#and now i know my social skills are more royally fucked than ever and i left without every conveying how much i Truly cared

[3knecrotic]

I miss hym. I miss those Good memories. I miss it so much right now. God I want to fucking die over it.

[the1975attheirverybest]

Banned books is a trending topic on tumblr atm.As a student of literature what's your take on it ?

That’s a great question! Thanks for asking it and giving me a chance to share my diatribe.

Yeah, it’s trending cuz the American library association just released their list of banned books for the year.

I think that banning books is VERY dangerous and a sign of socio-political oppression. Cuz, like, if you look at the list that ALA just put out, what’re you seeing?

“genderqueer” “All Boys Aren’t Blue,” “The Bluest Eye” etc. do you know what all these books have in common? They are solid, complex representations of marginalized voices that, at least in the US, are currently under threat. Women’s rights to their own bodily autonomy, trans rights to gender affirming healthcare, and queer expressions. Like, these books are not getting banned because they’re “hate speech” or some other reason. They just threaten the status quo, center voices other than cis, het, white men, and expose readers to realities beyond their own.

WHICH IS ONE OF THE MAJOR FUNCTIONS OF LITERATURE AS AN ART FORM!!!!

Second to being out in the world and interacting with their surroundings, kids will learn about otherness and get exposed to cultures, genders, social circumstances that differ from theirs through the art that they consume. Reading is EXTREMELY formative to young minds (and I would argue, even adult minds). So, by banning books like this, we are not only oppressing marginalized communities even more, by preventing them from being able to claim space and tell their own stories, we are creating the next generation of bigots by closing the minds of young people away from stories that can be different from their own.

You know what else? It doesn’t WORK! the way you raise thoughtful kids isn’t by putting them in a bubble away from any experiences that they’re not ready for. It’s by instilling the right values in them so that when they do encounter new, ‘weird,’ unfamiliar, or different ideas, they have the skills and the ability to react positively. You can’t just lock their minds up and throw away the key. That’s not gonna work. Anyone who has ever been a young kid and tried to do something behind their parents back will tell you this. It’s dumb and futile.

And don’t even get me started on a young queer, black, trans, etc kid who’s confused and lost and doesn’t have the words and feelings for what they’re experiencing who is now going to miss out on finding strength, community, compassion, or understanding that they WOULD have found had they been able to access and read these books and discover that 1. They are not alone and 2. There’s nothing wrong with them.

So, all in all, this is a ROYALLY FUCKED UP IDEA to censor literally. Not only that, but it’s a symptom of the larger white-supremacist mindset of our current society.

Thanks for coming to my Ted talk

[misireads]

Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas

[ physical book, read in english ]

set on a fantasy continent where a tyrannical king has conquered and oppressed nearly all the regions, he sets up a game of survival for several candidates who compete and duel against each other and the winner is set to become his "champion" for four years. the main character is a notorious young assassin who's been imprisoned to work as a slave at salt mines for the rest of her life, and the king's son decides to make her his candidate in his father's competition. the girl moves to the royal castle that's made of glass and starts training in order to win. mysterious things start happening in the castle when some of her competition starts dropping dead, as if attacked by a wild animal.

➕ i like high fantasy, it's my favourite genre. a world with many different countries, there's kings and princes and fairies and forbidden magic, nice nice. i also liked the details about the religion of this place. imaginary religions are the best ➕ i think the premise is kind of a banger, i don't dislike hunger games kind of competition settings. and the concept of a glass castle is so beautiful i might just steal that to some piece of mine tbh ➕ this was very easy, effortless, and fast to read. i wasn't like, super inspired by the writing itself, but occasionally the author dropped some killer line that stood out. just here and there. ➕ kaltain is the best character because first of all "kaltain rompier" what a name, secondly she was by far the most interesting one, probably because she's a female character clearly created to be unlikable. which means she is the best

➖ alright, now… where do i even start with everything i kind of hated about this book. maybe the most blaring problem of them all to me: the main character, celaena. i know it's become like socially unacceptable to talk negatively about "mary sues" but she is one if i ever fucking saw one in literature. there are basically no flaws -- definitely no BELIEVABLE flaws -- to her character. she's beautiful (blonde, of course) and sexy, the two main boys immediately fall for her. she's "an assassin" so she has like superhuman powers and speed and dexterity and every skill possible, yet she's perpetually presented as a pure-hearted and innocent, sweet girl, so lovely, could do no wrong (which leads me to wonder what on earth assassins really are in this universe, she's called the deadliest assassin in the world yet there's very little detail of whom she actually killed and for what, how, when. there's a line of the princess of eyllweldfssdfjk telling her that the "most important thing is that endovier[the mines] didn't make her cruel" SO SHE'S A GOOD LITTLE CINNAMON ROLL AND ASSASSINS AREN'T CRUEL? ALTHOUGH THEY KILL PEOPLE FOR MONEY? i'm…….. it feels like an accessory stamped on top of her character more than anything just to have a plot device that allows her to be skilled at everything possible) all the most powerful characters (on the GOOD side, of course, not evil ones!) immediately fall in love with her (evil ones hate her!), including some ancient fairy queen who only exists in some magic hallucination dimension which celaena of course has access to because she's also Super Special in some forbidden magical way. wow, what an unlikable, unrelatable, unconvincing character. she somewhat entertained me in the first couple of chapters when she was constantly thinking of how to kill anyone she met but that characteristic was dropped pretty fast when she became the princess type of character in the castle.

➖ when the two main guys were immediately set to fall for the girl i was like, alright this book is for children, the target audience here is heterosexual teenagers and not my queer 30-something ass, i'll try to read this from that perspective. but the thing is that i'm quite the shipper myself and this fucking book gave me nothing. the prince and the guard boy are first of all entirely uninteresting as characters (chaol got his only interesting trait at the very very end) and they both have the exact same dynamic with celaena, there's this peak heterosexual stupid banter tsundere chemistry thing going on with both. i guess i liked her with chaol marginally more if only for the reason that every scene she had with the prince was just that he walks to her bedroom and they have the most unnatural dumbass conversation ever that's clearly just sort of forced interaction between them from storytelling standpoint so that there would be some base for them to like each other. also his character was introduced as like a playboy who sleeps with all girls all the time but when he meets her he does a 180 and suddenly says oh i only like one woman and it's this one. what a bunch of botched nonsense, i can't even.

➖ the plot was so, so, so, so, so predictable. this may be for 13-year-olds but even harry potter and the philosopher's stone has more interesting development than this. there was pretty much only one thing that came as even a moderate surprise to me and that was [spoiler] chaol killing cain at the end, but then i felt like the consequences were veryyyyyy non-existent. i hope it shapes him more in the sequels because that truly was the only interesting thing about his character

➖ very weird to read about a love triangle where the characters don't seem to be aware they are in a love triangle. there were several occasions of the guys clearly being aware of the other also going to see celaena but there's no acknowledgement of either really feeling anything about it. and she never once addresses in any way that she's doing both boys simultaneously. it's like she's some fucking horny zombie who just switches to whichever boy is in front of her eyes at any given moment.

➖ a lot of this just read like a fic posted one chapter at a time tbh. as a fic writer i know very well how that's like. is this based on a fic? because sometimes the chapters just kinda feel stacked atop each other and the build-up feels thin at best. also the entire beginning of the book is just celaena's PoV but then all of a sudden at some point we start getting other characters out of nowhere.

➖ the most heterosexual nonsense line i ever read: "He didn't know why, but seeing her made him feel like a man."

➖ i could go on and on (i started doing daily notes while i read so i remember everything i thought along the way) but i think that's enough.

⭐ score: 2½ -- i would have gone three because i did in the end enjoy this enough to finish this very fast, but then i saw that this has a really high ranking on goodreads and decided that i hate this actually. so three is way too much but i reserve 2 for books that i kinda didn't even feel like finishing, and as nonsensical as this is, it's still fantasy romance garbo that's entertaining to read at the end of the day.

if i end up reading the rest of the throne of glass series, i'll make just one post for all of them together instead of each book separately. at this point though i think it would be like a hate-read

[systlinsideblog]

Part 7

The fall of the great walled city of Turia came on a day shimmering with heat, but with storm clouds building on the horizion, looming heavy as they built into great mounds over the prairies. The air smelled of the promise of rain; that was good, Systlin thought. A good heavy rain later would wash the blood off the streets.

Turia’s towers glittered white in the sun. The walls were high and proud and in excellent repair; the warriors manning the top of it were said to be skilled. Everyone she’d spoken to had told her the same; Turia was home to a million and a half people. Turia was the jewel of the prairies, the Ar of the South. Turia was home to marvelous markets and one could find any luxury one wished there. The people of Turia were grand and wealthy and proud, and though they loved luxury their fighting men were excellent.

Its walls were high and thick. Its wells were deep and never ran dry. There were food stores to outlast the greatest of sieges. The nine gates were thick and strong and guarded zealously; while attackers died at the walls, the people of Turia would relax in their bath houses and dine on delicacies and laugh.

Turia was splendid. Turia was rich. Turia had been sieged many times, but never once had Turia fallen.

Systlin rolled her neck and shoulders, cracking any tension out.

She remembered Myr. Turia reminded her strongly of it. Myr too had been rich, and strong, and undefeated. Myr as well had thought itself safe behind tall, thick walls and strong gates, guarded by skilled fighters. Myr as well had laughed at the army camped on the plains before it. The walls of Myr had famously been bound in Power, power laid so deeply and thickly by generation after generation of Myrish earth witches that there had been more power than stone to the walls. Breakers before her, born to the desert, had tested those walls. Breakers before her had exhausted themselves against them and failed and died.

She had tried herself against them anyway. She had not failed. There was a hundred foot gap in the walls of Myr now, named for her. “The Mitraka’s Gate,” they called it. The legend of how she’d brought down the famously unbreakable walls of Myr had spread north to the Skyfire reaches and south to Sielauk before she’d even left the deserts.

Turia’s walls were not as high or thick as Myr’s, and they were not spelled for protection. Against a Breaker of the least power they’d be useless, and Systlin was the strongest Breaker ever to live. She eyed the warriors on top of them, still out of bowshot, and for a moment felt a flash of pity for them.

It was gone quickly. She wondered how many of those proud men had women chained to their beds. A million and a half people, but that number did not, she knew, count slaves. Counting slaves, it was said that the number was at least twice that, and likely higher.

Foicatch was watching her. He had not been at Myr when it fell, but he had been there since. He’d ridden through the Mitraka’s Gate. He knew, of course, that she was remembering.

“Been a bit,” He said at last, as they waited for Myr to send out its famous tharlarion cavalry, and honestly though she found herself growing fond of the kaiila the Wagon Peoples rode and could admit that the vicious reptilian tharlarion were impressive, she wished she had a good, normal horse. “Since we had a real battle before us.”

“Hmmm.” She agreed. The last time, indeed, they’d been fighting a mad god and his creatures. She’d killed a god, in that battle. Killed one god and threatened another. “Do try not to die. I’d hate to have to find a new royal consort.”

A snort. “I’ve no intention of dying today. I want to see you on the throne of that city.” A pause. “I’ve always had rather a fantasy, actually, of you on the throne of freshly conquered city, and me on my knees…”

Oh. Well. That did sound interesting. She gave him an appraising look. “Have you? You could have said something.”

“Well. It’s always been so busy when we’re breaching a stronghold, and things were all happening so fast at the time. You were so intent; I wasn’t sure you’d take it well.” A shrug. “Early days of us and all. By the time I knew better, you had the North in line again, and when we fought the Fallen One there weren’t many strongholds to breach or thrones to make use of.”

That was fair. “I’m going to hold you to that.” She said thoughtfully, even as the great gates ground slowly open and ranks of fighting men on those two-legged sharp-toothed reptilian beasts began to file out. She eyed the gleaming lances they carried disapprovingly; those were, of course, going to be the first thing she did away with once things got going.

Using her power in pitched battles was risky; she did not like doing it to kill. Not more than needed. But shattering some lances was no issue at all.

He grinned, that familiar and beloved flash of white teeth against that dark beard. “Oh, excellent.” He shot the enemy cavalry a look, and then looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. She nodded once. He leaned over, and she leaned to meet him; they exchanged a kiss, brief but sweet, and he peeled his kaiila away and headed to take command of the left flank.

She looked back over the prairie. There were several thousand riders now, forming ranks. A few men wearing particularly gleaming armor with extra gold leaf seemed to be conferring in a huddle; she waited.

“Ubara?” Dina said softly, from her side. “Ubara, should we…” There was nervousness in her voice.

“Not yet.” Systlin was the veteran of many battles of this scale; Myr was much larger than Turia, and that had been only the first city she’d taken. Dina was not. Even in a seasoned warrior, nerves before battle were normal, but Dina had taken up a spear only a year and a half past. She’d fought and killed, but the other tribes and towns and cities they’d taken were nothing on the scale of Turia. “They’ll send someone to talk, like all the others have. I’ll either kill him or send him back, like all the other times. I’ll break their lances; that will be the signal to charge.”

She looked to her side. Dina’s face was drawn tight. Systlin remembered that Dina, before slave chains, had once been a free woman, and had been born in Turia.

“You have a father, don’t you?” Systlin said, more softly.

“I do.” She whispered. “He never took a slave. He loved my mother, a Free Companion, and never took a slave; he has mourned her since her death. He is of the baker’s caste, as was my mother. He makes sweet rolls and gives them to children, and the best bread and pastries. I do not brag; he was famous in the city, and rich women and men came to buy from us. He and my brothers and I worked hard and were proud of our work.” She paused a moment. “I do not know if my brothers have taken slaves. And if they have…” Another, longer pause, and she looked away. “If they have, I will not beg mercy for them, but I will mourn what they might have been had their minds not been poisoned.”

Systlin thought of her own brother, dead so young. Of laughing and competing and playing with him, of the friendly fighting between close siblings. Of his smile and his laugh, and his sharp wit. She wondered, if her place and Dina’s had been switched, if she could have watched him killed for slaving and rape.

She probably could have. She knew it in the deepest place in her heart, where she worried sometimes at her own coldness. She probably would have done it with her own hands, at that. She’d executed her uncle and aunt with her own hands, in that battle to bring the warring lords tearing the North to bloody scraps to heel. But she was a famously hard and coldhearted bitch when it came to matters of justice, as any noble in the North of Ellinon would tell. “The Iron Bitch”, she knew they called her behind her back. “The Iron Bitch with the frozen heart.”

She’d have done it, yes. But she’d have mourned intensely after, for what might have been.

Dina was loyal and dear to her, a good friend. But if her brothers were rapists and slavers, Systlin knew that even if Dina begged, she would not grant mercy unless the offended girls asked it. It ran counter to everything in her to do so.

Goddess of Justice. The Lady’s voice whispered in her head.

Fuck off, she thought in return. I’ve shit to do.

“We can hope,” she said. “That they take after your father. And we’re not here to loot; if your father is in his shop and not with the fighting men, he’s quite safe.”

That seemed to ease Dina slightly. The woman was still used to the Gorean idea of war, where taking a city meant sacking it utterly, looting and burning and slaving. No army under Systlin’s command would ever fight so, though. She’d kill the soldiers responsible with her bare hands.

“Baker’s caste,” Dina said. “Do not fight, not unless they must. They will not be on the walls. Those on the walls and on the field here are warrior caste.”

Systlin would have to investigate this caste system more thoroughly. She did not like the idea on principle, but it seemed a force of social stability that most Goreans were very attached to. From what she’d gathered there were provisions for moving through castes if one wished. However, she’d heard that some, such as weavers and spinners, were considered ‘low caste’.

Systlin had attempted such tasks before; her mother was fond of spinning and weaving, though she was Queen Mother and needed never touch a spindle if she didn’t wish. After fifteen minutes spent at it, Systlin had come to the conclusion that the work that went into cloth was absurdly complicated and skilled, and had never touched a spindle since. She did, however, have a reputation for never haggling when it came to buying cloth or paying her seamstresses.

Low caste her arse. The idea of any of the most essential tasks…potters, farmers, fishermen, herders…being lower than any others raised her hackles. Perhaps the idea of low or high caste could go…

Across the grassland, a small party of men, led by one of the men in gleaming gold-chased armor began to ride towards them. Systlin put aside other concerns and nodded once to Dina, who nodded back and went to lead the right flank.

Her kaiila could sense that battle was coming, and shifted under her, tossing her head in eagerness. Systlin held her steady, and waited.

They headed, of course, for Foicatch. Systlin sighed and rolled her eyes, and nudged her kaiila forward. The creature sprang forward in that long, loping predator stride, and she headed them off in moments. They glared at her, all hostile intent. She regarded them in what was probably a dismissive manner, but so far as she was concerned these men were already dead. They were nothing that she had not seen on this world already, in the smaller towns that lay outside Turia. She’d killed a thousand like them since coming here.

“You know full well that I lead this army.” She said bluntly. “You’ve heard the stories.” She sighed. “It makes me curious…”

“Stories of trickery and nonsense about sorcery.” The man with the glittering armor said loftily. “A few villages might fall to some unnatural woman, but this is Turia. We will not be afraid of a tribe of women who think themselves the equals of men.”

“…As I was saying,” Systlin raised her voice slightly. “It makes me curious as to the full degree which you, meaning men on this world, are capable of deluding yourselves. I’ve been halfway through conquering towns and tribes and the men would still be telling me that I couldn’t hope to carry through, because I was but a woman.” She shook her head. “Almost sad, really. I’ve an army of  twenty five thousand camped before your gates. I know you have heard the stories of how I’ve conquered cities across the prairies and brought all the tribes of the Wagon People under my rule. I am Ubara-Sana of the plains, by my own hand, and I’ve crushed every force sent against me. And yet here you are, still claiming the same old tired thing.”

She looked him in the eyes. “This is the part where, if you are smart, you will confer with your people and you will open the gates, lay down your arms, and have a chance to survive this.”

He scoffed. Entirely predictably. “This is Turia, woman. The plainsfolk may not have been able to humble you, but Turia will. We’ve ten thousand cavalry, and that is not counting the fighting men on foot. You and your slave girls with swords can batter yourselves to ribbons against us, and we’ll put collars on those of you not killed.” A slow, lewd smile, because apparently he felt he hadn’t dug his own grave deep enough. “Maybe I’ll put mine on you, woman, and teach you to obey a master’s word.”

“Well.” Systlin shrugged. “I did give you a chance.”

She’d learned knife throwing from Stellead, but the Arms Master of the Bloodguard had been dubious of its effectiveness and the instruction had only been basic. It was at the Iron Mountain, under the tutelage of the master assassins of the Master of Knives, that she’d learned how to properly throw a knife.

She’d killed the Master of Knives, of course. He’d taken the contract on her father, and sent out one of his Shadow Hands to kill a king. She’d killed the Brother of Shadow who’d wielded the knife, as well, and many others besides. The Iron Mountain stood empty now, the bones of those she’d killed gathering dust in the halls.

Her knife took the golden-armored warrior through the eye. He looked quite shocked as he slid from the saddle and fell. His men started in rage, and went for their lances.

Systlin smiled at them. Her power rose, a cold sweep through her bones, tingling under her skin. She raised her hand, and flicked her fingers negligently at them, mostly for show.

Their lances shattered into splinters. So did at least five thousand other lances of the leading ranks of the famed thalarion cavalry of Turia.

A great confused sound went up, and thalarion shied at the strange scent of Power in the air, sharp as ozone. And as fighting men scrambled for their secondary weapons, Systlin’s forces charged.

Ice took the first man before her just under the chin. She didn’t quite behead him as her coal-black kaiila shot past, but slashed the big artery on his neck open. Blood pumped, and the sound he made as he fell was a terrible gurgle.

She wheeled her mount and ducked the frantic sweep of a sword. The riders were startled, off balance, and that was death when facing a warrior of her caliber. Her kaiila darted in and took the throat of one of the slower High Thalarions, tearing it open. The beast went down, and its rider with it. Systlin kneed the sides of her kaiila and it leapt; the final warrior managed to parry her first blow, a slicing cut at his neck.

She twisted her wrist, reversed the grip on Ice’s hilt with a little twist and clever movement of her fingers that Stellead had made her practice ten thousand times, and drove it into his chest under his ribs. Drew it back with a sharp jerk as she wheeled her kaiila again, and flipped it back around in her hand. She did not have to think about the motion; she had not missed the catch on the twist since she had been a child training under Arms Master Stellead.

Then her kaiila was running, and she pushed it hard for a few paces until she regained her place leading the center. Lances glittered to either side of her, and she felt a fierce pride in the women she’d trained.

She eyed the gates of Turia, behind the regrouping lines of thalarion cavalry. Arrows arched from behind, as her mounted archers began picking off the front ranks of the Turian forces as they came into range.

Arrows returned, from on top of the walls, and one bounced off of her wraithen-scale armor. She lashed out with her power, still simmering under her skin, and five hundred bows shattered. Cries of dismay went up a second time.

She eyed the great gates of Turia, even as her kaiila gathered itself to leap and the first of her lance-fighters neared the front lines of the Turian cavalry. She eyed them for a half a second before she hit the front lines of the Turians, and she Broke them.

The great gates of Turia, and fifty feet of the wall to either side, crumbled into splinters and sand. There was a great cry of horror and dismay from the city, and cries of “UBARA! UBARA!” from her own warriors, delighted.

And then her front line was smashing into the Turian cavalry, and there was no more time for thought.

The Turians were skilled, but they were off balance, had lost the advantage of their long lances, and had not truly been expecting a proper fight. Systlin and her best lancers hit them like a hammer, and pierced deep into the ranks before the Turians quite knew it was happening. The Turians were down to swords now, and only a few of the rear ranks still had lances. Systlin’s riders had long lances with reach, and their kaiila were faster and more nimble than the high thalarion the Turians rode.

And, of course, they had her.

Systlin was no stranger to mounted combat. She’d ridden with the tribes of the desert at Sura’s side for years, and was as deft a hand at mounted combat as any Rider. She’d never have been accepted, otherwise.

It felt, she had to admit, as she turned a sword aside with Ice and flicked the sword around, down, and up, taking off the man’s sword hand at the wrist, very good to be at it again. The man screamed, but she was past him. A lance glanced off of her armor, and she wheeled her kaiila. The beast snapped, catching a leg, and tore the man off of his mount. His thalarion turned and went for her mount, but her kaiila shook its head and was leaping away before it could do any damage.

Systlin fought with all the skill and speed and cunning she had. She fought viciously, the whole time willing that her army would not fail now, would not quail because this battle was larger and closer-fought than any before. She willed it, imagining that she could throw wide her arms and take under her shadow all of her proud free mounted warriors, and through sheer will alone keep them fighting.

And she did what she had always done, in battle. She led on the front line, and fought like nothing the Turians had ever seen before. Men rose before her and men fell; she was past Power now, and killed with pure hard-won skill and naked steel. She cut faces, necks, torsos, limbs. Ice’s blue-tinged blade was purple with blood, and blood spattered her all over. She killed, and killed, with all the skill of those long hours of training and decades more of fighting for her life. She fought, and killed, her blood sang with it.

You were never made for peace. The Lady’s words. It was true; she knew it was true. She loved battle, though she knew it spoke of her basically coldhearted and vicious nature that she did. She was a warrior born and trained and blooded, and she was at home on the killing field.

She’d fought three wars, leading from the front. She’d won each, and the sight of her at the forefront of her warriors, in her element, bloody and screaming and bringing death with her, was absolute horror to the men of Gor.

The sight that horrified the men of Turia stiffened the spines of her warriors, and to the endless horror of the men of Turia, the former slave girls, now screaming warriors with lances and swords, cut into them with a fury they’d never seen.

With her at their front, her mounted warriors smashed the Turian lines apart, just as the left flank led by Foicatch drove hard at the gap left at the rear, pushing the cavalry of Turia away from the broken gates and cutting them off from retreat into the city. Foicatch himself set himself in the middle of the smashed gate, and Systlin caught glimpses of him engaged in fierce close fighting now and then as foot soldiers pressed forward from the city to try and relieve the cavalry she was driving like a herd of sheep across the prairies before Turia.

But the fighting men of Turia were skilled, and proud, and they began to regroup. Men were shouting orders, and the remaining lances managed to form up defensive lines. The fighting grew vicious, even after Systlin Broke more lances, and their advance ground to a crawl. Their armies were nearly matched; Systlin’s warrior women had better armor and better reach, but the Turian fighting men had more experience, and it began to show as they got their feet under them. Systlin’s troops fought like mad wildcats, and she was so proud; they were still winning forward, inch by inch, but she was not about to spend more lives than she had to.

The Turians began to press back, and her advance ground to a halt. Systlin smiled, because she heard the galloping of the kaiila, and knew.

Dina’s mounted archers swept past, and the women turned on their kaiilas with those short but powerful recurve bows of wood and bosk horn. Strings slid from thumb rings, and three thousand arrows hammered home through that light leather armor that the men of this world favored. The kaiilas wheeled, and the women turned again, as they’d practiced a thousand times, sitting backwards on their mounts. Strings sang again, and arrows flew as thick as rain.

Turians died. Systlin yelled and plunged forward again, and to shouts of “UBARA! UBARA! WHIP-BURNER! CHAIN-STRIKER!” her warriors followed.

The Turians had nowhere to retreat from Dina’s archers, except back onto the lances of Systlin’s mounted spear-women. No rescue came from Turia; Foicatch was stacking the bodies of fighting men four deep in the ruin of the shattered gates.

The fighting outside the city drug out a big longer; it took time to slaughter ten thousand cavalry and their mounts. But caught between Dina’s wheeling mounted archers and their storm of arrows and the lances of Systlin’s cavalry and Systlin’s own sword, they were cut to bits.

It was then that Systlin regrouped her lancers and led them to the shattered gates, where the foot soldiers of Turia were approaching more cautiously than before. The shattered gates themselves were a charnel house; fighting men and women both lay dead alongside wounded and dead and shrieking kaiila, and blood was red over the stones of the road and the rubble of the gates and walls. Foicatch and his warriors held, and the fighting men of Turia seemed reluctant to approach within reach of Foicatch’s sword.

