither of them are in any fit state to be working themselves up right now.

So he lets it slide. This time. But his generosity has its limits.

They’ve gotten so used to the darkness of the mines during their slumbering hours that seeing sunlight stream through one uncovered sliver in the barn thatching is jarring to say the least.

But it reminds Cynbel of better times. Some happier — some not. But all of them better. Better than this hell he cannot even find contentment in. If it were a hell of his own making, perhaps… but it is not even that!

“What are you thinking about?”

The bunk they’ve taken is several cots away from the last of the vampires. And Isseya — his darling girl knows exactly how to whisper so their better ears cannot hear. Usually used for things of a far more seductive and sultry nature… but it works, too, in this.

“What would you wish me to think of?” She smacks his chest none-too-lightly and his laughter isn’t without a cough or two.

“You know that’s not how this works.”

“Fine, fine —” he relents and her heart leaps against his chest in victory, “— but you of all people know my thoughts are rarely so simple.”

He laces their fingers together, would rather she simply find what she wishes inside of his mind. A memory or dream that could take them far away from here and, ideally, with their beloved Lord.

They’re both too hungry, too weak for that. And without Valdas wrapped somewhere around or between them it just isn’t worth the energy.

“You like to think yourself so complicated… but I know otherwise.”

“Oh do you now?”

Her touch slithers downward, grasps him cheeky and knows even weak he can still get it up for her. “I do.”

He can have all of the silent moments he wishes… but she won’t rest until she has an answer — and that means neither will he.

“Oddly enough I was thinking to when we met you, Valdas and I.”

Such a fussy subject when it comes to his darling girl. Some days she enjoys thinking of the last act of her humanity to be anything but. Others… well there’s a growing concern for where exactly she’s grabbing… and how long healing might take in their current state.

So he can’t help but sigh in relief when she finally speaks.

“What brought that on?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Cyn…”

“What does it matter? It’s not as if we could go back to those times. Free of war… of pollution in blood and land. Before the forsaken fucking Order took a fucking continent for their own.”

And there it is. Cynbel raises his chin enough to see the sparkle of knowing, of understanding in her eyes. He may not be as skilled as they in the psychic arts but what he lacks there he makes up for in his memory. In all the things he’s learned and practiced… and one thing he can never forget—will never forget—is the happier times. The simpler times.

“You could not have known their intention to sail to the New World. None could.”

“No… I know that.”

“Then why do you linger on it?”

“I caused the actions that led to this, did I not? Paris, my love, Paris. It put them on the Godmaker’s heels and moreover put him on those of the Colonies.”

It’s a rare kind of talk from him and Isseya knows it better than any. Has her propping herself up on splayed palms and a dark concern in her eyes still like stars…

“Remorse is not like you, Cynbel.” Her curls tickle at his cheeks.

“Think of what we could have been doing these last years. The gifts we could have given you — the ones you and I could have bestowed upon him. The wonders of the other side of the world where all this… nonsensical fighting is beyond us.”

In Valdemaras’ name… what is that look in her eyes? Frustration but… pity? Psychic though he may not be he knows her. She’s angry at him. Why the fuck is she angry at him?

“You spend one breath taking the blame and the next calling it all ‘nonsensical.’ You contradict yourself, my bloodsoaked lover.”

“You know I’m better with actions than words.”

“Yet words show your true colors. Not just red… spare me the guilt, Cynbel. You feel nothing for this conflict but what it has cost us.”

Through his furrowed brow… he relents. “Yes. Yes that’s… that’s true.”

“Only it isn’t enough for you to say it. You must mean it, too.”

He doesn’t have to push her further. Knows exactly what she means… But what they both know is that certain things are just out of their control.

“I will,” he swears; and like pack animals they butt heads, nuzzle their noses, the intimacy of the moment temporarily granting their wish to live outside of time… outside of the things that keep them bound to all this madness, “just as I will spend the decades to come making it up to you—to Valdas—to you both.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear on my life.”

Then Isseya’s hand is in his hair, golden bright on her olive skin. She forces him to meet the same eyes that have served as the doors of death for legions. “Swear on something that matters to you.”

Cynbel hesitates only in that he would loathe for her hold on him to end.

“I swear on your lives. Yours, and His.”

“Again.”

“I swear on your lives.”

She leans down and licks the outer shell of his ear. Immediately takes it back with a sharp pain… Cynbel watches in rapture at the sight of her pulling back to swallow the cartilage whole.

“Again.” The Priestess of Valdemaras demands through bloodstained teeth.

As if he could ever deny her looking like that.

“I swear on your lives.”

“Hey, hey here he is! Over here!”

“Cynbel! CYNBEL!”

“Help me lift this —”

“— HEAVE!”

Laying there choking on ash—ash from hay, from old rotting wood, from his dead kind but not his kin—gives Cynbel a strange kind of perspective on immortality.

He’s never been a fan of self-reflection.

Relief hardens into confusion, into anger at the sight that filters through burning eyes and tears. Not the face of his beloveds but someone else. Cynbel recoils because the mere possibility of death, even a terrible death such as this, is better than what seeing a strange face as his rescuer implies.

Perhaps I am already dead, Cynbel thinks as the face laughs above him, because none other than the Devil himself would separate them, would laugh and revel in his misery. I deserve Hell — for that I could not kiss them one final time…

“What disappointing rumors, Old Blood!” The Devil says through pearly fangs, “that the infamous Golden Son would need rescuing by one such as I!”

The words force Cynbel to stir. Yet… why would he? Why should he? Surely they are each in their own separate voids, to be cut off from one another their eternal damnation…

“Hey—hey! Come on now!” A few harsh smacks to his cheek, stinging offsetting the burn of flames under his heels. Hadn’t he worn stockings to bed…?

“You really gonna let your grave be a damp barn in Charlottesville, Old Blood?”

Unfortunately the Devil has a point. Always knows how best to tempt the vices of sinners.

“My… my bb-beloveds…”

“— would have my head if I walked outta this barn without you.”

Begone, tempter. Please.

Though Cynbel can’t help but wonder where the Devil truly lies this day. Is he the face above shrouded in smoke and flame, the one that hauls the smoldering remnants of a rafter off of him? Or is he the ones who tells him to turn away from the choked-out light of day and slumber deep?

No… no he has seen Hell before—

Hell was watching them swept in a manic crowd and to an uncertain fate.

Hell was screaming, begging through skin splitting open watching her lips whisper a silent “I love you, goodbye.”

Hell was the broken will of a God who would sacrifice every ounce of his pride for his first and only loves.

No. He is Cynbel of the Riedones and he has seen Hell every time they have been beaten and broken against the hard edges of the world. He has walked through those flames and been made molten; hammered into something stronger. This fire, too, will strengthen him.

It has to. For them.

When he reaches out there’s a hand to grab him. To help pull him and the smoldering husk of the rafter up and bat it aside.

The face of the Devil isn’t what he’d expect. But Cynbel doesn’t give himself time to linger on it — some things are a bit more pressing.

They make their way through the chaos; the air like burned molasses. When the Golden Son realizes he is the one slowing them down he only pushes himself that much harder — refuses to be left to die in this… this madness.

Everything is supposed to feel better once he’s left the burning barn behind, so why does he still feel alight? Cynbel looks up and has his answer — eyes stinging the same way they did in the last moments before the mines swallowed them all up.

Daylight.

And if he had hoped for salvation once they were clear of it, he’s sorely mistaken. It isn’t just the barn but the entire field; everything scorched as far as his watery eyes can see.

“What—” gasping for air like he needs it, but what he needs is blood, “—happened?!”

The other vampire scans the smoky horizon with dark eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know. We woke up, everything aflame… the lands reeked of oil. We couldn’t even find cover in the nearby forest — whatever this was it was planned.”

He knows the rage that laces the man’s words. He’s felt that kind of rage — been it incarnate — and were he able to he would feed from it, let it seep into his pores beautiful and righteous.

But even the thought of raising his hand to a sword saps energy from him. His rescuer will have to do.

And if he is as weak as he is…

But Fate doesn’t let him entertain the thought. Perhaps they know the chaos he will reign should such a thought come to pass… should it be true.

“CYNBEL!”

The very sound of her voice pulls him forward on a tether. He breaks away from the man, learns a little too late he doesn’t even have the strength to stand alone—

But she’s never let him fall before. She doesn’t now.

“Iss’…”

Isseya pushes the ash-covered hair from his eyes and the fire that prickles on the edges of his vision is nothing like the fire he just left behind. Cynbel’s lungs are raw but give him the blessed ability to sob in relief. They will burn out here, exposed.

And as they pull back from a kiss of peeling lips and dry tongues they share the same thought. As they always have.

They will not burn without him.

“How did you—”

“I couldn’t —” her voice chokes in her throat, she chokes on the air, “— I was too weak. Too—too weak and…”

She’d fled for help. Even now, especially now, it pains her to admit weakness. His unbreakable darling girl… And she thinks she has to look away, to shed her tears alone?

Their second kiss is harder; more a demand of her. They have demanded so much of one another. To die, to live… to be…

“We must find him.”

“We cannot— not alone.”

But the vampires at her back, stragglers relying on luck as a means to an end? They aren’t worth the time to waste.

Isseya looks over Cynbel’s shoulder, barks an unfamiliar name like an order—like the General she should have been. “Ambrose!”

Cynbel watches as his rescuer turns with a grim face. He recognizes the man, then. How the smoke reminds him of the ash from earlier that night. The leader of the ceremony.

Ambrose waves away a scout and approaches. “You should find shelter before you take to the sun, the both of you.”

“We will do nothing without our own.”

“Not even die, apparently.” Before he can continue there’s a whistle; through the haze they can see the swish of horse tails, the creatures riled and desperate to escape the oncoming blaze but held tight by the vampires clutching at their reins.

Ambrose shakes his head; makes to leave them to their own devices. “Your choices are your own. I have no time to argue with Old Blood! Not when there are others who need me.”

“Ambrose, quickly!” calls one, heaving himself on one of the load-bearing steeds, “The fire’s took up the main house and the well is emptied! We’re wastin’ time!”

The Trinity reach as one — weak as they are but still stronger than the likes of these. Grasp with the weight of ages and bear down on the man before he can take flight.

“What are you—let go of me!”

Cynbel snarls with bared fangs.

“What house?!”

But they already know, don’t they? They already know.

[revan-escence]

5 years

In which Darth Nox writes to Darth Marr, after being released from carbonite.

[First time writing fic, so feedback appreciated!]

******

From: Darth Nox

Subject: Awaiting Response

 Dark Lord,

 I survived, despite the odds. Is there a chance that you have, also? Arcann kept me in carbonite in his trophy room for all of these years, so I still hold on to the thought that perhaps you have shared my fate. Lana Beniko was the one who orchestrated my rescue- and whilst successful, we are not in any position to return to the city centre and attempt a second rescue for you. In truth, I have not yet entertained the idea to Lana as of yet- we need time to recuperate.

 Either way, we have much to talk about the next time we meet, and I wait.

 Darth Nox

 ***

  From: Darth Nox

Subject: Valkorian

 Dark Lord,

 Everyone seems so determined to believe that you are dead, I feel as if I am the only person who can see.

 When Valkorian struck you down, he struck Arcann after with the same power. As I fell after having cut down the Emperor, I saw Arcann stand, in pain, but stand nonetheless, from where he was downed. Arcann is nothing to you, so of course, you must have survived. After all, I did, and I cannot be alone.

 I wrote that before realising the implications and the truth of it.

 Perhaps it is better that Valkorian chose me as a vessel rather than you. His body may have been destroyed, but his spirit has not, and it torments me with visions and ghosts in the likeness of our citizens, of Thanaton and Zash, that I must cut down lest my mind be destroyed. I will admit that it is not the first time I had experienced such- I have dealt with vengeful spirits in my head before, and I had left the ordeal stronger. Valkorian plagues me with these images, and he torments me with one I had not experienced before: now he delights with spirits done in the likeness of you, and feeds off the pain that it causes when I have to cut my way forward. I feel as if I should apologise for all the times I have had to do this, even though I know they weren’t really you. I’m not sure if it matters, anyway, if you are really in carbonite, then you would not be able to read these until you awake.

 Nevertheless, I will still write.

 Darth Nox

  ***

  From: Darth Nox

Subject: Insomnia

 Dark Lord,

 Valkorian has grown persistent in making me fight your shadows ever since I wrote to you last. I forget that he has access to my thoughts and memories while we share a mind, and I detest him for it. I am determined to stop these, and since I am only targeted when I sleep so far, I have opted to use the Force to provide me with the rest that I need, and to not sleep at all.

 I cannot vouch for what the aftereffects would be, but I never wanted to fight you, or your likeness.

 Darth Nox

  ***

  From: Darth Nox

Subject: Companionship

 Dark Lord,

 Asylum seems to be a merge of Rishi and Belsavis; I cannot quite place my finger as on why on the latter. My chosen companion as of late are always Senya or HK-55- Theron and Lana are constantly hiding and revealing secrets and reservations about the other’s chosen company or choices, and I grow quite tired of their constant bickering. Senya, on one hand, at least knows how to deal with children, and HK-55 offers amusing comments and an unbridled enthusiasm for murder that I can appreciate.

 I only write this so that you know that your temporary retirement from action has led to my constant headache.

 Perhaps you are not frozen in carbonite as I previously thought, and in fact you are isolated on a distant planet, regaining strength or forces, and my messages are a source of amusement as you hear updates on the clashes between my followers. Perhaps you cannot reply because you cannot risk Valkorian knowing. Either way, I can wait. I can be patient when I need to be, and circumstances call for me to be such.

 All you need to do is send the word.

