#either to be accepting and community-minded or hateful and destructive

[sloppity-bilepiper]

What's so interesting to me about Kelvin is that, yes, he is very self-absorbed and attention-seeking. I mean, season one established that he has/had a full blown god complex comparing himself to Jesus. But he makes that comparison in part because he wants to do good and be Christ-like. Out of his family, he is probably the most altruistic and compassionate, and it's a fascinating dichotomy.

Making your own version of the Bible and putting your name on it is extremely egotistical, and he has very personal motivations of wanting acceptance from the public and from his family. He's quite literally rewriting his own faith to fit his view of the world, rejecting anything that doesn't serve him. He's also very clearly doing this for all of the people who have felt ostracized by their faith. He's creating a safe space for himself, but it's equally as important to him that he's doing this for other people. He's accepting people that would be turned away from so many other communities, religious or not.

It's so interesting to see the contrast within the Gemstones and Evangelicals as a whole where they bend their religion to themselves. What we typically see is the Gemstones being ignorant/ambivalent of scripture that dictates humility, modesty, forgiveness, etc. Kelvin is actively denying the parts of his faith that are used to harm him and others, and we see that road to unlearning some of his prejudice in season 3 especially.

Kelvin's story is so much about how finding inner peace and embracing others are intertwined paths. His entire relationship with Keefe is Kelvin continuing to make the choice to challenge and improve himself in order to help Keefe. The whole reason he came out and became successful with Prism was BECAUSE of Keefe! Keefe is his follower, Keefe's life unquestionably improved when he met Kelvin, but he's also giving Kelvin strength to live more earnestly in turn.

I'm really excited to see where the rest of the season goes with Kelvin's journey, and I'm hoping that we see Prism become a stronger part of the church/a bigger community as Kelvin likely will become more confident with being himself in the public eye.

[spread-the-influence]

I know its never gonna happen ever not ever, and that you only got the ragatha brainworms, but its been stuck in my brain since the jax murder.

if ragatha hadn’t been virus’ed, yet somehow still got to the point where jax says “to have a friend” (unlikely), would jax have actually opened up, or just shuttered himself as soon as the concept of being open sets back in? Could he have improved had he not been ganked?

forgive me for the essay below . ragatha may be rotting my brain but i still have elaborate thoughts on the other characters , even if i don't go to the levels of insanity i go for ragatha .

jax , to me , is a deeply lonely and miserable person , and i will say here that the line was kind of more ' a person that'll see and understand me ' . my interpretation of jax is not as charitable as most interpretations of him i've seen , though — he's not a jerk with a heart of gold or is secretly protecting everybody . he's just someone with a very destructive coping mechanism that harms everybody and himself .

he doesn't really see the cast as People , he sees them as Characters . a Cast in the big theater stage that is the circus . he prefers to do what's not boring by going off-script . this means making a mess out of the stage set , bothering the characters , and doing what he's Not supposed to do . it's entertaining ! it distracts him from how ... he's stuck in this stage forever . if he goes with the script , that fact would weigh on him . it's better that he does Not think about that . everyone would be surprised by how quickly that would make him lose his mind .

but it isn't fulfilling . it's a Distraction , an Avoidance . it's something that he does to Not confront his issues . my interpretation of jax at least puts up an emotional wall not Just because he doesn't want people to see his vulnerable side ( i like to think that the one thing he hates is being Wronged , and there's a certain level of suspicion that someone in the cast would do it if he lowers his guard ) but because he thinks there's No reason to put it down .

jax , like a lot of people , craves a community . he wants to be Wanted and Loved . but it's hard for him to get both of those things when these people are just ... Not real to him . what he wants most is That realness . he wants to know that in this big stage he's stuck in , there's someone else who is just as lost as him . someone that also isn't playing by the script . someone that's not a Character .

... and ragatha really doesn't fit those , as much as i'd hate to admit it . she is a Character . she plays the role of the optimistic and caring ragdoll . she is Far from fitting the image of a real person in jax's eyes . that conversation would naturally end in jax realizing he's opening up and shutting himself off — most likely Even more than he already does . basically he wouldn't improve ... with ragatha .

if there's someone that might fit the above paragraph , it's either pomni or zooble . i feel like these two would have better chances of making jax slowly open up with that kind of conversation , since they're both the most grounded and Real people in the circus .

i do not think that it would make jax instantly accept into the community of the circus — years of bad habits are Not easy to drop — but it'll be like a hand being extended to him . he sees that there's a world beyond the stage , and he takes it . and that's a lot more fulfilling than distracting himself .

lord i feel like this post is a contender enough to warrant a second ESSAY WARNING tag but yeah , jaxxle thoughts ! he's not in my top three favorites ( those respectively go to caine and zooble ) but i still find him interesting to think about .

[utilitycaster]

I feel like the way I think about Ludinus Da'leth is like...the Anti-Vespin. There's the basic actions they performed - both unleashed something long-sealed, but Vespin Chloras intended to destroy what he perceived to be a sealed danger, and Ludinus is using Predathos as a weapon. However, what strikes me is how the two of them have acted so far towards other mortals rather than the existential threats they've tangled with.