They parted to let Systlin through, and her lancers flowed around to guard the sides of the ranks of warriors.

Systlin joined Foicatch at the front lines. She must look a terrible sight; she was head to toe blood and mud, the colors of her wraithen armor dulled under the coating. Foicatch’s own set of wraithen scale armor was similarly filthy. There was a cut high on his temple, a glancing blow that was not serious but bleeding freely. Even as she joined him she felt a trickle of Power as he flicked droplets of blood away from his eyes.

A lull in the fighting; the soldiers of Turia drew back, appalled at the sight. Foicatch eyed her, gaze flicking head to toe to check her for injuries. She gave him a slight reassuring shake of her head, doing the same to him. The cut on his temple seemed to be the worst of it. She turned to eye the soldiers before them.

“Your cavalry,” Systlin informed the fighting men before them. “Are dead. My throat slitters are making short work of any survivors this very moment. You did not hear the offer I made before, I think, so I will make it one more time. Lay your weapons down now, and you may find mercy. I will not give you another chance.”

Not one fighting man moved, save for the one who yelled in defiance, pulled a knife from his boot, and hurled it at her head.

It was a good throw, she thought, as she twisted her head to the side even as his hand swept up with the blade. It was a good throw. Had she not been taught by Stellead and the Shadow Hands of the Iron Mountain, it might have struck home. As it was, it simply scraped her cheekbone in passing; a shallow cut that would heal quickly and cleanly.

Answer enough, she supposed. Foicatch was already moving, and fell on the knife-thrower with a single-minded viciousness that was poetry to see. Systlin was moving almost as quickly, and that was where the battle in the city began.

It was nasty work. Street by street, driving the fighting men before them. Many of the freed slaves in Systlin’s forces had been from Turia, and as planned they now took the lead. As Systlin had suspected, their knowledge of the city was invaluable; meeting places and baths where warriors gathered were found out. Attacks from small alleys were anticipated. Cobbles went slick with blood. A nasty dagger opened a long cut into Systlin’s left forearm, and some of the slick blood under their boots and the kaiila’s paws was her own. She bound it with a strip torn from her own shirt, cinching the knot tight with her teeth, and pressed on.

Turia was a city of millions; it took hours to work their way through, even with the size of her army. It was late afternoon when at last she realized that any warriors found out were fleeing rather than fighting, and being quickly ridden down by archers. Systlin stopped, at last, sitting high on her kaiila, and knew that she was Ubara of Turia, and by extension all of the plains in truth, by right of conquest.

Dina was staying close now, guiding them through the streets. She saw the same realization dawn on Dina’s face; Foicatch was already smiling that grim satisfied smile she remembered well.

“Take me to the throne of Turia.” Systlin said, and Dina did.

The first drops of the storm hit the bloody dust and thunder growled low when the reached the great palace of Turia. It was in a vast central building, half law chambers and half a throne hall. It was all in the same white stone that the city seemed to favor, with a great dome over the hall where the Thrones of Turia sat. They were very fine; there was, Systlin was sure, wood somewhere under the silver and inlaid semiprecious stones, but it was difficult to make out. She left footprints of blood and mud across the spotless tiled floors.

She’d made instructions clear before the first spear was lifted; her warriors knew what to do. One part of being a leader, her father had said long ago. Is finding competent people that you trust, and then trusting them to do their jobs without your having to hang over their shoulder.

He’d been right. Her people were competent, and she did trust them. So while she waited for her warriors to ferret out the various guild and caste leaders and other important persons, Systlin ascended the nine steps to the dais…it was gorgeously carpeted, and inlaid with ivory and gold…and sat herself down in the larger throne, the throne of the Ubar of Turia.

Foicatch eyed her. There was an answering warm pulse that went down her spine and pooled insistently between her legs; there was nothing like battle to get the blood up. But…She raised her eyebrows back at him. “Not yet.” She said, somewhat reluctantly, and motioned with her chin at the smaller throne, the throne where traditionally the Ubara sat. “Not quite yet. It’s not properly conquered until I explain things to the important people, is it?”

“I suppose not.” But his eyes were lingering on her lips, and slid down over the length of her legs and the curve of her hip even so. She could feel the heat of it, and dearly wished to answer it.

But it was about at that point that people…some of them bedraggled, some begging and pleading, some silent and apparently numbly shocked into silence, all led by her fierce and triumphant warrior women, began to file into the great throne chamber. All were drenched; Systlin could hear rain rattling against the roof now, and thunder rumbling quite often.

They stared. Systlin knew what she must look like. She sat, and waited. Her shoulder ached; she’d been slammed into a wall at one point, and probably had a spectacular bruise. Her arm where she’d been cut stung. Her muscles burned from exertion; she’d been fighting on and off for hours. The cut on her cheek had scabbed, and pulled when she moved or spoke.

None of it mattered. Victory was pounding in her veins along the adrenaline. Even now, she knew, her warriors were removing chains from slaves; she could taste it on the air, and it was as sweet as honeyed wine.  

Goddess of justice and war.

She ignored the voice of the Lady whispering.

Dina was conferring with the other women native to Turia. They looked fearsome; all were armored and armed and bloody. Most of the blood, to Systlin’s immense pride, was not their own. They had wounds, true, but most were not serious, and every warrior will earn scars. They were standing and moving and speaking with a new edge of confidence that had not been there even this morning, and Systlin knew why.

Stories would be told of this, she knew. Stories would be told, and the warriors who’d fought with her to take Turia would be legend in their own right. And they knew it as well; had proved something to themselves that could never be taken away.

Yes, these warrior women would say, years from now. Yes, of course I know of the Fall of Turia. I was there. I fought at the Ubara’s side. There would be looks then, as awed as any Systlin herself had ever received, and she knew in her bones how the legends would be told in decades to come.

Dina of Turia, who led the Ubara’s archers and broke the Turian cavalry with the Ubara.

Sabra of Turia, the first of all who had her chains struck off, who rode with her lance at the Ubara’s side, in her honor guard, and who fought so fiercely that none could stand before her. Never in the battle for the city did she leave the Ubara’s side, and she walked through blood ankle-deep that day.

Hula of Turia, Doreen of Turia, Hireena of the Tuchuks. Tamra of Ar…

The list went on and on, and pride was a bright warmth in her chest.

Dina said something to Sabra, who nodded and turned to cross the hall and climb the steps. Systlin remembered that first day; Sabra clutching, terrified, at her sleeve. There was little trace of the frightened and beaten slave girl now; Sabra was one of her best with a spear, and she wore thick bosk-hide armor sewn with metal plates. Her arms and shoulders were strong, and her blonde hair braided tightly back. There was blood and mud crusted in it, and a vicious bruise showing around one eye. Her nose had been broken at some point, and hastily reset,. The dried blood from it was still on her chin. She was smiling a smile of victory.

“Ubara sana.” She said. “The guild leaders, councilors, and other important leaders of the city are assembled.”

“Thank you, Sabra.” Systlin smiled back, just as fierce. “And well fought. Fierce as a she-panther.”

The grin widened. “Thank you, Ubara-sana!”

“I told you,” Systlin said, still smiling. “You doubted me, but here you stand. When I secure the treasury, you are to take as much as you can carry, as a mark of my esteem. I name you now to my personal guard, for as long as you desire the post, but you must promise to tell me if you ever wish to leave. You were the first to have her chains thrown off, and I’ve no wish to ever bind you with others.”

Sabra blinked rapidly, and Systlin realized that she was blinking back tears. “I will, Ubara sana.” She said. “But I do not think that day will come.”

“Well. If it does, let me know. And I’ve another duty for you; you were the first to take up weapons, even before Dina. If you will, once things settle more in a few days, go among the women of Turia and tell them your story. And if any of them wish it, bring them to me, and help me train them as warriors, as you trained yourself.”

A light like fever lit in Sabra’s eyes. “Ubara sana,” she whispered. “You honor me, and I will do this.”

“You won your honor yourself, with your own hands and by your own actions.” Systlin said. “I merely handed you the tools to do so. Bring them all forward, then.”

Foicatch, she realized, was staring at her with an intensity that was scorching.

“You will never have any idea,” he breathed, very quietly, as her warriors herded the frightened rich and powerful of the city to the base of the raised dais the thrones sat upon, “the effect you have on people. What it’s like to see, from the outside.”

“Hush.” She murmured back, just as softly. “You’re biased.”

“I am. But I’m also right. Every woman in your forces would have followed you to the death this morning, but after this they’d follow you past it as well.”

“Hmm.” She allowed, but it was a pleased sound. “I try only to be what they deserve.”

“Yes.” He said. “Yes, and that’s why.”

She eyed the small crowd at the foot of the dais. They were frightened and soaked from the storm, bedraggled and sullen.

“Foicatch, darling.” She said. “Our guests appear to be soaked. Could you give them a hand?”

He made an agreeable sound and lifted a hand. She tasted Power on the back of her tounge, ozone and burnt cinnamon.

There were gasps and screams as the water streamed and spiraled off of the huddled leaders of Turia. Foicatch pulled it into a hovering globe above his hand, and then rather negligently flicked it aside. It splashed to the tiles, leaving the people in the crowd quite dry.

Dina clicked her tounge against her teeth. “Are you all sorcerers, on your world?” A year and a half of following Systlin, one of the strongest fire witches and the strongest Breaker ever to live, had rubbed the novelty off of seeing Power worked.

“Not all of us.” Systlin lifted a shoulder. “But a good many.”

“My mother’s a stronger water witch than me,” Foicatch said absently. “I’ve only half her gift.”

“Wait until you see him really angry,” Systlin said. “And see him tear the water from a man’s blood.”

“I have.” That was Hireena, herding the Turians forward. Her voice was low, and she looked at Foicatch with deep respect. “At the gates, as we fought.”

“Did you?” She said, with interest. Systlin had seen it done before. It had been….compelling. Hmmmm.

Later. Later. More important things first.

“Turia.” She said, her voice clear. “I greet you.”

Furious, frightened faces looked up at her. Mutters went around. Systlin remembered well what she’d been told.

“I greet you,” she said. “As Ubara Sana of the plains, won by my own hand. But of course, you are Turian, and the power in Turia lies with the merchants.”

“It is so.” One veiled woman said. She was looking up curiously; her robes were of exquisitely fine silks, and embroidered with gold. Pearls hung from the edges of her sleeves, and crystal beads glittered across her gown.

“That,” said Systlin. “May change. I understand, of course, that you’ve already well established trade routes, and I’ve no wish to interfere with them. But I am Ubara Sana now, and the old laws will change. You may have heard that, on the plains, slave chains have been outlawed, and all slaves freed. It is true, and as of this moment by my decree every slave in Turia is freed.”

There was a roar of arguments and shouting and disapproving noises.

“…cannot simply…”

“…My business is slaves! How am I to…”

“…an outrage!...”

Systlin waited them out, patient. As she did, another of the Turian women jogged in through the great door; the rain had washed away most of the mud and blood, but she was limping, a strip of cloth bound around one thigh. She murmured something to Dina, who nodded once and took the nine steps up to the dais two at a time.

“There is a problem.” Dina said. “Saphrar, a wealthy merchant, one of the leaders of the Merchant’s Caste in the city. He’s a fortified compound, and has walled himself up with his mercenary forces.”

“Tell everyone to pull back.” Systlin said at once. “Keep an eye on the compound; let no one escape. After I finish here, I’ll come and tend to his gates myself.”

Dina smiled thinly, and went back down, murmured this to the other woman. The other woman grinned like a wolf, and hurried out, swift despite her wounded leg.

“Have you all finished?” Systlin raised her voice above the crowd.

“I will contract with the Guild of Assassins for this!” A man with thick dark hair and wearing gold and white robes said furiously. He had a hand raised and was shaking a finger at the sky. “I’ll have your head in my vault. I swear it on the Priest-Kings! “

“I take it that you deal in slaves,” Systlin said dryly.

“I do! It is an honorable trade, and I have been dealing in slave meat for…”

Systlin nodded at Dina, who moved quickly. Her knife gleamed, and the man’s throat opened ear to ear. A gurgle, and a red rush of blood, and utter shocked silence.

“Slavery,” Systlin said mildly. “Is one of the greatest crimes, and slavers are condemned to death. Those who procure and deal in slaves for their own wealth are doubly damned. Throw his body to the kaiila; they must be hungry after the fight. What was his name?”

Silence.

“I asked,” Systlin said, voice going cold. “For his name. I expect an answer.”

Another moment of silence dragged out, and then…“Kazrak.” The veiled woman who’d spoken before said. “Kazrak of the Merchant Caste. His mansion is next to mine, and his warehouse is in the low streets, near the slave market.”

“Did he have a Free Companion, any children?”

“Both.”

“Then half of his estate shall go to them, and they shall maintain their home. The other half of his assets are forfeit, and will be redistributed between his slaves, who are now free.” Systlin raised an eyebrow. “Might I have your name?”

“Aphris.” Said the woman. “Of the Merchant Caste. I deal in silks and wine, not people.” She shot a somewhat vicious look at the dead Kazrak, as he was dragged off, leaving a smear of red on the tiles. “And he was cruel, and it does my heart good to see justice done him. I take it then that we, the free women of Turia, are not to be put in slave chains?”

“Bloody pits, no.” Systlin said, repulsed.

“I did not think so.” Aphris said, cool and collected, a point of calm in the angry and terrified crowd. “But many freewomen feared the worst. It is, after all, how war has been done on Gor for a very long time. You can understand the worry.”

It was a reasonable worry, Systlin supposed. “Of course. But have no fear, no hand will be raised against you. You are free, and will remain free. Aside from that, by my laws it will be punishable by death if anyone, from anywhere, ever attempted to enslave you, and I would hunt that man down and kill him for daring to put chains on one of my subjects.”

There were many free women in the crowd, and at the words there was sort of a sigh that ran through them, and a sense of some great tension lifted. The men looked startled. Systlin gestured, taking in the concealing robes all of the free women wore.

“It is no longer required,” she continued. “That you wear full Robes of Concealment in public. A free woman may dress as she likes and go where she likes. If you feel more comfortable in your robes, of course, then you are welcome to wear them, but it is not required. If you choose to set them aside and experience difficulty from anyone, you may make a formal complaint and the matter will be dealt with. I will make people and resources available to deal with such matters.”

A murmur. More looks of outrage from the men.

“Many,” Aphris said. “Will welcome this. But for myself, Ubara, I think I will choose to wear the robes, at least for some time longer.”

“Of course.” Systlin inclined her head. “And I am afraid, of course, that Turia will be judged.”

“Judged?” One man snapped. “Like you judged Kazrak?”

“Yes. Precisely how I judged Kazrak.” Systlin smiled unpleasantly. “There are three great crimes; the murder of an innocent who has done no harm, the rape of another, and enslaving another. The penalty for all three is death.”

Silence. Dead, horrified silence. And then,

“You cannot mean,” another man said, carefully. “That every man who held a slave will be killed.”

“No.” Systlin shook her head. Sighs of relief, but she continued. “Because some slaves, for whatever reason, beg mercy for those who held them. It will be up to any slaves you hold what your fate is. But,” and she grinned again, more horribly. “If a single slave you’ve held and raped chooses death for you, I will put a knife in her hand and hold you down myself for the sentence.”

“What.”

“You cannot mean…”

“Not all…”

“All.” Systlin said, merciless. “Every man in Turia. If a freewoman held male slaves…I’m told it happens…then her life is forfeit as well. I will not abide it. Have no fear; I will establish many courts to see to it. It will take us months to work through the city, but it will be done. And those of you who are guilty, I will hang your bones from the white walls as a warning.”

“You,” Said one man, who had until then been silent, staring angry daggers at her from the front of the crowd. His robes, she noted, were the finest in the room, and edged in purple. “Are mad.”

“Not the first time I’ve been called that.” Systlin said easily. She looked him over, matching up features with descriptions. “Phanius Turmus, I presume?”

“Ubar of Turia.” He confirmed, chin high. “You are defiling my throne, woman.”

“You were.” She shook her head. “But you lost. You’re simply Phanius now, and you’ll be judged with the rest.”

“I think that perhaps I shall contract with the Assassin’s Caste for your head.” He didn’t flinch or break eye contact. “Your head would look well in my vaults, I agree with Kazrak.”

“Oh, please do. I ought to make their acquaintance. It’s been some time since I trained with the assassins of my own world, and tore their master’s throat out with my knife. So yes please, do. It would be an exciting challenge.”

Foicatch sighed resignedly. “Really, love?”

Phanius was giving her a stare of pure and utter horror. “What are you?” He almost whispered. “What terrible hell did you crawl from, to plague us? Have you no respect for those of high caste?”

“My mother would be terribly offended by calling her a ‘terrible hell’.” She made steady eye contact with each person in her horrified and enraptured audience. “The terrible hell is her sister, who taught me to fight. And no. Every caste. From low to high. All will be judged the same. If any have offended in these ways, I will see justice done upon them. No one is exempt.”

“You’ll kill thousands!” One man cried. “Tens of thousands!”

“Oh,” Systlin said, cold as steel in winter. “Hundreds of thousands, I expect.”

“You cannot…”

“Poor choice of words.” Foicatch sighed again. “I could have warned you; there’s no better way to get her to do something than to tell her, earnestly, that she can’t.”

Systlin stood, and let Power rise. Not the terrible cold of Breaking, but her other gift, hot and furious and wild. Fire bloomed around her for a moment, and was gone too quickly to set fire to her clothes. But it had the desired effect. Silence fell. Horrified silence.

“I am not bargaining with you.” She said softly. “I am not suggesting. I am not your old Ubar. I stand here by right of conquest. I breached your walls and killed my way to this throne, and I am going to kill a great deal many more before I am through. The merchants and caste-masters are not ruling Turia any longer; I am.”

She moved a step down, drawing closer to them. “To put this in terms you understand, which I gathered from women you had kidnapped from a world not yours and forced into slavery; you had best get used to this new way, or you will die. I am telling you how things now are. You can flee the city, if you wish, but I will not stop here and I will find you. Be it when I take Ar, or Ko-Ro-Ba, or any other city, I will come. I am going to end slavery on this world, and I fully expect to do it at the point of a sword. I am Ubara Sana of the plains. I rule this city now. These are the great crimes that will be punished, and how they will be punished. This matter is not open for negotiation. If you dislike these words, you are free to take them up with any of the twenty thousand of my soldiers in your city. They’ll be thrilled to discuss them, I am sure.” She descended another step. “Until the courts are established and judging begins, no one is to leave the city. I control the entirety of the plains and other bands of my warriors have seized trade routes. I have the wealth of Turia at my disposal; you will not go hungry. And now, you are free to return to your homes; I have things yet to do tonight. One of you has decided to fight tooth and nail; I’m off to crack him out of his nutshell. Dismissed.”

She swept past, not looking back, and felt their eyes on her back as she went.

[we-are-inevitable]

Okay headcannons! More will definitely come tommorow because I'm most likely going to watch the movie for a refresher but I like the amount I have so far so, here:

- Davey and Jack are adjusting to a new life at the same time. Jack is more adjusting to not running and stealing all his life and Davey is just,, trying to move on from the fact he was lied to his whole life (yeah, he's gonna have some trust issues).

- Les becomes attached to Davey right away? Like sure, he never knew his brother, but he immediately becomes comfortable with the idea. And Davey takes a little to come around (poor Les thinks for a while that Davey hates him - which couldn't be further from the truth) to the idea of not only having a little brother, but also a sister.

- Because the magic hair portion is cut in this au, there's no set reason for Snyder to take Davey. I was thinking out of pure greed because Davey was the air to the throne, of course Snyder would want that power over the royal family.

- Not necessarily a headcannon but the whole "day in the village" scene with Javid... I love them

- Like the ending of the movie, Jack does ask Davey to marry him a few times. After a few years, of course. Jack knows that when Davey feels ready, he'll say yes so he doesn't bring it up too often but he does ask a few times. I don't know, It's cute. I love them.

- Esther and Mayer are the best with Davey. They're just,, really understanding and let him adjsut to royal life on his own terms because, again, kidnapped and lied to his whole life - while still giving him the responsibilities he has as a prince.

Again, more are on the way, I just need to refresh my memory.

BRO THE WAY THESE ALMOST PERFECTLY ALIGN WITH @tarantulas4davey AND I’S THOUGHTS ON THE AU

Jack and Davey are two sides of the same coin.

David has been stuck all his life; Jack has been on the run for years... it’s very strange.

Let’s talk about Jack for a moment. From his basic, natural instinct, he wants to run. That’s what he’s known all his life; he’s used to rugged lifestyles and danger and trouble. But, from a survivalist standpoint? The castle is heaven. He doesn’t have to worry about injury, or sickness, or, hell, running out of food- he has all of this comfort at his disposal, and he’s going to make the most of it... even if he constantly feels like all of this is going to be taken from him in an instant.

Now, onto David. As we know, he’s been stationary his entire life; he hasn’t had his adventures yet. On one hand, this means he’s very well equipped to just... stay in the palace. He’s used to the sedentary lifestyle; it doesn’t bother him much. But, on the other hand... even when he’s in the castle, he longs for the outside. He longs for the chance to have fun, and get hurt, and learn from his mistakes. He longs for adventure and danger and mischief.

Basically, what I’m getting at is that:

Jack wants a taste of the life that David has always had, and vice versa for David.

NEXT:

oh my god LES

i’m just gonna paste what chandler and i said in the discord:

JAC: les is so sad because he just found out he has a big brother !! but his big brother doesn't really want anything to do with him, at least not yet

CHANDLER:  just- he wants to be a good big brother but he’s genuinely only ever been taken care of and he doesn’t actually know anything about the world, so it’s not like he can teach les until he learns and it makes him anxious that les won’t want to know him if he can’t be a g o o d big brother like everyone else has

JAC: OH FUCK AWW

omg but then like. les is the one to help davey learn new things; maybe not academic things, but social things, because les is definitely the social butterfly of the three of them

SO YES WE BOTH LOVE THE CONCEPT OF LES GETTING ATTACHED

NEXT:

so i kinda put some thought into this and while i DO agree that snyder’s main reason for kidnapping davey would be greed, i also think that it would serve as some form of revenge.

Let’s say that, in the kingdom of Corona, King Mayer passes a law that has a rougher effect on the lower class. Not necessarily a bad law, just one that affects them.

And, well... Snyder is lower class. And Snyder takes it personally.

And Snyder is determined to make Mayer and Esther’s lives that much more painful.

NEXT: 

okay so me and chandler kinda talked about this one !!

it involves sarah, so, bear with me:

David is prepared to take the throne until, on a technicality, he’s told that, if he takes the throne, he’s unable to marry Jack.

This is because the kingdom’s advisors choose who the new ruler is to marry, as to uphold the ‘integrity of the kingdom,’ and since Jack is quite literally an ex-con, it doesn’t bode well for their relationship.

So, when David is told this, he gives up his chance of ruling the kingdom and passes the torch onto Sarah, who has been training for this moment since she was a young girl.

SIDE NOTE: we also discussed Sarah being very cold and calculated toward David at first; she’s been training to be Queen for years, because she was always believed to be the eldest, and since no one knew that David was alive. But, when David comes home, everyone realizes that, oh... David is the eldest, by no more than seven minutes.

So, on that technicality... Sarah would have been training her entire life for nothing if David were to actually take the throne.

This does cause a rift in their relationship (or lack thereof), and it isn’t mended until David reveals to her that he’s not going to rule Corona, because 1) she’s WAY more qualified and, 2) he doesn’t want to give up his relationship with Jack, the man he wants to marry when the time is right (even if it takes a few years).

FINALLY:

Esther and Mayer are... trying their best.

While discussing the AU, Chandler and I came up with this fact:

David, who is normally very levelheaded and calm, would have a lot of problems with emotional regulation due to his past of being lied to and mistreated and, because of this, he would take it out on Esther and Mayer from time to time.

They understand, of course; David is still working through his trauma, and he is certainly not the son he would be had he been allowed to grow up in the castle, but he’s trying and that’s all they can ask of him.

There are moments, though, when they’re out of their element. They’re tasked with helping their eighteen year old son learn the basics of royal life and human development and social skills all while trying to run a kingdom; of course they would be met with a few snags.

Sometimes they rush him into things, and sometimes they make false assumptions about what he knows and doesn’t know, but at the end of the day, they’re trying to be the parents they’ve never been able to be for him, and he’s eternally grateful for the fact that they... aren’t giving up on him yet.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THESE AHHHHHHHHH !!!!!!! I’M IN TEARS OVER THIS

[crashingmeteorz]

rich kid runaways (ft. yuexzukoxtoph friendship)

for my 100 Followers Celebration - credit to @aroacebitchboi for this amazing idea!

zuko faces his father in the agni kai, and when he is told what he must do in order to be welcome in his homeland again, he just says “fuck this” and runs away.

he’s not sure where he’s gonna go, just that he has to get out, and fast, because his dad’s gonna kill him. like. for real. so he stows away on a fire navy ship headed Literally Anywhere Else (and maybe the soldiers don’t care! because he’s 13 and hurting children is a disgrace! maybe they sneak him food and blankets idk!)

yue, meanwhile, in the north pole, has just been told she is going to enter an arranged marriage for the good of her people when she turns 16. respectfully, she asks her father what exactly this marriage will do, politically speaking. the north isn’t at war with itself, in fact they’re more united than ever. maybe if it were a southern water tribe boy, sure, but no, it’s going to be a northern boy.

her father just tells her it’s imperative to the stability of the tribe that they uphold tradition. yue, realizing this is bullshit, even at the tender age of 13, says “fuck this”, and runs away.

she is all but screwed without waterbending or any practical survival knowledge - except, she’s been chosen by the moon spirit. when she steals a boat and heads south, the moon takes pity on its ward and keeps her safe, at least on her waterbound journey. once she lands on the northern shores of the earth kingdom, yue depends on the kindness of strangers to survive.

zuko, meanwhile, is angry and mistrustful and afraid when he ends up on the western shores of the earth kingdom, and he depends entirely on his determination to survive. he learns to live off the land the hard way, and avoids major cities and towns for fear of being found out as a firebender. of course, if he’s ever spotted, he’s regarded with pity and empathy because of the festering burn on his face, but zuko doesn’t realize that.

yue never stays in one place too long, bouncing from family to family and learning more skills in a few months than she was ever taught in her whole life up north. she cooks and cleans and sews, yes, but she also farms and skins hunted animals and does house repairs. she is happily taken into homes because of her ability to heal - though never a waterbender, yue still learned basic healing with the other northern women, and can manage even bad wounds all on her own.

afraid she’ll be recognized by her vibrant hair, however, yue continues her journey south, considering running to the south pole for sanctuary. she wonders how their women are treated. zuko, meanwhile, lives alone in the wilderness most of the time, and moves very slowly up the west coast.

they’re 14 when their paths cross. three fire nation soldiers harass yue while she’s journeying along a rural road, asking her for a made-up toll. usually trading in work, yue has no money to speak of. the soldiers threaten violence, and, though he is afraid of being caught by his countrymen, zuko was never one to let bullies have power over the innocent.

he emerges from the forest, swords in hand, attacking the soldiers. at first it seems like he has the upper hand - and then he stumbles, and the soldiers laugh and pull him up to beat him. zuko panics and relies on instinct - firebending at the soldiers and burning them badly. they run away yelling, and zuko panics, certain that he’ll be caught out. he goes to run, but yue stops him.