  ***

  From: Darth Nox

Subject: Please

 Darth Marr,

 Send me something so I know that you’re alive, a messenger from your gathered forces, or a dream. I will risk my nightmares even if that means you would have a chance to reach out to me. I need you back.

  ***

 From: Darth Nox

Subject: Apologies.

 Forgive me for my last message and lack of professionalism. It was born from panic after being under attack by Arcann. Do not risk your position because of what I wrote.

 Darth Nox

  ***

 From: Darth Nox

Subject: Fate

 Dark Lord,

 The main reason why I have broken my streak of silence is because even Lana has begun talking about “Fate” and “Destiny” and what my role is in correlation to all of this, and I needed a reason to escape that harangue. I do not believe in such, I believe that my choices determine my future, not what something unseen wills.  

 To submit to the claims of Fate is to insult my past and the efforts and sacrifices I had to make to become a Dark Lord of the Sith. I did not earn my seat alongside yours through puppetry, and I am certain that you would agree with my sentiments.

 People still speak of your death freely, as if it happened an eternity ago- and perhaps that is true, to an extent. If I be honest, I had overwhelming respect for you, and I would have followed you to each and every battle, fought by your side and cut down anyone who considered you an enemy. You were the only person who treated me more than a means to an end, and I have questioned where my respect ended, and what followed after, and how far. Would it be too far to presume that there was love in there, somewhere? Everyone else had five years to mourn your passing, and they forget that I was not given any such luxury. I suppose that I must admit that this is as close of a confession that I miss your company- ever since I was woken up from carbonite, I had not been given any number of days to sit by myself and grieve over the events of that day and what followed and what we have both lost. Perhaps that is why I make mistakes.

 I have made so many mistakes. But it’s fine, because I know you are alive.

 Darth Nox

  ***

  From: Darth Nox

Subject: Empress Acina

 Dark Lord,

 It seems that Darth Acina has promoted herself. I cannot say this bodes well- I recall that you said yourself that you had no desire to take Vitiate’s position when it was first offered, and that we both had work to do while the other Darths squabbled over who took the seat. Perhaps we were the only sensible ones who took our roles seriously.

 As the Darth Lord of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, I do believe that I had done rather excellently, even amassing my own collection of datacrons that were previously considered lost to us. Some of the knowledge may prove itself useful to you, when we are both able, I am willing to offer you the use of my own personal library. Sometimes the ancients hold secrets that prove incredibly useful in modern battles and strategies.

 I can also offer tea, should that sway your decision.

 Darth Nox

***

 From: Darth Nox

Subject: [NO SUBJECT]

 I saw you.

 On Odessan.

 For the first time I was free from Valkorian, I saw you, exactly the same as I’ve remembered you, and I had so much to say. I was ready to spill my guts in front of you, to show you my emotions, my thoughts that I’ve forbidden myself to dwell while I still had the Emperor in my head. I would have, if the Jedi wasn’t there. I bit my tongue and kept silent about the few messages I’ve sent you, and the thousands that I did not, the nights of desperation and wrestling between denial and wilful ignorance. You said nothing about my messages either, and I know you had never read one. How could you? You are one with the Force.

 There will be no more moments between us.

 When I returned to the base, I pretended that nothing was wrong, that I was still as stoic and emotionless that everyone imagined me to be, and continued the plans of assault. I cried alone, for hours, for the first time since I was a slave. Tonight, I will let myself sleep for the first time, and find out if Valkorian has any new nightmares to torment me with.

 I was an idiot for ever thinking there was hope.

  ***

 From: Darth Nox

Subject: It does not matter, you will never be able to read my messages

 Darth Marr,

 Despite my efforts, Fate won.

 I must prevail. I must overthrow Arcann. I must kill Vitiate. And I must take over the Eternal Throne to protect our Empire. Am I not allowed the luxury of a choice? At least an illusion of it? Is it fair that everyone else can revel in hope, in the knowledge that their freedom is secure, whilst I must sacrifice my own to become something that I am not?

 I was a slave, once. Did you know that? I was branded by my masters and sent to work in the mines. What is it that we were taught when we were all acolytes? Peace is a lie, there is only passion? Through passion, I gain strength? Through strength, I gain power? Through power, I gain victory? Through victory, my chains are broken?

The Force shall free me.

 The Force is a liar.

 It seems that all my life, I’ve lived nothing but an illusion. All I wanted, when I broke rocks and starved and was flayed until I bled, was to be free from the torment that I was subject to since I was born. I was given a choice after one punishment, and I took it, and I ended up on the brink of death for my punishment, before being sent to Korriban. Was that the will of the Force? Did the Force also decide that my master only planned on using me to extend her own life? Did the Force choose that Thanaton would try to kill me? I never asked for him to challenge me to a Kaggath, I would have been happy with a master without a mission to kill me, I would have been happy with the title of Lord Kallig. Despite what Ravage believed, I never intended to climb to the position of Darth, or be the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge (although I took the position, and took it seriously). All I wanted was to not be a slave, and to do with my freedom how I choose. But Fate has a hand, it seems, so I’ve been told multiple times, and I never truly broke from being a slave, whether to a Hutt or to the Empire, or to the Force, and I will never have my freedom again.

 I will never be me again.

 I will still keep fighting this fight, organising attacks, and follow through on the promises I made to no one. I will take the Throne, become the new Emperor, and be what everyone expects me to be, until I die, to which some progeny of mine would take over. A dull life, but Alderaan nobles have always lived similar lives, so why not me?

 My hate and strength keeps me going, and it warms everyone in my vicinity to prevail alongside, despite the odds. I will not deprive my companions of this, but when my own death comes, the galaxy will know the cold of a pyre extinguished, and maybe then they will take note of my presence. But even then they will just find someone who burnt as brightly as I did, to replace the coals I left behind.

 I don’t want the Throne. I’ve only wanted you back. But it seems Destiny chose otherwise.

 Darth Nox

[myfandomrambles]

C-PTSD & BPD DOctor

(Doctor Character Study part 3c)

An analysis of The Doctor as having Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) along with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).

If you read my ADHD & Autistic doctor posts you will notice some symptom overlap mostly with impulsivity. I chose to put C-PTSD and BPD as one post because symptom overlap is strong, and the disorders are highly comorbid.

11th Doctor:

The Eleventh Doctor is a character that is the perfect representation of instability. He oscillates from generally childish, a cold force of nature and a chaotic man broken from anger and grief. It’s a compelling characterization because it gives some unpredictability in a show that can be formulaic. This doctor also is driven by a fear of abandonment and lack of attachment, probably because everyone Ten came to care for left him or got left behind him, this is shown in the 0 to 100-way Eleven acts within relationships. He is very alien and doesn’t do much to try and blend in a normal sense but does to cover up why he does thing still aching for acceptance. 

Eleven has the common Doctor trait of just running so nothing can touch you and avoid staying still in a very extreme state for much of the run, up until he has no other choice. It's a large part of the character’s arc stopping long enough to make a difference. 

Lack a sense of internal identity/stable self-image and he uses the idea of The Doctor as a mask (TV: Eleventh Hour, TV: Victory of The Daleks, TV: The Wedding of River Song, TV: Dinosaurs on A Spaceship). The Doctor references this phenomenon “Look, three options. One, I let the Star Whale continue in unendurable agony for hundreds more years. Two, I kill everyone on this ship. Three, I murder a beautiful, innocent creature as painlessly as I can. And then I find a new name because I won't be The Doctor any more.”(TV: The Beast Below)

When introducing himself to Craige Eleven says;“ I'm The Doctor. Well, they call me The Doctor. I don't know why. I call me The Doctor, too. Still don't know why.” we know that there are reasons, like his promise that he chooses to use this title Eleven feels a disconnection from the word (TV: The Lodger) Being The Doctor is built on being that hero (TV: The God Complex)

The construction of the identity is remarked upon in TV: The Day of The Doctor, The Doctor itself is a construct they try and hold themselves to, the name is a “promise” a way they want to be. That promise was “Never cruel or cowardly. Never give up, never give in.” 

Connects his identity and emotions to inanimate objects like his Bow Tie, Fez, and Sonic (TV: The Eleventh Hour, TV: The Hungry Earth, TV: The Snowmen, TV: The Rings of Akhaten, & TV: Hide)

Eleven also changes his affect and personality around other for example River. Amy points this out saying “You're letting people call you sir. You never do that.” (TV: Time of Angels) 

The Doctor hates himself to a large degree even when talking himself up periodically. His self-concept often comes as a very powerful view of a god-like entity. This view is based on actual action and the way others see him, it can cause a huge dissonance and adds to his feelings of responsibility to everyone. (TV: The Eleventh Hour, TV: The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang, TV: Day of the Moon, TV: The Wedding of River Song, TV: The Time of The Doctor & TV: The Day of The Doctor)

When Eleven, Amy and Rory get the psychic pollen in their brains The Doctor comments on the “dream Lord’; “No, no. No. Sorry, wasn't it obvious? The Dream Lord was me. Psychic pollen. It’s a mind parasite. It feeds on everything dark in you, gives it a voice, turns it against you. I'm nine hundred and seven. It had a lot to go on.” Amy is disturbed by this idea because the dream lord was both the villain of the dream and openly insulted Eleven like saying “If you had any more tawdry quirks you could open up a Tawdry Quirk Shop. The madcap vehicle, the cockamamie hair, the clothes designed by a first-year fashion student. I'm surprised you haven't got a little purple space dog just to ram home what an intergalactic wag you are. Where was I?” (TV: Amy’s Choice). 

In TV: A Good Man Goes to War Eleven explicitly states he does not believe he is a good man. Eleven literally says “Oh no, no, no, no, no. Give me someone I like.” referring to when the TARDIS offers a holo doctor as the voice interface. This shows he does not have a positive opinion of himself. 

In TV: The God Complex Eleven speaks the Minotaurs last words “An ancient creature, drenched in the blood of the innocent, drifting in space through an endless, shifting maze. For such a creature, death would be a gift. Then accept it, and sleep well. I wasn't talking about myself.” Eleven doesn’t seem to disagree, is caught off guard but seems to hit home. While Eleven doesn’t actively want to die and does try and live, but we can see that there are times when this does fail. He does view himself as broken down.  

 The Doctor’s rules are used as a kind of system of maintaining the idea of the ‘Doctor’ and a way of coping with the wrongs he has done, and a shorthand of communication (TV: The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood, &TV: Let’s Kill Hitler) These rules are also used in his own mind to try and give moral guidelines as part of this identity maintenance and to try and not hurt others. We see this in the comment Eleven makes “Good men don't need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many.” (TV: A Good Man Goes to War)

The Doctor has a lot of guilt in his life, he is willing to let himself die for others, his imposed isolation and his rules all reflect this. (TV: Amy’s Choice, Minisode: Night and The Doctor, TV: A Good Man Goes To War, Prequel to Let's Kill Hitler, TV: Let’s Kill Hitler, TV: The Girl Who Waited, TV: The God Complex, & TV: The Power of Three, TV: The Name of The Doctor, TV: The Time of The Doctor, & TV: The Day of The Doctor) We see this really explicitly when he has the chance to find more time lords in TV: The Doctor's Wife and Amy reminds him what they thought he did to the others. 

Eleven says “I can explain. Tell them why I had to.” Amy then says “You want to be forgiven.” The Doctor then replies, “Don't we all?”. In that same story, Eleven says “Another Ood I failed to save.” when the Ood dies, referencing his history of letting Ood die in fights like in TV: The Satan Pit. 

After seeing the effect his story has had on those around him and the way it hurt people he cares about we see him delete himself from history out of guilt. (Home Video: The Inforarium, TV: Asylum of The Daleks and TV: Dinosaurs on a Spaceship, TV: The Angels Take Manhattan, & TV: The Nightmare in Silver).

Guilt often leads to him raining in his outward shows of strength to not invoke more guilt or memories of things like his believed use of the moment. However, it’s not always the case when Karlah-Jax triggers his trauma the guilt manifests in hurting others. The Doctor justifies his actions with a combination of trauma-based guilt and his moral system saying: “But they keep coming back, don't you see? Every time I negotiate, I try to understand. Well, not today. No. Today, I honour the victims first. His, the Master's, the Dalek's, all the people who died because of my mercy!” (TV: A Town Called Mercy) 

In TV: The Day of The Doctor we see how guilt is a huge diver of most of what they do throughout the show. Even to the point, the War Doctor wonders if without the guilt he would even become the same man that 10 and 11 are. However, it is important to note that using the moment isn’t the only guilt The Doctor carries. What he did to his companions is another one. Guilt and responsibility also drive a lot of the behaviour in TV: The Time of The Doctor. 

Eleven has extreme difficulties with handling his impulsive behaviours (TV: The Eleventh Hour, TV: Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone, TV: The Beast Below, TV: The Vampires of Venice, TV: Vincent and The Doctor, TV: The Curse of The Black Spot, TV: The Lodger, TV: The Doctor's Wife, Minisode: Space/Time. TV:Asylum of The Daleks, TV: Dinosaurs on A Spaceship, TV: A Town Called Mercy, TV: The Power of Three, TV: The Angels Take Manhattan, TV: The Rings of Akhaten, TV: Hide, TV: Journey To The Centre of The TARDIS, TV: The Name of The Doctor, & TV: The Day of The Doctor) His mind and thoughts get so ahead of himself he’ll do dumb things like baiting the armed people in the white house to shoot at him (TV: The Impossible Astronaut).

The Doctor has obsessive thoughts and behaviors connected with the impulse control and preoccupation with trauma (TV: Vincent and the Doctor,TV: The Wedding of River Song, TV: Closing Time, TV: The Power of Three, TV: The Rings of Akhaten, TV: journey to the center of the TARDIS & TV: The Time of The Doctor).