I suspect Ludinus is bringing in Bells Hells not because he expects them to join him, but because he really, really wants someone to validate his plan that is ultimately just a monument to his choice to wallow and make Exandria worse for it. No one likes him. He's not Ruidusborn; he can't commune with the Weave Mind and the Reilora the way others can. Liliana is in pretty deep but she's wavering, Zathuda resents him (and it seems to be mutual) and Otohan's dead. The Assembly is crumbling and the Empire's not doing well either, and the world has to an extent united against him.

Vespin chose, in his brief moment of clarity after he had unleashed the Betrayers and lost himself, to do what he could to improve Zerxus's lot, expressed anguish and remorse for his actions and his legacy, and said that he hoped the Ring of Brass would be given more grace by history. He was willing to accept the title of villain, despite being something much more complicated, because in the end he understood that giving the world a chance to survive was far more important than clearing his own name.

Ludinus, on the other hand, is fighting against historical strawmen. His resentment towards the gods is just that: a burning resentment. He could have left his mark by rebuilding post-Divergence Exandria. Instead, his legacy is one of rot, war, hatred, and corruption, from Molaesmyr to the War of Ash and Late to the Bloody Bridge. He could have been an architect of the modern age for the better. He could have tried to revive Aeorian magic and culture, and, as I've discussed, potentially even the people. He instead focused only on a centuries-long goal of destruction out of sheer spite.

Vespin was willing to shoulder any insult, deserved or not, for the rest of eternity because he understood it was less important than doing whatever he could in the few moments he had to mitigate harm. Ludinus is willing to destroy anything to retaliate for an insult.

Ludinus is livid about being robbed of an age he never got to see by the gods; and quite possibly, with the destruction of Molaesmyr, killed some of its last survivors outside exceptions such as himself. He claims to hate the gods' uneven blessings yet his alliance - and reliance - on Ruidusborn sorcerers has always made it clear that was a lie. And none of this will bring back the world he lost, and indeed, may very well set society back further.

He will tear everything apart out of hurt feelings and a desire to be correct when he could have left a shining legacy. It is the opposite of a heroic sacrifice; a petty, small self-destruction. I think he wants Bells Hells to tell him it was worth it. And I don't think they will.

[krakensdottir]

So that new clip, huh.

This is cementing something I suspected when I saw Crowley’s reaction to Gabriel in the trailer. Crowley is afraid. Like seriously terrified of what’s about to happen to them. He’s not just being dramatic this time, he’s looking at their own personal apocalypse standing there in the bookshop.

Like, it’d be easy to expect that Aziraphale would be afraid. But no. He’s nervous as hell - always has been, around the bosses - but he doesn’t seem to be afraid of Gabriel. This is what I was saying about him actually being a legitimate cinnamon roll. Boss shows up with no memories, after not long ago trying to kill him, obviously needing help, and Aziraphale like. Doesn’t even hesitate. Of course he’s going to help. Not because Gabriel deserves it, but because whether he deserves it doesn’t come into play. He has no one else. Aziraphale can’t just leave him like this, now can he?

(Note that I don’t think this is Aziraphale being a doormat or anything. He’s too forgiving, yes, but that’s a known and accepted character trait. He likes to help people, and he chooses to help people. He’s choosing to help Gabriel, and perhaps forgive him, whatever we or Crowley might think of the wisdom of that choice.)

Crowley, though... he’s freaking out. Aziraphale wasn’t there to see Gabriel’s cold-ass eyes consigning him to the flames. Crowley can’t forgive him. No way. And he can’t see Gabriel as anything less than someone who will gladly destroy them both.

And as touching as it is to interpret ‘precious, peaceful, fragile existence’ as referring to Aziraphale, I don’t think it’s that simple. It certainly includes Aziraphale, but believe it or not, I don’t think he’s the be-all end-all of the situation. Crowley is afraid for himself, for the closest thing to peace he’s ever had. And he has every right to be. Maybe it’s easy to forget because of the way he usually plays it off, but Crowley has lived his whole post-Fall existence with terror in the back of his mind. He’s had the threat of torture and destruction hanging over his head, not only from his own bosses, but from the angels who oppose him along with the rest and even from God who decided to toss him out in the first place. He has no safe space other than Aziraphale and the bookshop. He never has, and he has every fucking right to be afraid of losing that for his own sake. He has every right to be angry and upset and terrified and to hate being dragged into this.

And I don’t know, I kind of don’t want to see that watered down into something purely romantic and protective. Crowley talks about the peace he carved out for himself, he means it. He carved it out over millennia, often without Aziraphale’s help. I’d be furious about the idea of losing that too, especially when it’s because the person he thought he could trust just can’t say no to helping the guy who tried to kill him.

(Not hating on Aziraphale here, and I don’t think Crowley is either. Aziraphale has his reasons, and I’m pretty sure one of them is that he doesn’t think they actually have a choice here, that they’re facing something terrible they have to deal with regardless. Just like Crowley with Armageddon. He just... isn’t communicating that very well. At least not in this clip. Instead he’s trying to appeal to Crowley’s good nature, which does not extend as far as his own. Once they agree they have to deal with this regardless, I think they’ll be alright.)

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

It's a very strange experience listening to the three hour conversation between Bono and Joe Rogan: I'm a huge U2 fan, and consider them the only band continued into the modern age that can really be meaningfully compared to the very greatest of the past like The Beatles and The Stones. No Line On The Horizon, from 15 years ago, is a glorious, stunning album I love, probably the best of its decade, and you can even make a very fine album from their last two (Innocence and Experience) if you mix the better tracks together.