“you’re hurt,” she says, pointing to where he’d been cut by the soldiers’ swords. “please, let me help you. it’s the least i can do.”

“you’re not scared of me?” zuko asks in confusion, looking around wildly, afraid his father will pop out of the trees and strike him down.

“you saved me,” yue says, just as confused, because between the rescue and the obvious burn mark, she doesn’t really think this boy would have any reason to hurt her. also he’s kinda shrimpy, and yue, who has built up some strength through hard work, is pretty sure she could take him. “come on, i have some herbs. is there clean water nearby?”

shocked that anyone in the earth kingdom wouldn’t call for zuko’s arrest on the spot, zuko leads yue to a stream in the forest. yue silently patches his wounds, and then eventually asks if she can get a look at his eye. apart from the initial work of the fire nation healers, zuko hadn’t really done much to treat his eye, and it’s so badly crusted he can barely see out of it. when yue reaches for him, he jerks away.

“i don’t need your help!” he snaps, standing and shaking himself off. “if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

“excuse me.” says yue, standing as well, because who is he to talk to her that way? “i didn’t ask you for help, you chose to do that. and you’re mad at those soldiers, not me, so why don’t you try being a little nicer?”

they stare at each other furiously for a moment. then yue sighs and says “i think i can help you with your eye, so that you can see. let me do that and i’ll leave you alone.”

it’s painful, and a very slow process, but with water warmed by zuko’s bending (”just heat up the water.” “someone could see!” “we’re in the middle of a literal forest! who’s spying! the frogs???”) and a few medicinal herbs, yue manages to clear away most of the crust and dead skin over zuko’s eye. when he finally opens it again, he’s shocked to find that he can see.

“well, i won’t bother you anymore,” yue says huffily, moving to leave the forest. as she does, she realizes she doesn’t know where the heck she is. zuko’s still marveling at how different the world looks with two eyes.

“umm, which way is out?” yue asks him. zuko snaps back to reality and says “oh, um. i’ll show you.” because he is, admittedly, grateful.

of course, when they try to leave the forest, they run into bandits and barely escape. then yue reccomends they take a country road, and zuko reluctantly agrees, except they run into more bandits. after the fourth round of bandits in two weeks, they’re convinced they’ve been cursed with bad luck.

“can we just go to a town or a city?” yue asks, panting from their desperate escape. “we’re not having much luck living in the wild.”

“i was fine until you showed up!” zuko retorts, panting as well. “fine! then i’ll leave!” yue yells back.

“wait,” zuko says, and yue turns, tapping her foot impatiently. “i’m sorry,” zuko says, to yue’s shock, because if her few weeks with this kid who calls himself lee has taught her anything, it’s that he does not apologize. “i don’t really...understand, um, local people and-“

“let me do the talking,” yue says, gentle as always, reaching for zuko’s arm. he smiles at her, a real, happy smile, and they make their way to the nearest earth kingdom town.

after that, yue and zuko are inseparable. they argue a lot, naturally, but they become good friends, too. yue says she always wanted a sibling, zuko says he always wanted a different sibling, so it’s nice, to have each other. without going into too much detail, they bond over their shared experiences of pre-determined destinies and overbearing parental figures (“my father said i have to get married for the good of the people! what does that even mean?” “tell me about it, my father got mad that i talked out of turn, so he tried to kill me.” “...he what?” “hahaha just kidding that’s not a normal thing that happens.”) no matter how scary it gets, they agree, the earth kingdom makes them feel freer than they ever have before.

does the food they cook suck because they’ve never had to cook in their lives? yes. do they sometimes put all four feet in their mouths because of how they speak to the poor people of the earth kingdom? yes. have they ticked off a lot of fellow teenagers for acting bratty? yes. (“what, so, you don’t have palaces around here?” yue asks. “yeah, where are the royal gardens?” zuko asks. “leave before we rock your shit.” says Every Teenager They Meet.) but at the end of the day, they’re happy.

at 15 they reach a city called gaoling. by now they can both do enough odd jobs that they always have some pocket money on them, although yue still struggles to behave in a way that isn’t dainty and delicate, and zuko still struggles with basic social skills.

they’re getting ready to move along, when they’re stopped by a girl. she’s young, about 11, and entirely blind. she’s being chased by a loud crowd, who seem to be just around the corner.

“please!” the girl says. “help hide me! they’re after me! i think they’re going to kidnap me!” yue and zuko, who are the captains of the child-protection-squad, immediately move to protect the girl.

“this way!” zuko says, and the three of them run down narrow streets and alleyways, in and around shops, until they’re stopped at the city gate by the mob going after the girl.

“alright, kid,” the leader, a tall, buff man with long greasy hair says. “you’ve stolen from us for the last time.”

“how many time do i have to tell you?” the girl bellows, much different than her sweet and innocent pleas from before. “i won fair and square! you’re just mad because you got your butt kicked by a little girl!”

before zuko and yue can even react, the girl pummels the mob of men with an avalanche of rocks, and then launches the earth they’re standing on into the air, landing them far outside of the city limits in a dizzying display.

“woo! that was awesome!” the girl says gleefully pumping her arms. zuko and yue are both trying to wrap their heads around what just happened. “thanks for the help. not that i needed it, i just didn’t want my parents’ guards to see me bending...i wasn’t really planning on running away, but, i mean, i doubt they’ll even notice i’m gone-”

“just a second,” yue says, collecting herself. zuko’s jaw is still hanging open. “who are you?”

the girl grins smugly. “name’s toph. who are you?”

i cannot fully express how much i love this idea. top-notch. god-tier. thank you again!

[silverbastardgoldenfool]

Realm of the Quarantine Reread End-of-Book Questionnaire: Assassin’s Quest

Any differences between your first/previous reading experience and this one?

Keep in mind I’m writing this months after finishing the book lol (it’s mental illness innit). I have LOTS of notes to go off but yeah, things aren’t as fresh in my mind overall. With that said the biggest difference I can think of between my first and second experience with AQ is my feelings towards Kettricken. I think the first time around reading you know that Fitz is an unreliable narrator but you are still limited by his viewpoint so you can get a bit trapped seeing things the way he does. For this reason, I think I pretty much just forgave Kettricken when he did on my first read, whereas on this read I was like……. Waiting for her to actually apologise and show some sympathy towards Fitz and it just…. Never happened.

Like, don’t get me wrong, I still love Kettricken as a character and I fully recognise that she has been traumatised. I don’t expect her to be nice or act rationally, and in the case of being willing to take Nettle for the crown… It’s cold but she’s doing what she feels she has to. My issue is - do what you have to, but don’t expect Fitz to understand or forgive you (same with Starling). But I think what bothered me the most was how Kettricken would constantly confide in Fitz and break down to him and he was always there to let her do so, yet she NEVER gives Fitz the chance to do the same. The one time he does “open up” in a sense is when she forces him to air out his traumas in front of everyone, and she didn’t show him any sympathy for what he’d been through then or later. She has been through hell, absolutely, but while her plight may not have been any better than Fitz’s it certainly wasn’t any worse. She pretty much had two modes in this book: completely cold or a crying wreck - but she was only ever crying for herself. She lets Fitz console her but she never consoles him. Again, this is a result of her own trauma and I don’t expect her to act any differently, but it just reaffirmed for me that while she and Fitz care for each other deeply it is not an equal relationship. Fitz feels an obligation to serve her and she - knowingly or not - takes advantage of that. Like, after realising that this is their dynamic it is so obvious that the same is true in Royal Assassin as well, and it will be interesting to see how it changes (or doesn’t) in Tawny Man as I don’t remember it well enough to say.

Must reiterate: Kettricken is still a great character and I still have a lot of respect for her, unfortunately she just falls into the overfull camp of people who love Fitz but have an unhealthy power dynamic with him.

The other big difference I noticed was that the Verity stuff just wasn’t as devastating this time. Not because it was any less sad but it just didn’t tear out my heart like it did the first time. That’s not a fault with the writing at all, I think it’s just the fact that, knowing what would happen to Verity and that we wouldn’t see the real Verity again, I kind of already let go of him at the end of Royal Assassin.

Something you can’t believe you forgot

I guess more of a misinterpretation/wishful thinking but like, realising that there is no passage explicitly stating that Fitz and the Fool were actually spooning in the mountains murdered me and spat on my corpse.

Oh also!!! Fitz yeeting himself out the window at Tradeford castle jskaskjf

Favourite character introduction moments/scenes

I love Kettle in general and the way we’re introduced to her as a cranky old lady sets her up perfectly

Favourite character arcs

Man they’re all so fucking sad lol but I guess the Fool? He goes from thinking Fitz is dead and his purpose failed to reuniting with Fitz, their relationship growing into something really real for the first time, and actually completing his mission - at least for now lol. This book is really the first time you get to see the Fool be properly vulnerable. Even when he was getting beaten up by Regal’s guards he always had his veneer of snark and superiority to hide behind - and I doubt when he went through his sicknesses at Buckkeep he would have revealed his weakness to anyone in order to be helped. But in the mountains he lets so much of that facade of the King’s Fool fall away - at least when it’s just him and Fitz. When he and Fitz meet again he lets Fitz see his grief and pain and hopelessness and joy as the Fool looks after Fitz, and then later when it’s the Fool who needs looking after he lets Fitz look after him. When was the last time the Fool had anyone really care for him like that, ya know? Had someone protect him purely out of love? Ouch dude!!!!

Also he gets to kiss Fitz at the end so good for him!!!!!!!!!! Be gay ride dragons!!

Favourite quote/s

“I would kill Regal. It only seemed fair. He had killed me first.”

“I had looked into the heart of my enemy. I still could not comprehend him.”

“The more I drank, the less tolerable my situation seemed. And the more intolerable I became to my friends.”

“I had never thought to be disdained by a tree.”

“The Fool, the Fool, only the Fool. I sought for him. I almost found him. Oh, he was passing strange, and surpassing strange. He darted and eluded me, like a bright gold carp in a weedy pool, like the motes that dance before one’s eyes after being dazzled by the sun. As well to clutch at the moon’s reflection in a still midnight pond as to seek a grip on that bright mind. I knew his beauty and his power in the briefest flashes of insight. In a moment I understood and marvelled at all that he was, and in the next I had forgotten that understanding.”

“When you can either laugh or cry, you might as well laugh.” - the Fool

Favourite relationships

Fitzandthefoolfitzandthefoolfitzandthefoolbahslbghabfhalgngjba 

Also fitz and nighteyes (speaking of which, Nighteyes’ arc in this book is also fascinating and surprisingly complex) and Fitz/Nighteyes/Fool mwah magnifico chef’s kiss

Favourite setting

Kelsingra baybeyyy. I remember the first time reading this having no fucking clue what was happening in that chapter but I guess it was the gay agenda all along

Favourite chapter

It’s gotta be the chapter where Fitz and the Fool reunite, right? Catch me just gradually losing my grip on reality with every lingering stare 

Most loved character

Foooooooooool

Most hated character

Ya know, for a minute I was actually wondering if I would like Starling this time round but yeah no lol. She was actually okay for a while but as soon as she sold Fitz/Nettle out she became The Worst, just as I remembered her. It’s not even because she betrays Fitz but because, like Kettricken, she expects Fitz to forgive her for it, to the point of running to tattle to the queen because Fitz isn’t giving her enough attention (I’m also not impressed with Kettricken for actually getting involved instead of just telling her to grow up). Not to mention her constantly misgendering/gendering (??) the Fool or just assuming the Fool’s gender and loudly fucking proclaiming it to everybody is just truly fucking disgusting. Like I cannot even explain how furious I was reading her incessantly using she/her pronouns for the Fool despite no confirmation that her theory is right or that the Fool is comfortable with this and despite EVERYONE ELSE using he/him pronouns. God I’m mad now lol. She just acts like a spoilt brat and it makes my blood boil. But that’s probably because I have known many people like this so… Good character writing lol congrats

Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimised by Robin Hobb (most heartbreaking and/or visceral moments)

The whole first chapter/s are just so heavy and carry on that gut wrenching feeling from the end of Royal Assassin. Fitz just has no real desire to live and watching him systematically severing the last few ties he has to his human life is just so sad.

Even though I wasn’t as attached to Verity this time, his goodbye to Fitz still made me cry

As did Fitz giving Kettle her skill back

Verity using Fitz’s body to have sex with Kettricken really got to me this time, mostly because I either didn’t notice the first time or had forgotten just how much it affects Fitz. It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to acknowledge Dutiful as his son when the event that brought that fact into being was so fucked up and traumatic. It’s really upsetting.

Burrich saying he almost took Fitz to Chivalry and he should have never let the Farseers take Fitz just …… breaks my heart. Just seeing Burrich so raw like that in general is so unusual it really takes you aback.

Details, observations, spoilery notes made with the benefit of the full picture

Strap in lads this part is lonnnngggggggg

Is it bad to immediately want to cry just from seeing “Sandsedge” on the map and thinking of Sandsedge brandy

I never really thought about how poor Hap didn’t get the real Fitz all those years and how their relationship could have been if Fitz hadn’t been partially forged

Pls I have no idea why but to picture someone as emotionally repressed as Fitz actually sitting down and writing about his life makes me want to fucking cryyyyeeeee

Fitz in the prologue talks about needing a purpose as something to distract himself from sinking [into his chronic pain, mental illness and addiction] and boy howdy if that ain’t relatable. As someone with mental illness and chronic pain Fitz is just painfully relatable way too often.

“I have never forgiven myself the triumph I ceded him when I took poison and died.” Fitz :(((( my guy :((((((( forgive yourself for surviving however you could baby!!!!!

This book mentions Bingtown providing slaves to Chalced

It’s so funny to me when people expect Fitz to have social skills as if he didn’t literally live as a fucking wolf for weeks at a time. It’s a miracle he bloody speaks

The state Fitz is in at the beginning of this book was literally Burrich’s greatest fear for him, yet Burrich doesn’t just say I told you so and leave. He stays, is patient and even optimistic.

“He (Burrich) is not bigger than I.” Why does this feel so wrong lol??? I just can’t picture Fitz as bigger than Burrich

“When you were younger and not supposed to go into taverns without me…” So it’s fine if the child goes into taverns and gets drunk as long as you’re also there. Got it, Burrich.

Fitz calling Chade “the grey one” wow get rekd old man river

Seeing Chade and Burrich interact is so bizarre

Fitz is still having seizures at the beginning of this book! I had forgotten that

God okay so idk if I can articulate this point super well but the whole thing of Fitz going through this extensive abuse and then essentially becoming an animal feels like a metaphor for the way your brain’s “higher” needs and functions just shut off sometimes under certain levels of stress. Like in order to cope with the trauma you don’t think about concepts, or long-term goals, or other people. You just take care of your basic needs - food, sleep, shelter, water - long enough that you start to feel safe and secure again, at which point your brain can open up a bit more and allow you to really think again; to want again, to plan again etc. Like obviously literally becoming an animal is a heightened version of reality, but the functionality of it is the same; our wounds and our fear stop us from fully embodying ourselves.

Burrich be like, Fitz was getting way too dependent on drugs before all this so let’s steer clear of those. :) LET’S GET HIM ABSOLUTELY SHITFACED INSTEAD

I  love how Fitz has his own unique relationship with Lacey and she’s not just Patience’s servant in his mind

Fitz talking about how even his memories from before his time in the dungeons are soiled by his trauma :( baby boy

Dude it’s so rich Chade lecturing Fitz about not making a life for himself, having friends or just chilling out like???? WHO TRAINED HIM TO BE AN ASSASSIN CHADE?? Like I get your point but what the hell kind of life did you think he was gonna have? Who ever took the time to teach him the importance of making connections with people for their own sake, and when would he have ever had the time anyway? I think Chade himself doesn’t actually know what he expects from Fitz.

Fitz saying he’s bad at making decisions because he’s never actually been allowed to make any is literally a point I’ve made lol. This is what happens when you teach teenagers how to murder in lieu of any basic life skills.

Burrich + Chiv were luv at first sight. No I will not elaborate.

“We kept you a boy, looked after you too much.” Huh??????? Fitz was never fucking sheltered lol. He didn’t have autonomy. There’s a difference.

I’m so fucking glad Fitz hugged Burrich before he left and that they actually left off on okay-ish terms. I didn’t remember that and it vaguely dulls the blow of knowing we don’t see Burrich again til Fool’s Fate (and that he thinks Fitz is dead the entire time between now and then).

“If I shaved my hair back from my brow” bitch disgusting

“Honey was the older of the two women. Perhaps my age.” jskfjnajgbl my guy those aren’t women then those are children!!!!!! U freak

I was wondering for ages why Fitz doesn’t mention the Fool like literally at all bc that’s so unusual right? Even in Assassin’s Apprentice he thinks of him when he goes to Moonseye and just in general the Fool usually enters Fitz’s thoughts pretty frequently. So why now, when Fitz doesn’t even know if the Fool is okay, is he just not thinking about him? And then I realised that that is exactly why. Because the only two people from his old life he doesn’t think about are the two people whose fates he knows nothing of: Kettricken and the Fool. So he can let his mind wander to think what Patience and Lacey might be up to at Buckkeep, or who Molly is with or whatever, because he knows they are all safe. But in such a fragile state I don’t think he can bring himself to really wonder whether Kettricken and the Fool made it to their destination - he probably doesn’t really believe they could have, and that is far too painful a road to go down when you are trying not to think at all.

I know the first act of this book is slow and that bothers some people, but I think it is so necessary, not only for Fitz’s arc but also because it really demonstrates just how severe the situation has gotten with the red ships and forged ones AND it shows just how destructive a king Regal is. Without this perspective it would probably be much harder to buy that the extreme measures taken at the end of the book are really worth the sacrifice.

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit A: when Honey is coming onto him, all he can think about is Molly.

Fitz is so scared of the Forged ones :( his trauma affects everything. He has no faith in himself and less heart for the violence than ever.

Speaking of trauma metaphors: the way Fitz tends to drift off into the wit or Skill after a traumatic experience is… pretty much just dissociation but magique

I forgot that witted folk can apparently communicate with each other mentally, not just with animals

“Her head was the size of a bushel basket.” Ah, yes, a bushel basket, a thing whose size we are all intimately familiar with.

Fitz finally finds others like him and even then he is not fully accepted. Told he is doing the wit wrong. Othered by the Others. It’s the queer experience innit.

Also forgot that apparently the forged are attracted to the wit as well as the Skill?

“I wondered if I had as many wolf mannerisms as they had halk and bear.” Yeah no probably not you only bloody LIVED as a wolf, Fitz.

Okay I know it doesn’t need saying but Patience is just so fucking cool!!!!!

Jesus fucking christ, Fitz skilling out to Molly when he knows Will knows he’s alive and is looking for him is just… so dumb. So so dumb. I know he’s just fixating on her because he’s miserable and she’s like this unsullied thing he had before everything went wrong but holy moly is it frustrating 

Not to mention he doesn’t connect the dots between the fact that Burrich went to “help a friend” and every time he reaches out for Molly he sees Burrich sajkdbshkhja dude

Nighteyes leaving just goes to show that Fitz cannot rely solely on Nighteyes for companionship. No matter how innately the same they are they are equally as innately different. Fitz needs Nighteyes but he shouldn’t have JUST Nighteyes (which is why he, Nighteyes and the Fool are the holy trinity). When Nighteyes leaves, Fitz is in way too fragile a state to be left alone, but Nighteyes cannot think of the future or what might happen. All he knows is he’ll be back at some point and that’s all that matters.

“My anger fed my competence” whatever you need to tell yourself sweetie

I think I had blocked out the fact the Regal was keeping animals trapped in filthy cages so they could ravage people in the king’s circle uggggghhhhhhhhh I hate him

Fitz is down on himself saying that without Shrewd’s largesse, Chade’s information and Verity’s protection his idea of himself has been stripped away and that he’s not actually competent etc. but like. This is an extreme situation!! You’re literally alone in the wilderness with nothing and no one!! Who would thrive in this situation? And nobody gets by without help anyway! The people in our lives do define us to an extent. You don’t have to be able to stand 100% on your own at all times with zero resources to be considered capable. It’s human to depend on others. Yes I am chiding myself as much as Fitz here :))))

Burrich’s earring is the repressed gay earring. No I will not elaborate.

Fitz refusing to sell Burrich’s earring is frustrating yet something I would 100% do lol

Direct from my notes: Celery hiding out in caves?? Bad bitch

“I felt I was within the flames looking deeply into the Fool’s eyes” um okay gay

It’s actually surprising that Fitz admits he would not have gone after Molly even if he had known she was pregnant when she left. On one hand so self aware yet this doesn’t stop him from completely idealising their relationship.

And then you have Molly who says he was supposed to come after her “so she could forgive him”, that he was supposed to be the one to light the candles for her childbirth etc. The fact that she in any way thought he was mature enough to be a father just shows how little they really knew each other.

Burrich treating Molly like a horse while delivering Nettle is way funnier than it has a right to be jskakjasd makes me think of Dwight treating Phyllis’ back injury in The Office lol

The first thing Burrich notices about Nettle is that she has Chivalry’s brow are you fucking kidding me. Gay!

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit B: He had no interest in Tassin whatsoever until she literally started kissing him. At this point his body reacted, which is normal, but as soon as he got a second to actually think about it he stopped, because for him it would not be satisfying to sleep with someone he didn’t have feelings for.

“It seemed to take years for the dried beans and lentils to soften.” Okay mood

I love how Fitz just assumes Molly will take him back. “I have a woman and child awaiting me.” Says who bitch?

Small ferret? More like big legend

Ya know, we give Fitz so much shit but honestly with so much physical, mental and emotional stress on this journey how can we expect his mental faculties to be at 100%? I wouldn’t be making good decisions either, in fact I would be long dead.

Starling telling Nik that the earring once belonged to Chivalry is truly a smooth brain move

“Do not fear, little brother, I am here to take care of you again.” Words can’t explain how much I love Nighteyes and how often his dialogue makes me smile :’)

It’s so cute how Nighteyes is worried about Molly and Nettle until he knows that Burrich is taking care of them

It’s really interesting when Fitz claims “I’d rather be with Molly even if it meant rocking a crying baby in the middle of the night” because, well, he’s literally made other claims to the contrary, saying he wouldn’t have gone with her even if he’d known she was pregnant. Because at the end of the day as much as Fitz is compelled by others to do work for the greater good, I think deep down a lot of the time it is what he would do anyway. Like I really don’t think he could actually enjoy being with Molly knowing that the world is burning down around them. He would want to get out there and help somehow; not only to secure their own future but to reduce other people’s suffering as well. He’s an empathetic boy even though he’d like to be selfish.

Every time Fitz calls Molly his wife I lose ten years off my life

Again, I understand why he’s thinking like this, but Fitz’s ownership of Molly is just so uncomfortable. The fact that he can’t imagine her not having a place ready and waiting for him in her life when he returns just illustrates that she is not a fully realised person to him. She is just a comforting idea.

Oh yes, it was definitely Starling’s “pillowtalk” that got you captured and not the fact that you fit the exact description of the witted bastard right down to having Chivalry’s earring and a whole ass wolf

Somehow forgot that Jhaampe is basically a city of tents with only a few permanent buildings and people constantly coming and going

Fitz’s first words to the Fool are “I’ve come to you.” I’m gonna fucking die

Literally every single word from the moment Fitz realises it’s the Fool and starts describing him is a full body assault and personal attack I am seeking reparations

God the tenderness, the angst, the relief……… shall i pass away

“I doubted he was much taller, but his body was no longer a child’s.” My dude this is a gay awakening if I ever saw one

Fitz be like *spends 87 pages describing the Fool in painstaking detail* anyway I love being a heterosexual male

I’ve heard ppl cite Fitz’s descriptions of Kettricken as evidence of a crush (hard disagree) but literally nothingggggg even comes close to the way he describes the Fool. Not just this once but over and over again it’s insane.

“Talk fell off between us. The bottle of brandy was empty. We were reduced to silence, staring at one another drunkenly.” skjakfnajghajgnaLNGJ is it gay to silently gaze into thine homie’s eyes

The Fool protecting Fitz from everyone - especially Starling - in Jhaampe is often hilarious and always heartwarming

Realising Fitz was skinny enough for the Fool to lift on his own ahhh no wonder he said the famous “When I recall how beautiful you were” line, Fitz is a total wreck

I love that the Fool actually gives Chade shit for his plan to take Nettle. I love him.