 Puts himself in deadly and dangerous situations. Often a combination of hero complex and a lack of regard for his own well being in dangerous moments. (TV: Victory of Daleks, TV: The Big Bang, TV: Let’s Kill Hitler, TV: The Angels Take Manhattan, TV: Hide, & TV: Journey To The Center of The TARDIS)

This behaviour can become almost suicidal in nature taunting and getting to close other enemies. In TV: Flesh and Stone he puts himself in more danger than necessary. One of his plans amounts to suicidal actions. We can see similar actions in TV: The Rings of Akhaten, TV: Nightmare in Silver and TV: Cold War where he is willing to kill everyone to save others. 

After seeing The Doctor die Amy, River and Rory discuss what the next thing they should do is. We get this dialogue: 

Rory: “We're not all going to arrange our own wake and invite ourselves. So, The Doctor, in the future, knowing he's going to die, recruits his younger self and all of us to, to what, exactly? Avenge him?” 

River: Uh-huh. Avenging's not his style. 

Amy: Save him. 

Rory: Yeah, that's not really his style either.” 

In this conversation, we see that they recognize that Eleven one doesn’t want his friends to act violently, and Rory also recognizes that The Doctor is willing to die for, whatever the astronaut was about. (TV: The Impossible Astronaut)

Has very strong and reactive emotional states. The emotional reactions are shown very visibly in his face, voice and actions. (TV: The Eleventh Hour, TV: The Victory of The Daleks, TV: The Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone, TV: The Beast Below, Minisode: Space/Time, TV: The Doctor's Wife, TV: A Good Man Goes To War, TV: Let’s Kill Hitler, TV: The God Complex, TV: Asylum of The Daleks, TV: Dinosaurs on a Spaceship, TV: The Power of Three, TV: The Angels Take Manhattan, & TV: Journey To The Center of The TARDIS ) We also often see extreme rapid cycling emotions and affect (TV: Amy’s Choice, TV: The Pandorica Opens, The Rebel Flesh / The Almost People, TV: Closing Time, TV: The Doctor's Wife, & TV: The Rings of Akhaten)

We see an example of this when Eleven is talking his effect going from slightly annoyed, excited and falls down to tired and then cold derision all in one paragraph length of speech “Home. Well, you two are. Off you pop and make babies. And you, Doctor Song, back to prison. And me? I'm late for a biplane lesson in 1911. Or it could be knitting. Knitting or biplanes. One or the other. What? A mysterious summons. You think I'm just going to go? Who sent those messages? I know you know. I can see it in your face. Don't play games with me. Don't ever, ever think you're capable of that.” (TV: The Impossible Astronaut)

In TV: The Doctor's Wife we see an expression of cold and extreme anger. He slips in an expression of cruelty in the way he talks to the people who live on House threatening them and telling them to run. Ith the TARDIS they kill the house with only callous anger and disregard. We see a similar show TV: Dinosaurs on A Spaceship when his anger at the lack of morality that Solomon shows and his treatment of the Silurians and Nefertiti he kills the man to save the others. He does this showing very little regret a combination of severe anger and his ability to shut down and dissociate from his emotions. 

Another act of his anger common out in an act of manipulative violence is the TV: The Bells of Saint John by using the Base station to threaten to bring down and scare people into action and ends up using it. 

An extreme example of how strongly his anger can run is seen when he learns of the actions of Kahler-Jex. He comes back angry at the lies and feeling deeply upset at the lies. It escalates with Jax telling The Doctor he doesn’t understand when The Doctor absolutely understand what position Jax was in. All of this peaks and when Kahler-Jex references The Doctor’s own trauma and actions in his history of not only the Time War but the other actions he’s had to take, along with the all the death he blames on his inactions as well. It pushes him to the edge of violence yelling and acting out physically. However, unlike other examples of The Doctor being willing to hurt others to protect something and/or someone he loves this time it’s out of a trigger to the past, he loses control of the anger he feels. 

Jax “You wouldn’t” 

The Doctor replies “I Genuinely don’t know.” 

This shows that being so disconnected to the emotions his trauma brings makes this scene confuse him. (TV: A Town Called Mercy)

After Amy is captured Eleven shuts down his emotions, a strong emptiness comes over him which is different from Rory who has a level of desperation and love for Amy. 

Rory says “Amy, can you hear me? We're coming for you. Wherever you are, we're coming, I swear.” 

The Doctor answers; “She can't hear you. I'm so sorry. It's one way.”  

Rory replies “She can always hear me, Doctor. Always. Wherever she is, and she always knows that I am coming for her. Do you understand me? Always.” 

(TV: The Day of The Moon)

The Emotional shutdown can even form a block in his empathy, much like rage he sometimes swings the other way trying to not feel, TV: The Snowmen, but being unable to manage these he often starts lashing out to others by trying to act on feelings. 

In TV: A Good Man Goes To War when Vastra points out he is seen as a weapon his emotions go from sadness to an episode of dissociation. We can see this as he loses the ability to register what the others are saying and has to be brought out of it. A similar event can be seen after an anger outburst and discussions truly close to his traumatic history his friends have with Kahler-Jax. Eleven goes almost blank facially and folds into himself emotional;y and physically. He isolates himself by stepping away and he completely loses the thread of the events around him. We see this when he says “Hmm? Yes. I don't know. Whatever Amy said.” It also melds with his wildly changing emotions as he flies into anger right after this. (TV: A Town Called Mercy). We also see dissociation in TV: The Girl Who Waited, The Time of Angels / Flesh and Stone & TV: The Snowmen)

We can see a physical manifestation in the way The Doctor physically acts as well. When he experiences dissociation and/or emotional shutdowns he curled into himself. (TV: The Day of The Moon, TV:The Girl Who Waited, TV: A Town Called Mercy, TV: The Angels Take Manhattan, TV: The Snowmen, & TV: Journey to The Center of The TARDIS ). 

We can see another physical manifestation of the disconnection he feels from himself and the dissociation he has with his table identity when he gets dressed without his own knowledge, Seen in this exchange

The Doctors: “No, you didn't, because I don't. Because this isn't the sort of thing I do any more. Next time you're in trouble, don't expect me to” 

(The Doctor is distracted by his reflection in a mirror.) 

Clara “What is it? What's wrong?” 

The Doctor: Sorry, it's just. Didn't know I'd put it on.  

(TV: The Snowmen)

Memory gaps are also seen in TV: Hide when he doesn’t even know what’s in the console room and TV: The Day of The Doctor as he has lost track of his own age and timeline [Not remembering the events with the moment doesn't count] Also seen in TV: The Lodger

His emotions and trauma can bring Eleven to the point of pretty dramatic outbursts. When the Daleks are seen for the first time by Eleven expresses an episode of range attacks the Dalek with a wrench (TV: Victory of The Daleks) Fear and Anger lead to a panic and rage episode including throwing things around and losing focus (TV: Flesh and Stone). We see these trauma, guilt and anger based breakdowns screaming and pushing others away, saying “Nobody talk to me. Nobody human has anything to say to me today!” (TV: The Beast Below). We see a physical breakdown again in TV: The God Complex and TV: The Angels Take Manhattan. 

A trauma-induced Panic Attack can be seen in TV: Asylum of the Daleks. He shows all the physical attributes and calls out for help a very uncharacteristic way of reacting showing a more heightened fear response. After this reminder of his trauma during the war, we see him struggle to return to the normal emotional level struggling to show compassion he normally has for human hurt by the Daleks reacting with rage at the Dalek shell that Oswin is trapped into. And panics again when she starts to move. 

In TV: Nightmare in Silver just seeing a Cyberman he goes into protect mode his easily triggered survival and protective manner. 

The Doctor is a show-off and is very dramatic to project the appearance he wants and hid a lot under it/ (TV: The Eleventh Hour, Minisode: Meanwhile in the TARDIS 2, TV: The Vampires of Venice, TV: The Big Bang, TV: The Doctor The Widow and The Wardrobe, TV: Day of The Moon, TV: The Doctor's Wife, TV: Let’s Kill Hitler, TV: A Christmas Carol, TV: The Wedding of River Song TV: The Asylum of The Daleks, TV: A Town Called Mercy, TV:The Snowmen, TV: The Bells of Saint John,TV: Journey to The Center of The TARDIS, & TV: The Day of The Doctor ). 

Often done to people he wants to like him like Amy, saying: “A forest in a bottle on a spaceship in a maze. Have I impressed you yet, Amy Pond?”(TV: Flesh and Stone) When Eleven finds himself in the oval office he goes on a rant, flaunt his intelligence and sits in the president's chair. Enjoying Putting on a show for his friends as well it works to refocus control and attention to him. (TV: The Impossible Astronaut)

In TV: A Good Man Goes To War we see a huge example of this. It is a combination of the way using confusion and manipulation is The Doctor's signature method of fighting enemies but it also is a way he enjoys getting positive and negative attention. 

Amy Pond is His favourite person and they both have a codependent relationship to a very high degree. Both being a defining part of the others life. Eleven while not really wanting a romantic relationship with Amy still experiences worry around Amy wanting to leave him some jealousy with Rory (TV: The Vampires of Venice) Is deeply protective over Amy even when he does bring in to dangerous situations (TV: The Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone, TV: Victory of The Daleks, TV: Vincent and The Doctor, & TV: The Pandorica Opens). Eleven struggles to attach healthy to others wanting this full 100% or 0% love (TV: The Eleventh Hour. TV: The God Complex, & TV: The Power of Three)

We this complete or zero attachment in action again in TV: The Snowmen with Clara. Going from a lockout of people in general to trying to make her come with him and feeling a deep connection in the matter of a day. Even when he doesn’t trust River Song yet he becomes jealous when she gives attention to others like saying “What? You two engaged or something?” when the father follows her around (TV: Flesh and Stone)

His extreme connection to his companions magnifies his own grief tenfold causing pretty deep reactions when losing his FP in the form of Amy. (TV: The Angels Take Manhattan & The Snowmen). His general problems with attachment magnify grief and loss in general, he struggles to form normal relationships and has deep abandonment issues that we see starting a few doctors back. This is further compounded by his long lifespan meaning he can see the way people are eventually going to lose them. In TV: The Power of Three he explains the way he knows loss is coming and tries to lose it, but when hitting this realization hard on he actually attempts to severe the bond before getting really hurt but that doesn’t work. He then pushes everyone again when the loss does it. (TV: The Snowmen). Clara points out that she is competing with a ghost in TV: The Rings of Akhaten, which while he rebuffs this she was actually right, one because he only picked her up based on a past loss but also because for a very long time the companions are competing with the ghost of past loss as it informs how protective and guilty The Doctor is with everyone. 

This struggle with grief can also be seen in TV: The Time of The Doctor when The Doctor as he sends Clara away to not deal with losing her even though that isn’t what she wants. 

Likes to be in control of everything to feel like he can manage a world that constantly throws pain and disorder. (TV: The Eleventh Hour, TV: The Vampires of Venice, TV: The Hungry Earth/Cold Earth, TV: The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang, TV: The Power of Three, TV: The Curse of the Black Spot, TV: The Crimson Horror, TV: Nightmare in Silver, TV: Cold War, & TV: The Name of The Doctor) 

Eleven takes control no matter who is around them, up to and including the president of the united states (TV: The Impossible Astronaut/Day of The Moon). There is also often the need to try and protect people, though this often bothers the people as it takes their choice from them. (TV: A Christmas Carol, TV: The Doctor's Wife, TV: The God Complex, TV: Asylum of The Daleks, & TV: Name of The Doctor). 

In Prose: Touched By an Angel Eleven comments that Rory is "disconcertingly full of surprises" when he alters the plans Eleven is trying to work through. In TV: The Snowmen we see another example of his control issues verbalized by Eleven when Clara attempts to lead him saying “No, I do the hand grabbing. That's my job. That's always me!”, a telling example of the way Clara not listening even more than normal throws him off balance. 

In TV: The Time of The Doctor The Doctor takes control of not just the battle but ends up essentially running the entire planet, based on a hero/god complex along with his warranted feeling of responsibility. In TV:Day of The Doctor we see this control and god complex in an extreme form as they feel a responsibility to save the entire universe, it’s also connected to guilt born from trauma The Doctor experienced throughout the time war even before the use of the moment, as the War Doctor feels the same responsibility/god complex. 

Eleven tries to control the entire situation of the adventures and the situations around those he loves. It’s not trying to really hurt them, and often works but he still wants to try and make everything work right. (TV: The God Complex, TV: Asylum of The Daleks, TV: The Crimson Horror)

 We see an example of this also TV: The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People in the way he doesn’t tell people what he’s doing so no one interferes with his plans, even willing to lie to people by omission and right out no telling Amy which doctor is made of Flesh and which is the Time Lord. Similar to this situation in TV: Journey to The Center of The TARDIS The Doctor manipulates the salvage crew withholding information, using intimidation and his superior understanding of the TARDIS to get what he wants so he can save Clara. The Doctor also lies to Clara here and scares her once he does lose that control, the lies and information he had been hiding for long can’t keep in under stress. 

Lacks any ability to trust almost anybody (TV: The Beast Below, TV: The Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone, TV: The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People, & TV: Journey to The Center of The TARDIS). TV: The Impossible Astronaut gives us to rather good examples of this, the person he trusts number one is himself over anyone who has been with him over time. Also when talking to River he says “Trust you? Sure. But, first of all, Doctor Song, just one thing. Who are you? You're someone from my future. Getting that. But who? Okay. Why are you in prison? Who did you kill, hmm? Now, I love a bad girl, me, but trust you? Seriously.” a cruel statement of his trust issues, and acts as a way to push her away and keep at arm's length even when he does enjoy her company. 