I really like hearing him talk on anything to do with creativity, poetry, the deeper meaning of music and song. I even like hearing his takes on faith and religion, and the window into the more interesting parts of the religious mindset it provides. I'm not a believer myself, but it's clearly been a rock that has sustained him and the band and held them together all these years, which is a great advert for their faith. He's the most relatable Christian voice I know.

I don't get the hate for his dreaming big, reaching for something beyond his grasp, any more than I get it for Elon, and the mosquitoes constantly nipping at both of their ankles and dismissing their good intentions and astounding achievements I just view as a kind of soulless pond scum of humanity, incapable of adding anything of worth to their age and so trying to bring everyone else down to their extremely low level simply to make themselves feel more comfortable with their own mediocrity.

Where it all falls down for me is whenever he opens his mouth about politics. I really tried to listen with an open mind to see how he was seeing the world today, but I just couldn't get there. It seemed like he was editing out all of the inconvenient realities of the modern world from his worldview, and doggedly focusing on unexamined platitudes and a gullible loyalty to corrupt institutions that I just don't see is warranted.

It reminded me of the last time I ended up in a pub with a friend from my youth, and hearing him describe his views on the politics of the day: it was like listening to a nineties liberal just stepping out of a time machine into the modern world, with no knowledge or acknowledgement of the age of monthly Islamic terror attacks that began on September 11th 2001; the unprecedented scale of mass migration and its negative effects everywhere in the west; the madness and irrationality of the modern left, with its visceral hatred of white people and men (and now women), as well as the working classes they used to claim to represent; the brutal censoring of all dissenting opinions to the Woke/PC narrative, and the mandatory celebration of the mutilation and sterilization of children.

None of this seems to be enough of a reason for either of them to question their allegiances from the past, or accept that the left they once felt a part of simply isn't there anymore, and that they're now continuing to support a "side" that is hateful, destructive and unworkable, simply out of habit and cowardice.

But maybe I'm the one that's wrong about that: that's always a possibility, though in this situation I just don't see how. Having said that, it can never hurt to listen to others and try figure out how someone outside of your own skin is interpreting the world.

And the thing is, I don't actually want to change the fundamental nature of people like Bono, who just want everyone to love one another and think that that's the answer to everything. But sometimes love really isn't all you need: in the face of invading armies and sociopathic manipulators doing great harm while hiding behind the word, sometimes love itself is not the answer to the logistical organization of millions of people. But we do need people in the world who believe that it is, even if we maybe shouldn't be getting policy advice from them.

So that's all something of a conundrum for me, and a position I find harder than it should be to meaningfully communicate to just about everyone else.

[see-arcane]

With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. [...] I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him. [...] Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circumscription to the moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite. [...] Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last moment?

All of this comes together to provide the most interesting part of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The battle between perceptions of just who and what Edward Hyde is.

Is he solely the primordial selfishly reckless id of an otherwise upstanding and deeply repressed man? If so, Jekyll's constant attempts at disconnection must be read as a sinner attempting to paint the self he becomes while intoxicated as another awful entity, a thing that delighted in cruelty while it could be gotten away with and is now an excuse to point fingers at the mirror or the Devil to keep Jekyll's own hands clean, if only in his mind.

Is Edward Hyde simply Henry Jekyll as he might have been in another life? One sans repression but still loaded with Jekyll's intelligence and most basic wants. If so, then he is not an impulse given flesh, but a doppelganger in all but appearance. The Self, made Other. He is not an imbecile or an inorganic flaw, just Jekyll himself pulled through a sieve until only the untethered Wants and Hates remain.

What if Edward Hyde began as inorganic, as no more than a bleak reflection of Jekyll, but eventually coalesced into an entirely separate thinking identity? A new soul that budded from the original like a branch? A mind-son or a conjoined twin revealed decades too late. If this is the case, only then might half of Jekyll's excuses and reasonings hold water--but only half.

Because Jekyll himself either cannot grasp or refuses to fully accept all of what Edward Hyde is. The amount of contradiction in Hyde's actions and Jekyll's attempts at defining him go in too many directions. He's a clump of wicked and delightful impulse who wears Jekyll as a costume. He's artificial. He's real. He's an it. He's a he. He is Jekyll. He is himself.

Even at the end, Jekyll fumbles with his initial estimate of Hyde's state. A coward who hides in him and the lab to avoid the death penalty! Yet in the last lines he admits to the possibility that Hyde will decide to end himself rather than risk further pursuit or a trip to the gallows.

He claims to fear Hyde ripping up the letter in a fury, assuming the document would only be spared because of Hyde's feverish focus on the moment-at-hand. But there was no doubt time to destroy it before chugging the poison. Hyde could have done both. He didn't. Implying the little imp of impulse felt no desire to.

Think back on Hyde's last moments alive. Right before the door was broken down. Pure despondency. Pure wretchedness. Pure grief.

“Utterson,” said the voice, “for God’s sake, have mercy!”

The far end of a fretting frantic animal of a man, trying desperately to save himself. Well, selves. There is no safety for Hyde without them both. ...But also no freedom. To save the beloved man who is the bandit's cave also means retreating into that cave permanently.