“Too few folk cared for me. I could not hate a single one of them.” Oh, Fitz :(

I always wonder how the Fool really feels about Molly. Is he jealous? Does he compare himself to this woman Fitz idolises and he doesn’t know? Does he know that Fitz is barking up the wrong tree or is he stuck thinking Molly must really be Fitz’s soulmate since he won’t shut up about how much he loves her and can’t wait to get back to her? He just never really lets on how it makes him feel when Fitz has relationships with women. We know Fitz gets jealous of the Fool (for litch rally like no reason lol), so with the Fool being much more honest with himself/in general about his love for Fitz and having much more legitimate reason to be jealous, is he? Or is it just something he’s made his peace with, that these women give Fitz something that he cannot? Is he okay with that cos he has to be or does he have a different, less monogamous view of love and relationships (he does have three parents after all). I dunnoooo dude I just have so many questions. Like obviously - OBVIOUSLY - if Fitz and the Fool didn’t have romantic feelings for each other before, there is no doubting that romantic feelings appeared the moment Fitz appeared in the Fool’s hut. Fitz won’t admit that but mere chapters later the Fool is talking about how he loves Fitz in every way so like. He knows. So how does he feel when Fitz is calling out for Molly in his sleep, or openly speaking of seeking her out when all this is over, and lying to the Fool to protect Molly and his daughter. Really makes u think!!!!

Fitz reuniting with Sooty and going to see her every day in Jhaampe is so cuuuute and made me so happy. Sooty is a good girl :’)

Fitz be like *leans against the table where the Fool is carving and watches his fingers at work like a true repressed gay*

Verity is literally so strong???? He submerged himself in skill and was able to pull himself back from the stream can u imagine? Go off king!

Bro I literally can’t with the Fool mentioning Jofron so casually and Fitz immediately thinking wow oh my god they’re definitely fucking oh my god the Fool has a girlfriend - Fitz sweetie calm down

I love how Fitz and the Fool just naturally walk together :))) and Nighteyes babysitting Kettle is so cute

Molly never once says that she misses Fitz. She says she always expected him to do the right thing, to come after her and not leave her alone with a child. But she doesn’t look back on their time together fondly or have much positive to say about him as a person. And all that is fair, but it’s also just… Not really the behaviour of someone who’s been separated from their soulmate. It’s more just someone who’s been left in a shitty position by someone they cared about but hardly knew.

Fitz asking the Fool what is between him and Starling when they’re literally just being civil is sooooo fucking funny. Not everyone finds the Fool as irresistible as you do, Fitz.

The Fool just casually finding a pretext to call Fitz the light of his life

Fitz telling Kettricken firmly that he will not travel if the Fool is ill is one of the only times he ever puts his foot down with her GEE I WONDER WHY

I’ve said it before I’ll say it again…… there really do be something about the way Fitz can’t meet the Fool’s eyes………. It’s not like they’re weird and colourless anymore like they used to be!!!

The Fool already talking about Clerres in this book!

Fitz and the Fool and Nighteyes playing in the stream is too fucking pure omg, it’s what they deserve

And then Starling has to bloody ruin it bc she’s homophobique

But seriously, Fitz actually lets go for the first time in ages and has a nice evening only for Starling to go tattling to Kettricken, and Kettricken having the gall to confront Fitz about it. And then Fitz solves the problem by saying he doesn’t disdain her when like!! He has every right to!!!! She sold him out, sold his daughter out. She never even apologised but instead has just been totally petty and self-righteous and stirring up trouble amongst the group. She hasn’t earned or even asked for his forgiveness. So fitting that she’s the one constantly judging Fitz for his relationship with Lord Golden in Tawny Man lol, she just cannot let Fitz and the Fool be the queer icons they are!!!

Verrrrrrrrrrry interesting that Fitz only “suddenly missed the human warmth and comfort” of Starling taking his arm or sleeping against him literally IMMEDIATELY after the plumbing and love confrontation with the Fool. I mean he has been doing all of those things with the Fool (sleeping together, walking arm in arm etc.) so it’s not about human touch at all, it’s about convincing himself that a WOMAN’S touch is somehow inherently different.

He does the same thing with Starling as with Kettricken. She technically apologises but it’s not sincere and that’s not why he forgives her. Same as Kettricken, she tells her sob story and he can’t hold onto his anger. It makes sense, but it’s just very toxic. It would be nice if at least one person would really recognise how much they’ve hurt Fitz and really, genuinely want to atone for it, or apologise without expecting forgiveness. The onus should not be on Fitz to forgive Starling but on Starling to grow up and not need Fitz to like her in order to remain civil and do what they have to. Also “I do not find your wit bond offensive” has the same energy as someone telling you out of nowhere like “It’s fine that you’re gay :)” like wow thank u?? lol

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit C: “I wanted her with a desperation that had nothing to do with love, and even, I believe, little to do with lust.”

“By his love he is betrayed, and his love betrayed also.” So fate agrees with me, Fitz and the Fool are in love? :)

Anytime the potential that Fitz might have to choose between Molly and Nighteyes I lose brain cells. That’s ur brother Fitz!!! It’s not even a choice!! How dare u

It’s just sooooo intentionally laid out for us in this book that Fitz’s relationship with Molly really wasn’t good or healthy and that his fixation on it is misguided, and I think that’s why I struggled sooooo hard with the ending of Fool’s Fate, because it kind of implied the exact opposite. I’m hoping on this reread I will pick up on it being laid out as a result of Fitz getting his memories/teen feelings back rather than it just feeling like a lowkey retcon, but I guess we’ll see lol

“I felt I was a bit in love with him, you know. That sort of lift to the heart.” the confirmation that the Fool KNOWS HOW IT FEELS TO BE IN LOVE sends me deep into the swamps goodbyeeeeeeeeeeee

“The one who loves him best will betray him most foully.” So fate agrees, the Fool loves Fitz best :)

“You do love me! … Before, it was words. I always feared it was born out of pity.” Godddddd Foooooooooool!!!!!!!!!!! 

Everything about Fitz, the Fool and Nighteyes meeting in the skill for the first time is just truly perfect iconic unparalleled.

Fitz’s love for Verity hurts my heart so much. Just think of the relationship they could have had if they weren’t stupid royals.

Kettle’s whole speech about Fitz and Molly… Just yes to every word.

Look I’m just gonna say it… The way Burrich reacts to Molly’s advances … like I know it’s probably not intentional but it just reads as very much fitting in with my headcanon that he is gay. As soon as she makes it clear she wants to sleep with him he like leaps across the room lol. I do believe he cares for her and loves her in his way, but it does feel mostly like he’ll just do whatever he needs to to care for her and the baby.  Sowwy

I wonder why the Fool wasn’t as affected by his giving up of memories to Girl-on-a-Dragon?? Or was he, and he just gets them back before we see him again in Tawny Man?

“Take my hurt that I never knew my father, take my hours of staring up at his portrait when the great hall was empty and I could do so alone.” um this is so fucking sad

It was the Fool who sent Starling to find Fitz after Verity uses his body and again I have to ask, wtf is going on in your mind, Fool!

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit D: Even once he actually sleeps with Starling he has no enthusiasm about it, he just kind of goes along with it, likely to prove to himself that he has really let go of his past/Molly. 

I always wonder why the Fool leaves now. Is it because he thinks their work is done and doesn’t want to risk messing things up by hanging around his catalyst like at the end of Tawny Man? Does he intend to come back and find Fitz again but get sidetracked by a lead or a new dream? Like it’s just weird because at first he was like “Prophet and Catalyst stick together” and was gonna stay with Fitz - or was that just an excuse because he was obsessed with Girl-on-a-Dragon? Fool u spicy lil enigma

It’s blood and the wit that wakes the stone dragons so does that mean King Wisdom was witted? Or is that obvious lol

Fitz isn’t even bothered by the Fool’s kiss, just shocked. I am looking.

Patience shouting orders at Verity-as-Dragon is beautiful ksjjk

Of courrrrrssse Burrich names his first son Chivalry

In the epilogue, the Fool is the only one Fitz actually says he misses. Exquisite.

I know some people have an issue with Regal’s death but personally I find it delicious

Okay that’s all (I say as if this wasn’t 139841989 pages long). See y’all in 92 years when my sister finally starts reading Liveship!

[nvvermore]

Songbird vs Rattlesnake

People get mean when the chips are down, and Amaryllis and Vesper were no exception to the rule.

words: 2115

cw: fighting, descriptions of burns/cuts/blood, manipulation, abuse, misgendering/deadnaming (for context, this is set in a period before anyone had ever come out)

—

“Hey Mal,” the greeting is snarled from behind directly behind Amaryllis. Whirling around reveals Veronique, leaning against the wall, nonchalant, positioned like she’d been just waiting for them to pass by. They wouldn’t be surprised to learn that was the case.

“What do you want?” they spit back. Really, they didn’t have the capacity for her antics today. Amaryllis hated being caught off-guard by their sister, anxiety now bubbling in the pit of their chest.

“Wow, I can’t simply seek out my baby sister for a little chat?”

Her arms are folded over her chest, and Amaryllis notes she’s in her riding clothes; her long, violet hair had been braided back, knee-high riding boots giving her short stature a boost, and well-tailored jodhpurs and dark riding jacket perfectly in place, not a wrinkle in sight. Clearly, she hadn’t come from the stables.

“No, you can’t.” 

Veronique couldn’t, because her days of sitting and chatting pleasantly with Amaryllis were far behind them. They couldn’t imagine a single reason why she’d have a sudden change of heart.

“Gods, you really are such a fucking diva,” she pushed herself away from the wall, “I get it, the precious little songbird has much more important things to do than entertain the likes of me.”

“All I do is entertain the likes of you. That’s the only reason anyone keeps me around.”

“And you don’t even appreciate it.”

“Why would I appreciate being treated no different from a circus animal?” Kept in a cage and only let out to play for a selfish crowd, then shoved back in until the next show.

“I don’t know what the hell they all see in you,” she began to close the distance between them. Despite Amaryllis being the one who towered over her, they were intimidated. It was hard not to be. Though they wouldn’t let it show, even if Veronique surely knew the unease they instilled. “You get the entire crowd's love and attention and yet you don’t even give a damn about it!”

“You’re right, I don’t. It’s all just smoke and mirrors; I couldn’t possibly care any less.”

“You’re insufferable!”

Veronique was right before them now, had to tilt her head all the way up to look at them properly, but it didn’t detract from her imposing aura. Amaryllis returned their ice-blue glare, refusing to falter before her.

Over the years they’d gotten better at standing up to her; or at least standing their ground when she taunted them. Amaryllis didn’t like fighting— with anyone— especially not someone so unpredictable. Someone who, despite how illogical the feeling was, they loved. Someone who was supposed to love them, and possibly did once, but had been ruthlessly turned against them.

Veronique was never hostile to them before Amaryllis had started to take the stage; she might have been the only person who was nice to them who didn’t have to be. As a child their concept of ‘nice’ had been skewed, sure, but they were certain no one was forcing Veronique’s hand when Amaryllis would stumble upon her stargazing in the estate‘s gardens.

 She’d invite them to sit and tell them all about the constellations. Or point out the bush nearby full of lilac-colored hydrangeas, and how they were her favorite. She’d explained how they symbolized heartlessness, and all flowers had a special meaning. Once, long before they ever saw themself as ‘Amaryllis’ or even a them, they’d asked her what the scarlett flowers in the garden meant, to which she replied ‘pride’.

The siblings were only six years apart in age, ten and sixteen around the time in question, but Amaryllis thought she was so much older and wiser. So gentle compared to the rest of the family, a trait they admired and constantly tried to emulate. 

Amaryllis wasn’t allowed at parties, but that didn’t stop them from eavesdropping, inspired by the way everyone in the room seemed to gravitate towards Veronique. Showering her with compliments on her excellent riding form or her perfect aim with a bow, and how every word made her smile shine as bright as the stars she’d pointed out to them. They had very little understanding of familial relationships— and most social situations— and how they were supposed to work, but they understood that she was their big sister, and it made them happy to see her happy.

And then Amaryllis’s talent was exploited, and everything shifted. So they knew very well why Veronique hated them so much. The spotlight that once illuminated her belonged to them now, involuntarily snatching it away from her. And unfortunately for the both of them, their parents had made sure it was not a beam large enough to share. 

Amaryllis was wracked with guilt at first, but it faded along with Veronique’s kindness towards them. After a while, they stopped feeling guilty. It wasn’t their fault, and like Amaryllis, her anger should have been directed at their parents who’d decided to pit them against each other. With every new act of disdain, the interactions they’d shared as children became irreparably tainted. It began to make sense why she favored hydrangeas, with their callous meaning.

“It must run in the family,” Amaryllis folded their arms in front of their chest. Clearly mimicking her posture, Veronique didn’t look pleased.

“Yea, on your mother’s side.”

The jab was misplaced, Amaryllis didn’t know their birth mother and never had; and when they gave no reaction Veronique scowled. Despite all her intimidation, she’d never been good at masking her expression. Before Amaryllis could retort at all, they were shoved backwards, just barely keeping their balance from the harsh action.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You! That’s what’s wrong with me. You! You’ve ruined everything for me! Always have!”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice, take it up with my superiors.”

Another shove, and another, and then Amaryllis was thrown against the wall and Veronique’s hands were circling around their neck. Their hands shoot to seize her wrists, nails digging into her skin as they attempt to pull her away. She’s strong, strong enough to hold Amaryllis a good inch off of the ground.

Their toes point down, reaching, but brush uselessly against the marble flooring. Amaryllis doesn’t want to fight back but there’s little choice, she’s actually trying to cut off their air. With regret even now, they slam a knee up into her stomach and she lurches back. Veronique is a skilled fighter, a star athlete, but now she’s angry and distracted and has left herself open in the process.

Their other knee slams into the floor as they’re dropped, and Amaryllis thanks their perfect breath control for the fact they aren’t breathless in the slightest. Veronique isn’t hurt, just surprised and irate. It wasn’t as if they had any other option, but Amaryllis may as well have just jabbed an already riled up rattlesnake with a stick.

“What the fuck? Escalating from tormenting me, to what? Attempted murder?”

Unhearing, she bends down to unsheathe a dagger from her boot. Certainly, they’re royally screwed. Amaryllis could keep up with a frenzied and unarmed Veronique, but they’re no match for her armed.

Amaryllis rises and quickly backs down the corridor, not sure if it's better to keep their eyes on her or turn and make a run for it. They’re cursing themself for not spending more time learning combat magic. Maybe they could charm her, but they’re terrified and unfocused, and when they open their mouth to scream, nothing comes out. The only things that could be heard were the clicking of boots against the tiling and Amaryllis’s rapid heartbeat.

In the blink of an eye Veronique is caught up to them, and effortlessly lands a kick to their chest that sends them crashing to the floor. Then she’s on them, pinning them to the floor, eyes dark and dagger poised with intention. Their hands catch her wrists again, and there’s a power struggle over the blade’s proximity to Amaryllis’s neck. They flail and kick but it’s no use; Veronique knows how to keep someone down, and is dense with muscle that makes her heavy.

“If you’re so miserable, let me do you a favor and put you out of it.”

It wasn’t a joke, it never had been, but the revelation sunk further the closer Veronique’s blade came to its mark. Amaryllis let their head fall back to the flood as the struggle continued, desperate to conjure up something, anything, to get out of this impasse. But they were afraid to the point of tears, already so tired, and magic didn’t come easy in such a state.

If they so much as took too deep a breath or flinched, the tip of the dagger would graze their nose. They weren’t trained for this, their stamina was impressive but they didn’t use it for fighting, but Veronique was trained for this. Amaryllis’s eyes fluttered shut and they wondered if it would be so horrible to just give in; she wasn’t wrong, they were miserable.

Just when they were debating on letting go, a raucous scream rang out and Amaryllis recoiled. They had thought it might have been their voice, but then they felt the sharp sting of the dagger slicing their cheek open as Veronique was dropping the knife and jolting away from them.

“You witch,”

Distantly, Amaryllis noted how warm their hands felt, and when they opened their eyes to the view of their palms turned searing sanguine, like iron fresh from the forge. A gasp falls from their lips, but the motion tells their brain the pain wasn’t coming from their hands. Slowly, they pick up a faint, but repulsive scent, and as their shock fades, they start to put the pieces together. 

The screams were still sounding, and when they finally looked to Veronique, there were angry, bright red handprints burned into her wrists; enough to cause notable damage, but too little to have damaged the nerves. Somehow, at the last possible second, Amaryllis had mustered up magic capable of drastically heating up their palms. They weren’t even entirely sure if they had even known such a thing was possible.

It saved them, but it felt wrong. Never before had Amaryllis used their magic for something so destructive. The worst they’d ever done was place harmless charms on ‘noble’ guests. Despite Veronique’s full intention to gut them, they felt a conflict stirring, and for a moment wondered if they were capable of any healing.

Suddenly Veronique was approaching, and Amaryllis sat up and snatched up the dagger that had been abandoned nearby. As they held it, their touch began to rapidly heat the metal, and soon enough the weapon complemented their hands. There was a low hiss as their blood that had decorated the blade heated too, boiling away and leaving it congealed. Amaryllis was shaking and crying and bleeding, but they were unyielding as they turned the dagger on its owner.

Amaryllis watched her face carefully, telling themself they were prepared for her next move, so when something in her expression shifted, they saw. Like she had been in a trance, captivated by her rage and misplaced hatred, and it just hit her exactly what she’d done. Veronique gasped, the tears that had come from the burns now falling for completely different reasons. Frantically her eyes flitted between the red of Amaryllis’s eyes, the red of the wound marring their pale skin, the red of the blade leveled at her.

“Mal…” she choked out, and then she was dashing down the hall, gone as abruptly as she had seemed to appear.

Then, a scoff sounded from behind Amaryllis and they spun around, still on edge. Standing a few feet away, looking thoroughly disappointed, was the madame. She looked down upon her ward, bloodied and on the floor, and rolled her eyes.

“What a pity,” she said simply, and in that moment, Amaryllis reconsidered their stance on violence. “I had assumed she was more capable, but perhaps I had too much faith in her.”

It was the first true confirmation Amaryllis had of the woman’s crime; her carefully planned manipulation had fallen short, and she couldn’t even pretend to act like it was an accident.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” she ordered, and then left without another glance.

After that day, even long after the cut across Amaryllis’s freckled face had healed and faded into an unsightly scar, they never saw very much of Veronique again. Sometimes at night— however illogical it was— they’d find themself at the hydrangea bush in the garden, eyes trained on the stars, wishing they’d both been dealt a different hand in life.

—

[spaceskam]

The Golden Boy

hey look i finally finished that fic i’ve been giving sneak peeks about for months

warning: past child abuse, sexual content

ao3 

In Bacchus Year 9 (Earth year 1782), Antar and Earth signed a peace treaty.

The treaty meant requiring many social gatherings on either planet, kind gestures between royals, and many public statements against prejudice of each other's people. It even led to Earth assisting the rebels during the Antarian Civil War in Bacchus Year Final (Earth Year 1834), stating proudly that they signed the treaty for the people, not the monarchs. As one would assume, that line went over fantastically with the public.

They heavily supported the rise of King Atlas Gudrun, a man of great people skills and desire to help, in Gudrun Year 0 (Earth Year 1844). The Gudrun family (which had been anglicized on Earth to Guerin) had been ruling on Antar ever since and had always done their best to keep up their loyal companionship with Earth and its leaders.

It all led to this moment in Gudrun Year 176 (Earth year 2020) where Prince Michael of Antar, fourth of his name, son of King Heinar, known for his charm and wit, had Prince Alex, first of his name, adoptive son of King James Valenti, known for his intellect and beauty, completely strung out and naked against sheets made of the finest Antarian silks.

"How long until the little pest makes you leave?" Michael asked softly, trailing his fingers over the dip of Alex's slightly crooked collarbone. Alex's eyes were closed and his lips were parted and if Michael didn't know any better, he'd think he was asleep. But he did know better and he knew he was simply in a state of bliss that only occured in moments like this.

Their one off tryst had actually occurred more than once, but it wasn't frequent enough to call it a thing. They saw each other a few times a year if they were lucky and could steal a few hours each time to sneak away. If they were supremely lucky, they could even take a night. They weren't this time.

"He said we have until six before we have to be taken to get ready for dinner," Alex whispered, not bothering to correct him for calling his brother a pest while slowly turning onto his side and letting his forehead hit Michael's shoulder. Michael pouted.

"I miss you already," he admitted stupidly, combing through Alex's long hair. He'd seen a picture of him with it all shaved off and had met him when it was short, but apparently he hadn't cut it at all since he'd been given the title of prince. Michael didn't mind.

"You come to Earth in a month, don't you? Ask to stay longer, I’m sure we could easily explain away a reason you should stay in my home," Alex whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"If you come up with a good reason for me, I'll do it. I'm bad at excuse making," Michael grumbled. Alex smiled and lifted his hand, his cold fingertips pressing to Michael's cheek and his lips.

"I'll cause a national disaster if it means getting you alone for one night," Alex said. Michael stared for a moment before grabbing him and rolling him into his back, stealing a series of slow, deep, open mouthed kisses that only came so easily because they were with him.

Michael adored the way Alex grabbed at him, hands never staying one place too long because he wanted to touch everywhere. He wanted to remember everywhere. He wanted him in his entirety. He could never find the words for how it made him felt to be wanted so strongly if only for a night.

"Please never leave," Michael begged against his skin. Alex said nothing.

Instead, the bedroom door was very rudely and unceremoniously thrown open. Michael instinctively covered Alex’s bare skin and looked towards the doorway. On the other side, Michael's guard, Adonis, stood with his back to them in some silly act of respect while Kyle stood with his arms crossed while looking really irritated. He walked in farther and closed the door behind him. Or, tried. Adonis stuck his hand to block it from closing entirely. He trusted Alex to be alone with the prince. Kyle was still earning that.

"Get up, we have to go get ready," Kyle said. He had no shame, truly, as he sat on the bed. Michael fell face first into the pillows and groaned. "Excuse you, I'm doing you a favor."

"You're interrupting," Alex corrected, tan fingers idly rubbing over Michael's shoulder.

"I disagree. I think I just lied to two fucking monarchs that we three princes were going to be hanging out and doing princely things when, in reality, I was playing some fucked version of Go Fish with Adonis while you two snuck away for your intergalactic booty call," Kyle explained. Michael groaned even more.

"How vulgar must you be?" he asked. Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you wanna go there? I've seen your U-Mails to Alex. 'Oh, how I long to get your mouth on my–'"

"Enough!" Alex silenced him, shifting to a sitting position. Michael wanted to cry that it was over so soon. Especially when they still had to sit across the table from each other and pretend he hadn't just had him to himself. "Leave and let me get dressed, then we can go."

"Finally," Kyle groaned, patting Michael on the back before he went, "Good to see you, Prince Sexual Frustration."

The door closed if only because Adonis insisted on the prince being kept away from anyone who might catch him in a vulnerable state. Alex took the opportunity to move back for a few more kisses, all of them feeling more and more like goodbye. He remembered a time when he didn't mind goodbyes. Now they felt like a death sentence.

“Stop pouting,” Alex told him softly as he slowly weaned him off his lips, “This isn’t the end of the night. I’ll still see you at dinner and I still don’t leave until tomorrow morning.”

“But you leave so early,” Michael whined, “And at dinner, there’s people.” 

Alex traced a finger from Michael’s temple down to his jaw, moving his thumb up between their mouths. He gently grazed Michael’s bottom lip before pushing down on the sore skin.

“I’ve read countless articles about all the wondrous things you say, how well spoken you are, how you can charm anyone to their knees in four languages,” Alex said, voice hot, “If only they could see the way you beg.”

Michael huffed a sad laugh, knowing Alex was trying to distract him from his sad thoughts and deciding to play along. Alex pushed his face away and went to get up. Michael pushed himself off the bed and caught Alex’s bicep, unskillfully pulling him down on top of him.

“You are the only one allowed to see me beg,” Michael said. Alex smiled at him, honest and bold as ever. He laid his weight on Michael completely, trusting him not to treat that little act with anything but kindness. It was the most beautiful thing Michael had ever been given. 

He went to move up for another kiss, but he was horrifically sidelined when Alex dodged him and pushed him back into the bed to get himself up. Michael remembered the first time Alex had pushed him. His first reaction had been anger that a silly little Earth man would dare to touch him that way. But his second reaction had been absolute delight when he realized he’d only been pushed because Alex wanted him against the wall. They were so young then. Somehow, things hadn’t really changed.

Alex got out of bed and grabbed the prosthetic leg that he somehow didn’t mind Michael seeing him without. He moved with agile fingers to put it back on in record time before he stood and stretched his body out in objectively the most unfair way that existed. He was long and lean, muscular and tan. And he was covered in scars. No two scars were more than a hands-length apart, Michael had tried. He kept them hidden usually and he kept their origin firmly to himself (including how he lost his leg), but Michael had been blessed with the sight of them. They were 16 the first time they kissed in the halls of the palace, but 18 before he saw Alex’s body in its full glory. It was a small gift, but one that he treasured on nights he felt more alone than he could bear. 

“Stop staring at me like I’ve just ruined your entire day,” Alex laughed as he pulled on those ugly clothes that Earth called formal. His pants were a stiff, tan fabric and his shirt was an equally stiff white thing that buttoned up all the way up to hide his collarbone. The clothing was ugly, but the man inside was beautiful and it simply made him look neutral. How decidedly boring.

“Oh, what the hell is that?” Michael scoffed.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what a belt is,” Alex said, giving him a fond smile as he pulled the folded thing from the deep pocket of his pants. He hadn’t been wearing it when Michael got him alone.

“Yes, but where did it come from?”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t remove it so I wouldn’t waste time when I saw you,” Alex said, flashing a cocky little smile and it reminded Michael all over again why his people had been so okay with making him an eligible heir despite his lack of birthright. How could anyone deprive a face like that of the entire world? “But don’t worry. You and your mother both find Earth clothing to be a personal insult, so I’m sure they’ll have something nice and alien for me to wear.”