The Doctor struggles to understand and communicate ideas and emotions. Forming new relationships are hard for him his ability for healthy attachments in non-existent. We see this with Rory a lot. Rory doesn’t quickly fall in line with The Doctors normal way of functioning. Eleven doesn't have a good ability to communicate their issues. This makes relationships pretty volatile with River, Amy and Clara even when they are what he loves most 

Experiences splitting mostly with River Goes back and forth being very flirty and then pushing River away (TV: Flesh and Stone, TV: A Good Man Goes to War, & TV: The Day of The Moon)

Eleven avoids talking about trauma trying to not remember or discuss it while it also clearly affects everything he does (TV: The Beast Below, TV: The Doctor's Wife, TV: A Good Man Goes To War, TV: Day of The Doctor, TV: The Snowmen, TV: Hide TV: The Name of The Doctor, TV: The Day of The Doctor & The Time of The Doctor) Distraction used as a coping mechanism (TV: Amy’s Choice, TV: The hungry Earth) When he does talk about it he struggles to then stop (TV: The Rings of Akhaten, TV: The Day of The Doctor).

The Doctor isn’t in touch with his emotions (TV: A Town Called Mercy, TV: The Doctor The Widow and The Wardrobe, TV: The Power of Three, TV: The Angels Take Manhattan, TV: The Snowmen, & TV: The Bells of Saint John). In TV: A Good Man Goes To War he comments “Oh, look, I'm angry. That's new. I'm really not sure what's going to happen now.” However, The Doctor often shows anger to the point of outbursts of violence. This shows a profound disconnect from his own emotional state. 

Eleven like the previous incarnations is deeply lonely and feels like he is alone and disconnected (TV: The Beast Below, TV: The Doctor The Widow and The Wardrobe, TV: The Doctor's Wife, TV: Night Terrors TV: The Bells of Saint John) We see this in his trying to connect with the Krafayis “Well, no harm trying. Listen. Listen! I know you can understand me, even though I know you won't understand why you can understand me. I also know that no one's talked to you for a pretty long stretch, but please, listen. I also don't belong on this planet. I also am alone. If you trust me, I'm sure we can come to some kind of, you know, understanding. And then, and then, who knows?” (TV: Vincent and The Doctor) 

The most extreme example of this is of course seen in TV: The Snowmen where for what is implied to be years The Doctor isolates himself from almost everyone and stops trying to help others. 

The Doctor experiences hypervigilance and general hyperarousal symptoms about him always on edge and looking for danger. It also causes him trouble staying still and enjoying any calm (TV: Amy’s Choice, Minisode: Night and The Doctor, TV: The Hungry Earth / Cold Blood, TV: The Lodger, TV: The Impossible Astronaut, TV: Closing Time, TV: Asylum of The Daleks, TV: Dinosaurs on A Spaceship, TV: Closing Time TV: A Town Called Mercy, TV: The Power of Three, TV: The Angels Take Manhattan, TV: The Bells of Saint John, TV: The Rings of Akhaten, & TV Nightmare in Silver)  

We see this in his conversation with Amy Saying; “Oh, lovely. You're a cheery one. Never mind dead, look at this place. Isn't it wrong?” Amy is confused by this “What's wrong?” Elven seems genuinely surprised that she doesn’t see what is happening the way he can “Come on, use your eyes. Notice everything. What's wrong with this picture?” (TV: The Beast Below) 

Even when in a calm environment like a museum The Doctor is on the lookout. When viewing Van Gogh art he stops to investigate danger having noticed it everywhere “Yes. And not a nice face at all. I know evil when I see it and I see it in that window.“ (TV: Vincent and The Doctor)

The Doctor deals with catastrophization (TV: The Beast Below, TV: Vincent and The Doctor, TV: The Curse of The Black Spot & Prequels: Prequel to The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe) The Doctor also struggles to view the world with an active hope more using it an idea to focus his thoughts, it takes extreme emotions to push through that, and not much to bring it all crashing down. (TV: The Doctor The Widow in the Wardrobe, Minisode: Meanwhile in The TARDIS, & TV: The Angels Take Manhattan)

Other people tend to understand and see his erratic behaviour. In TV: The Time of Angles. 

Father Octavian asked River “Doctor Song, I've lost good Clerics today. You trust this man? “ 

She replies “I absolutely trust him.” 

Octavian asks “ He's not some kind of madman, then?” 

All River does is repeat “ I absolutely trust him”. 

A comment on the very noticeable erratic behaviour and presentation of his feelings and dysregulation, his own friends who trust him can’t even pretend he isn’t like that. Clara makes a similar comment in TV: Nightmare in Silver.

Multiple times people who knows him warn against getting to the emotional breaking point. In TV: The Doctor's Wife  Amy says “Don't get emotional because that's when you make a mistake” In TV: Forest of The Dead River warns Ten against it when he generally has a slightly higher boiling point to Eleven to experience full emotional breakdowns. 

Rory finds The Doctor to be dangerous in his ability to be magnetic and the way his own recklessness plays of each other. (TV: The Vampires of Venice)

The Doctor’s interactions with Van Gogh is really interesting we see to a large instance I think he understands what he is going through but trying to use his own coping mechanisms on Van Gogh proves to not be very effective. He tries to make Van Gogh focus on the task at hand, ignore people calling him crazy don’t think about the pain. But of course, this doesn’t work for Van Gogh who has slightly different problems than The Doctor and can’t function on denial. 

We also see his difficulty with communication here talking about his or others feelings being a struggle. He does try and offer kindness with mentioning hope, and then lets Van Gogh he will be remembered kindly a truly kind act. Eleven is also distinctly less surprised than Amy that one kind day can not make someone not struggle with suicidal thoughts, something I think comes from both his knowledge of time travel but personal experience with mental illness. (TV: Vincent and The Doctor)

In TV: Hide we see Emma Grayling being able to read The Doctor because she is an empath, this ability makes her distrustful of The Doctor overall but also works with him because she can tell he does want to save people. Emma warns Clara about the fact the Doctor’s history has left him deeply damaged she says“Don't trust him. There's a sliver of ice in his heart.” 

Professor Alec Palmer also reads The Doctor in this same episode, he can tell the Doctor has seen traumatic events of war and death just like he as. They are similar people and they can see it in each other. 

Eleven has become so used to the chaos and violence that he cannot change and disconnect. Adventure and violence are the only way he knows how to function, also I sort of an addiction to chaos. (Minisode: Night and The Doctor, TV: The Lodger, TV: Amy’s Choice, TV: Dinosaurs On A Spaceship, TV: The Power of Three, & TV: A Town Called Mercy) 

We see The Doctor has a breakdown in being able to enjoy a normal life and things, even some of the less violent of the things in space like stars or general life (Minisode: Meanwhile in the TARDIS 2)

While The Doctor is addicted to violence he has a deep moral problem with the concept of war and hurting other creatures. The Doctor also tries to ensure that other people don’t have to live in the war as he did. It is hypocritical as The Doctor will cause harm for the greater good. However, opposition to war is as much a part of the identity as a moral concept. This hatred of war actually dates back to the early doctors and carried through till this point, now with the layers of trauma and having continuously broken the morals himself. (TV: The Beast Below, TV: The Hungry Earth / Cold Blood, TV: The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People, TV: Dinosaurs on A Spaceship, TV: A Town Called Mercy, & TV: Nightmare in Silver)

Other soldiers and actors of violence can always read this past in The Doctor (TV: Hide, TV: Nightmare in Silver, & TV: The Name of The Doctor). This is seen in TV: Cold War when the other soldiers can see that The Doctor understands the battle, River also comments on this in TV: Let’s kill Hitler as she was taught that he understood “all forms of war.'' He is confronted with the way he’s been acting as a violent force when he learns the Gamma forest uses the doctor as the war for a warrior (TV: A Good Man Goes to War). 

TV: The Day of The Doctor shows us this understanding of battles and violent politics, and how much this is splitting to his character as The War Doctor refuses to even call himself The Doctor. It shows how much he understands about war. This carries into TV: The Time of The Doctor where he can wage a hundred years of war and win. 

Insomnia: (TV: The Lodger, Minisode: Night and The Doctor, TV: The Bells of Saint John)

Disordered eating: (TV: The Eleventh Hour, TV: The Power of Three, TV: The Time of The Doctor)

Eleven is a character built on contradictions bu as highly magnetic as the other doctors. His arc is similar to 9s in being bittersweet, he dies with those he loves having saved people but is also sad because his last days were spent in war when that’s the last thing he wanted to do, they were also tainted by feelings of guilt for his part in what happened. He changes some over time in relation to loss but has less profound shifts than many other New Who doctors. 

[Also Posted on my Archive of Our Own page in a series with the other doctor study posts]

Shout out to @3lianav for requesting/reminding me to get this section up

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Sixty-Six: Tea Cup ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Inuzuka Kiba, Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Shisui ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Healing Waters and Scorching Flames ] [ AO3 Link ]

In all honesty, part of him wants to return to the shop.

After the war, Shisui’s gone back to run it, claiming his time - though short - in the Fire Nation army was more than enough. And given his loyalties to the White Lotus, being biased in any one nation now that alliances are in the works with the group as an important figurehead seems unbalanced.

And in all honesty? Sasuke misses his time there. Though it was a little...strange, and quite the divergence from his typical behavior, it’d been a time of good change in him. So maybe, in a way, it’s a little nostalgic.

But, he has more than his cut of work to do elsewhere: the Fire Nation - and he himself - have much to make up for after their actions in the century of war they waged. Along with the rest of Team Avatar, he spends every spare minute traveling, in peace talks, and even helping to set up new governments and laws. Not just in his own country, but others. Whether he likes it or not, Sasuke’s involvement with Naruto means a front-row seat in the proceedings as the world slowly rights itself after a hundred years of imbalance and turmoil.

A few years pass before there’s any semblance of a break. Thankfully Sasuke still gets plenty of time with his brother, and there’s little more he can ask for than that. The new Fire Lord is as well as he can be thanks to his healer, and under his leadership, the Fire Nation is making good ground.

...something he knows never would have happened if he’d been the one to end up ruler.

He tries, however, not to think about that. Things are as they are, and - as Hinata once told him - it’s time to move on. Look forward. And looking back on what-ifs and could-have-beens won’t get him anywhere he needs to be.

So, once the group all have time to settle down for at least a few days...Sasuke extends the invitation to the Jasmine Dragon for a small reunion, and a chance to see both his cousin, and one of his favorite places again.

They meet at the gate of Ba Sing Se to start, taking the tram to the upper ring and chatting as they go.

“Y’know Sasuke, you seem...different.”

The Uchiha perks a brow at the Avatar. “...do I?”

“Yeah! Like...uh…” The blond rubs at his chin, trying to figure it out. “...lighter…?”

“...lighter. What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”

“No, I think I see what he means,” Sakura offers, taking her turn to lean in and study him...making him in turn lean back. “Something is different...like you’re not so dreary and depressing anymore.”

“Gee, thanks,” he deadpans in reply.

“That’s a good thing!” Naruto insists. “Means you’re changing!”

“An insult in the past is still an insult.”

Nearby, he just catches Hinata turning to giggle into a sleeve.

...for some reason, that lifts his mood.

Once they reach the proper station, the group departs and starts walking toward the tea house. “So Shisui really did just...drop out of the army to make tea?”

“Mhm.”

“That seems so...weird. Like, how do you go from badass general to...tea maker?”

“Everyone has hobbies. And not all of them have to make sense. It’s...what he likes to do,” Sasuke explains with a shrug. “And he’s damn good at it, so why not?”

“I mean yeah, I guess.”

“...I worked here for a while, remember?”

“Wait, what?”

...did he really never mention that?

“You worked in a tea house…?” Hinata follows up.

“Uh, yeah...for a little while. Shisui and I came in disguised as refugees, and...he found us work in a tea house.” His lips twitch. “...he quickly turned it around - the man knows his tea. Eventually he got offered his own tea house by some rich guy who wanted his talent, which included lodging, so...we took it. It was...honestly really nice. And then…” His expression falls. “...there was the time we all ended up in the crystal caverns, and…”

An awkward silence falls as they all remember.

“...well, things got better after that!” Naruto pipes up, trying to pop the somber bubble. “And now look at us!”

“...yeah.”

“Do you ever think about coming back?”

“...to work?” Sasuke tries to clarify, turning to Hinata.

“It sounds like you really enjoyed it.”

Looking back forward, he eventually admits, “...I did. But I have too much to do with our group. Maybe someday, once that’s all said and done, I can come back. Just for a while - I’m sure there will always be work to be done. But...maybe.”

Soon enough they arrive, and Shisui greets them exuberantly. “It’s about time you all made it here!” he teases with a trademark grin. “I saved the best table for you!”

They all take their seats, admiring the place. “Wooow, this is fancy!” Naruto compliments, gaping at the interior.

“He takes good care of it...and admittedly has pretty good style. It’s all based on traditional tea houses.”

Once they all choose their tea leaves, hot water is brought alongside beautiful tea cups. The finery seems mostly lost on almost the whole group. But Hinata admires her cup closely.

“He had them all custom made,” Sasuke explains from his seat beside her. “They’re all based on different flowers or tea types. I...dunno enough about it to tell you what’s what, but I remember that much.”

“This one’s lilacs,” she explains, holding it up to show the blooms painted along the bottom.

Before he considers his words, Sasuke offers, “It suits you.”

“...you think so?”

Uh… “...y-yeah. Purple always sort of reminds me of you.”

She blinks at him, clearly taken a bit aback. “...reminds you...of me?”

Thankfully the tension is broken as Kiba spills tea, earning a yelp that brings both their gazes back around...and several other patrons’.