And if Edward Hyde is his own man? If Hyde is a man at all, whose core is impulse itself? Imagine the hell of such a life. A sentient tumor. Forever.

Of course he chose oblivion. But to do that last courtesy--to not spoil or destroy Jekyll's parting words to his friend--I have to wonder what it means.

Did it simply slip his attention as Jekyll assumed?

Did he relish in a last mote of bitter joy at the reputation due to be ruined by its reading?

Or was the impulse in him not all unvarnished evil after all? A callous, a brutal, a vicious character; but even the sinner cannot hold to sin as a constant. No villain genuinely dedicates every second of their life to committing cruelty outside of a comedy. Hyde didn't either. He was only ever impulse in its entirety; blunt and greedy as a brattish child. And the stamp of it was obvious! Enough to inspire hate at a glance. Just as we can sneer at strangers in the news when we know what loathsome acts they've been up to, inflicting pain on others for their own gain.

But they too are human.

In the end, I think Jekyll was happier going to his end without admitting Hyde was as much a human soul as he was.

And he left the letter untouched to make sure Utterson knew it.

[peletier]

RULES.

— ABOUT.   Mun is 35+. ANYTHING SHIP OR SMUT RELATED IS A NO-GO for people under the age of 21. If you are easily triggered, this may not be a blog for you. Mature or potentially triggering subjects present ranging from mental illness, blood, gore, sexual situations, gas lighting, mental manipulation and control, violent imagery, war, horror themes, murder, torture, suicide, self destructive behavior, loss of limbs, family loss, questionable intent, abuse, zombie apocalypse materlal, and mentions of drug and heavy alcohol use.

— PRIVATE / MUTUALS ONLY / DNI.   Please feel free to approach! Homophobic, transphobic, racist, Tr.ump/Pu.tin supporting, hating people based on their religious beliefs and generally crappy shit like that isn’t welcome on my dash!

— SHIP AGES. While there is no hard limit on age caps. I reserve the right to restrict age limits on fc's and characters. Especially when it comes to shipping.

— RELATIONSHIPS/KIDS/ETC.   I roll with chemistry. Highly dependent character. Canons may have various outcomes. Platonic relationships encouraged! I do not accept any oc children for Carol. From my personal headcanons, I won't write with Sophias that survived. Her death changes the course of Carol's life in the most pivotal way on the show and I want to keep that essential part of my Carol. OCs loved with plotting so we can make it stick and have all the good things! Send me your ladies! Older muses loved and adored! I won't do pregnancy plots or Carol taking in any more children as adopted kids. After Henry? She'd rather support the children around her that need it in the ways she can while not becoming their 'mother'. Aunt Carol is way open for grabs on a limited, we gotta jive basis!

— FOLLOWING.   Give me a little bit to check out your blog if you follow. I like to know your rules out of respect! If I’m following, I want to interact.

— AFFILIATES, EXCLUSIVES AND MAINS.   Accepting on a limited basis for mains and a very limited basis for exclusives. My requirements are: We must be posting together regularly and be mutuals. Affiliates will come naturally. I don't mind being approached or approaching! I, normally, keep the number of the same characters I write with down to a small amount out of personal preference!

— NAUGHTY STUFF.   I enjoy writing mature threads. But will only do so with familiar partners. If it’s not your thing? We can fade to black! I’m 10000% fine with either. I do have a sideblog where all of my spicy threads go. TAG TO BLOCK ALL CONTENT OF THAT SORT ACROSS ALL MY BLOGS IS TW OOH LA LA! 

— MEMES, POST INFO & SPEED.   Memes are a great way to for mutuals to start interaction. If they are on my blog, they don't expire! I match my partner. There are times when I get hella inspired write bunches. I don’t do one-liners. I use small text and one icon that is static and the graphic changes per month. I can enlarge your text if needed. Blog will fluctuate in speed. If I don’t heart your reply, I might not have seen it. Sending me a link is great. Poking me to remind me about an ask is fine!

— PLEASE NOTE.   OOC drama won’t be tolerated. Constant negativity, bullying or harassment are a strict nope. Anons are always off! Open communication regarding any issues is welcome! I don’t have hidden passwords in my rules. Nor will I send in one from yours.

— GRAPHICS.   Icon template / promos / banners / theme are exclusively for this blog by me with a psd by vc-resources. DO NOT STEAL! Icons made by me. Capped by homeofthenutty.

[journalwritten]

regulations. please read.

ABOUT. BLOG IS A 21+ ZONE. DNI IF UNDER 21. I'm way too old to be hanging out with peeps under the drinking age! :D If you are easily triggered, this may not be a blog for you. Mature or potentially triggering subjects present ranging from mental illness, blood, gore, sexual situations, gas lighting, mental manipulation and control, violent imagery, war, horror themes, murder, torture, suicide, self destructive behavior, loss of limbs, religious themes, demonic possession, questionable intent, learned toxic masculinity, abuse, and mentions of drug and heavy alcohol use.

PRIVATE / MUTUALS ONLY / DNI. Please feel free to approach! Homophobic, transphobic, racist, Tru.mp/M.AG.A/Puti.n/Elo.n M.us.k supporting, hating people based on their religious beliefs or things they can't change about themselves and generally crappy shit like that isn’t welcome on my dash!