And they did. Michael had gotten his sister to see to it that they put Alex in gold if only for his personal enjoyment. Soon, he’d be in loose, silk pants and a long-sleeved, knee-length tunic that happened to be a very specific shade of gold that would probably make it difficult to focus at dinner but it would be worth it. Typically, their tunics would have a deep v-cut neckline (Michael’s in particular going to his navel as a show of both his age and his marriage status) but he knew Alex and he knew he didn’t like his scars on display, so he made sure they knew to keep it more modest and to also have an option to put something beneath it if he wasn’t comfortable. It was the least he could do.

With a flick of his wrist, Michael fastened the upper half of the buttons on Alex’s shirt so he could steal a few more seconds to kiss him. Alex rolled his eyes, but he went along willingly as Michael got to his hands and knees on his mattress and crawled over to him. Alex shook his head and caught his face in his hand, guiding him up and giving him a kiss that truly was too explicit to mark the end.

“After everyone goes to bed, I’ll get Luke to sneak me to Adonis,” Alex whispered, ignoring the sound of Kyle’s sudden annoyed knocking. Michael nodded in his grasp and turned his face to press a kiss to his palm. That should’ve been an unscarred place, but there was an unmistakable line of discolored, raised skin down the middle. Michael kissed it without fear or disgust and Alex pressed his hand against his mouth in approval. “I plan to make it so you won’t be able to walk in the morning.”

Michael laughed, “People will talk.”

“Let them.”

“You know,” Kyle said, busting in again and Adonis quickly stood in the doorway after his entrance to shield whatever incriminating position Alex and Michael might be in, “You two take more time to get dressed than it takes a majority of people in existence.”

“Blame the leg,” Alex said simply, his smile cocky as he pulled away from Michael. He kissed the tip of his nose and patted his cheek in the most loving way he could. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Never.”

“I’m gagging,” Kyle said in a monotone voice. Alex rolled his eyes and let his hands slip off of Michael, leaving him cold and lonely despite being far from alone. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be asked questions I can’t answer without incriminating myself.”

“We’re going,” Alex said, already following him to the door. He spared Michael one last look and a wink before disappearing with Luke, the final person who knew what was going on between them. 

Luke, Adonis, and Kyle only knew out of necessity. It was sort of an unspoken agreement between royal bodyguards and the royal children they looked after that they cover up every stupid decision they made as long as it wasn’t hurting anyone. Michael figured he could actually make an argument that this did hurt him, but that seemed frivolous at best. 

“Get up, little prince, you’ve got to get ready for dinner,” Adonis said as he entered the room once Alex and Kyle were gone. Michael pouted and dramatically fell backwards against the bed. Adonis chuckled under his breath. 

“Don’t call me little,” Michael said half-heartedly, easily slipping out of English and into his native tongue.

“I’ve been watching over you since you were small enough to get lost beneath your bed,” he said, “You will always be little to me, little prince.”

Michael glared at the ceiling. While he knew Adonis was right, he didn’t feel little. He knew, objectively, he was nearly 21 and he was nowhere near getting any kind of responsibilities outside the ones he had. Max was the one joining the military, Isobel was the one training to be queen, Michael was the baby who was left to do little more than indulge in his desires without consequences and be the face of the younger generation. He was friendly and charming and had women and men alike all screaming their appreciation for his face and his body and his smile all over the internet. He liked that attention and he liked just being able to go to parties and have fun and have people he met make posts about how fun it was to hang out with the prince. His father didn’t exactly approve, but it didn’t matter when the people did. They liked that he was young and real and approachable.

But there was something about Alex that made him feel more like a man than he could put into words. Alex was a few months younger than him, but he had seen more than Michael could imagine. He didn’t party, he didn’t drink, he didn’t do anything that could be a sign of weakness. He was beautiful, but he was a brilliant strategizer and worked closely with his adoptive father for many important decisions regarding the ruling of the kingdom. Kyle was the one who was approachable; Alex could barely spare a kind smile to the press and adoring people. People still liked him, but it wasn’t a secret he was straight-edged and hardened. Michael seemed to be his only vice. It was so… adult.

“Must I affiliate myself with foreign monarchs over food?” Michael asked helplessly, “Isn’t it enough to simply blow his son in my free time?”

Adonis sighed, but he seemed as amused as he always was when it came to Michael.

“Words to live by, little prince.”

-

“I’m judging you so hard right now.”

“Like I care.”

Kyle groaned and rolled his eyes as Luke followed them to their quarters. The Antarian royal family had a lot of land they resided on that had a secure gate around it, but they didn’t really believe in castles. Instead, it was a bunch of houses and special rooms, all connected by paths that were lined with well tended to gardens. 

“What’s even the point? Like, is this gonna amount to anything, or am I expected to die with this secret?” Kyle asked. Alex shrugged his shoulders dismissively. He and Michael didn’t talk about serious things. They were princes and dealt with so much bullshit. They kept each other as a safe place to unwind. “Great, I am expected to die with this.”

“It comes with the title, Your Highness,” Luke said simply. Kyle tilted his head back as he groaned again. Alex simply shook his head in amusement.

When they got back to the visitor’s quarters, three people were waiting for them to help them into their Antarian garb. There were a few different styles for different royal occasions, but, as visitors, they were typically given standard tunics. He remembered one visit when Michael had him sent special robes and wraps his way, ones like he wore when he was feeling extra, and he’d gotten so confused in trying to put it on that they now always sent an extra hand to make sure they wore it correctly. As confusing as they were, though, Alex was sure he would know how to put them on now. He’d taken them off Michael enough times.

“Thank you,” Alex said graciously as he accepted the fabrics. He went into his own room to change and would return back to let them make their adjustments. He wasn’t a big fan of people seeing his body. That meant questions and he wasn’t keen on answering those.

He laid the fabrics out on the bed so he could see what he was working with. As always, since he was 18, all of it was golden. Michael had some weird obsession with him in gold, but he never asked why. He thought it looked nice enough on him. 

The tunic had intricate leaf-like patterns embroidered into it that Alex couldn’t even begin to understand how long it took to achieve, but the pants were thankfully plain. Then there was a golden silk wrap and he smiled at whoever paid that much attention to detail. He grabbed it first and stood in front of the mirror as he wrapped it around his chest, covering any scars the low cut tunic might expose.

There were very few people who had seen those scars, most of which were purely out of an inability to hide them. If someone had told him when he was being tended to after losing his leg that one of those people awarded the visual of his skin would’ve been an Antarian Prince, he would’ve laughed in their face. His father had hated the Antarians more than he hated Alex. He was supposed to stay away.

But then the king got involved, Jim Valenti creating a huge uproar as he worked to change the rules that would mean Alex could be an eligible heir. And now he was. Which meant he had to work with Antarian officials at the ripe old age of fifteen, suddenly going from a maimed soldier to a pretty little prince. The first year seemed to be full of rigorous re-training of his brain to be good at the social part of things. The second year he was brought to Antar for the first time.

He distinctly remembered the first time he saw Michael, young and carefree and absolutely shameless. He had outwardly chosen Alex to fawn over for the extent of their stay, constantly sending smiles and winks and batting his eyelashes. He leaned too close when they talked and kept offering to show him where things were. Alex had disliked his abrasiveness to the point that, the closer he got, the more it set off his fight or flight reflexes. He almost hit him three times before Michael seemed to get the memo.

When the Antarian royal family traveled to Earth for their public appearances, Michael was much more tame. Unlike the rest of his family, he’d opted out of donning more of Earth’s style of clothing. There was something so bold about the way he walked around in his wraps and robes, all of it loose and seemingly hanging onto him just barely. It had exposed a good portion of his chest and his arms, even his thighs if he walked a certain way. Earth was too hot to cover more, he’d said. That’s when Alex really saw him. He was annoying as all hell, but he would be damned if someone tried to shame him into changing himself even for a moment. Alex had kissed him before he went home which was absolutely Alex’s fault. It was his favorite mistake.

“Gold always looks good on you,” Fides said as Alex walked back into the main room. He smiled his thanks and she led him to a chair to fix his face and his hair. She was the only one he trusted near him with all the tools that it took to make him look nice enough for the queen.

It seemed to be an hour before she was done, but it was worth it. Alex’s hair was braided into intricate six-strand braids that made a makeshift crown around his head and other tiny ones throughout the rest of his hair while the majority of it stayed down and was loosely curled where it rested against his shoulders. His eyes had thick and bold black eyeliner that seemed to bleed into gold eyeshadow which led to a leaf-like design that matched the pattern of his tunic that stretched to his sideburns, over his cheekbones, and above his eyebrows. His lips only had a thin layer of gloss over them, but he looked good and a part of him wondered if Michael would agree.

He knew he would.

“Thank you, Fides,” Alex said. She gave him a sweet smile and packed up her things. It was in Antarian’s blood to touch, but Fides respected Alex’s taste for it and, although he gave her permission to do his makeup, didn’t push him for more. It made her one of his favorite people.

It seemed achingly long before Kyle was done. He had a similar get-up to Alex, but his short hair was left alone and his face was more of just glittery and not in any particular design. It wasn’t long before their stylists excused themselves and went to do whatever they did in the main house. Alex and Kyle collapsed on the couch in time to Alex’s phone dinging to signify a U-Mail. He flipped through fabric to find which discreet pocket he’d slipped it into.

Eventually, he found it and he put effort into keeping his face straight as he sat Michael’s screen name cross his screen.

definitelynottheprince: My bed is cold and yet smells like your skin. It is the cruelest combination that has ever existed. How am I expected to be presentable at dinner while being mocked by the fabric that refused to keep your body in it’s grasp? My heart aches.

Alex somehow managed to keep his face seemingly uninterested despite the fact he wanted to both smile and make fun of him for being melodramatic.

HRH.AMV: You’re incorrigible.

Michael’s response wasn’t in English, but Alex was thankful it wasn’t if the few words he could pick out from his shotty language classes taught him anything. He understood the words floor, bed, week, and what was technically spoon but was slang for something that Alex knew had to be vulgar. Michael had a way with words in all four languages he knew and all of those ways were melodramatic and raunchy.

HRH.AMV: Does a moment ever pass where you’re not thinking about sex?

definitelynottheprince: Who says I’m thinking about sex?

HRH.AMV: I know you.

definitelynottheprince: You do. Then you should know the things I want to do with you aren’t all sexual.

It was one tiny word that made Alex’s blood run hot and he locked his phone so he didn’t have to think about it. With. Not to. He couldn’t explain why that was so exhilarating.

“Are you seriously making plans to get laid again already?” Kyle asked, “Literally how? Who has the stamina for all that?”

“Clearly not you,” Alex shot back. Kyle made a face mockingly.

“I just don’t get it,” Kyle sighed in exasperation, “Like, if it was Isobel, I’d get it.”

“So you’re homophobic?”

“No, let me finish,” Kyle scoffed and Alex waved him on while Luke watched with a bemused expression from where he leaned against the wall, “Isobel, I get it. She’s hot and could probably crush me. Max, I kinda get it, he’s nice and has that whole good-boy-soldier thing going for him. But Michael? The dude is known for being chill, I get it, but he loses all the charm when you see him five minutes after a party and he’s throwing up in the garden. Or how about the fact that he refuses to learn my name and just refers to me as the pest.”

“In his defense, you are a pest to him,” Alex pointed out.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Sorry, I failed to hear a question.”

Luke snorted and Kyle fixed Alex with a look. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected to get out of him. Alex had never been a secret-sharer, even when they were young and played toy soldiers in the little yard outside the palace. That had only gotten worse as Jim Valenti became king and, instead of listening to his former right hand man Jesse Manes, had him publicly tried for war crimes. His tight-lipped nature extended to his personal relationships, much to Kyle’s dismay.

“The question was how did you get involved with him in the first place? Because I’ve been trying to figure out how you two even get along since you started hooking up two years ago,” Kyle said, voice so honest Alex didn’t bother pointing out that it had been much longer than two years and Kyle just hadn’t noticed. “Just… make it make sense.”

Alex rolled his neck and tried to think about what exactly it was about Michael that made it hard to look away from him but also made it easy to go so long without speaking. As attached as they were when they were on the same planet and as much as they communicated in the weeks before and the weeks after, there were typically multiple days they went without so much as a word between them. They did their own duties and this thing they had found themselves in wasn’t a part of that. Michael spun romantic words for him, but Alex wasn’t his only pastime and probably never would be.

“He’s…” Alex trailed off, trying to find the words and settling on something that did the man no justice, “Simple.”

“Simple as in stupid?” Kyle asked dully.

“Simple as in not a problem,” Luke corrected.

“Simple as in he doesn’t ask questions,” Alex finalized. He meant it to be sort of lighthearted, but Kyle turned to him with concerned eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” he asked, but quickly decided to answer himself with another question, “You mean he doesn’t know about‒”

“No,” Alex said dismissively, carefully pushing himself to his feet and subtly checking his balance, “And he never will. We have dinner to attend to.”

Alex sort of checked out mentally for his own good after that, the walk to the dining hall and finding their seats completely a blur. He only seemed to come back to consciousness when Michael made his grand entrance. His robes and wraps were a dark red, hardly hanging onto his body as always. It exposed his chest more than anything else, the dangerous placement exposing the beginnings of the trail of hair beneath his navel. His head was held high, a thin gold band sitting atop his perfect curls. His eyes had cloudy red makeup surrounding them and his lips were painted gold. Alex smiled carefully to himself as he admired him.

Kyle was really the only one who actually looked forward to the food Antar had to offer. Alex didn’t hate it, but he would choose a pot of mac and cheese over the under-cooked meat of an animal that had no English name. Michael had tried to teach him how to say it, but it had way too many syllables and way too many consonants that Alex just couldn’t keep up. He’d just laughed and kissed him and never brought it up again.

“So, Prince Alex,” the smooth voice of Michael’s mother, the queen, said in her thick accent, capturing his attention. Queen Celeano (Lady No if she liked you) was a beautiful woman, but if that’s all someone took her for, they’d be sorely mistaken. 

She ran things more than her husband did, her iron fist impossible to ignore. She was fiercely protective of her children and rightfully skeptical of everyone who entered her home. But she seemed to like Alex. She never raised her voice or gave him that demanding tone she used on everyone else. The tone she used on him was motherly and made him eager to please her. When he was alone, he envied that Michael got that tone of voice from her all the time. 

“Michael said you were in school. Are you going to classes with other people or do you have a tutor?”

“Oh,” he said, shifting in his seat and hoping he was presentable enough for her, “Both. I go to only one class in a school every week, typically. I do like being there, but it’s difficult to balance everything with adding travel time and dealing with the stress of being in a crowded area.”

“Of course,” Lady No said, smiling, “And you’re doing well? It’s not easy I'm sure."

"I'm doing well. I'm studying poly-sci and I'm focusing on international relations right now," he explained. Alex's eyes involuntarily slid to Michael, watching him hide his smile by shoving food into his mouth with a two-pronged fork.

"Good. And languages, are you working on learning ours?" Lady No asked, seemingly oblivious to her son's antics. When Alex said he was, she followed it with a sentence in her own tongue that Alex could hardly decipher.

"...no?" he answered half-heartedly. Every Antarian in the room chuckled to themselves and Alex tried not to be offended by that.

"I asked if you were interested in becoming fluent," she said, still smiling easily, "I'm sure it'll come eventually."

"If he was here more often, I could make him learn,” Michael said boldly. 

"But obviously that's a bigger discussion to have," Alex covered quickly, hoping for an underlying message of ‘I care about your son but I’m not trying to destroy his innocence I swear’.

"Yes, a bigger discussion," Lady No said, nodding. 

"Maybe you could convince him into doing more schooling. I'm sure it'd sound better coming from you," King Heinar said gruffly. Michael gave an award-winning smile to his father which just earned a sigh.

The rest of the dinner went by slowly, but Alex's mind already started coming up with ways to make that suggestion a reality.

-

Michael was giddy after dinner and he found himself pacing his room while waiting for Alex. 

Within the hour, there was a knock on Michael’s bedroom door and he opened it to find Adonis and Alex.

“Thank you!” Michael told Adonis dismissively as he grabbed Alex by the bicep and tugged him into the privacy of his room. Both of them laughed, but Michael didn’t care as he immediately went in for a kiss. 

Alex was still decked out in his pretty clothes and his pretty makeup and Michael was high on everything. He was going to get to go to Earth and he was going to get to spend every single night in bed with him. It softened the blow that he would be leaving in only a handful of hours.

“Do you think we can set an alarm?” Michael asked through kisses, “So you can sleep with me for just a little while?”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, nodding his head. Michael smiled.

“Yay.” 

“Before you get carried away, can we get this off my face so I don’t stain your pillow?” Alex asked, pulling out of the kiss a little breathlessly.

“Yeah, of course,” Michael said, leaving Alex with a simple kiss as he went to his vanity where he grabbed a cloth and makeup remover. 

He went back to Alex who had sat on the bed. He had the tunic bunched up and was slowly pulling it over his head without getting any makeup on the fabric. Michael grinned and helped get it the rest of the way off with a simple move of his eyes. Alex acknowledged his act with a shake of the head.

Alex scooted back just a little and leaned back on his hands. Michael perched himself on his lap and spared a simple kiss to the spot on his chest right above the wrap he hadn’t removed before getting to work on his face.

Michael had vivid memories of the confusingly slow process that was getting Alex to trust him with his body. He wasn’t sure why, but the search results that came up when Michael looked up his birth father told him it wasn’t due to a loving childhood. Still, he didn't look too far into it because that seemed like an all too obvious breech of Alex's personal boundaries.

Their first kiss had ended in Alex pinning his wrists to the wall whenever he tried to grab his waist. After that was years of every meeting involving gradual progress in Alex’s comfort levels. Hell, they were still making progress. It started with Michael not being allowed to touch him anywhere, his hands always being tucked behind his back or pinned down as Alex kissed him or touched him where he wanted to be touched all while fully clothed. They were seventeen the first time Alex had stripped Michael bare and yet kept himself covered. It was the most vulnerable Michael had ever felt in his life. As a reward for that trust, Alex let him touch his biceps when they kissed and his hair when Alex went down on him.

On Michael’s 18th birthday, Alex had taken his shirt off for the first time. Michael hadn’t been allowed to touch his scarred body with his hands, but he got to be chest to chest with him while he touched himself which had absolutely solidified his infatuation with him. 

The next time he saw him, after sharing pictures and conversations from the safety of being on separate planets, Alex had gotten completely stripped too (with the exception of his prosthetic). That time had been a little different in a few ways. There was no touching at all, but Michael got to watch him get himself off and Alex had watched him right back. Then Alex had locked himself in the bathroom for 30 minutes. But, when he came back out, fully dressed, he’d crawled into bed and they cuddled for the first time. 

Even though Kyle had ruined it by busting in, Michael remembered that night as the moment things really changed between them. It no longer felt like a game that made Michael feel giddy. It’d taken him a long time, too long, to fully realize the weight of what Alex was giving him and that it wasn’t a game to Alex at all. It never had been. That’s when Michael started laying on the sweet talking as thick as he wanted.

Two years after that realization, Michael was given free reign of Alex’s body with few restrictions. He could touch designated places with his hands: his face, his biceps, his thighs, his upper chest, and his hips. Michael could go down on him, but his hands had to be in visible areas and Alex typically chose to pin them down during it so he didn’t have to think. More often than not, Michael would still lay on his back with his hands tucked beneath him while Alex took over his mouth. No questions asked other than ‘is this okay?’. It made every step hold more weight than his casual hookups had. There was not a single thing boring or pointless about having Alex Manes in his bed.

“Up,” Alex dictated when Michael finished with his face and Michael listened without argue.

Alex removed his pants and got to work to take off his prosthetic. Instead of making Alex uncomfortable by staring, he turned the cloth to a clean corner before pouring a little remover on it and beginning to wipe at his own face. Alex took over when he put his prosthetic to the side.

“So, I may have thought of an excuse on how to get you to stay longer on my planet,” Alex said cooly, holding Michael’s chin in his hands as he wiped his face clean. His eyes were closed while Alex cleaned them, but that didn’t stop him from smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

“Go on," Michael said, unable to hide the giddy tone in his voice. Alex hummed.

“You could do a semester of schooling there,” he suggested, "More if you like it."

Michael peeked open the eye that Alex wasn’t working on. “School?"

“School,” Alex said, his voice still controlled and face stoic despite literally sitting in nothing but his briefs and a wrap, “You could stay in the palace.”

"That's a long time."

"Yes, well," Alex sighed, "One semester is a few months. Then you could go home. And there's plenty of people who I'm sure would love to get their hands on an Antarian prince."

"Plenty of people?" Michael huffed, "What about you?"

"I'll be there when you want me," Alex said simply, but it was clearly an open invitation.

Michael wasn’t quite sure why Alex was trying to give him the option to opt out. The whole reason he wanted to go to Earth was to be with Alex. Michael already had his mind set on spending all of his free time with Alex while he was there. It would be difficult navigating being Princes from different planets while keeping their relationship a secret, but they could do it. Michael could make anything happen if it meant having Alex. He didn't know why Alex didn't see that.

“I would spend every night in your bed,” Michael said, leaning closer. Alex leaned back and held his face at bay. Michael knew better than to take offense to that and just kept smiling. “Don't be so scared of me.”

"I'm not scared of you." 

“You are,” he teased which Alex really didn't seem to like because he glared, "It'll be okay. No one's going to find out. Your home is a safe place for a foreign Prince, all the security. Perfect. And Luke and Adonis will help cover our tracks. We're safe and I want you.”

“You seem so confident that things will work out,” Alex said skeptically. Michael grinned.

“If I’m with you, I’ll always make things work.”

Alex let him come closer for a kiss and he pressed in hard right back. Michael could feel the tension radiating off him and cautiously reached his hand out to place on his thigh. He didn’t add any pressure, but he rubbed his thumb in circles until Alex stopped stressing so much.

“This is good,” Michael told him, “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” he agreed, breaking the kiss only to get a good view of his face to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Alex tossed the cloth off to the side and cupped the side of Michael’s neck in his hand. They stared at each other for a moment as Alex let it sink it. It was easy to forget how nervous Alex was to accept anything good. But Michael was going to make sure he finally started accepting that he deserved them. “Wouldn’t you miss your random one night stands?”

“Why would I when I had you with me all the time?” Michael asked. Alex scanned his face again.

“I’m temporary,” he said. Michael shook his head.

“I want to be with you,” he said honestly. He’d said those words in a lot of different ways, but that was the first time he’d said them so directly. He saw Alex swallow harshly before just going in for another kiss. Michael didn’t mind.

Alex laid him back into the bed, his hands slipping easily into the wraps around his body to get to his skin. Michael put his hand on Alex’s cheek and kept it there. The prospect of getting more of him than little moments a few times a year was exhilarating. Imagining his bed smelling like him at all times was almost too much. Things were going to be better than he could’ve dreamed.

He carefully moved his other hand to the wrap on Alex’s chest.

“Can I take this off?” 

Alex agreed without hesitation.

-

Things happened extremely quickly.

The door slammed open and Alex woke up in defensive mode. Too many nights his father had come into his bedroom as a test, making sure he was alert. That wasn’t something that could ever be un-taught. So, just like his father taught, he grabbed the knife that he always kept within reaching distance and threw it at the doorway with unparalleled precision.

It was only when Adonis dodged it by using his telekinesis that Alex even realized it wasn’t his dad or an intruder. He didn’t apologize, though, and he didn’t feel guilty. Who just busts into someone’s room? So he reached for his prosthetic and started to quickly put it on even though he didn’t know what was going on.

Michael woke up at that moment and lazily started rambling in Antarian. Adonis had already locked the door behind him and was in the process of moving Michael’s armoire in front of the singular window in his room. All that told Alex was that something was wrong and so he picked up the pace.

Adonis answered Michael in clipped Antarian, his voice rugged in a way that it never was and chills covered Alex’s skin. He grabbed the pants that he’d worn the night before and the wrap, putting them on as quickly as he could.

“What?” Michael asked, still in a different language but Alex understood that much. Alex started towards the door to retrieve his knife. 

Adonis answered him in that same rough tone, sparing Alex a glance as he did so. Most of the words flew over his head, but he’d overheard enough Antarian’s speak about him that he caught one word. His whole body froze and he looked over at Adonis, feeling every bit of that soldier his father had raised slowly build back up inside him. He’d tried so hard to not be that person anymore, but at the simple word ‘Prince’ there was no keeping it at bay.

“Kyle?” Alex asked carefully, voice devoid of emotion, “Is he alive?”

Adonis sighed and turned to him, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“Yes,” he answered in English, “He was shot at, but the bullet just grazed the side of his head. From where we think the shooter was standing, it looks like it was meant to be a direct execution-style shot, but it was swerved at the last minute when they realized they had the wrong prince.”

Alex lifted his chin.

“How do you do know it was because they had the wrong prince?” Alex asked. Truthfully, he knew he was right. No one wanted to assassinate Kyle. On both planets, the Valentis were well loved. Jim listened to his people and accommodated them and that made him easy to respect and appreciate. Kyle was an extension of that and he was loved even more. Alex was like, sure, but he had one person who would be willinging to put a hit out on him and he couldn’t be shocked to discover it finally happened.

“It’s a theory, but we don’t know why it would’ve missed if it hadn’t been and then there wasn’t a follow up shot,” Adonis explained.

“Right,” Alex said, nodding curtly, “I’ve got to go.”

“What?!” Michael nearly squeaked and Adonis shot him a look to tell him to be quiet, “You’re not going anywhere when there’s someone out there that wants to kill you!”

“I already know who it is,” Alex said, “Or, who paid them. My father isn’t stupid enough to do it himself.”

“Your father?” Michael asked, “Why would the king‒”

“Michael,” Adonis said sharply. Michael looked up at him and then back over to Alex.