“Jeez, we can’t take you anywhere!” Sakura gripes, trying to wipe it up...only for Hinata to bend all of the liquid up off the table and out an obliging window, into a bush.

“No harm done,” the Hyūga insists, smiling. Her Southern companion mumbles a thank you before nursing his tea sheepishly.

The group stays well into the afternoon, having their share of tea, and suitable cakes and snacks alongside it. For a while, all of their responsibilities seem to be forgotten. Even Shisui spends some time at their table, chatting with both his cousin and the others.

“I will admit, the Earth Kingdom has the best tea leaves. The Fire Nation is just too arid in most places to really grow it well. Too hot.”

“Well this is all great!” Sakura compliments. “You’ve got a pretty nice shop here, Shisui.”

“Thanks! It does pretty well. And there’s little else I’d rather be doing.”

“What about White Lotus work?” Sasuke cuts in.

“Oh yeah, that too. This is more just my daily job - White Lotus assignments are thankfully a bit sparse for me. Mostly just relaying information. Which means plenty of time here!” He smiles, and there’s a hint of mischief to it. “You wouldn’t believe the things some folks say when in a fancy place like this. They forget they can be overheard.”

“Very clever.”

“Hey, two birds with one stone!”

By early evening, however, they’ve had just about as much tea and cake as they can handle. “Leaving already?”

“We’ve got rooms for the night, but yeah - duty calls,” Naruto replies with a salute.

“No rest for the wicked - or the Avatar, eh? And of course his trusty companions.”

“Nope!”

They make their way out into the cool evening air and toward the inn they’ve all booked. “That was so lovely,” Hinata compliments, hands clasped at her front. “I’d love to go again and again.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sasuke admits. “Hopefully we can head back sooner rather than later.” Glancing to the trio at the front, there’s a pause before he decides to suggest, “Maybe...sometime, it could be just the two of us…?”

That earns him a curious glance.

“I mean, the others are great! Just, you know...a little loud.”

Hinata can’t help a light laugh at that. “You...have a point. It might be nice to have a bit of quieter company in a place like a tea house.” Smiling at him, she agrees, “All right...we’ll have to do that someday.”

Something swells in the firebender’s chest.

Once they reach the inn, they break into groups - the boys in one room, and the girls in another. They all say their goodnights, and then part.

Dressing down to sleep, Naruto can’t help but give Sasuke a sly grin. “Sooo, Sasuke...what were you and Hinata talking about so long behind us?”

He stiffens...and Kiba does the same.

“Uh...what do you mean?”

“C’mon, man! You were chattin’ up a storm!”

“...we were just talking about the tea house, Naruto. Calm down.”

The blond jabs an elbow into Sasuke’s bare side, eyebrows wriggling. “Maybe plans to go there...alone…?”

...how did he…?

“...and if I did? What’s the big deal?”

Naruto’s grin just gets wider...and Kiba’s scowl gets deeper. “Ha! I knew it!”

“Maybe I just like quieter company than you three loud-mouths,” Sasuke grumbles, pulling on a night shirt.

“Uh huuuh...sure.”

Tired of the teasing, Sasuke tucks himself into bed, back turned rather pointedly to his bunkmates. “Goodnight, Naruto.”

“G’night, Lover Boy!”

     Veeery late, but...done, lol      Some more AtLA cuz tea plays a pretty big part in canon AtLA x3 Since Sasuke lacks an Iroh figure, I instead have Shisui play Iroh's part, just...a little younger. And a little sassier, ahaha. I have considered maybe using Kagami, but...I dunno. Fugaku doesn't have a canon brother, and Kagami's technically a generation older, so...we'll just have to see - I might change it later if I ever make a proper fic out of the crossover, but for now, this is what we've got lol      And on that note, I need to head to bed! Thanks so much for reading~

[noramoya]

MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL DISPUTES WITH SATAN FOR MOSES BODY .

The reader, who identifies himself as “Petrivalianici”, left us the comment below, with a question about a rather curious subject, which we try to answer next, to the extent of our abilities and with the help of God :

“Henry, I have a question about a Biblical passage from the Epistle of San Jude : in verse 9, chapter 1, San Jude says that St. Michael the Archangel disputes with Satan over the body of Moses. I would like to know about the reason of this fact that always intrigued me, when I read this text from the Holy Bible . Thank you and have the Peace of Our Lord Jesus Christ !”

The passage from the book of Jude, mentioned by the reader, which really arouses the interest of many researches,is the following :

“When Michael the Archangel has a controversy with Satan and disputed about the body of Moses, he did not dare to put a judgement against the devil in outrageous terms, but said: ‘The Lord rebuke thee’ .(Jude 9). “

Although the Letter of Jude is brief (with only 1 chapter with 25 verses), it contains certain information that it is not found elsewhere in the Holy Scriptures. Only this book mentions the dispute of Michael The Archangel with Satan over the body of Moses, as well as the Prophecy made centuries before by Enoch (Jd 9, 14-15).

It is quite possible that St. Jude had access to such information by reliable transmission (whether oral or written) of an earlier tradition. This could explain the existence of a similar reference of the prophecy of Enoch – in the Apocryphal Book of Enoch, probably written between the 2nd and 1st centuries BC. A common source (‘The Assumption of Moses’) may have provided the basement for the statement made in both the sacred and apocryphal books .

The accountant of “The Assumption of Moses” tells in more details the strange story of the Death of Moses, reported in Deut. 34: 1-6), adding the narrative of later events, how the body of the great Prophet was delivered to Michael The Archangel, to give him burial. On this occasion, the devil appears, who wrestles with St. Michael, over the body of Moses. The enemy of humanity based its claim, fundamentally, on two grounds : first, the body of Moses was matter, matter would be evil, and therefore, the body of Moses would be his, since the matter is his domain; secondly, Moses was a murderer, since he took the life of the Egyptian, whom he saw punishing the Hebrews ( Exodus 2: 11-12). So, from Moses being a murderer, the devil would have the right to claim his body.

Various theories, interpretation and metaphysical elucidations have been formulated as what this struggle over the body of Moses would have been. One of them is that Satan, who has always been the accuser of the people of God (Revelation 12-10), may have resisted Moses ‘elevation to eternal life’ because of his sin of murder at Meribah (Deut. 32: 51).

The point marked by St. Jude the Apostle is this: Saint Michael is an Archangel; Satan is the chief of the demons; Michael was engaged in a task God entrusted to him; Satan tried to stop him, saying he had no right ! Even in such circumstances, which was fully favorable to him, Saint Michael did not dare to speak evil of the devil, nor uttered any accusations against him, but rather said to him, simply: “The Lord rebuke thee !” What St. Jude wants to point out is, if even the Prince of the Good Angels did not wish to revile the greatest of the evil angels, even in circumstances such as these, then surely no man can utter injury against an angel (or to a man, for the matter). Which is the context of the passage in question .

Notice how St. Michael acted in this dispute with Satan. St. Jude account does not say what Satan wanted to do with the body of Moses, but we can be sure that his intentions were not good. We can speculate many things : perhaps he wanted Moses remains to promote idolatry... But Saint Michael thwarts the plot of Satan, demonstrating at the same time, a remarkable self control, which is a typical characteristic of him. The evil angel certainly deserved to be censured, but Saint Michael recognizes, most faithful as ever, that only God could judge Satan (John 5: 22). As an Archangel, Michael possesses immense authority and power ! Even so, he humbly submit to God, instead of relying on his privileged position. “Exactly in that, is why Michael is Great as he is in the Kingdom of Heaven”!

The intriguing account, exclusive to St. Jude in the Canonical Scriptures, teaches basically two lessons: on one hand, to leave all judgement to God. Satan evidently wanted to misuse the corpse of the revered Moses. However, Saint Michael humbly refrained from ‘pronouncing injurious judgement against the devil’ , because TO GOD ALONE IS THE JUDGEMENT! We see, therefore, that the way we should treat one another must always be grounded in Charity, first and foremost ! If not even The Glorious Archangel Michael wanted to insult the evil angel with words, we see how much we (small and weak sinners) must restrain from insult one another .

Saint Jude was inspired to write about this incident because some Christians of his day were not humble. Arrogantly “they spoke outrageously about things they did not know” (10). For us, imperfect human beings, it is very easy to be overcome by pride. How do we react when we do not understand some actions on the part of our neighbor, whether lay, priest or bishop ? We begin to speak recklessly, with harsh and insulting words, even though we do not know all the facts involved in a specific situation; are we not demonstrating a lack of Humility ? Instead of doing so, let us imitate the Great Saint Michael Archangel, not judging matters that God has not given us authority to judge.

Saint Michael Archangel must have fought the Victorious struggle against Satan, by the Lord’s commission (Rev. 12: 7-9). That is why it is all the more significant that, at the time of the dispute over the body of Moses, Saint Michael did not address the devil with insult but he left the rebuke entirely on the account of the Lord. The moral that Saint Jude points is : that Saint Michael showed reservations, even on his relationship with the devil, while the false teachers showed no reverence for no authority.”

We do not know what the men of whom Saint Jude has spoken about the angels. Perhaps they we’re Agnostics, saying that the angel were evil and were in service of an evil god . In any case, this is a passage that may have lost much of its meaning for us, in modern times, but which have set up against those to whom Saint Jude was addressing.

PS: As Saint Paul the Apostle says :

•(17) Pay no evil to anyone with evil. Apply yourselves to do good to all men;

•(18) If it is possible, as much as may depends on you, live in peace with all men;

•(19) Do not avenge one another, dear ones, but let the wrath of God work, for it is written: Vengeance is to Me; to Me to do righteously, said the Lord (Deut. 32: 35);

•(20) If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if your enemy is thirsty, give him drink. In so doing, thou shalt heap burning coals upon his head ( Pr 25, 21 f);

•(21) Do not be overcome by evil but triumph from evil to good (Romans 12: 17-21).

[wordsablaze]

Amusing Azazel Is Alec’s Forte

Asmodeus offers Alec immortality at a sly, costly price but love makes a deadly pawn and Shadowhunters are great at loopholes... a sort of follow-up to ‘bookshelves and in-laws’ inspired by a request from @minim236, enjoy!

A/N: huge shout-out to @catastrokey, @bcnedrah and @brooklynxmagic for some ace dialogue inspiration! <3

"By the Angel!" Alec yells, his eyes wide and his hand reaching for the bow that isn't there because he never usually feels the need to protect himself when he's around Magnus.

"What's wro- oh, look who nobody dragged in but somehow ended up inside anyway." Magnus' internal shields are up in a heartbeat as his expression changes from amused to protective.

Azazel smirks at him. "I knew I could always count on you for a warm welcome, nephew dearest."

Magnus scoffs. "You can't expect any kind of welcome after you forced me to leave behind my own body, uncle dearest."

His words have never been more scalding and some part of Alec files this under 'badass things his boyfriend can do' even though he really should be focusing on the second greater demon their home has been annoyed with rather than making a note of how much he loves Magnus.

Instead of offering any kind of apology, Azazel shrugs. "I am merely the messenger this time around."

Alec frowns. "Who needs a greater demon as a messenger?"

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the naivety in that question, Magnus throws Alec a pointed look and gestures to the bookshelf. Realisation dawns on Alec within a millisecond and he blushes, clearly embarrassed by his deductions, or lack thereof.

"If you're the messenger, shouldn't you have a message for us?" Magnus asks, practically sensing Alec's embarrassment and wanting to divert the attention from his flushed shadowhunter.

Azazel's eye roll would win the Olympics if eye-rolling were a sport. "I have an invitation."

Both Magnus and Alec step closer to one another, Magnus still in front. Azazel takes this in and raises a single eyebrow. "It's a very innocent dinner invitation."

"Since when does Asmodeus invite shadowhunters for dinner?" Magnus asks. "Or do anything innocently, for that matter?"

"Wait, Asmodeus. As in, my father-in-law? The same father-in-law who destroyed our bookshelf? He wants to have dinner?" Alec blurts, clearly not fully awake – or just traumatised by his first meeting with the in-laws.

To his credit, Magnus barely reacts, replying, "Technically, It was the company he attracted that destroyed our bookshelf. And, darling, how many other fathers-in-law do you have?"

"Oh, Lord, save me from this-" Azazel holds up a hand- "that's the wrong kind of being to pray to, pardon me."

Magnus has never seen Alec look so utterly bewildered and out of control so he laces their hands together and turns back to Azazel with a nonchalant glare. "Either get to the point or get out, would you?"

"Touchy, are we?" Azazel retorts but then nods. "Your presence in Edom at midnight is required."

"That's not how invitations work," Alec says, finally somewhat in his senses.

"They are if you're my father," Magnus mutters and waves a hand. "You can go now."

"I will, but not because you asked me to, but because I cannot tolerate this impolite behaviour and I would much rather converse when the both of you are a little more tolerable." Instead of announcing his departure like most beings would, he vanishes on the spot, with no warning whatsoever.

"Magnus?" Alec asks as soon as he's gone. "What exactly just happened?"

"I believe it's some sort of ulterior motive in action, Alexander, but not to worry!" Magnus chirps. "As long as we ignore my father the whole time, everything should go smoothly."

"What?"

"Obviously just seeing you wasn't enough for my father, so we've been ordered to go and meet him again."

Alec's expression mirrors the disbelief in his mind when he licks his lips as if saliva can give him the strength needed to speak. Magnus waits patiently as Alec takes a deep breath before deciding on his question: "Are we meant to wear matching suits?"

"Since when did fashion become a priority to the same Shadowhunter who wears the same t-shirt for a week?"

"Since I have to make a good impression in front of the father of the warlock embodiment of fashion itself!"

Alec's panic is clearly genuine because his ability to articulate sentences is usually a little less repetitive than that, which Magnus can't help but find both endearing and hilarious.