NAUGHTY STUFF. I enjoy writing mature threads. But will only do so with familiar partners. If it’s not your thing? We can fade to black! I’m 10000% fine with either. I do have a sideblog where all of my spicy threads go. **TAG TO BLOCK ALL CONTENT OF THAT SORT ACROSS ALL MY BLOGS IS TW OOH LA LA!**

HIGHLY CANON DIVERGENT. To understand my version of John, reading his about is almost a must. To sum it up here, John is horror based Kripke era John but he has been possessed/dealing with possession of either demonic or angelic influence throughout the years since the night Mary died. The main exception to that time was when he was with Adam and his mother. Please browse through his history section to understand in depth. You may encounter Azazel or Michael and even Abel when writing with me. *With plotting, of course!*

SHIP AGES. I reserve the right to restrict age limits on fc's and characters depending on what season of Supernatural we are writing in. __As a default rule, John will never be shipped with any character below the age of 30.__ We may discuss if it is an AU and during his younger years but anything during that time will more than likely be with established partners as I prefer to write John in his later years // present time in my verses.

POST INFO & SPEED. I match my partner. There are times when I get hella inspired write bunches. I don’t do one-liners. I use small text and one icon that is static and the graphic changes per month. I can enlarge your text if needed. Blog will fluctuate in speed. If I don’t heart your reply, I might not have seen it. Sending me a link is great. Poking me to remind me about an ask is fine!

RELATIONSHIPS/KIDS/ETC. I roll with chemistry. Highly dependent character. Canons may have various outcomes. Platonic relationships encouraged! I do not accept any oc children. Family members are HIGHLY dependent on how we vibe. We gotta groove, ya dig? OCs loved! Send me your ladies! Older muses yes! I won't do pregnancy plots or write with children muses. Only exception is children muses of established partners that we've plotted.

AFFILIATES, EXCLUSIVES AND MAINS. Accepting on a limited basis for mains and a very limited basis for exclusives. My requirements are: We must be posting together regularly and be mutuals. Affiliates will come naturally. I don't mind being approached or approaching! I, normally, keep the number of the same characters I write with down to a small amount out of personal preference!

PLEASE NOTE. OOC drama won’t be tolerated. Constant negativity, bullying or harassment are a strict nope. Anons are always off! Open communication regarding any issues is welcome! I don’t have hidden passwords in my rules. Nor will I send in one from yours. Give me a few to check out your blog before I follow! I can be slow occasionally due to work and life!

[thejokulatrix]

Hi, I will start saying that english is not my first language, so please forgive me for some mistakes. So, I identify as a radfem for some time now, it makes sense to me, for many reasons that are not the point, but even before knowing the radical feminist community I think about being trans. Like, started when I was 11, maybe 12, maybe even less, and never stopped. I understand that the feeling begin because I wanted to dress less feminine and cut my hair and my family full on bullyed me. But know im almost 29, get all the reasons this started, but the feeling does not stop. I want it to stop, because honestly I do not think i'm a man, but I have a lot of fantasies with transition, especially mastec and name changing.

I don't think i'm non binary (dont believe in the concept), I feel that im just a female; not a man, not a woman, not anything, just female. Anyway, just wanted to know your thoughts about this, I saw a post of yours saying that we could ask, so im asking, Am I fooling myself? Am I insane? Am I trans??

Hi Anon. Your english was just fine, no worries.

I could write a big long thing about signs of being trans and how we bury that and all that, but instead I'll leave you with the gutpunch I got recently on here; "Cis people do not think about transition for years.". Just something to consider as you move forward.

I don't think you're fooling yourself or insane. I went through the exact same thing because I couldn't handle being nonbinary myself. I didn't want to accept it, I liked things in two separate boxes with clear lines. But life doesn't work that way and sometimes things being both or neither is true and okay. If you want to see for yourself, go a day where you don't reaffirm to yourself constantly you're a woman. Use a term in your own mind that makes sense for how you just don't like being either. Don't even tell anybody, this is just for you. If it works, you're a bit closer to answering your own questions. If it doesn't, then you can try something else.

I think the most meaningful thing I learned how to do was to stop trying to force myself one way or the other and accept things as they happen. But obviously my experience as being multiple genders is different than yours of being neither. Hopefully my advice is still good.

And of course, I can't just let this go without at least mentioning something about radical feminism.

I've read some possible lore in your message (though I would hate to assume), and I do have to say the reason radical feminism seems like it makes sense is because it feeds on trauma. If you have been hurt, it validates that, but then it drags that out, constantly seeking to retraumatize you while convincing you your feelings of isolation and being in danger are the absolute truth. Then once you push everybody else away, it starts a destructive self-loop of constantly degrading your mind and emotional state and dragging you further away from any type of healing or resolution until you lose your grounding in reality. I don't expect you to believe me, of course. I just want to leave you with the question of if anything in radical feminism has helped you feel braver, healthier, able to go out and face the world, and meet your goals that aren't directly tied to radical feminism.

[safetypinnedmoved]

RULES.