“You aren’t going anywhere. Stay here. It’s safe here,” Michael said. Alex huffed a laugh.

“And willingly put you in danger? Absolutely not. You’re already in danger by being affiliated with me.”

“But why would it be your dad, Alex?” Michael asked, slowly stumbling out of bed, “I mean, you got adopted years ago, why the hell would he wait to do it now? And on a different planet? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Except it did make sense. If Michael knew the first thing about his father, then it would make complete sense. But he didn’t. Because Alex didn’t share. He didn’t share anything. He’d enjoyed so much that Michael never asked any questions or prodded, but now it seemed he waited too long for an explanation and all the questions were coming at once.

“It doesn’t matter, I need to go,” Alex said.

“Wait,” Adonis said firmly, his eyes closed as he honed in on whatever other guards were telling him telepathically, “They found the guy. Hired assassin. Give up your dad’s name easy.”

“I believe that,” Alex said. Michael was still staring at him, still waiting for him to explain or do something worthwhile. Alex didn’t have anything to give him.

“Alex,” Michael called softly, holding out a hand to him in hope he’d come back to bed. But Alex was awake and needed to go be with his family. “It’s alright.”

“We’ll talk later,” Alex said, nearing him and giving him a kiss on the forehead, “Luke should be waiting to walk me back.”

“No,” Michael argued, grabbing his hand and holding him in place. Fear shot through Alex’s body at the act, that siren going off in his mind that told him he was trapped. He yanked his hand away and glared at Michael who looked pathetic. Maybe Alex was wrong to think being with a man who’s issues paled in comparison to his was a good idea. He would never understand. “Alex, there could be more than one assassin. Stay until light. Someone could hurt you.”

“Let them try,” he said cooly and he left Michael’s room. Adonis followed to make sure he would be okay, but Luke was waiting at the door. His face was stoic, but he had bags beneath his eyes and a set jaw that told him it’d been a long night.

He led the way back to the visitor’s building where Kyle was being patched up by the medic that resided on the royal’s grounds. They were both on high alert the whole walk, but Alex assumed it was probably for drastically different reasons.

“His Majesty is handling the assassin with Lady No and Sir Heinar. They’re trying to see who failed so spectacularly at their job,” Luke said. Alex breathed a tight sigh as he sat on the bed. Kyle was leaning back in bed with drugged eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Alex told him.

“Why? If you were here, you would’ve died,” Kyle said, voice slurred by whatever they’d given him. Alex shook his head.

“I would’ve preferred that over you getting hurt in my absence,” Alex said.

“Oh, fuck off,” Kyle scoffed. Alex managed a smile. “You getting laid is clearly a lifesaver, so that thank the prince for me, will you?”

Alex’s eyes widened at his brazen statement in front of  ears that didn’t deserve it. He glanced at the medic who was stitching up the side of Kyle’s head. They seemed unphased by the admission. 

“Do not worry,” they said, voice thick with an accent that made Michaels’ seem nonexistent, “I am a royal medic for a reason.”

Alex took that as a promise of their lips staying sealed. He turned his attention back to Kyle.

“Where is Prince Boy Toy anyway? Is he all worried about you?” Kyle mocked. Alex rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t care about that,” Alex insisted. Kyle quirked a lazy eyebrow.

“Huh? You don’t care that he cares about you?”

“He was a bad idea,” Alex said simply. Kyle snorted.

“Well, yeah, at first, but he’s good for you. Makes you less of a rock,” Kyle said. Alex barely had time to process that before Kyle changed the subject. “Can’t believe your dad tried to kill you. I knew he was an asshole, but, damn.”

“I just can’t understand how he got an Antarian to go through it. Isn’t he still in prison? How did he even pull that off?” Luke asked. Kyle scoffed and they both started brainstorming ways. Alex slowly tuned out the conversation.

His entire life, his father had haunted him. He trained him to be a soldier in all the ways he knew how: tying Alex down and making him figure out how to escape, wrapping a rope around his stomach and having him lug objects like cattle, tying weights to his ankles to make sure he could always run even in times in distress, and that only scratched the surface. He put his hands on him when he didn’t act like he was taught and he had since was little. It only got worse as Alex got older, covering his body in scars until he got to the worst of them all: his leg. During a training session, he’d tied thin wires to each of his limbs. It took Alex hours to get them off, but, by the time he got to his last leg, it’d been virtually impossible to salvage. His ankle had already been broken three times and now it had a severe loss of blood flow. They said they could try to save it, but he’d probably be in pain forever. They made the unanimous decision that it had to go. Which is when Jim finally had enough.

But the damage was done. Alex had already been littered with scars that would never heal, mentally and physically. Alex still remembered his father mocking Antarians for the way they dressed and everything they showed. Part of him wondered if that’s why he was so deliberate about the scars‒with them there, he would never show off his body like that and never get the attention he wanted from other boys. He still got it though. That only seemed to make his father more angry. How dare his only son have an interest in other boys, who would carry on the family name? 

The thing was, Alex had biological brothers. None of them really survived his father’s torture like he did. They either broke under the pressure or they really didn’t survive. Alex was resilient though, he was his father’s favorite, he was the golden boy. And wasn’t that just impossible to comprehend? How could he be the favorite and yet still treated that way?

It was even harder to think that he was lucky. Sure, he still couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and he got uncomfortable when men gave him attention and he still couldn’t let Michael touch him in so many places, but he was lucky. And his father knew that. And he was angry.

And his voice was still in Alex’s mind. It made it impossible to accept Michael’s sentiments that he wanted him for more than something temporary. That was painting a target on his back and Alex knew it.

“Alex,” Luke said, pulling him out of his head, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Alex said simply, blinking away the memories that made his blood run cold, “But do you think we could arrange a private meeting between me and my dad when we get back on Earth?”

Luke eyed him strangely.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Do you have a better one?” 

And he didn’t, so Alex slipped back into his mind.

-

Michael’s mind stayed on Alex for so long that it was becoming a problem.

They’d never parted on such tense and negative terms before and Michael had convinced himself that Alex hated him and never wanted to see him again. It was just not good. He’d messaged him twice, but he got nothing in return. It really felt like he hated him. He didn’t know whether he was angry or if something bad had happened. Surely someone would’ve told him if another assassin had gotten to him, right?

“Come here.”

Michael lifted his head to see his mother in the doorway. Her face was as unreadable as ever, just like Alex, and her dark hair had been slicked back in a low bun. She wore all black wraps, inches of her stomach and arms exposed. They were tighter than usual which told him she’d been sparring. Despite that, he obeyed her and stood from the table to go hear her. She placed her hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes as if that would betray all of his feelings. And maybe  it did.

She guided his head to rest in the crook of her neck and she hugged him tight. She had a few inches on both him and his father, but Michael didn’t mind. He quite liked knowing she would always be taller than him. She would always be so clearly his mom.

“Did the assassination attempt really scare you this much?” she asked, combing through his hair like she’d done as long as he could remember. He relaxed into her and shook his head. “Then what’s wrong? You’ve been quiet.”

Michael didn’t know what to tell her. He was a terrible liar, nothing would sell as well as the complete truth. But the truth was scary too. What he and Alex were doing wasn’t really allowed. Antar and Earth being friendly was one thing‒but their young princes having an affair? He couldn’t imagine his mother, or the people of either of their respective planets, loving that.

“Alex won’t talk to me,” Michael offered, hoping that would be enough.

His mother breathed slowly and controlled. He didn’t move.  She was thinking and probably piecing everything together. Michael said nothing.

“Was there a reason Prince Alex wasn’t in the building when the shot was fired?” Lady No asked, but it was clear she already knew the answer. Michael sunk into her more.

“He was with me,” he confirmed. She sighed.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, clutching him tight, “What have you done?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he insisted, his voice cracking, “I swear, it wasn’t on purpose. I can’t help it.”

“I know you didn’t,” she murmured, “But you still did it.”

“I want to go study on Earth,” Michael said firmly. He felt his mother suck in a deep breath. “I want to be closer to him.”

Lady No pulled away and grabbed his face in her hands. Michael let her stare and gauge how serious he was being. Because he was serious. Deadly. It didn’t matter that Alex wasn’t speaking to him. If he was on the same planet, he could get him to talk.

“Alex is the son of a very hostile man, Michael. He put a hit out on his own child, do you understand that?” she said. He nodded and she harshly let go of him. “Do you have a deathwish?”

“No,” Michael said firmly, “But I know what I want. I want Alex.”

She scoffed, shaking her head, “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, “I’m not a child, I know what I want.”

“Do you know anything about Alex? Do you know why he was adopted or why his father is imprisoned? Do you know anything?” she demanded. Michael swallowed as he looked at her. She was angry.

Michael very quickly realized that he didn’t know much. He and Alex avoided talk of anything of substance and he didn’t ask. The only time he’d asked anything real or they spoke of anything real was that last night they were together. Otherwise, he really didn’t know Alex that well.

But that wasn’t fully true either. He knew Alex. Maybe he didn’t know his past, but he knew did well in school and had great aspirations to be a good ruler. Maybe he didn’t know how he got all of his scars, but he knew which ones upset him the most based on what he could stand being touched and what he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t know what Alex’s father did to him, but he knew he hated him and that was enough to make Michael agree. He didn’t know him enough to write a biography, but he knew enough to love him and wasn’t that enough?

“I know he’s unhappy and probably scared,” Michael said, “And I know I want to study on Earth.”

Queen Celeano took a step away from her son and closed her eyes. He waited patiently, fully expecting her to pull him into his mindscape so he would be easier to mold. But that didn’t happen. Instead, she opened her eyes and looked at him straight on.

“You are my child. My duty, above all else, is to keep you safe. I can’t do that if you’re on Earth. I’m sorry, but no,” she said simply, shaking her head, “Not while I know you’re affiliating yourself with a man who has a target on his back.”

“We’re discreet!” he insisted, “No one knows and no one will know! It’s no one’s business but mine and his!”

“You’re young, you’ll change your mind. You’ll find a nice Antarian and‒”

“No,” Michael said, firmer this time. He could feel Adonis hovering close by in case he needed to interfere. “I want Alex. And maybe it’s not forever, but if you force me to give him up, I will always feel forever about him and I will always blame you.”

She stared at him, long and serious. He wondered if this was why he liked Alex so much. His mother had instilled something in him that took that controlling seriousness and made him love it. It was never an insult. He took it as a silent ‘I love you’. 

“I will talk to your father and I will talk to James,” she said. Michael’s eyes widened.

“Wait, don’t tell them about‒”

“I won’t,” she said firmly, “But we’ll discuss schooling. And I’m sending you with more than just Adonis because I don’t trust Alex’s father.”

“But you trust me?” he said. Lady No took a deep breath and stepped back up to her son.

“I trust you,” she agreed, “But I don’t trust his father and I refuse to have my son return to me in a body bag. So I’ll see what I can do, but please, please be safe.”

Michael nodded in agreement and kept his smile at bay despite the fact he wanted to run through the halls screaming his joy.

“Always.”

-

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

Alex waited as the guards hesitantly unlocked the doors to the interrogation room they had his father in specifically for this meeting. He was being put on trial again for attempting to assassinate a member of the royal family, but that didn’t mean it would be impossible for Alex to get him alone. Jesse Manes had been patted down and checked over multiple times to make sure he had no weapons and he was handcuffed to his chair, but Alex still felt on edge.

On edge, but more powerful than ever.

He had been spending the last week trying to think of what he was going to say to finally sever this tie to his father, but, when he saw his face, all of that went out the window. But he had to do this. He had to if he ever wanted something good in his life. Something like Michael.

“Hello, son,” Jesse said as Alex stepped inside. Luke was close behind him. Alex had tried to get him to stay back, but he insisted he was going to be right there with him so he wasn’t alone. Alex didn’t know how to say no to that. 

“Dad,” Alex greeted, waiting until the door slammed behind them. Luke leaned beside the door in quiet solidarity. “Took you five years.”

“Not from lack of trying,” he said simply. It was surprising, but Alex still felt that pang of hurt. “You’ve stopped training, I know you have.”

“I haven’t, actually,” Alex said, “I spar every day that my leg allows. I just don’t endure torture.”

“What I did to you wasn’t torture. It was what you needed to become a good soldier, to rise up and finally end that fucking peace treaty. There’s nothing peaceful about it. It’s complacency,” he said. Alex shook his head and stepped closer.

“It isn’t,” Alex said, “They’re good people.”

“They aren’t people.”

“No, you aren’t a person,” Alex shot back, “What kind of person tries to kill their own son?”

“He wasn’t really meant to kill you,” Jesse offered, “You were supposed to kill him when he tried.”

Alex huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “Why am I not surprised that you think that’s better?”

“I spent fifteen years dedicating my life to you, Alex, you’re my son and I love you,” Jesse said. Alex held his chin high and tried not to let those words hit like they so desperately wanted to. “What don’t you see? You’re my pride and joy. Look at you. Infiltrating the royal family on both planets. Do you know what you could do at this rate? You could do wonderful things if you just stayed on track like I raised you.”

“Bold thing to say with witnesses,” Alex said. Jesse shook his head.

“I raised you,” Jesse repeated, “There are only witnesses if you let them be.”

They fell silent for a moment as Alex stared at him and tried to come up with the right thing to say. This was supposed to be empowering, but instead it felt more like he was just opening himself to more manipulation. But he refused. So, instead, Alex unbuttoned the jacket he was wearing and let it fall to the floor. His father eyed the gold wrap made of Antarian silk that was wrapped around his torso.

“What are you doing?” Jesse asked slowly. Alex took a deep breath.

“My entire life you shamed me for the scars you left on my skin. You taught me to hide from them and from what I wanted. But I refuse to listen to you. I refuse to let you stay in my brain, taunting me and making it difficult to let men touch or admire me. Because I want them to touch and admire me. How does that feel, Dad?”

Jesse’s jaw clenched at his words, but Alex felt no guilt. He felt quite the opposite. There was something freeing about getting under his skin.

“That doesn’t make me weak,” Alex continued, “I’m far from weak. I survived you. I can never be weak.”

“If you’re not weak, then you can ignore disrespectful desires,” Jesse said. Alex huffed.

“Disrespectful to who? Not me. And if it’s disrespectful to you, then I don’t care. I refuse to care. I spent so many years of my life trying to be the perfect son, trying to make you proud. And the sad thing is that I did. I was the son you wanted. Except for one little thing,” Alex said. His fingers skimmed the silk, begging it to give him strength. And it did. It felt like laying in Michael’s bed, like being wrapped up in a place where no one could hurt him. He felt invincible. “And I’m done being ashamed and scared.”

“I disagree.”

“Good luck with that,” Alex said, “Because I’m putting in a good word to have you executed.”

“My father is dead and he still lives in my mind, Alex,” Jesse said, smiling a smile that looked too much like Alex’s, “You can kill me, but I’ll never be dead.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll sure as hell do what I can to make sure I never end up like you,” he said simply, “I’m going to be a good king. I’m going to be kind. I’m going to love and be loved. I’m going to have a man in my bed, Antarian men in my bed. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Spite only lasts so long,” he spat.

“Don’t wait and see how long that is.”

Alex decided he was over the conversation and turned to leave, hoping Luke grabbed his jacket on the way out. He didn’t notice his hands were shaking until he got around the corner and Luke draped the jacket over his shoulders.

“Did you get the closure you needed?” Luke asked. Alex sucked in a deep breath and looked up at him. He didn’t really feel that different other than the fact that he felt like he needed to throw up.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait and find out.”

-

Michael arrived on Earth after three weeks of not hearing from Alex, but that was alright. He was going to take advantage of his time there.

The main reason for coming was for some big party that Michael didn’t really care about, but it was doubling as a time to enroll him in a school on Earth. The same school Alex was going to. He would be returning in a few months at the start of the next semester and, if he and Alex weren’t on good terms by then, then he would spend all of his free time trying to get them on good terms.

What he didn’t expect, however, was for Alex to give him a bright smile when they pulled up to the palace. There were cameras around so they didn’t hug, but Alex greeted him with a handshake that made his mind feel like fireworks were going off.

The next few hours were agonizingly slow and full of small talk. By the time Luke was leading him to Alex’s bedroom, he was already losing his mind trying to figure out what exactly was about to happen.

He was welcomed into Alex’s room and then they were alone. Alex was clothed in his stiff dress pants and his stiff white button up, but he looked nice. He always looked so nice.

“Hi,” Michael said.

“Hey,” Alex said right back. He stepped up to him and gave him that sweet smile that he always had for him. It was jarring considering their last encounter.

“I’m sorry about the last time I saw you,” Michael said, “I shouldn’t have grabbed your hand when I know you don’t like that. I know I sent you a U-Mail that said the same thing, but I keep thinking about it and it makes me feel worse every time. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, you were scared,” Alex said simply, eying him. Michael waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. So he finally asked a question.

“Alex… What’s going on?” he asked, “With us, I mean.”

“Last time we spoke, you said you wanted to be with me. Do you still feel that way?” Alex asked. Michael’s eyes widened, but he nodded. It seemed too deceptively easy, but it was Alex and he would jump into an endless pit if Alex thought it was a good idea. “Then I think we should talk.”

“Talk?”

“Talk,” Alex confirmed, nodding to his bed, “About anything. I think I owe you some honesty. I felt I had too much baggage for you, so I never shared, but you were kind to me for four years not knowing why I acted that way. So I think it’s time I let you in a little more.”

“Seriously?” Michael breathed. It felt too good to be true.

“Seriously,” Alex laughed, “I’m so tired of hiding from you.”

The two of them sat down on the bed facing each other and not touching. But then Alex held out his hand. Blood pumped in Michael’s ears, but he slowly reached out his hand towards Alex’s. Alex carefully laced their fingers together and rested it on his knee. They didn’t do that. But this was progress. So much progress.

And all Michael could feel was pride.

[leahazel]

More about my morally-grey heroines and their messed-up relationships

I wanted to elaborate on this post I wrote about D&F and BFS, but it turns out that adding readmore links to reblogs is a PITA, and I just now that this is gonna turn into a fucking novelette. 

So here we go.

Time to go into some detail about this!

Let’s define our terms:

“Decline and Fall” is my 120K+ series of loosely chronological, interconnected short fics, set in a tiny fandom for a visual novel that’s been in alpha development since 2015. For the record, the word count disincludes unfinished drafts, and stories that I’m holding back because they’re based on canon spoilers.

“Blood from Stone“ is my 100K unfinished Skyrim WIP, which began as a response to a kink meme prompt, and is not so much a rarepair as a non-existent one.

Both of these stories centrally feature young female protagonists and their sexual relationship with a much older man. Both heroines are... “grey” to say the least.

Let’s compare our fandoms, shall we?

Skyrim is a juggernaut fandom for a super-popular RPG which is part of a 30-yo franchise. The setting is moderately dark and casually sprinkled with murder cults, cannibalism, secret police death squads, and the prison industrial complex. The player character can be a thief and a murderer and everyone just learns to be okay with it because the only alternative is a fiery apocalypse. They also rob graves for the lulz.

Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem is a pinkie-toe-sized fandom for a hybrid RPG and dating sim where attractive young people flirt and date for the purpose of brokering world peace. The setting is one where you can actually broker world peace effectively. The player character can perpetrate a fair amount of proxy violence, but maintaining a good reputation dishonestly is legitimately difficult.

Now, let’s compare our heroines:

Corinne is a 24-year-old bounty hunter who became a folk hero, a soldier, and a cult assassin. She’s living alone and working for a living since she was 18. She’s never been in love, but she’s had multiple sexual and romantic relationships in the past. I deliberately wrote her as being very sexually confident and self-assured. She also has combat training, magical training, her special Dragonborn powers, and an incalculable amount of social clout. By every metric, she’s a powerful character. Though she can talk her way out of a tight spot (all my favorite characters can), she can also fight her way out.

Verity is (at the beginning of D&F) not yet 18 years old. She’s a princess from a very conservative kingdom who was raised to become a barter bride in a diplomatic marriage. The values that were passed to her were duty, tradition, and absolute obedience. Her primary skills are social, charisma, eloquence, and persuasion. Then she was dropped into the deep water of a diplomatic summit and had the weight of future history put on her shoulders, without ever having been taught how to make her own decisions or live with her regret.

To sum up, we have one hyper-competent, confident, and independent badass, universally recognized as powerful and dangerous, and then we have someone who’s basically a deconstruction of a traditional fantasy princess.

Okay, what about the more specific setting within the game world?

BFS is set in Markarth, arguably the most corrupt city in Skyrim, and the site of a localized war, on top of the 2-3 other wars that Skyrim has going on. The city is controlled by the cartel-like Silver-Blood family, and their enemies are swiftly and brutally eliminated. The rule of law is a joke. When the player character arrives at Markarth, they witness a chain or murders and are drawn into a conspiracy that sees them sentenced to life in prison for a crime they didn’t commit. The ruling elite suppress the native underclass by a variety of inventive methods. The roads into the city are controlled by the remnants of a violent but failed uprising, and this uprising is actually the origin story of Skyrim’s entire civil war storyline.

D&F is set in Revaire, explicitly the most violently war-torn of the seven kingdoms. Once the epicenter of a conquering empire, it was a country full of arts and culture, until a bloody coup slaughtered the entire royal line and instituted a new and more brutal regime. The new regime is on shaky grounds and foresighted people predict its imminent fall to rebel forces. So much, so canon. In D&F, I made a point of developing the new royals and their small coterie of supporters, as well as illustrating their constant struggle to conceal how widely reviled they are by the populace, and most of the former nobility. Their apathy to the plight of the common people is underscored in contrast to Verity’s compassion, which is ridiculed as a sentimental feminine affectation.

I’m attracted to certain themes, as you might have noticed.

Now, we get to talk about love interests.

Thongvor Silver-Blood is rather anemically characterized in Skyrim’s canon, so much of the information that I include in BFS is inferred. From his limited number of dialogues in the game, we know that he’s politically ambitious, a Stormcloak supporter, easily angered, and that he has one legitimate friend in the city. Like most Skyrim characters of his age bracket, he served in the Great War. He’s defined by his relationship to his generational cohort. In BFS, he’s def8ined in contrast to his brother. Thonar is comfortable being thought of as a villain. Thongvor still needs to believe that he’s the good guy. And I’m gonna get more into that in later chapters, too.

As a love interest, he’s initially in awe of Corinne, and always genuinely adoring, but more than a little jealous and possessive. BFS is not a story about love redeeming bad men (don’t get me started), but Thongvor shows different sides of his personality to different people, and the side that Corinne gets to see is much nicer than what most people do.

Hyperion Asper is a character of my own devising, whose existence in 7KPP canon is purely implied. We know his children, Jarrod and Gisette, and we knew that he organized a coup to seize the throne. I posit him as a tyrant and unrepentant child-killer (not directly stated in D&F, at least not yet). He’s ruthless and manipulative and his sole purpose is maintaining a sense of personal power. I structured him as the bad example that Jarrod tries -- and fails -- to live up to.

As a love interest... look, he’s a man who’s cheating on his wife with his son’s wife. He seduces Verity and manipulates her, and takes a special delight in pushing her buttons. All his compliments to her are mean-spirited and back-handed. He’s also jealous and possessive... which is especially pathetic, since he’s jealous of his own son, whom Verity doesn’t even like. His rage is a constant implied undercurrent in the narrative.

And the relationship dynamics themselves?

Corinne kisses Thongvor, proposes marriage to him, and then sleeps with him before riding off into mortal danger. She’s fond and affectionate, but she shies away from intense emotions, whether negative or positive. Since they spend most of their time apart, their marriage has been defined by Thongvor yearning like a sailor’s wife, while Corinne ran around doing violence and crime. They only just had their first fight. It will change when they get to spend some more significant time together... but on the whole, their marriage is fairly happy, and the emotional dynamic favors Corinne -- so far. It’s not a pure gender reversal, but that element is definitely dominant.

Hyperion starts seducing Verity on their very first meeting, and relies on a combination of magnetic attraction and Verity’s inexperience in life to keep her coming back, against her better judgment. Their relationship is mutually defined by a combination of attraction and resentment of that attraction. The danger of the situation is an essential element, to the point where it’s hard to imagine their affair would survive without it. It’s a puzzle and a battle, a source of fascination but not of comfort. There’s lust involved, and curiosity, but not a shred of love or even like. The closest thing to genuine affection is when Verity briefly imagines that there could be a version of Hyperion she actually liked, cobbled from his various, hidden good qualities. Any trappings of a genuine relationship are deliberately discordant.

I have tried, more than once, to imagine an alternate universe in which these two could be happy. It can’t be done. they are a study in dysfunction.

So where’s the similarity, with all these differences outlined?

Corinne’s choice to marry into the Silver-Blood family makes her complicit in their rule of the Reach, corrupt and reactionary as it is. Her reluctance to accept being called by their name reflects a reluctance to confront unpleasant truths that’s fundamental to her character. Choosing to be one of them affects and will continue to affect how other people see her, mostly negatively, and mostly without her being aware of it. Being Thongvor’s wife has gained her enemies. The fact that she doesn’t share his more reactionary views is something that they’ve both chosen to elegantly ignore, but the rest of the world won’t be so generous.

Verity’s choice to marry into the Revaire royal family makes her complicit in their violence against the forces rebelling against them, albeit in a more subtle way. Her personal dislike of Jarrod and the fact that their marriage was purely political will not absolve her in anyone’s eyes. Neither will her compassionate and charitable character, which can only be seen as a fig leaf to the Revaire royals’ general brutality. She has lost at least one good friend -- who will never see her the same way, since she chose to throw her lot in with his enemies. She will go down in history as an Asper wife -- but if she’s lucky, not just as that.

Both Corinne and Verity choose to accept some of the violence of the system that they live under, in order to serve their own lofty, long-term goals. Both of them are more image-driven than they care to admit, and though they are genuinely caring and compassionate, they will readily sacrifice compassion in service on their goals. They are queens (or queen-like figures), one-degree-of-separation members of the ruling class, implicated but not directly in control.