"I'm almost insulted you assume my style is based on anything but my own creativity." Magnus plants a small kiss on Alec's nose – a gesture that never fails to make him smile – and smirks. "It's probably better for you to go looking as different to me as you can, to be honest."

There's a small smile on his face and miniature fireworks on the tip of his nose but Alec still can't even remotely calm down, the thought of willingly going to Edom making him slightly nauseous. In fact, he's still out of it until something falls around him, causing him to blink and slowly realise Magnus has gone. And left a shower of glitter going above his head.

Groaning, Alec steps to the side, only for the glitter to carry on falling around him, recycling itself to back above his head just before it hits the floor.

"Magnus!"

"Yes, sweet pea?" Magnus draws from behind him - so he has to spin fast enough to give a regular mundane whiplash - as if he'd been standing there all along. Which isn't totally out of the question, since Magnus seems to enjoy staring at Alec even though he doesn't really understand what he has that's worth the attention, but that's another matter.

"Cut it out!" Alec whines.

"Cut what out? Honestly, you'd think a Shadowhunter would know to be more concise..."

"Magnus, I will break up with you."

"Will you really?" Magnus' eyes have ever looked so sly.

No.

"You doubt me?" If anybody could see his smirk, they wouldn't recognise him.

"Yes. Yes, Alexander, I do."

"Already? But you haven't even proposed."

Alec's heart is in his throat because did he really just say that without thinking? He might not know how to control his oral filter but he does know how to go along with things so he can easily fold his arms and raise an eyebrow as if he isn't totally freaking out on the inside.

Magnus laughs and snaps his fingers, the glitter vanishing as quickly as it had started to rain, making Alec grin smugly. He manages to retain said smugness right up until Magnus creates the portal for them to go to Edom, at which point his confidence fizzles.

"Magnus, I can't do this."

"And the head of the New York Institute can't be in a relationship with the High Warlock of Brooklyn but here we are, mm?"

Alec breathes, taking Magnus' outstretched hand and stepping through the portal. After recovering from nausea that might be from nerves and might be transportation side effects, he nods to Magnus, the two of them starting to walk. They don't really have to go far, just a little distance where, despite the barren landscape, a rather lavish house stands. Well, it's more like one large room, as Alec discovers once they walk through the doors.

"Magnus!" Asmodeus booms instantly, smiling wolfishly.

"Father."

Alec's tongue refuses to work so he just nods, hoping he's not being impolite. How is he meant to know what kind of standards a prince of Hell has anyway?

"Oh, sit down already," Azazel mutters, rolling his eyes from where he's sat at a small, rectangular table.

Magnus pulls Alec to one of the longer sides, sitting so Magnus is in between Asmodeus and Alec and the two of them are opposite Azazel. Asmodeus smiles strangely as he settles at the head of the table, gesturing to the food in front of them. "Help yourselves."

Even Azazel seems a little shocked, choking on his wine.

"Alright, we're here, now what do you want?" Magnus asks.

"Why can't I just want to have a nice dinner with my son?"

Alec watches Magnus snort in amusement. "You wouldn't know how to be nice even if it was a part of your DNA so-"

"How can we help you?" Alec interrupts, trying his best not to panic.

Three sets of eyebrows lift up in surprise before Asmodeus can recover and shoot Magnus a pointed look, then turn to Alec. "I'd like a word with you."

"You wish!" Magnus scoffs, frowning, shifting closer to Alec.

As euphoric as that makes him feel, Alec knows Asmodeus won't give it up until he gets his way so he kissed Magnus' cheek and winks. "I'll be quick."

After a second, Magnus nods and squeezes Alec's hand before standing and walking out of the room, Azazel doing the same. He watches them leave, only slightly worried, eventually turning to Asmodeus with the best smile he can manage.

"I have an offer for you, Shadowhunter."

"What kind of offer?" Alec asks, both curious and dubious.

"One regarding your little argument with my son."

Argument? Alec doesn't waste time wondering how Asmodeus knows about their argument, choosing instead to wonder what Asmodeus can do about the contents of Magnus' box. He can't figure out what he's missing until…

"You mean…?"

"Magnus' immorality, yes," Asmodeus confirms, a glint in his eyes.

"You're not taking away his immortality, I already know that's too high a price to pay." Alec doesn't even think before saying that, knowing that Magnus becoming mortal now would be a disaster and a half and the last thing they want is to cause either of them more pain.

Asmodeus, however, seems unfazed. "I wasn't referring to taking away his immortality…"

Alec's eyes widen. There's no way to avoid it, the prospect of being able to spend a forever with Magnus too beautiful for him to stay professional. He can tell that's the desired effect because there's an air of victory around Asmodeus immediately.

"What's the price?" Alec asks. He might be sentimental and hopelessly in love but he's not entirely naïve.

"A favour."

"A favour?" he echoes, not believing it.

"Exactly. A small favour, just the one, in exchange for immortality." Asmodeus smiles, but this time it's scarily warm as if this really is some kind of gift and not the way to achieving an ulterior motive.

"I…"

He doesn't know.

"I need to talk to Magnus."

Asmodeus, having anticipated such a reaction, simply waves a hand as permission. Alec is out of his chair immediately, all but sprinting to Magnus and stumbling out of the door, where Magnus is waiting with an anxious look on his face.

"Magnus, he…"

"I know, Alexander, I know. And you can't. You can't, darling, it's not worth it."

"But, Magnus, it's not that bad of a price to pay."

Shaking his head, Magnus takes Alec's hands. "You don't want to owe my father a favour, especially not when he's just given you immortality."

Beside them, Azazel clears his throat. "This is awfully sentimental but I suggest you hurry up and make a decision before he changes his mind." And, with that, he's gone, walking back inside.

"He always was my most helpful uncle," Magnus mutters.

Alec exhales, both in amusement and determination. "Magnus, I have to. I don't care what I'll have to do."

"Alexander… This isn't like losing a bet to your siblings, this is Asmodeus having power over you for all of eternity. I don't want that for you."

But Alec is stubborn by nature and, worse, he's in love.

Before Magnus can say anything else, Alec has pulled them inside and is already nodding. "I accept."

Azazel chokes on his wine a second time – he might as well learn not to drink it when Alec is around – just as Asmodeus beams. "Wonderful!"

"Alexander!" Magnus looks at him with a mixture of shock and concern, primarily the latter.

Alec wakes up to Magnus' golden eyes.

"What just happened?" Alec groans, slightly alarmed by the worried rage in his boyfriend's eyes.

"Welcome to immortality," Magnus murmurs, pulling Alec into a sitting position and throwing his arms around him. Alec blinks, then hugs Magnus back, seriously confused as to what he's missed.

He then notices the newfound energy in his soul and his eyes widen as he gasps, "Magnus?"

"You can be my new box," Magnus whispers in his ear and Alec chuckles, then looks up to see Azazel grinning happily at them. He'd be concerned with the devilish look in Asmodeus' eyes but he's too wrapped up in the reality of being immortal to care about anything else right now.

Time melts into their embrace, the two of them still reeling from the turn of events but happier than they've ever been. Nothing matters, not Edom, not Lilith, not oxygen, as they relish their unprecedented happiness, Alec still dimly wondering why and when he'd passed out and why Magnus' eyes had revealed themselves, but he now has forever to ask about that.

Someone claps.

It's Asmodeus, naturally. Alec and Magnus reluctantly pull away and stand before the greater demon, matching questioning looks on their faces.

"A word, if you will?" He drawls.

Alec nods. "Of course."

He sees Azazel moving towards Magnus after he follows Asmodeus to the side of the room, where he's met with a sly look. "I have my favour to ask you."

"Of course," Alec replies without missing a beat, "I'll do whatever you need."

"Break up with Magnus."

Alec's heart, now immortal or not, stops beating for a second.

He'd done all of this, risked it all, just to be with Magnus... and Asmodeus, the one who'd helped to make it possible, is asking him to end their story before it can truly blossom? He knows he should have foreseen something like this happening, he knows Magnus had warned him, but he'd still hoped that everything could just go smoothly for once.

In and out.

His breathing is deafening as he processes the statement, trying to comprehend the gravity of his situation and unravel the consequences so he can figure out a way to get through them without breaking his heart, or worse, breaking Magnus' heart. He has to find a way, he tells himself, he has to find a way to fix this dilemma before anyone, namely Magnus, can sense its existence.

Inhale and exhale.

He bites his lower lip, ignoring Asmodeus' smouldering gaze, and lets his eyes close as he thinks it through. He knows he won't be able to cope without Magnus, he can feel the pull to Magnus in his bones, and there's no way he can live forever without the comfort of his first and only boyfriend beside him. Being with Magnus isn't a choice for him anymore, it's a way of life, so he has to figure something out before his world crumbles.

"Okay," he says eventually, opening his eyes with a strong smile.

"Okay?" Asmodeus echoes, his confident arrogance fading to shock. Genuine shock. The kind of shock you would never expect to see on a greater demon.

Alec grins. "Yeah, okay. That's fine. I'll go do it right now!"

He's aware of Asmodeus' conflicted gaze on him as he walks back to Magnus. He grabs Magnus' jacket lapels and gently smashes their lips together before pulling back with a small wink.

"Magnus, I'm breaking up with you," he says, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

Magnus blinks at him, still reeling from the kiss and startled by the wink. He opens his mouth, his eyes glittering with scepticism and pain, but Alec shakes his head, not wanting to give Asmodeus the satisfaction of seeing either of them distraught.

"Right, I think that settles everything. Unless there's something else you want, Asmodeus?" Alec can't be bothered to even try and sound polite so he just smiles broadly, internally laughing at Azazel's dumbfounded expression.

"Alexander?" Magnus asks quietly, his voice full of question and trust.

When Asmodeus shakes his head, Alec turns to Magnus and waves a hand. "Care to make a portal back?"

This time, they go through separately, Magnus watching as Alec strides though and then hesitantly stepping in after him. The second the portal closes, Alec pulls Magnus into a hug, breathing deeply. Alec's guilt courses through him like wildfire as he feels how tense Magnus is but he'd had no other choice.

"Alexander?" Magnus repeats, unable to say anything else with his head whirling faster than light can travel. It takes him a few minutes but he finally works up the courage to say, "You just broke up with me."

"Your father asked me to."

"You seem... calm?" Magnus' eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Of course I am. Now, if you'll allow me, I'd like to get back together with my ex."

"Alexander, aren't I your ex?" Magnus asks after a pregnant pause, small embers of hope lighting up in his eyes.

Alec grins. "Exactly."

Magnus laughs, his tension melting away like ice in a desert, and kisses Alec, then taking his hands and grinning. Alec grins back instantly, glad Magnus hadn't misunderstood. "So, this time around, will you be my boyfriend for as long as immortality can offer us?"

They're both laughing and they're both nodding – even though Alec has no reason to since he'd asked the question, but he's just that kind of awkward – and they're both more than a little bit giddy with excitement.

Said excitement remains undisturbed for the following three minutes, after which two greater demons appear in their kitchen. At least it's not the bookshelf this time, Alec thinks.

"What did you do?" Asmodeus growls, probably having sensed Magnus' extremely fluctuating emotions.

Magnus smiles and swings their connected hands as he says, "You really should learn to be more specific."

Azazel snorts, clearly impressed, as Asmodeus' rage turns into disbelief and back to rage again. "How dare you betray our deal?"

"I didn't. I broke up with him, just like you asked me to-" Alec clears his throat- "but you never said we couldn't get back together."

Silence reigns.

Its reign ends when Asmodeus blinks and darkly mutters something under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that can help him, as if anything can help him, which it can't. He looks to Azazel for help but finds none, the other greater demon laughing quietly.

"Azazel!" Asmodeus chides, "Why are you supporting this?"

Azazel shrugs. "Hoping to outwit the High Warlock of Brooklyn and the head of the New York Institute was never a reliable idea, brother."

"I only needed to outwit the stupid Shadowhunter," Asmodeus grumbles.

"Be careful who you call stupid, father," Magnus warns, his voice cold and sharp but burning with ire.

Asmodeus looks up at that, glancing over Alec once again. "And what exactly makes you so special?"

Alec grins. He wants to say something satirical or sarcastic but if Asmodeus is anything like Magnus, there's not much point. Instead, he turns to Magnus and smiles. "I'm in love with your son."

Azazel whistles. He also immediately stifles it because Asmodeus growls at him and glares at the now-reunited couple. "You might have won for now but I have time on my side and I will win this."

"Yeah, and so do we," Magnus scoffs, "so good luck with that."

Their fridge disappears as Azazel creates a portal in its place, Asmodeus marching through with irritation radiating from his form and Azazel winking at them before following, not even trying to hide his bemusement.

"Next time you break up with me for the sake of loopholes, how about giving me a little warning?"

Alec shakes his head. "Nah, that would lose the authenticity, wouldn't it?"

Magnus' jaw drops open and he stares at Alec in disbelief. It's okay, though, because Alec wipes that disbelief away when he kisses Magnus' forehead, a soft, apologetic smirk on his face, an expression that wouldn't be possible for anyone else to display.

"You're lucky I love you," Magnus murmurs but, to Alec, it's as loud as love itself, if not louder.

"I guess that means we're both lucky, right?" Alec whispers back, knowing his face is flushed and his smile is idiotically wide.

"Unfortunately for Asmodeus…" Magnus agrees, beaming.

Asmodeus may be the ruler of Edom, powerful, sly and feared by many, but nothing can defeat the love between Magnus and Alec. Their love is a force to be reckoned with, one that can withstand the strongest of attacks and the most unscrupulous of plots, constantly reinforced by their adoration and appreciation for one another. And now that they have immortality on their side, the universe doesn't stand a chance against the power they wield without even trying or the power they can unleash, almost effortlessly, within a heartbeat.

like/reblog but don’t repost, thanks!