— ABOUT.   Mun is 35+. ANYTHING SHIP OR SMUT RELATED IS A NO-GO for people under the age of 21. If you are easily triggered, this may not be a blog for you. Mature or potentially triggering subjects present ranging from mental illness, abuse, abandonment, blood, gore, sexual situations, gas lighting, mental manipulation and control, violent imagery, parental loss, horror themes, murder, torture, suicide and suicidal ideation, self destructive behavior, loss of limbs, religious themes, demonic possession, questionable intent, addiction, and mentions of drug and heavy alcohol use.

— PRIVATE / MUTUALS ONLY / DNI.   Please feel free to approach! Homophobic, transphobic, racist, Trump/Putin supporting, hating people based on their religious beliefs, what they write between two adult characters and generally crappy shit like that isn’t welcome on my dash!

— CANON DIVERGENT.   Sam's bi here. He, also, still carries some highly subject to addictive behaviors like any recovering addict. Demon blood will always be a weakness in the pit of his stomach. As the years go by, this improves greatly but tendencies are there and may be used against him. It's in his DNA at this point. His visions, while he learns to cope better, still exist and still drown out the real world on depending on the subject matter. He is prone to migraines and nightmares. Sam, eventually, gets several tattoos other than his anti-possession symbol. He does dabble in the pot (gasp!) now and then. As well as, more often in much later years, can partake in more than a few alcoholic beverages as an escape mechanism. Something he picked up from Dean though no where near as close to Dean in terms of alcoholism.

— SHIP AGES. I restrict age limits on fc's and characters depending on what season of Supernatural we are writing in. Sam's age range for ships can range from 22+. Post Season 4 ships will be limited to characters 25+. Post Season 7 ships will be limited to characters 30+.

— RELATIONSHIPS/KIDS/ETC.   I roll with chemistry. Highly dependent character. Canons may have various outcomes. Platonic relationships encouraged! I do not accept any oc children for Sam. Family members are HIGHLY dependent on how we vibe. ESPECIALLY Dean and John. We gotta groove, ya dig? OCs loved with plotting so we can make it stick and have all the good things! Send me your ladies! Older muses loved and adored! I won't do pregnancy plots or Sam having his own kids that aren't in the show.

— FOLLOWING.   Give me a little bit to check out your blog if you follow. I like to know your rules out of respect! If I’m following, I want to interact.

— AFFILIATES, EXCLUSIVES AND MAINS.   Accepting on a limited basis for mains and a very limited basis for exclusives. My requirements are: We must be posting together regularly and be mutuals. Affiliates will come naturally. I don't mind being approached or approaching! I, normally, keep the number of the same characters I write with down to a small amount out of personal preference!

— NAUGHTY STUFF.   I enjoy writing mature threads. But will only do so with familiar partners. If it’s not your thing? We can fade to black! I’m 10000% fine with either. I do have a sideblog where all of my spicy threads go. TAG TO BLOCK ALL CONTENT OF THAT SORT ACROSS ALL MY BLOGS IS TW OOH LA LA! 

— POST INFO & SPEED.   I match my partner. There are times when I get hella inspired write bunches. I don’t do one-liners. I use small text and one icon that is static and the graphic changes per month. I can enlarge your text if needed. Blog will fluctuate in speed. If I don’t heart your reply, I might not have seen it. Sending me a link is great. Poking me to remind me about an ask is fine!

— PLEASE NOTE.   OOC drama won’t be tolerated. Constant negativity, bullying or harassment are a strict nope. Anons are always off! Open communication regarding any issues is welcome! I don’t have hidden passwords in my rules. Nor will I send in one from yours.

— GRAPHICS.   Icon template / promos / banners / theme are exclusively for this blog by calisources. DO NOT STEAL! Icons made by me. Capped by homeofthenutty

[unscriptured]

RULES.

— ABOUT.   Mun is 35+. ANYTHING SHIP OR SMUT RELATED IS A NO-GO for people under the age of 21. If you are easily triggered, this may not be a blog for you. Mature or potentially triggering subjects present ranging from mental illness, blood, gore, sexual situations, gas lighting, mental manipulation and control, violent imagery, war, horror themes, murder, torture, suicide, self destructive behavior, loss of limbs, religious themes, demonic possession, questionable intent, learned toxic masculinity, and mentions of drug and heavy alcohol use.

— PRIVATE / MUTUALS ONLY / DNI.   Please feel free to approach! Homophobic, transphobic, racist, Trump/Putin supporting, hating people based on their religious beliefs and generally crappy shit like that isn’t welcome on my dash!

— ORIGINAL CHARACTER.   Esther is an original character written by me with heavy input from @ruinedmyself. She is focused in the Supernatural universe, Kripke era. She has two main verses. Human and Demon. The demon that possessed her uses her name as a means of skirting by undetected. However. I will adapt her into other verses as well as offer a default, human verse that can pretty much fit into anywhere that you might happen upon the little town I invented that's in the middle of the California desert heading out towards the Salton Sea. The town is fictional with heavy influences on desert ghost towns, small oasis towns in the middle of nowhere and the Salton Sea resort that is abandoned as well as Slab City. Which is super cool and you should check out stuff about it.

— SHIP AGES. While there is no hard limit on age caps. I reserve the right to restrict age limits on fc's and characters depending on what season of Supernatural we are writing in.