And their relationships serve to highlight what they are willing to accept, even though it goes against their conscience.

Is there a conclusion to be drawn here?

Sort of. I want to write about power, compromise and complicity. For whatever reason, it turns out that yw/om relationships are... a really good vehicle for exploring that. I can’t really explain why that is, just yet. I just... have had these thoughts floating, unstructured, in my head for months on end. I needed to get them out on paper, and give them some semblance of order.

I don’t even know why anyone but me would read this, as long and meandering as it is. But having it accessible might be of use to me.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Passion Project (1/4)

Summary:

"Ignoring Hange Zoe had become a little passion project he allowed himself to indulge in, in between expeditions and quietly mourning unnecessary deaths in the battlefield."

Levi tries to ignore Hange but it never seems to last. A ficlet detailing the development of Levi and Hange's relationship before canon.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other chapters:  2 3 4

Notes:  

Just a little character study and a cumulation of all my headcanons about their relationship all the way until Eren joins the survey corps.

I intended on just making a one shot of Levi being jealous or Hange and Levi having a silent treatment battle but this story ended up morphing into its own ficlet when I realized that it wouldn't be so easy to write either of them into canon without detailing the whole development of their relationship from my own headcanon.

I hope you enjoy!

Levi was trained to resolve conflict with his fists and occasionally, with his knives. Having lived as a criminal in the underground city, he did not encounter many problems that could not be resolved with a little intimidation or bloodshed. Among his gang, most people below him never really protested his decisions. Farlan was too level-headed to let anything reach a point where violence became a necessity, thus nipping most conflicts in the bud before Levi had to deal with them himself.

With his moving above ground, Levi had to adapt to a far more rigid system. Violence and intimidation among fellow soldiers was not as easily tolerated and Levi had lost his only two weapons against conflict. With Farlan dead soon after, Levi was left to navigate his own way through social situations and the problems that inevitably came with them.

The first conflict Levi was left to handle alone came in the form of one Hange Zoe.

"Hey Levi! Teach me that thing where you flip and speed up with your ODM gear." She was the first one to approach him about his skills.

By that point, he had still been reeling from Farlan and Isabel's death. He was in no mood for socialization and didn't think he would ever be. He just stared at her as he tried to make sense of the situation and the emotions that built up inside him.

The demand came out of nowhere. He was mourning and someone was outright asking him to take time out of his schedule and to dig for some patience within him to teach someone something he himself did not know the mechanisms of. She was neither a sleazy drunkard, a thief nor a murderer yet Levi for the first time since he joined the survey corps was terribly annoyed and disturbed at the audacity of the demand and the insensitivity of the timing.

The rigid structure of the survey corps and the somewhat innocent yet annoying request of the young girl in front of him left Levi utterly confused on how he was supposed to react.

He found himself scrambling for the simplest way to react to such a stimulus while keeping faithful to his personality and social preferences that had grown on him as a criminal in the underground. Having let his instincts take over, he froze up and walked away, ignoring the protests of that crazy brunette.           

                                             Passion Project

Levi found remaining silent and just walking away to be an effective way to handle her. She was insistent, tenacious and just way too loud. Levi ended up having to close his eyes when she whined, begging him to show her how his weird grip manages to slice harder than the average grip or how he manages to maintain enough balance to fall back in mid air without completely losing control. 

As time went by, Hange's voice started to sound more like screeching to him. The high pitched whining morphed into the pain for the beginnings of a headache and Levi eventually had to learn to tune it out to save himself from that potential pain.

During those few moments where Levi allowed himself to think of Hange, he could not help but infer that that strong combination of tenacity and confidence may be that of someone who had grown up always getting what they want. Levi would have bet with all the money he had saved up since he had started to live above ground that Hange had never known hunger or deprivation. He decided for himself out of spite, that he would never give her the attention she craved so much from him.

A lesson on real life then. Levi thought in an attempt to make sense of his past actions and to placate the knot at the pit of his stomach. Someone has to teach her that she can't always get what she wants.

The brief thought morphed into a plan. Levi had somehow stumbled upon the conclusion that maybe he having had to struggle with depravity and poverty growing up, could teach her about the unfairness of life. In the end, ignoring Hange Zoe had become a little passion project he had allowed himself to indulge in, in between expeditions and quietly mourning unnecessary deaths in the battlefield.

A few months after Isabel's and Farlan's deaths, Levi encountered the first obstacle in his little passion project when he unwillingly gave Hange the attention she craved so much.

Technically, he did have a choice. The alternative was to watch her get eaten by a three meter class titan. Having lost as many people growing up, Levi was motivated to prevent as much unnecessary death as possible. Besides, being eaten by the smallest and weakest class of titan was just too pathetic of a way to die.      

Slightly bitter about how he had broken his small promise to himself even if it was to save her life, Levi made it a point to ignore her incessant thank-yous, praises and overall enthusiasm at the whole ordeal.

"You fucking almost died. You're not supposed to be this fucking happy," Levi muttered to himself, only fueling the motivation inside him to continue his little challenge of never talking to Hange again.

That second challenge did not last long and Levi wanted to punch himself because of how easily he had let go of all the pride, spite and bitterness he had allowed himself to build up. All Hange needed to do was knock on the door to his now empty room in the barracks with a pack of what looked to be some high-end black tea with the familiar logo of the royal family.

Levi had seen that tea traded a few times around the underground city. Even with the work he had done as a criminal, that brand was just too expensive for him to procure without blowing the modest reputation he had kept for himself for more than a decade

"Just a little token for saving me." Hange grinned. The gratefulness looked too genuine.

Levi had to look away. For one, he did not want to feel anything but annoyance at the woman who had made his first month in the survey corps a living hell. Also, for the life of him, Levi could not tell what kind of face he made when he saw the pouch in Hange's hands.  

"My parents brought some back when they came for a visit and I remember you mentioning that you liked tea…" The grateful smile of a moment ago morphed into a fox-like grin.

That was a lie. He never told anyone he liked tea let alone, had talked to anyone long enough to even disclose parts of his personality. That first part had sent some alarm bells ringing inside him but those were easily overpowered by the sheer wonder that overtook Levi as Hange held out the tea pouch in front of him. He was about to grab it for himself when Hange pulled it back towards her again.

"I actually haven't tried it in a while. We should try it together." With that, Hange forced her way into the small crack between Levi and his room and set up the kettle and tea cups as if they were not precious wares Levi had spent months saving up on.

Levi did not think he would have ever allowed his private space and belongings to be completely defiled, especially by the last person he had ever expected to have tea with. At that moment though, Levi felt no irritation. It was as if his whole being had decided before he even processed what Hange just did, that tasting that high end brand of black tea was most likely going to be worth it anyway.

                                        Passion Project         

That was the best black tea he had ever tasted in his life. It was good enough that Levi had started to think that maybe, getting to know her would not be such an excruciatingly painful process and that suspending his little passion project for a little while might be a good idea.

At least long enough to finish that bag of tea she left in my room. Levi thought to himself as he accompanied an excited Hange to the wooded area near the barracks for some ODM gear training. All he had to do was imagine the aroma of the tea as he steeped it and he usually gained a day’s worth of patience to deal with the brunette.

The first thing he ever made sure to drill her on was how to quickly take control of momentum so she could easily fall back in mid air to avoid being grabbed by the titans. With that he could at least make sure what happened in the last expedition wouldn’t happen again.

They had started their little training session at 5pm, right after their official survey corps training ended. Levi had expected that they would at least make it by sundown. Hange though ended up milking that one-on-one like a milkman to a fattened cow. She brought up questions about his movements that even Levi had to stop and reflect on.

How did you learn to use this underground?

Where did you get the gas?

How do you get the momentum to even spin your body?

How do you slice so deep while moving quickly?

Levi had started to answer all of those only to be interrupted every time with a different question. That day they had only scratched the surface of every question and Levi was sure Hange had only satisfied herself with her own theories for it. The questions though had left Levi enough to reflect on. He decided to use the remaining trainings he had promised her to at least explain them to Hange, after he figures it out for himself at least.

By the time they did get back, everyone else had already had dinner and Levi was forced to spend an extra one hour alone in the dining hall just to satisfy hunger pangs.

"You know, during the last expedition, I kicked a Titan's head so hard…"

"Hm?" Levi muttered as he looked for something else in the bare room to amuse himself with. He needed a break.

"And I didn't break my leg!"

Levi raised one eyebrow in reply, having given up on finding anything else to follow in the bare dining room. Most of the soldiers had probably retired to their room. It was past nine after all and they had to be awake by five.

"It was so light! To think that those giants have such light body parts! Where is the brain? Where is their olfactory system? Their auditory system? Their sensory pathways?"

The scientific blabber made it easier for Levi to tune out.

"Levi!"

It didn't seem like she had noticed that he had tuned her out for a few seconds. As Levi looked up at her, a natural reaction to having heard his name, he saw sparks in her eyes. She was in her own world already.

"If we study their anatomy, their movements maybe we could find more efficient ways to kill them, minimize casualties"

That would be nice. Levi thought to himself as he continued to look away, sneaking a side glance every few seconds. He had started to give her his full attention around the part where she had mentioned weaknesses and casualties. He was reminded there that they were both working towards fundamentally similar goals --- killing titans and avoiding unnecessary deaths.

The black tea that he had so carefully rationed saw its eventual end but surprisingly, Levi was not too devastated at the loss.  As the days went by, he had stopped imagining the aroma of the tea anyway. The one who had given him the tea had offered experiences more lasting and more interesting than the quick release the bitter yet malty black tea had given him for many nights.

Hange offered novelty, amusement and company. In the midst of repetitive training and depressing expeditions, she offered experimental ideas and crackpot theories. She spoke with more than enough enthusiasm that when Levi was with her, sometimes he did forget that they were all one misstep away from a dismembered limb or death by titan with every expedition.

The breaks they had spent exchanging ODM gear techniques and strategies in fights against titans had become a constant in Levi's daily life. While he had helped build Hange's skill with the ODM gear, she had brought her own expertise and in-depth analyses to the table.

As time passed, he had completely forgotten as well, that she was the one who had asked him to teach her in the first place. Hange's words were the ones that echoed as he went through the same repetitive drills every day. Even as he practiced with his gear side by side with her, it was her theories that fueled the image training with the titan dummies. 

His fighting style slowly started to change as it was peppered with the theories Hange had pointed out about titans. The mad scientist ended up teaching him. 

                                       Passion Project      

They were on their way home from the 25th expedition outside the walls when the squad Levi was assigned to encountered three large titans.                            

The first plan was to just speed up since the wall was already visible from where they had encountered the titans. Usually two squads together were needed to even kill that many large titans. Smaller titans were also starting to notice them as well.

Their forces had already dissipated through other battles and to make it worse, two of the titans were abnormal and were much faster than the others. Given that he was the only one in his squad uninjured, Levi had resigned himself to the fact that he had to fight.

"I'll take it from here. You go on ahead." Levi shouted as he slowed his horse. Before even looking behind him, he started to consider the theoretical weaknesses of the titans and the strategy he and Hange had spent nights studying.

One misstep and you're dead. Levi readied his blades. It would be the first time he'd have to deal with three large titans at once and he had to ready himself for the fact that other titans could come sooner. If he could not kill them all, he could at least buy enough time for his squad to reach the walls.

What did Hange say about titans?

For three to six meter titans, I'm sure with your speed you could easily go for the neck. I'm much slower so I would have to incapacitate them first.

Levi was already exhausted from the expedition and he decided to err on the side of caution.

Hange's words echoed in his head. I was thinking if I encountered a titan alone, I'd try to go for maybe the eyes or the arms first so at least I wouldn't be scared of them grabbing on to the cords of my ODM.  

Eyes or arms? Levi thought to himself as he allowed the ODM gear to propel him towards the nearest titan. He focused on what he did best, he dodged as soon as he saw the hands move to grab him and he let that movement and the force of the gas to launch him up and take him to whatever his next target might be.

The eyes of the titan came into clear view. He pushed himself forward and dug his blades into the titans eyes. He used that few seconds of respite to replace his blades midair. The titan continued to flail its arms towards Levi and the latter could not help but note that if it moved much faster than a lot of other titans. He had pulled back his grappling hooks, not wanting to risk it getting grabbed by the abnormal.

The titan couldn't see him. He had time.

You could probably immobilize a titan by cutting their Achilles. I don't know if I would be able to make that same cut though. It's a joint so it's gonna be harder than most areas.

As soon as Levi landed on the ground he dashed for the legs of the titan right behind the first one.

How do you slice so deep while moving so quickly?

Hange was right. The titan's muscle was notably harder at the back of the ankle. If he had sliced any lighter, he probably would not have been able to cut all the way.

The second titan fell forward on top of the blinded titan. He had bought himself some more time.

Levi ran forward towards the last large titan, cutting the Achilles tendons of smaller ones as he did. It was not an abnormal at least. Levi aimed his hooks towards the titans arm and launched himself towards the arm, using it as an axis to maneuver himself towards the back of the neck.

It was when Levi launched himself up did he notice that less gas than what he had expected was coming out.

You use too much gas. Erwin had said to him only a few expeditions ago.

Maneuvering came naturally for Levi but every now and then he did forget he was at the mercy of the amount of gas he had at each fight. In the underground, the gas lasted him weeks, his enemies were human after all and the gas was only used for escape.

Having to constantly propel himself into the air meant he had to resupply twice to thrice an expedition. Levi forced himself to ignore the lightened cannisters at his side and narrowed his eyes at the nape of the neck that was coming into view.

Kill the titan first. Gas later.

Levi pushed forward towards the neck, pierced his blades on the nape and heavily dragged it over the whole area. He might not have a second chance if the cut was too shallow.  

Can I make it? Levi scrambled to look for his horse in the steam that surrounded him. He did not have enough gas to land safely and instead used the titan he just killed to cushion his landing.

A smaller hand appeared from the steam and grab him. Levi let out a gasp as he felt the full force of the squeeze on his ribs.

I'm not dying here! Levi sliced open the hand with a spinning motion. His body protested the sudden movement  and Levi wondered for a second how many ribs the titan had cracked. He found his horse grazing west to the sea of steam as he landed. On his way down though, he had to dodge the hand of a smaller titan causing him to land awkwardly on his left foot.

Fucking hell. Levi ran towards his horse ignoring the stabbing pain on his left ankle. To hell with that ankle, I can't recover if I'm dead.

Levi only had to ride the horse and speed up before another hand grabbed him from behind. Once again, the titan had no regard of how hard it was holding its prey and Levi started to taste blood as his ribs protested the grip of the titan.

How long can I keep doing this? Levi spun himself again, slicing the hand open despite his body screaming at him to stop.

What happened after that was a blur. The exhaustion that built up over the expedition and his most recent injuries overpowered him. Levi could not even maneuver his body to a safer less fatal landing from a ten meter drop.

He closed his eyes, expecting to feel the impact of a headfirst fall only to instead feel the searing pain of a disturbed injury as someone looped their arms around him too roughly.

"There you are, Levi!"

The last thing he heard was the familiar overly excited scream he had grown accustomed to the past year.

"I knew slicing at their ankles would work!"

[daydream-ideas]

The Shadows

I’m not sure if this an actual real life concept, as yet again, I have not done any research, but I saw it in a few manhwa’s and stole it for my paracosm hahaha. 

The Emperor’s Shadows. 

People who are tasked with following and protecting the emperor in secret, away from the eyes of anyone who might be watching, even the emperor’s own knights and average guards. They’re useful for protection when the emperor has to go somewhere discreetly and the addition of knights would give away too much, plus, they can be sent on errands to gather intel as spies. 

Lyr gathers up all the assassins who previously worked for the king of Misian (though the king said that he ‘owned’ them) who Lyr usurped the throne from and makes them into his Shadows, having them be spies rather than assassins as they previously were, since the skillset is rather similar (having to be stealthy, etc.) but I still just refer to them as assassins anyway.

—

warnings for: torture, conditioning, assassins (wow shocker), war mention, human experimentation, drugs, addiction, slavery, forced labor

Silas  – the first assassin

He was the best of the five, and the one sent to kill Lyr when he first claimed the throne of his home kingdom, Avimier. Lyr defeated him (which honestly was just kind of luck and Lyr’s paranoia since he’d just gone through a coup at the hands of his knights, so he was really on edge, but Silas is super good at fighting) and had him sent to the dungeons, where he pretty much forgot about him for the next couple of years lol. When he sentences Silas to be imprisoned, he tells his guards to “find out who sent him” which, given the history of Avimier’s past monarchs who were typically cruel, the guards interpreted the order as “torture the assassin until he reveals who sent him” which Lyr does not consider at all (he’s new to this and doesn’t yet know how things work) and that’s how Lyr accidentally had a man tortured 😬 

He later releases Silas when he discovers what’s been done to him in the dungeons, but this isn’t until after the war with the Sylnera’ti kingdom which occurs much later in the timeline (it’s the third kingdom he conquers) and the king who sent Silas (the Misian king) is already dead. 

The Misian king (he doesn’t deserve a name) tortured all his assassins so he could condition them to follow him as living weapons and nothing else, and as a result, Silas had shut off any part of himself that could feel emotion as a way to survive, long before he ever even met Lyr. Due to his past conditioning, him hearing Lyr’s name during the vicious torture he endured in the dungeons, it rewired his brain to be absolutely loyal to Lyr as his king, rather than as a target. 

This is something that brings great discomfort to Lyr when he finds out because it’s not like this is something he wanted to have happen, even if it does technically benefit him. It’s also not something I was planning on sharing here? because it is super fucked up and Lyr is still my precious bean even if he did something like this, but yeah, there’s that. 

Silas has long white / silver hair and grey eyes that hold no emotion. He’s the most anti-social para of the whole cosm and prefers to skulk in the library rather than interact with anyone. People also don’t like being around him as even his presence unnerves them — they don’t even know he’s an assassin, it’s just that monotone, expressionless way about him that creeps them out. He likes to nap in odd places that aren’t meant for sleeping. 

—

Casimir – the second assassin

Given a less dramatic backstory than Silas, as the remaining assassins all dispersed from the Misian castle after Lyr usurped the throne, going their separate ways to try and hide out while making a life for themselves — not that it was really much of a life. 

Casimir had it the best out of all the assassins being that he was remarkably average. He was still tortured by the Misian king just as the rest of them were, but didn’t garner any unwanted attention for being the best or worst. 

After leaving the castle, he joined a band of mercenaries and used his skills to complete jobs and earn a little bit of money, and for once feeling a semblance of freedom, though he was still bound by the anger and bitterness of his past. 

He was the easiest to find when Lyr went looking, as he wasn’t really being inconspicuous, though he was not happy to see another royal. Lyr, being a supreme idiot who wanted to gain Casimir’s trust so that the assassin would come back to the castle with him, allowed Casimir to take out his anger on him without fighting back (well, it’s the trust thing and also a bit of Lyr’s guilt complex but we’re not gonna get into that) and so this just, did not go very well with Alex, Lyr’s personal guard. The two still don’t get along. 

Casimir did end up joining Lyr, but is also now filled with guilt about how he treated Lyr because Lyr is nice to him unlike the Misian king, though Casimir would never admit to any of this and just takes to deliberately annoying Lyr to cover up how much he wants to apologize for what happened. (me: smh, why are you like this.) 

He develops a taste for the finer things in life after going back to the castle with Lyr, as Lyr starts giving him a stipend for his work (which the Misian king never did) as well as actually decent meals (which he also never got) and so Casimir is overwhelmed with guilt, kindness, and nice fancy things he has no idea what to do with. 

—

Ghislaine – the third assassin

contrary to Casimir, this one had it the worst out of all the assassins. He was the worst at being an assassin, and the most rebellious during the ‘conditioning’ stage, and generally disliked by the Misian king the most, which lead to a whole variety of unpleasantness. 

He was tortured even more than all the other assassins, which left him with hundreds of tiny, meticulously cut scars all across his hands, arms, face, and chest. The Misian king also decided to try and ‘enhance’ Ghislaine’s abilities by experimenting on him to try and make him a SUPER ASSASSIN which notably, didn’t work out so well. 

Because of the experiments, Ghislaine now survives on this custom-made drug which damages him and keeps him alive in equal measure — he needs to take it or else he’ll die, but it’s also getting him addicted and giving him terrible side-effects that cause him great pain. He takes as much of the serum as he can when he escapes the castle when Lyr usurps the throne, but he still runs out of it some months later and has to break into the castle to try and get more. This is when he meets Lyr, as he’s captured while trying to steal the serum. It’s early winter, just before the big snows but at the point when things are starting to frost, and Lyr can see how withered Ghislaine has become. 

He’s been living on the streets as no one will take him in—whether at an inn or for a job, because no one wants to look at him because of his scars. They’re very apparent and impossible to hide, so they make it hard for him to go anywhere without being chased off, so he ends up on the streets. 

Lyr makes him a deal that he’ll let Ghislaine have the serum and will have his potions man try and engineer something that doesn’t cause as much damage to his body, if Ghislaine will stay and serve him. Ghislaine doesn’t want to serve another royal after what happened to him at the hands of the last one, but he also knows he can’t stay out on the streets during winter, and needs that serum to survive. 

He’s also my favorite of the five ❤

—

Devere – fourth assassin

This one I know the least about since I haven’t really daydreamed with him too much, but he’s a good boi. He leaves the castle and goes to the coast to work on a ship, even though he’s really not suited for it or good at it. He’s constantly harassed, teased, mocked, bullied, and beaten by the other sailors and shipworkers, but he prefers that to everything he went through in the castle. His soul is slowly dying like this, but he pushes away the feeling because he knows it could be so much worse. 

He’s the most reticent of all the assassins when Lyr comes to try and retrieve him, so it takes a lot of negotiation in order to get him to go back to the castle. He doesn’t try to harm Lyr like Casimir did, taking out his anger and bitterness on a figurehead, rather, he just shuts down and tries to ignore them like he’s trying to ignore his own trauma.

—

Zev – fifth assassin

He’s the last acquired assassin due to being the hardest to get to. He’s not even in the empire, but in the kingdom of Inscitus, which is ruled by a king who’s not actively at war with Lyr, but the two still don’t have a good relationship because of reasons.

Zev was sent away to the salt mines of Inscitus by the Misian king, before Lyr usurped the throne, where he was imprisoned and forced to mine as basically a slave for several years. He’s gaunt and thin and sickly when Lyr finds him, and since Emperor!Lyr can’t just go and ask another kingdom for a prisoner without raising suspicions or endangering relations, it’s time for Servant!Lyr to do a prison break with a very willful assassin.

Lyr, Alex, and Silas rescue Zev from the mines and escape the kingdom, having to travel back to the castle on a small wagon through the forest with an angry, sick man who didn’t even make it to death’s doorstep, he passed out on death’s front lawn.

Probs my second favorite of the five right now

 —

[ourimpavidheroine]

And here he is, guys, gals and nonbinary pals: His Majesty Hou-Ting LIV!

Wu

So listen, I can’t even begin to parse as to why I loved this smarmy, slangy, embarrassingly whiny little royal elbow leech. But I did. And then he rode in those badgermoles (a plot point that Bryan admitted he hated and didn’t want to do) and I was like I MUST WRITE ABOUT THIS LITTLE ASSHOLE.

I don’t know what to tell you. My brain is what it is.

Wu is so weird. He’s just weird. He’s 1000% clueless about normal life. He’s unimaginably rich - the Jeff Bezos of the Avatar world - and in Book 4 he has quite literally zero social skills.

After I had written Please Excuse My Penmanship Bryke came out and said they thought Wu was already in Republic City when the Earth Queen was assassinated, possibly going to boarding school or college. This never made much sense to me. I think it was one of those things they didn’t think through, they just put this very wealthy prince there in a hotel and didn’t worry about what got him there. (This was not the first time Bryke had done that.) I never bought that he was older; despite his sophisticated clothing and the fact that outside of Mako he’s on his own he screamed teenager to me. The Wu of Book 4 always seemed to me to be a kid who is trying very, very hard to act like what he thinks a sophisticated adult should be like. Which is why I put him at eighteen in Book 4. (I seem to be in the minority there, most other fanfic writers put him as older than Mako, even.)

It also never made any sense for me that this Crown Prince would speak as much slang as he did. I did a fair amount of research on Puyi, the last emperor of China (I saw the movie, The Last Emperor, when it came out in 1987 but I realize now it was a heavily whitewashed and historically inaccurate portrayal) and brought that into my Wu. True story: in 1921, when Puyi was fifteen, he had a telephone installed in the palace, under the mighty disapproval of his various advisors (and even his father). They didn’t want him having contact with the outside, modern world. Puyi was the emperor, however, so he got his own way in the end. And what did he do with this new phone, at first? He used it to make crank calls all around Beijing. Because he was the Emperor, yes, but also a fifteen year old boy. (A year or so later he used it to try and relocate imperial treasures outside of the palace for fear that he’d need an escape route outside of China, a fear that was absolutely justified.)

So I thought to myself, what would happen if you took an utterly and completely sheltered fifteen year old boy and threw him into the world, unsupervised? He’d cut off his queue, ditch his traditional clothing and start watching every single mover he could get his hands on, read every single cheap novel he could find, listen to every single sensational radio drama and base his personality on the heroes of those stories. And there he was, three years after being rescued out of the palace in Ba Sing Se, an eighteen year old refugee prince in Republic City, envisioning himself as one of the fictional heroes he was so fond of, halfway in love with his handsome bodyguard, in complete, terrified denial of the reality of what Kuvira is doing to his kingdom. 

Making him younger also serves to make him less of an asshole. We can forgive an eighteen year old twirling his walking stick and calling Mako his big tough guy and pretending he’s actually interested in the ladies (never mind being somehow good with them) far more easily than we can forgive a twenty-three year old doing it. Eighteen year old Wu doing what he did in Book 4 makes him a kid still figuring out his own way. Twenty-three year old Wu doing it makes him a clueless, uncaring creep. Those five years makes a difference at that age, for sure.