[eliz1369]

All Types of Courage

Rating: T (though not for Shinpachi’s lack of trying) Ships: SaiChi, HaraSen, & kinda Brotp Amagiri/Saito Length: ~2800 words Setting: Star Wars AU

Sorry this is so late, and also sorry, because I’m sort of, kind of, maybe hijacking this SaiChi&Friends day to indulge my love of Star Wars. (Not sorry. May 4th only comes once a year after all) This focuses more on Saito and Amagiri than it does SaiChi specifically. Of course, it also turned out way longer than I intended and somehow HaraSen ended up in there… *Ahem* Anyway, hope you all enjoy.

“Sen, maybe…”

“Don’t even think about it, Chizuru.” Sen said as she began buckling herself into one of the two passenger seats in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon. “He’s nothing but a big bully.”

“Yeah, a big bully with a lot of big guns…” Heisuke muttered under his breath as he stood in the cockpit doorway and eyed the sleek, heavily armored private yacht, flanked by a pair of TIE Interceptors positioned in front of them.

Sen shot a glare at him before pointing Chizuru to the other passenger seat.

Harada’s grin was confident as he glanced back at her from the pilot’s seat. “Don’t worry. Just sit back and relax. We got this cover-”

“Are you rebel dogs listening to me? You have five minutes to surrender and give me the girl or-”

Nagakura rolled his eyes as he reached forward to press the comm button.

“Not really, but go ahead and keep talking. Oh, and the answer is no, and you can stick it right up your-”

Harada cleared his throat, cutting Nagakura off.

Releasing the button, Nagakura turned and winked at Chizuru with a mischievous gleam in his eye as he flipped to the encrypted channel they had set up for the group.

“Like Sano was saying, we got this. Besides, there aren’t many people better than your boyfriend when it comes to handling that little toy fighter of his. Right, Saito?”

Chizuru felt her cheeks flush at the mention of the man she had quite unintentionally fallen in love with and who was currently sitting in one of the three x-wings arrayed behind them.

“Ah,” Saito affirmed, his tone carrying neither pride, nor embarrassment at the praise. Though after a brief pause he added, “An x-wing is not a toy.”

Okita’s laughter crackled over the comm, “Oh, you’re in for it now. Be careful what you say about Hajime’s ship.”

“Can we focus?” Hijikata interjected. “The blonde bastard has stopped talking and he isn’t going to just sit there forever.”

As if on cue, the pair of Interceptors peeled away from the yacht, speeding into a wide pincer formation. Despite everyone’s reassurances, Chizuru felt her nerves return and she bit her lip anxiously. As much as she was grateful for everyone’s support, she also feared for their safety.

“Saito, stay with the Falcon in case Kazama brings his ship in, Souji and I will handle the Interceptors.”

Chizuru let out a soft breath at Hijikata’s order. She couldn’t help but feel safer knowing it was Saito watching over her. She knew without a doubt that she could trust in his skill and his promises. He had said he would protect her, and he would.

Saito’s and Okita’s acknowledgments were cut off as Harada said, “Leave the Interceptors to us and Saito. I hate to admit it, but our shields won’t last long against that yacht if it does engage. Those Interceptors aren’t making it home without him, so if you can get him to run, they aren’t gonna want to be left behind.”

“Right. You catch that Souji?”

“I never did like wasting time on small fry.”

Hijikata’s and Okita’s x-wings shot over the Falcon’s canopy, their afterburners fully lit as their s-foils opened into attack position.

“Oi, is that you in that hunk of junk, Harada?”

Harada frowned as he eyed the two incoming Interceptors. “Damn it, Shiranui? How’d you get this channel?”

“He just insulted our ship, and you’re worried about the encryption?” Nagakura grumbled, clearly incensed by the jibe.

“Magician’s don’t tell their secrets, now do they. How about a challenge? You and me, one on one. Or three on one, I don’t really care. Oh, and don’t worry, I haven’t passed this on to Tall-blonde-and-High-’n-Mighty.”

Harada hesitated a moment before he said, “Saito, you good with handling the other guy?”

“Affirmative.”

As soon as Saito’s acknowledgement came through, Harada was already beginning to stand.

“Alright Shiranui, you got yourself a deal,” clapping Shinpachi on the shoulder, he began to maneuver his large frame out of the crowded cockpit. “Heisuke, you’re with me. Take the belly gun.”

Sen’s mouth gaped open as she stared at Harada.

“Wait, he’s flying?”

“You bet sweetheart. Shinpachi‘s the best flier I know. He can do things with this ship others can only dream of.”

Shinpachi grinned as he hopped into the pilot’s seat. “Aw, Sano. You’re making me blush.”

Behind her, Chizuru heard Heisuke mutter, “Yeah, if by ‘things’, you mean almost getting us killed.”

“Oi! That was only once! ...Well okay, twice, but the second one wasn’t on purpose!”

The fact that only the second near death experience had been an accident, left Chizuru with more questions and concerns, than actual reassurance. None of the banter seemed to reassure Sen either, who looked like she was warring between wanting to smack someone, and taking the controls herself.

Harada paused to rest a hand on Sen’s shoulder. “Come on, trust me.”

Sen took a deep breath and after a moment, a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she said, “Okay, but you’ll be hearing from me if this goes sideways.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

With that, Harada and Heisuke left the cockpit, leaving just her, Sen and Nagakura.

“All right ladies and gents, hold on tight. We’re about to do some fancy flying.” Nagakura turned to yell over his shoulder, “Oi, Sano, Heisuke! You got less than a minute before I start plastering you to the walls.”

Somehow Chizuru didn’t think he was kidding.

Still shouting, Nagakura slapped the comm. “Hey, Shiranui, lets see how good a flier you really are! First to three tags is the winner!”

Saito had no doubt that the crew of the Falcon would be able to handle themselves against a single Interceptor, especially with their pride on the line. They were a rowdy and rather disorganized bunch, but even in the short time since circumstances had shoved them together, he had found them to be more honest and trustworthy than most people who didn’t break the law on a regular basis.

Rolling his x-wing into a smooth right turn, Saito brought the nose of his ship to face the remaining Interceptor. As he did so, he flipped the switch to lock his s-foils in attack position.

“Shadow, set turbolasers to 500 meters.”

He didn’t know what kind of fight he was going to be in for, but he preferred to keep his focal point close. Interceptors were faster and more maneuverable. He wasn’t about to waste energy on wild shots.

His R2 unit beeped a short affirmative.

Much like him, the black, little R2 unit was short and to the point, rarely engaging in the scolding and bickering Souji usually got into with his own droid, Echo.  At first he hadn’t intended on naming the droid, but Souji had insisted, under threat that he’d name him himself. It had been one more thing that had set them apart among their former imperial brethren. In the end, he’d simply settled on naming him after his black color, but the droid had seemed to like it and took a certain amount of pride in just how discrete he could be.

To Saito’s surprise, the Interceptor wasn’t racing toward him. Like himself, it seemed to hang in space, waiting, analyzing. Not something one usually associated with a fighter jock.

A light lit on his console, and over the background thrum of the other’s chatter, shadow twittered that he had an incoming message.

Even though he had a strong suspicion of who was trying to contact him, he asked, “Who is it from?”

Shadow burbled the droid equivalent of a shrug as text scrolled across the small monitor in the console.

Sender Unknown. Message carries Imperial markers.

That confirmed for Saito that the message had to be coming from the Interceptor facing him. Based on who the Falcon had been talking to and the unusual actions of his opponent, he thought he knew who he was facing.

He took a careful, calming breath before he flipped the comm switch and said, “Yes?”

“I am glad you agreed take my call.”

He had been right. It was Amagiri…

He had fought the man hand to hand to a standstill only a few days previous. In the end Amagiri had let him and Chizuru go, at great risk to himself. It would be a poor way to repay him for his kindness if he killed him here. Saito couldn’t help but feel that if he found an opportunity to let Amagiri live, he would take it. Not at the risk of Chizuru or the others, or course.

“What do you wish to discuss?”

“While I do not begrudge you your relationship with Yukimura, Lord Kazama does, and I am afraid this is one more thing which separates us this conflict. Before we begin, I wished to inform you of who your opponent is, and that I am regretful things must end this way.”

“As am I.”

Silence lingered for a moment and having nothing else to say, Saito closed the channel.

At the same moment he eased his x-wing’s throttle forward, Amagiri’s interceptor began matching him. The was one of the most dangerous moments for a fighter pilot. A head on pass meant his opponent had just a good a chance of hitting him as he did of hitting them. With easy movements, he jinked his fighter in random directions, always making sure to keep Amagiri within his firing cone. Green shots splashed across his forward shield at a rate far faster than he had ever seen an Interceptor fire. The starbursts blurred his vision and he only managed to get off two relatively sure shots before they rocketed past each other.

He pulled hard on the stick, knowing the Interceptor’s superior maneuverability meant he had a good chance of Amagiri ending up on his tail. This time Souji wasn’t there to watch his back.

His internal compensator couldn’t quite match the forces of his turn and Saito felt himself pressed back into his seat.

He had taken some heavy fire on that first pass, so he risked a quick glance at his shields, but to his surprises, they showed almost no drain. That shouldn’t have been possible, unless… Unless Amagiri had lowered the power of his shots to increase his firing rate. Using the fire as a screen to make up for his ship’s dangerous lack of shields.

Clever…

It would seem Amagiri was skilled at more than just hand-to-hand fighting.

His turn wasn’t sharp enough. Shadow gave a short warning trill and a quick glance at his scanners showed Amagiri closing in on his tail. Green bolts began flying past his canopy. One or two connected with his shields, taking significant chunks out of their meters.

“Shadow, divert power to rear shields.”

Having snapped off his order, Saito yanked back on the stick, pulling the nose of his fighter up and over. As he did so, he rolled so that he was now flying in the opposite direction from which he had started.

Green streaks again traced over his canopy. His maneuver hadn’t worked. Not that he had really expected it to. A tactic as clever as the one Amagiri had used wouldn’t come from a novice pilot.

Saito felt a tremor run through his ship and multiple flashing red lights on his console told him that one or more of Amagiri’s shots had pierced his shields. Nothing critical seemed to have failed yet, but enough was enough.

He knew Shadow would be furiously doing what he could to repair the damage and reroute systems. The sooner he ended this the better.

Shoving hard on one of the foot pedals, he dropped his forward thrust to zero, sending his fighter into a flat spin. He braced his arm against the side of the cockpit to help fight the forces overwhelming his inertial compensator. 

Hold… Hold…

At just the right moment, he released the pressure on the pedal and threw his thrust back up to full. He found Amagiri right in front of him and snapped off a shot before rolling away. He knew even as his finger had depressed the trigger that the shot would go wide, and it did, skating right past the upper tip of the Interceptor’s wing.

Again he killed his thrust and sent his fighter into a flat spin, the fractions of a second it took for the ship to rotate feeling far longer than they actually were.

This time when he re-engaged his thrusters, Amagiri’s ion engine was dead ahead of him.

Instead of firing off a turbolaser blast, he flipped over to photon torpedos. The clear tone of a lock sounded in his ears, but an uncharacteristic screech from Shadow made him glance down at the screen.

Recomend proton torpedoes inoperable. Damage to system may result in catastrophic failure if used.

“Acknowledged.”

The text cleared from the screen, replaced by notifications as Shadow brought one system after another back to life. Even if the system was registering operable, clearly he droid had noticed something that caused him concern.

Amagiri threw his ship into a sharp dive and Saito followed him, matching every jink, twist, and turn. Amagiri was certainly better than average, but he was no Souji when it came to handling an interceptor.

He had several clear shots, but instead of flipping back over to his turbolasers, he said, “Shadow, reopen communications with Amagiri.”

When the droid gave an affirmative beep that the connection had been opened, he said, “Will you yield?”

This was a risk. Amagiri could say one thing and then take the opportunity to turn on him, but everything he had seen of the man thus far had told Saito that Amagiri would keep his word.

There was a long pause as Amagiri threw his interceptor into a series of tight rolls that Saito barely kept up with. He could hear the warning tone from the interceptor continuing to sound over the comm, and eventually…

“I will yield.”

With those words, Saito disengaged his torpedoes, probably to both Amagiri’s and Shadow’s relief, and decreased his thrust, letting the interceptor pull away from him.

Slowly Saito let the chatter over the group’s encrypted comm filter back into his consciousness.

There seemed to be an increasing amount of swearing coming from the Falcon, much to his displeasure. He knew how uncomfortable it made Chizuru, even if she never actively voiced her disapproval.

Neither ship seemed damaged at this point, and when a red beam washed over the interceptor, he thought the conflict would be over. to his surprise, instead of being destroyed, the ship seemed perfectly fine as it continued looping, scoring a hit on the Falcon’s upper turret.

“Damnit,” Shinpachi shouted, “What are you doing up there Sano? Sleeping?!”

“Ha! That’s three! Looks like you losers owe me a lift outta here!”

“Fine… but if you touch one wire on this ship, I will personally throw you out of the airlock,” Harada said.

With Chizuru seemingly out of immediate danger, Saito turned his attention to the only remaining threat.

The yacht’s pristine hull was now scored with turbolaser fire and arcs of electricity danced across its surface where one or two torpedoes had bored their way through the hull’s armor plating.

With a flicker, the ship’s rear shield collapses and one of the x-wings scored a direct hit on the engine.

That seemed to be more than enough for Kazama, because his ship began an about turn as it tried to escape the conflict.

“All right Souji, that’s enough.”

One of the x-wings, who he assumed was Okita, fired off one more shot, blowing out one of the large canons that had given them so much trouble in their last encounter with the ship, before he turned and followed Hijikata back toward the Falcon.