— RELATIONSHIPS/KIDS/ETC.   I roll with chemistry. Highly dependent character. Canons may have various outcomes. Platonic relationships encouraged! No children or pregnancy plots, please? Send me your ladies! Older muses loved and adored! Found family is adored. So are enemies. Be they angelic, demonic, hunter. Whatever!

— FOLLOWING.   Give me a little bit to check out your blog if you follow. I like to know your rules out of respect! If I’m following, I want to interact.

— AFFILIATES, EXCLUSIVES AND MAINS.   Accepting on a limited basis for mains and a very limited basis for exclusives. My requirements are: We must be posting together regularly and be mutuals. Affiliates will come naturally. I don't mind being approached or approaching! I, normally, keep the number of the same characters I write with down to a small amount out of personal preference!

— NAUGHTY STUFF.   I enjoy writing mature threads. But will only do so with familiar partners. If it’s not your thing? We can fade to black! I’m 10000% fine with either. I do have a sideblog where all of my spicy threads go. TAG TO BLOCK ALL CONTENT OF THAT SORT ACROSS ALL MY BLOGS IS TW OOH LA LA! 

— POST INFO & SPEED.   I match my partner. There are times when I get hella inspired write bunches. I don’t do one-liners. I use small text and one icon that is static and the graphic changes per month. I can enlarge your text if needed. Blog will fluctuate in speed. If I don’t heart your reply, I might not have seen it. Sending me a link is great. Poking me to remind me about an ask is fine!

— PLEASE NOTE.   OOC drama won’t be tolerated. Constant negativity, bullying or harassment are a strict nope. Anons are always off! Open communication regarding any issues is welcome! I don’t have hidden passwords in my rules. Nor will I send in one from yours.

— GRAPHICS.   Template / promos / banners / theme are exclusively for this blog with resources created by calirph. DO NOT STEAL! Icons made by me. Capped by homeofthenutty.

[lasthymn]

rules.

— ABOUT.   Mun is 35+. ANYTHING SHIP OR SMUT RELATED IS A NO-GO for people under the age of 21. If you are easily triggered, this may not be a blog for you. Mature or potentially triggering subjects present ranging from mental illness, blood, gore, sexual situations, gas lighting, mental manipulation and control, violent imagery, war, horror themes, murder, torture, suicide, self destructive behavior, loss of limbs, religious themes, demonic possession, questionable intent, learned toxic masculinity, and mentions of drug and heavy alcohol use.

— PRIVATE / MUTUALS ONLY / DNI.   Please feel free to approach! Homophobic, transphobic, racist, Trump/Putin supporting, hating people based on their religious beliefs and generally crappy shit like that isn’t welcome on my dash!

— FOLLOWING.   Give me a little bit to check out your blog if you follow. I like to know your rules out of respect! If I’m following, I want to interact.

— RELATIONSHIPS/KIDS/ETC.   I roll with chemistry. Highly dependent character. Canons may have various outcomes. Platonic relationships encouraged! I do not accept any oc children or siblings for JACK. Family members are met with caution and HIGHLY dependent on how we vibe. We gotta groove, ya dig? OCs loved with plotting so we can make it stick and have all the good things! Send me your ladies! Older muses loved and adored! I won't do pregnancy plots. Not my bag.

— AFFILIATES, EXCLUSIVES AND MAINS.   Accepting on a limited basis for mains and a very limited basis for exclusives. My requirements are: We must be posting together regularly and be mutuals. Affiliates will come naturally. I don't mind being approached or approaching! I, normally, keep the number of the same characters I write with down to a small amount out of personal preference!

— NAUGHTY STUFF.   I enjoy writing mature threads. But will only do so with familiar partners. If it’s not your thing? We can fade to black! I’m 10000% fine with either. I do have a sideblog where all of my spicy threads go. TAG TO BLOCK ALL CONTENT OF THAT SORT ACROSS ALL MY BLOGS IS TW OOH LA LA! 

— POST INFO & SPEED.   I match my partner. There are times when I get hella inspired write bunches. I don’t do one-liners. I use small text and one icon that is static and the graphic changes per month. I can enlarge your text if needed. Blog will fluctuate in speed. If I don’t heart your reply, I might not have seen it. Sending me a link is great. Poking me to remind me about an ask is fine!

— PLEASE NOTE.   OOC drama won’t be tolerated. Constant negativity, bullying or harassment are a strict nope. Anons are always off! Open communication regarding any issues is welcome! I don’t have hidden passwords in my rules. Nor will I send in one from yours.

— GRAPHICS.   Icons / promos / psd / banners are exclusively for this blog by calirph. DO NOT STEAL! Capped by homeofthenutty.

[whisperial]

RULES.

— ABOUT.   Mun is 35+. ANYTHING SHIP OR SMUT RELATED IS A NO-GO for people under the age of 21. If you are easily triggered, this may not be a blog for you. Mature or potentially triggering subjects present ranging from mental illness, blood, gore, sexual situations, gas lighting, mental manipulation and control, violent imagery, war, horror themes, murder, torture, suicide, self destructive behavior, loss of limbs, religious themes, demonic possession, witchcraft, religion, questionable intent, learned toxic masculinity, and mentions of drug and heavy alcohol use.

— PRIVATE / MUTUALS ONLY / DNI.   Please feel free to approach! Homophobic, transphobic, racist, Tru.mp/Puti.n supporting, hating people based on their religious beliefs and generally crappy shit like that isn’t welcome on my dash!