I made him smart; I made him politically astute. I gave him the kind of education a Crown Prince would have received with regards to politics, culture, history, international relations, etc. (Boarding school my ASS.) I created a backstory for him and the Hou-Ting family that heavily relied on the actual history of Imperial China. 

I had Huan tell him to knock off the slang because that shit was annoying and it needed to stop. You’re welcome.

He’s also ADHD as fuck. My Betareader says that reading his run-on sentences, heavily seasoned with obscure vocabulary, jumping from subject to subject is like listening to me speak. I do not deny this. I do not even try.

Is he still the guy that danced around Beyoncé-style at his truncated first coronation? Oh he is, he really is. Does he write himself that way in his diaries? Please. Of course not. Some of the fun of writing Wu is writing about him from other POVs; he’s the most unreliable narrator of ever. He’s vain, self-centered, prone to giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed (he’ll always be a King, let’s get this clear right now) but he’s also generous to a fault and, because he won’t have nannies (he’s afraid of having in-house staff because of the betrayal of his own personal staff when the palace was overrun) ends up doing the lion’s share of raising his four children, which does a lot to mature him and ground him in reality. He’s never going to be an average Joe, however. He’s never going to be normal. He’s an abdicated King. That does not equal normal in any universe, including ours.

Wu is a refugee. He lives in a country that is not his own. While he speaks the same language as those in Republic City, I’ve made sure to note that his accent/dialect are completely different. His culture and customs are different. His entire family is dead and the only person he has left from his childhood is the former Grand Secretariat Gun. (There’s another character I completely rewrote.) Wu is a profoundly lonely man, even in the middle of his noisy, loving family. He knows he is different; he’s aware that he will never really fit in, not really. As an immigrant myself, I know exactly how this feels and I have certainly brought that into his character.

Which leads us to this song, which to me is the ultimate Wu song. Retitle it “An Earth King in Republic City” and there you have it. (Not to mention I’m pretty sure Wu in his eighties would channel more than a little of Quentin Crisp.) This song has been his ever since I wrote Penmanship. He is the gentleman in this song.

I don't drink coffee I take tea my dear I like my toast done on one side And you can hear it in my accent when I talk I'm an Englishman in New York See me walking down Fifth Avenue A walking cane here at my side I take it everywhere I walk I'm an Englishman in New York I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman in New York I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman in New York If "Manners maketh man" as someone said Then he's the hero of the day It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile Be yourself no matter what they say I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman in New York I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman in New York Modesty, propriety can lead to notoriety You could end up as the only one Gentleness, sobriety are rare in this society At night a candle's brighter than the sun Takes more than combat gear to make a man Takes more than a license for a gun Confront your enemies, avoid them when you can A gentleman will walk but never run If "Manners maketh man" as someone said Then he's the hero of the day It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile Be yourself no matter what they say Be yourself no matter what they say Be yourself no matter what they say Be yourself no matter what they say Be yourself no matter what they say... I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman in New York I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman in New York

[bobasheebaby]

Hard For Me- Cordonian Ruby chapter ten

Pairing: Olivia x Bastien; Ruby Rys x Beau Larkin

Word count: 1,330

Warnings: none really, it’s a tad angsty with anxiety mixed in

Summary: The group leaves Texas.

A/N: Okay, I think we can be back for at least a few weeks. I started chapter eleven and am still working like crazy on the fluffy ABC’s so hopefully I can get back to Thursday postings. Thanks for bearing with me!

A/N2: A major thanks @sirbeepsalot for all your graping, prereading, editing, and telling me when to let go. I love you boo! Thank you to my snippet reader @loveellamae who screamed appropriately.

Series warnings: character death, blood, surgical procedures done by non medical personnel, may go NSFW in the future. May contain gun violence, knife violence, threats, not sure how dark this will go. By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own Ruby, Galen, Lovett, and Beau, I’m borrowing Bastien and Olivia from PB.

Leaving Texas would be the easy part. Even with the tearful goodbyes and the knot that formed in Ruby’s chest as she said goodbye to Beau’s family, she knew there was a much harder battle looming ahead.

Everything in Cordonia was unknown.

They were headed across the ocean as prepared as they could possibly be; they tried to remain hopeful, but Ruby couldn’t help the worry that grew in her gut the further from Texas they flew.

She’d questioned herself unmercifully if she was being selfish by dragging Beau away and into an uncertain future.

Ruby shifted uncomfortably in her seat, careful not to disturb her husband. Her thumb grazed her rings -- that was one new title she didn’t question for a moment.

She was born a queen but was that the role she was meant to fill? Would her title of queen be long-lived, or would a vendetta she inherited cause her to lose all that she held close?

She let out a frustrated breath. The uncomfortable cramped seats only compounded her frustration. All the moves across the country didn’t prepare her for the journey across the ocean in a plane. Normally she’d fall asleep with her head leaning against the window, today sleep evaded her. Her mind was far too busy as she went over every worry and fear she had.

She attempted to stretch out her long legs. Even sitting in the backseat with both her brothers she had more space than she did in the moment. What she would give to simply be heading to a new state instead of across the sea.

She hated the uncertainty that gnawed at her stomach. She was used to planning and feeling confident in her skills bringing her victory. All she felt was unavoidable fear. Fear that she would lose the only family she’d ever known. Fear that she would be met with an impossible question that led to a more impossible choice.

She was still so young, her life just starting. Was she simply rushing towards the end? Could she come out the other side of this no worse for the wear and triumphant or was she doomed to become barely more than a footnote?

“Everything okay RuRu?” Beau’s voice was low and laced with sleep.

Ruby internally sighed, she was trying to not disturb anyone. Her eyes scanned over the darkened cabin, everyone else had managed to drift off into a peaceful slumber, even her parents were asleep.

If only her mind would silence and allow her a few hours of reprieve.

She turned, her faint smile barely visible in the low light. “I’m fine,” she forced her voice to stay sure and even. If Beau thought something was bothering her he wouldn’t allow himself to slip back asleep. He’s lost enough today, he should be allowed to sleep.

Guilt once more clouded her heart and mind. She could only hold onto the tiny glimmer of hope that she and Beau would soon return to his family and Texas.

“Everything will be fine, I believe in you.” He slipped his hand into hers.

Five years later and she could still be caught completely by surprise at the way he could easily read her. She wanted to believe him so badly, for the first time in her life she lacked trust in herself.

So many lives were counting on her to conquer Bradshaw and return Cordonia to its former glory. Her own family’s lives hung in the balance. Never before had any opponent made her question her own ability.

She only hoped Bradshaw wouldn’t also be the one to make her face eternal defeat ...

- - -

Ruby regarded the street lined with Parisian boutiques. The quaint shops selling anything from pastries, elaborate gowns, to antiques. She couldn’t contain her surprise at how ordinary the street appeared.

Her mind had always conjured images of cobblestone paths, with colorful awnings and tables overlooking the street.

Instead of cobblestones, she was met with paved street, nothing as magical as she had once imagined. The tables were still nestled in front of eateries, and the awnings were colorful enough, though if she hadn’t known she was in Paris she could have almost imagined she was in any other city.

“Mama, are you sure we have time?” Ruby was thankful for the prolonged layover, the ten and a half hour flight preferable to the nearly thirteen-hour it could have been, but wasn’t shopping a frivolous use of their time?

She yearned to be carefree and experience the city of lights at a leisurely pace. To be walking hand in hand with Beau down the streets, nothing more than a couple in love. The memories they could create while exploring the beautiful city.

She could wish on a thousand shooting stars and it wouldn’t change the facts.

This wasn’t a vacation. This was merely a pit stop on the way to Cordonia. A layover used to reconnect with more allies and gather intel that would hopefully aid her in freeing her country from a tyrant.

Perhaps Beau and I can return.

While her future remained uncertain it was essential she held tightly to any shred of hope. While all her plans could vanish in a puff of smoke in an instant they were necessary for her to believe she would succeed in vanquishing her enemies.

“This shopping trip is a necessity I assure you,” Olivia replied as she led Ruby into a lavish boutique.

Ruby instantly felt overwhelmed and out of place as she caught sight of gorgeous gowns. The knot in her stomach grew as she scanned the gowns, the lush fabrics, beading, and lace were so far from her usual tastes. Is this what will be expected of me?

“Ruby, breathe. I know this is new for you, I assure you we will be able to find you a suitable gown that you will feel comfortable in.”

She wanted to believe her mother, but surrounded by gowns of silk and tulle she felt like she was drowning in a world she didn’t know.

“What exactly am I looking for?” Ruby asked as she straightened her back and pushed her doubt down. She needed to act strong and sure, the feeling would soon follow.

“I’m sure you remember Papa and I telling you about the social season,” Ruby nodded for Olivia to continue. “Bradshaw has been carrying on his own version of the tradition, instead of celebrating our country, he means to break us.

The start of the social season is next week. All of the court is expected so it will be easy enough for us to slip in.” Olivia turned towards the dresses, “now let’s find you something that tells Bradshaw you are the wrong royal to fuck with.”

- - -

Ruby hung the garment bag in the closet, her fingers grazing the thick dark fabric.

Her mama had been correct that they would find a gown that made her feel like the queen she was.

She had been surprised to find something that was so perfectly her amidst all the silk and yards of tulle.

She gently placed the bag containing her new shoes and the ornate masks for both her and Beau on the ground.

She turned as she heard an unfamiliar voice mingling with those of her parents and Drake in from the main room of their suite. Ignore their stares, I may look like them but I’m me. They just don’t know how to react.

She steeled herself for the gaping looks and stuttering that would surely come as she stepped into the room.

“Ruby,” Olivia greeted, “this is Maxwell Beaumont, and … where is Hana?”

Maxwell rocked on his feet, “Uh, Hana sends her regards. She wanted to join me, but wasn’t able to leave the country.”

“Why not?” Olivia’s sharp voice rang through the still room.

Maxwell shot Drake a questioning look, “didn’t you tell them?”

“Tell us what?”

Olivia's stern tone nearly gave Maxwell pause. “Hana’s Bradshaw’s mistress.”

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

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[catsnuggler]

What didn't help my whole subconsciously-missionary-minded, silent-echoes-of-Mormonism socialism illusion, which made me think it would be selfish and wrong to demand my own liberation, was the misapplication of standpoint epistemology - put simply, when "identity politics" goes bad.

Putting the rest under a cut, because this is a long post.

While it's crude and ultimately incorrect to only say, for example, "Listen to Black voices", without emphasizing the critical thinking skills and empathy necessary to listen to Cornel West, and dismiss Candace Owens for the right-wing corporate hack that she is, what is for certain is that someone like me, a 100% white American settler of Mormon pioneer stock (on one side of my family, anyway), and with no formal education on the subject matter, doesn't have authority to speak on the experience of Black people in America. I have no argument against that, because it's true.

Continuing further, just because, in spite of the fact neither racism nor colonialism oppresses me, capitalism still does, this doesn't mean I have as much authority to speak on it as a Black member of the working class does, as anti-Black racism and capitalism compound on and depend on each other, making the lives of Black working class people more difficult than the lives of white working class people. Doesn't mean I can't speak on capitalism, just means I'm not the leading voice.

That being said - I'm going to talk as if I'm still a believing Mormon, let alone Christian, in this and the next paragraph, to better explain the subconscious workings of my mind, due to their brainwashing - the difference in our positions can be wrongly perceived, especially by someone raised in the illusory colonial missionary mindset, similar to the position of those with "the gospel" and those "of the world", where those with "the truth" have more, but are, like all, oppressed by "sin", yet at least believe themselves to have the knowledge and wherewithal to resist, while those "worldly" people aren't blessed with the wealth of God's Word, nor the solidarity of the church, and are thus further deprived of the perfection God desires for his children than those of His Flock already are, and must be ministered to, brought into the Fold, and Saved from On High.

Yet there must ever be a humility to such actions, there must ever be self-denial, for all are imperfect, even those in the church, as, just as Christ shed His blood, and allowed His flesh to be pierced, even to His death, in limitless sacrifice for the sins of all of the Children of Men, that they may be redeemed, so have countless socialist, communist, and anarchist revolutionaries died for the cause, and yet all who live, who do not seclude themselves from the world and its markets, facilitate the continued exploitation and robbery of each other by the capitalist class. All are imperfect, and all would deserve bondage and bloodshed, were it not for the bleeding hearts of the martyrs.

So, you see, even someone who consciously attempts to reject Christianity can still fall victim to its logic, even after abandoning the official doctrine of it, if proper safeguards against the general thought processes of it are not taken. Returning to the original point I've tried to raise, I've fallen for a long time to a Christian-esque stance of personal martyrdom for the sake of "saving others" to the point I believed pursuing my own liberation would be selfish.

I'm mentally ill and neurodivergent to the point that getting myself to even get into the habit of seeking jobs is difficult, much more so landing myself an interview; and getting an offer of employment? Only happened once, at the end of my first interview. As you predicted, the job sucked, they were desperate to hire me because it sucks, and it wasn't 3 months before I quit. I quit in late September of 2018. It's been almost 3 years of me not having a job.

I got my driver's license in mid 2019, but got into a minor parking accident that only broke a headlight on the car I drove, and didn't damage the other car, in September of that year. It was over a year before I drove again, because of the depth of my depression and anxiety over one accident, which cost about $150. Since January of this year, I've driven somewhat regularly, and have some measure of confidence, but am still anxious every time I'm behind the wheel. I could drive to and from a job, if needed, but it would be a while before that would be comfortable.

I still live with my dad, at the age of 23, and barely have any friends where I live anymore; those local friends I still have, I haven't seen face-to-face for a long time. My dad... my dad could die any day, and I would be royally fucked. Something happened earlier this month, and he wasn't healthy before, but this was really serious. He amazingly got away with few symptoms, and can make a full recovery with the right effort, except... it could still happen again, it would just be less likely. If it does, he could die. Again, I would be royally fucked. I don't know how much his treatment cost, but I know it must be a pretty penny. There's only so long I can continue like this.

Due to my dependence and general impotent state, I can't do a goddamn thing for what I believe in right now. I have to fight self-hatred with the argument that if I die, I'll have died useless and unhelpful, when I could potentially have kept living til I got my act together and finally done something helpful before passing.

I have a college degree. Not a "real" degree, in the sense of it mattering, but I have an Associate degree, DTA. No major; I never could figure out what I wanted to do. It would have been a close call between anything in political science, which would have led toward a government job, which would be unacceptable as an anarchist, or perhaps a professorial job, teaching would-be politicians and bureaucrats, hardly educating anyone of revolutionary intent; or something in chemistry, perhaps biochemistry, leading to some kind of colonial agrichem shit, or making expensive medicines nobody would be able to afford for private entities' profits, possibly having research appropriated by Uncle Sam for weapons purposes - I don't know, but none of that was appealing. I graduated community college with Honors, as a member of the Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society. I could have had promise as some or other kind of technocrat or bureaucrat - but I wouldn't be able to live with myself. It seems the less one is exploited, the more they exploit others. I don't know what job I can take that would exploit me enough that I wouldn't hurt others so much, while leaving me alone enough that I wouldn't kill myself, which... which has been a temptation, at times. Not too strong, but it is fucking there. I have promise; at short-term memorization and obedience, at least, like a mongrel dog who can read; but no conviction, no confidence, and a surplus of fear.

There are more woes I can recollect, I can continue this pity party in a book, but enough of that. Suffice it to say, all this time, I should have wanted my own liberation. Colonized people (in an American context, Turtle Island Indigenous and Black) have it worse, LGBT* people have it worse, women have it worse, physically disabled people have it worse, people with greater mental disabilities than my own have it worse, and I can't lead any of their struggles. But I do have the right to demand my own liberation, and I shouldn't convince myself otherwise.

*I don't oppose the use of the other word, except people of my demographic have abused that word so goddamn much, I don't want to type it, myself, let alone say it. It's always tainted when it comes from those who aren't of that community. Please don't think I'm either a radfem or a libfem just because I didn't use that word. I support people identifying with that label in using it.

This post became increasingly personal toward the end. However, I hope my flawed perspective, perhaps unique (read: unrelatable) in some aspects, perhaps explaining, at least in part, some of the fucked-up mental hurdles of white socialist "allies" that we need to get our asses over yesterday, might help - whatever I might have illuminated, and whatever I surely missed. I can understand why someone might want to share and add, share and criticize, or leave this alone with a like, nothing at all, or an unfollow.

Not that I can prevent this from being shared in any way, except by not posting in the first place, but I'm okay with it being shared by other socialists, for whatever it's worth... although I understand the more traction it gets, the more likely I'll get anon hate about being full of myself (deserved, to an extent at least), for being some dumb socialist cuck (not exactly wrong, but rude, and likely from a Nazi, so fuck you), or perhaps from non-Mormon Christians accusing me, someone they'd call a Mormon (which is arguably almost a new ethnicity (not race though) as much as it is a religion) of daring to throw the Christian god and Christianity, in general, under the bus, accusing me of being in league with the devil. So be it.

If you're not a reactionary, nor a liberal, nor somewhere in-between, and you want to share this for some reason or another, you may do so.

[eyes-like-a-pisces]

Rules: Answer 10 questions, tag 10 people and make another 10 questions.🧜‍♀️

Questions from my astrological twin: @maiden-song 💕

1. if you could choose to glimpse the afterlife, would you?

Yes, I would. I think a lot about It.

2. under what circumstances do you think you past life was lived?

I could have had many past lifes. I think I was a native american, cause I've always felt bonded to their tradicion and same with China, cause when I hear the sound of Erhu - traditional chinese instrument, something wakes up in me. I've also always wanted to see Sweden & Finland, so maybe I was doing something there... I mean, I could do anything. I see myself in biblical times, as well as middle ages. I could be a renaissance artist, as well as dying of hunger during victorian era, or something, and that's probably why I'm still careful with money, haha. For my latest one, I think I could have been a hippie in the 60/70s and had some drug use experience, cause when I was a child I used have dreams about taking drugs, even if I didn't know anything about It. I also had some experience with psychics (and "psychics"), my mom had a past life regression and she told me she saw me few times... I don't take anything for granded, but reincarnation is one of my favourite theories.

3. what three skills would you instantly master if you had the choice?

Playing every instrument, speaking every language, singing beautifully

4. would your rather no passion or no pain?

No pain. Everything is needed in life, but you know, enough is enough.

5. if you had a chance to leave this world and go to another one, would you take it?

Depends of the world and who I would meet there. Even if this world can be cruel and disappointing at times, I still have some love for him and humanity.

6. if you could smell like anything in the world, what would it be?

Like the first day of spring, when you go outside and the air smells different. Or a storm.

7. do you feel like common interests or philosophical comparability are not important?

They are very important. I can't imagine a relationship without similar interests, views. You either get bored or fight constantly. I think that the whole point of searching a partner is trying to find things you got in common. The more similar you are, the more understood you feel and more you are attracted to them. That's my experience at least. That's a very basic example, but as you may noticed, I'm very much into music and I was dating a guy, who wasn't into music that much at all. I thought It doesn't matter at first, but then I started feeling like I'm missing my favourite way to connect with other person. Once I met a guy who loved music as much as I do, I'm sorry to admit It, but my partner became unattractive to me.

Similar interests and views are needed at the beginning, to bond with somebody, and later, to simply enjoy spending time together (thanks Captain Obvious). I mean... chemistry and good will are not enough for a relationship to last. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you have to be identical and agree on everything - some differences can be inspiring, balance your relationship and teach you something new. It's also ok and even needed, to have some separate hobbies, things that you like to do on your own. There are also other important things, like, if you equally care about each other and if you are on the same page in general, but I can't imagine not agreeing in the key points and things that are the most important to you. And the only person who can decide what is the most important is the person who is in that relationship, no matter if It's about interests, philosophy or religion. But beside a romantic relationship, I think It's good to be surrounded by different people and listen what they got to say.

8. if there was one mystery you alone could learn the answer too, what would it be?

The mystery of life in general. Why we are here, is there any destiny, how we are connected, how this universe works, what happens after death...

9. in your opinion, is there anything more important than love?

No :) (I'm not talking about putting your relationship before other things. I'm talking about love as a big force and meaning of this universe)

10. describe a new planet you would live on, if you could.

I want things to be diverse, monumental... Maybe another moon, why not. As a concept of the world, I wish there would be peace :) everybody has their safe place to live, will to live, passion, purpose, someone to love and who loves them back. Amen.

Questions from @mybloodiedvalentine 💕👯

1. What is an unpopular opinion you hold you about which you feel strongly and with which you seem to notice a lot of people disagree?

Nothing specific comes to my mind at the moment (that I haven't mentioned before). I sure have some, but what's unpopular opinion in general and what's unpopular opinion on tumblr, are two different things. Maybe, that the "tumblr positivity" is not really helpful. Like: "in case you need to hear this: you are smart, you are loved... ". How do you know that? Those are just empty words. But It's better to spread positivity than negativity, of course.

2. What is the nicest thing a stranger has ever told you that you can recall?

Oh, I had a few situations like that... This is so lovely, when a stranger wants to just be genuinely nice, not just catcalling you...For example, when I was with my 3 girlfriends at the club and 2 ladies in their 40s where like: "excuse me, we just wanted to say that we can't stop starring at you all, cause you are the priettiest girls in the club." And we were like: aww, omg, you are beautiful too, come dance with us. And we were all dancing in our witches circle ignoring all sweaty men around us, haha. Or when my mom went to the the same hair saloon as me and asked hair dresser if she remembers me and she said that she does and that I'm nice and intelectual. I'm her faithful client now ;_; (Sorry for sucking my own dick, but It was nice to remind myself about these situations).

3. Has a piece of art or music ever made you cry? If so, do you remember a specific moment? 

Crying to music is my passion. The latest intense moment was few days ago. I was loading a dishwasher at night and I played some music and then "lover you should've come over" by Jeff Buckley came on and sudden wave of lonelliness hit me so hard, that I just had to put down the plate, hide my face in my hands and weep ✌

4. What’s your favourite piece of clothing?

Idk, maybe my Penny Lane coat :)

5. What’s a random childhood memory that fills you with a deep sense of comforting nostalgia? 

Sledding with kids during a very cold winter in my home town, until It got dark and snow looked like sprinkled with glitter and having my freezed feet warmed up with a hair dryer, when I came back home, haha.

6. What is/was your favourite thing about your mom? If not your mom, your dad? Or best friend?

My favourite thing about my mom is that she's tolerant and open minded. I didn't have to lie to her or pretend I'm someone I'm not because of that. My favourite thing about my dad is that he actually cared about being a parent, even tho my parents divorced. I respect that he has unwavering morals and huge knowledge about a world - biology, astronomy, music, art...- subject doesn't matter- but he is very modest about It.

7. What’s something you learned on your own of which you’re proud?

Playing guitar

8. When was a moment in your life you remember laughing the hardest?

I was playing cards since I was a kid. After few years, when I was about 13 y. o. I got the first poker, a royal flush. When I saw my cards, I'm not sure why, I just coudn't believe my luck, I started laughing so hard I almost died.

9. What do you like to do when you’re having a hard time mentally that invariably calms you down?

Really depends of the kind of situation and if It's triggered by something or just a longer period of time feeling in a certain way. The is no a magic trick, but some things might be helpful. When It's concrete situation, at first, when the feelings are really intense, then I just can't calm down. Every try to do so, has a reverse effect. Like, I CAN'T THE FUCK CALM DOWN and It makes me even more angry. Brain needs about 20 min to chill, if It's not triggered, so It's better to be left alone and just go mad a little until brain will have enough haha. Have a good cry, listen to some music, have a lonely walk, write my feelings down etc.

I like to listen to Teal Swan on youtube. She's a spiritual teacher. I know, It might not sound encouragingly, but she actually seems very down to earth. She has a video about like, every emotion and every problem ever. She's very good in naming feelings, rationalizing them and It makes you feel more understood. And It calms me down as result. ASMR doesn't work for me, but I remember that at some point I liked to listen to sounds of the nature, like rain, waves etc + guided meditation to fall asleep.

Music always helps in general - listening, playing guitar, singing. I also like to take an oil and do a face massage. I'm really sorry if I sound like an instagram influencer 🤢, but when you feel bad for a longer time, you frown and there is a tention in your jaw, it can be really relieving. I follow instructional videos on yt.

When I have a longer period of going into downward spiral, then every way to distract my brain is good - TV shows, internet content that is not related to my life situation (although, sometimes It's good to distance yourself from social media), for example, I like criminal podcasts, cause they are occupying enough to distract a miserable brain, meeting somebody, going to a place I've never been before. + any kind of shedule, reason to leave the house, any goal, anything positive to look forward to and having even the simplest things done, is a blessing (even if sometimes It's the last thing I wanna do). I also tend to be much sadder in the evening, so I just go to sleep. When nothing works, then It's time for the professional help.

10. Do you have a favourite holiday memory?

Discovering Cocteau Twins.

Best regards if u actually read all that chatter, but those questions were so interesting, that I couldn't limit myself to one sentence answer (in most cases).

My questions are:

1. Who or what was the most influential for your music taste?

2. If you could time travel, where and when would you like to go first?

3. If you could be someone from an opposite gender for a day, how would you like to look like and what would you do?

4. Do you have a style icon/inspiration? Or a favourite designer? Desribe your dream clothing style

5. What's the song by a band/artist from your country that you could recommend? (From your hometown or state eventually)

6. What is the most rebellious thing you've ever done?

7. Has ever something in your life happened, that you coudn't explain with logic?

8. What 5 objects someone could use to summon you?

9. What is your favourite name from your culture's language? And outside your culture's language?

10. What's a song you normally wouldn't admit you like or different from music that you usually listen, but still enjoy?

I tag: @winterdryad @bowiepop @nightmare @confusion-in-the-sea-of-sorrow @l0w-budget @numberoneblind @mirandasinclairs @mysticbride @leperwitch @comeacrossthedesertnoshoeson @hexafu @mielmelancolie @arcane-delight