A beep from Shadow informed him of an incoming call from Amagiri.

“Saito, your reputation is well earned. It was an honor to fly against you.” There was a short pause before Amagiri said, “May the Force be with you.”

“And you as well.”

With those final words, Amagiri turned his Interceptor in the direction of Kazama’s ship. In moments, the fighter had darted into the small hanger and the Yacht leapt to lightspeed.

Saito took a deep breath as he turned his fighter toward where the falcon was trying to dock with Shiranui’s Interceptor.

Their fight with the Empire was far from over, and he doubted Kazama was finished with them, but for now, they had won. For now, Chizuru and the people he cared about were safe. For now, they had peace.

[childofchrist1983]

And God spake all these words, saying, I am the Lord thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. - Exodus 20:1-2 KJV

No one likes to be insulted, to be lied to, to have their possessions stolen or defaced. I could go on, but you already get the idea.

We know in our hearts what is right and what is wrong. God's law is imprinted there. It was further defined by the Ten Commandments and even more so by Jesus' law of love.

I always tell those unsure about right and wrong to ask themselves first, if they wouldn't like it done to them, and second, if they need to justify their actions, it's probably wrong. We really don't need to ask if original sin is an outdated idea since we all have a tendency to put ourselves first and God and everyone else in a sometimes distant second or third place.

Moses told the people not to add or subtract from the law. Jesus Christ told the Pharisees and scribes that they were hypocrites, because they cared more for human precepts than God's law. James warned in his letter that we are not to be stained by the world.

I seldom go to the movies and watch mostly reruns on TV, because I am offended by the lack of morality presented. I worry about the example parents give when they use obscene and vulgar language in front of their children. The world seems to operate on the lowest level of morality – if it gives me pleasure, it's good; if it makes me uncomfortable or gives me pain, it's bad. We know that God's laws are not difficult, but we don't like to be told what to do We act like unruly children and do what we know we shouldn't.

God's law operates on the highest level – making choices based on the universal good. We are called to strive to be Christlike. Maybe it's time to take a really good look at the choices we make daily. May Father God in Heaven, Lord Jesus Christ, help us to do a better job of being His children and give us the graces we need to follow His commands. His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[rennyji]

July 21st Morning Tweets...

July 21st Morning Tweets...

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So in the third mentioning of some of the epic Indian Mohanlal movies is the movie:“Yodha”-  not Star Wars yodha or is that Yoda?!- I feel YodHa is a movie ahead of its time, and am surprised that for that time period, the creators had the imagination and budget. It’s a movie about a man who travels to Nepal and rescues one of those Enlightened bald Buddha like kids from something evil, as he is destined to be a protector. The boy is referred to as “Rimpochay” but is nicknamed “Unni  Kutta” based on how his bald head reminds the main character of an egg. One of the advice passed onto Rimpochay, while they’re on the run, is, always be and look ur best. Mohanlal’s words, I believe, are to “look smart”. I think all Indians at one time or another,  before America were about ironing their clothes, shaving, looking their best. I think the Brits still have this idea. To be at the risk of being conceited, when my balding fat self goes places, it’d be nice if the superficial orchestrators stopped using my cultural practices for entertainment. Whatever I am, however I am, I’m just a regular guy, minding his own business.

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After a decade of nonsense and degrading cr*p, using some things I wanted to pass on, after literally having my senses restored from removing myself from some things, the secondary orchestrators (different from the primary) may try to sum up the entirety of their phenomena as something spiritual and magical from whats passed on a decade later. In the Bible, it’s projected that we shouldn’t judge others. Why? Because what you see in an instant of time is the amalgamation of several preceding past incidents, emotions, memories, thought process, personal interactions, and so much more…without any of that, who the h*ll are any of us to judge another…But that doesn’t apply to the phenomena…you actually “know” it’s happening vs me, that too from the beginning, middle, and end. Don’t insult words and actions that stand out in the world or our minds, by comparing a disgusting scenario as something that also stands out, based on some interesting incidents in passing. To the orchestrators, how low will you go with evading personal space for entertainment? Will you even intrude in a prayer to Almighty God for your ends? I mean what do you say to that?

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So I admire the gentleness in most women and the femininity to their voices...but I've also come to admire strength. A decade, a decade and a half ago, with the my same appreciation for nice things, beauty, and in that spirit: beautiful women, I think, when it came to looking towards serious things like a future, I would've settled on any pretty face. After a decade and a half in h*ll, where I face off against America, their sadistic government, law enforcement, military (who like to watch you bleed before taking ur life in whatever advanced means at their disposal), the America who mislead the entire world, being against me, I have one additional criteria to nice smiles in my life partner...

I need a strong woman like in the first clip...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tH1FzD1YY8

-I need a woman who I can face off armies with, figurative and maybe even literal (as who knows what America will do with mind reading/mind control, and then combining it with my perspectives on religion to result in crowds being sedated rather than acting on/living the perspective).

-Note the second clip. I mean white, black, brown, East Asian translucent to yellowish tan, whatever...ultimately, I need a woman who's insightful and will able to exercise her anger and powers of communication. I need a woman of strength. 

-From 300, Check out Leonidas's wife amidst the Spartan council/her speech, and how she doesn't cry when humiliated by the man towards the end, but acts accordingly to a traitor of her nation for that time...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15pCcwtCS

I need a woman whose gentle and fierce/a fighter. Gentle as a breeze but fierce as a storm. Also someone who will give me peace of mind.

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So knowing the orchestrators will provoke me more if I say it, I’m gonna say I’m gonna stop with talk related to the following cr*p anyway (I.e. trying to get me to think things):

So, call me crazy, “but I detect a pattern of movement” that comes along as “what is this really about?/or is that what it is?/ as a matter of fact this/that…” in speech/conversation. 

There are “other patterns of human behavior,” but this is what caught my interest.

You wanna know the truth? For the last decade and a half, I have been talking about the very thing steering you, getting you to talk, as it evolved through the years in the things it involves or it’s various complexities. I mean, list it out in terms of what all this increasingly involves…what does it for the primary (v.s. the Secondary)orchestrators when they’re horny, is to get me to go on for years about a girl… I think they try to make all of this about a girl, a stray group of kids…and hey, maybe the party school may not have been as bad as pictured-when they could’ve been managing something with the cards dealt to them (rather carelessly), from someone more authoritative… Now, for the sake of argument, I moved to another country and lived there for a year, when the orchestrators, randomly, abruptly, had family members, remove me from that country for bizarre reasons at the time.  I’m back in America and the rest is history. I was being in another country like India, while being named first in programming training camps, 5 times in a row, when I, a computer science graduate from a state school, was studying/competing, among electrical, chemical or whatever engineers…what is the relevance of a girl or stray kids for that context/time period? A decade and a half later, what is its relevance? If any of you really share the sentiment of “hey bro, what is this really about?” This is about ur American government trying to complete a secret project with everyone’s help, hiding in plain sight, while what comes off as a party school in behavior in sounds, distracts everyone with sweet/wonderful things, to sedate your true reactions to an abomination, while numbing me with ECT procedures for talking about the reality that is actually transpiring, or to get you the audience to take it lightly when ur police make me walk without shoes without talking to me, or years later, gather round me again through 4 suvs… Not even Hitler and the Nazis were this cunning when they experimented on the Jews for eye color and things…and how long was World War II?according to Google, it was 6 years long, from September 1, 1939 – September 2, 1945 . 6 years for the Jews and more for me, because they don’t look as Middle Eastern as me, maybe? how long was the individual experiments on the Jews in Nazi Germany? Did it involve the world, or even that part of Europe, in its entirety? Ive learned through this decade plus of war/experimentation on an individual-that too shamefully to me i.e. one of your American citizens-“you can never trust an American. “ They’re all instruction based acts as a people. Your actions speak louder than words. Americans will stab you in the back, in their relentless actions, be it getting family members to betray you, doctors to shock ur brain, or having the police come at you in 4 vehicles. 

-At this time, I’m asking the American pagan gods to leave me be…out of my mind, out of my life. Know I spit on your flags in front of my house daily and if I could uproot it from the front of my house, I’d wipe my a*s with it, for a decade of senseless torture.--…a devil worse than Hitler shouldn’t even get that much nourishment through my spit on its symbol of hatred and lack of freedom…man it’s the craziest thing…right after writing this, it felt like my mom nodded in approval. So happy she magically knew and agree. -Punish my family and me more oh esteemed (but not really esteemed) nation of nations, oh America…I’d bow before you but ummm I have sour knees…

I mean there’s that, and of course free will - I only bow before The God, capital "G".

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In an old 300 page elaboration of a complaint, upon realizing there’s a reaction to my writing from the cars below the hill my studio apartment house that it rested on, I said “darkness thrives in the void, but always yields to lasting light.” In broad daylight, a great evil is happening. Because of modern times, American corniness to things, seeing me in the ways I’m seen, you don’t take those words with the same seriousness.  Darkness thrives in the void means in broad daylight, something, by very nature against the legal system l and free will, is happening. Be warned. I even said “time immemorial with the that sentence mentioned. The flaws of human behavior date at least as far back as 2000 years, in the days of Christ. Human nature, in its flaws, continues…

My perception towards all this is through a Psalm, a priest from my old Church directed my way: Psalm 3…

It goes:

1

Lord, how many are my foes!

   How many rise up against me!

(Literally the world is one team of conviction and practice towards me, at least through instruction following in place of what’s in the heart. In this regard, a foe, an enemy, are those who don’t heed my words and talk to me, but instead obey the instructions from the false American gods about how I allegedly want my reality, my world, to be.

2

Many are saying of me,

   “God will not deliver him.(B)”[b]

(The primary orchestrators wants me to ponder,through a spiteful tone, in the spirit of the pagans of old: “where is your God?”)

3

But you, Lord, are a shield(C) around me,

   my glory, the One who lifts my head high.(D)

(If I “appear ‘in forms’ of my head high”, (and don’t want ur pity in this”) know that I ur neighbor( in the spirit of the Golden Rule) am the product of a decade plus abuse. Inside is fire.

4

I call out to the Lord,(E)

   and he answers me from his holy mountain.(F)

(The Lord directs me with seemingly ridiculous answers in places and purchases and words and actions, so that I may endure)

5

I lie down and sleep;(G)

   I wake again,(H) because the Lord sustains me.

(Self explanatory)

-6 

I will not fear(I) though tens of thousands

    assail me on every side.(J)

(I.e. the world, that America’s deception and trickery,  misled against me. I will not bow to the law enforcement or military or the false American gods 

-or their undeserved technology - probably given to them in the same way the Greek god, Ares, screws humankind by giving them weapons ahead of their time, in the movie, Wonder Woman, so that theyll destroy each other...)

7

Arise,(K) Lord!

   Deliver me,(L) my God!

Strike(M) all my enemies on the jaw;

   break the teeth(N) of the wicked.

(After a decade plus of invisible torture, while publicly portrayed in a different, probably pleasant, light, be sure justice and vengeance are a deep desire of mine.

With some people, they truly are destined for h*ll itself. A decade plus of showing the other cheek, using words-this verse from Psalm 3 shows, from the Old Testament, that even vengeance in place of forgiveness, will be with God’s backing, in extraordinary circumstances.

In Matthew 13:41-42, our preacher of love and forgiveness, but who also speaks of bringing the sword, says:

41 The Son of Man will send out his angels, and they will weed out of his kingdom everything that causes sin and all who do evil. 42 They will throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Not even Christ will act on the weeping and gnashing of teeth of those thrown into the fire to be burned, after great evils…as I said before, if we are the Body Of Christ, those responsible for my situation are like tumors/cancers that will be removed from the Body of Christ.

Christians, at least, from whom I’ve run into, are thinking religion is a wishy washy thing where your minds get into some drunken high.

Christianity “is” “about” peace, but also about being vigilant, alert, focused, through pursuits of the mental Kingdom of God.)

From the Lord comes deliverance.(O)

   May your blessing(P) be on your people.

(The evil Americans, after a decade of realization on my part and indigestible evil from theirs, (from my Indian dialect vs the overall language: “gray-hic-an pat-Atha maha vir-thee-aid-a/do-shum…”), the Americans will not stop, despite actual cries for help from me for 10+ years - and that’s when their delusion based thinking, thinks that God will pity their cries in the eternal fire.

It is said by Christ,

In Matthew 25:40,

It is said,

And the King shall answer and say unto them, ‘Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.’

In these hard times, all I needed was a witness to tell me my conclusions on what’s transpiring are true or confirming that something is in fact, transpiring. I could’ve used that to end a decade plus of suffering and abuse. But you chose and followed the false gods, in the primary orchestrators

It is said:

In Matthew 25:35-40,

35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,(A) 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me,(B) I was sick and you looked after me,(C) I was in prison and you came to visit me.’(D)

37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

You inflicted this 10 year nonsense on God Himself, through the third person of the Christian Trinity: the Holy Spirit, which resides in every human and walks with them from Baptism. For the Hindus and others, I think this relates to the belief of “Atman”…

I pray that at the designated time for the end of my problem, before this world and the orchestrators and their timeline, that God will bless me with divine deliverance, with or without His true people.

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Always bear in mind that World War II lasted 6 years, where 6 million Jews were murdered & some experimented on with things like eye color...that was by European Hitler...- -today theAmerican false gods, inMoreThan aDecade of mindExperiments,usingHumanity as itsRightHand, torment anIndian, or MiddleEastern lookingMan... Even World War II-a 6 yearSituation where @ least those Jews had privilege of humanCompany - does it compare 2 what theAmericans do, where they leave me with no one to even talk to for a decade plus, and have humanity on one side in belief/practice vs me?

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