— FOLLOWING.   Give me a little bit to check out your blog if you follow. I like to know your rules out of respect! If I’m following, I want to interact.

— RELATIONSHIPS/KIDS/ETC.   I roll with chemistry. Highly dependent character. Canons may have various outcomes. Platonic relationships encouraged! Send me your ladies! Older muses loved and adored! I won't do pregnancy plots. I'm open to plotting found family because YES!

— AFFILIATES, EXCLUSIVES AND MAINS.   Accepting on a limited basis for mains and a very limited basis for exclusives. My requirements are: We must be posting together regularly and be mutuals. Affiliates will come naturally. I don't mind being approached or approaching! I, normally, keep the number of the same characters I write with down to a small amount out of personal preference!

— NAUGHTY STUFF.   I enjoy writing mature threads. But will only do so with familiar partners. If it’s not your thing? We can fade to black! I’m 10000% fine with either. I do have a sideblog where all of my spicy threads go. TAG TO BLOCK ALL CONTENT OF THAT SORT ACROSS ALL MY BLOGS IS TW OOH LA LA! 

— POST INFO & SPEED.   I match my partner. There are times when I get hella inspired write bunches. I don’t do one-liners. I use small text and one icon that is static and the graphic changes per month. I can enlarge your text if needed. Blog will fluctuate in speed. If I don’t heart your reply, I might not have seen it. Sending me a link is great. Poking me to remind me about an ask is fine!

— PLEASE NOTE.   OOC drama won’t be tolerated. Constant negativity, bullying or harassment are a strict nope. Anons are always off! Open communication regarding any issues is welcome! I don’t have hidden passwords in my rules. Nor will I send in one from yours.

— GRAPHICS.   Are exclusively for this blog made by calisources. Do not steal. Icon is made by me with a calisources image and put into it's own border made by:

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

At this point the only thing left to do is to sit everyone one by one and explain slowly and with detail why and how Tomura isn't a reliable narrator and what it really means.

The reason it took Deku so long to reach Tenko wasn't arbitrary. It was not an accident. It was planned by AFO since day one and he succeeded to isolated Tomura from the world, rendering his efforts to communicate completely useless.

This (meta?) post is pretty long but you couldn't get it shorter, since I needed to connect a lot of the dots most people seem to be missing.

So here it is. Enjoy.

⠀

— Let's talk about Tomura Shigaraki:

He was an abused five years old kid (I think?) who got his quirk after a beating from his father. The quirk in question is a mutation, not something common anf certainly nothing expected by his family. Besides, he had bottled up years of abuse and trauma, got the bad luck of decaying his dog first and reach a point of stress where that turned his hair of color. He couldn't even speak.

We know Tomura started thinking of himself as a monster when he was alone on the streets, after what happened with the Shimuras. We know too that he was in shock, unable to speak due the severity of his physical and psychological trauma. He was also blaming himself for his family's death (even when he had no control of his power or emotional state at the time) and he thought the reason no one would save him was because they thought he deserved it, because he was evil.

He was five years old.

⠀

If that it's not enough to convince you about him being an unreliable narrator about his own nature and past, let me keep going.

On the chapters where we see his past, we can notice how AFO's point of view is clearly twisting the narrative. He retraumatizes Tenko (to the point of having the kid pucking and shaking on the floor) in order to shape his mind into a new identity: Shigaraki Tomura. AFO located the hands of Tenko's dead family over him to keep him unstable enough to need AFO constantly, incapable of healing. He gave Tenko a new name, dressed him in black, convinced the kid that he'd find peace in destruction (not mentioning that it wouldn't last for long) and sent him to kill.

From that point on, Tomura became a prisoner.

Which in other terms means the Tomura you met at the beginning of the manga is what AFO wanted everyone to see. A manchild, someone to don't listen to, a madman, a menace with no real purpose, a loser, too anxious and unstable.

⠀

Say you want symbolic proff, right?

AFO gave his surename to Tomura as a claiming mark of that being his next recipient. It wasn't paternal, it was a man shopping for a new body once his was old and dead. If you payed attention to the manga, you could recognize how Tomura's clothes slowly changed into AFO's clothes. His hair overcame multiple changes until they reassembled AFO's and he got surgery that not only made him suitable for the AFO quirk, but also made him look bulkier, like AFO. There are other details like Tomura being drawn in parallels to certain AFO's stances, or Tomura losing even his pupils, and big facts like Tomura being outright possessed, c'mon.

The placements of the hands (something I have repeated multiple times) is not accidental either.

They hands on the back of his head is keeping it down, along with that one on his shoulders, arms and neck. Keeping him in place. Grounding him as chains would. They get destroyed when there's no need to hold him back anymore (funny enough in the same fight his clothes change to look like AFO's and when Gigantomachia accepts him as his master).

The hand on his face is special because it's the thing he hates the most, Father. The symbolize a will keeping him away from the world, blinding him, suffocating him, covering even his mouth. People won't listen or see Tomura for what he is and it is Bakugo who knocks that hand for the first time. Not because Bakugo was seeing him, but because Tomura was being really vulnerable there. Tomura destroys Father several times, but we keep seeing hands overlaying his face as to symbolize he is not free yet.

⠀

We start seeing Tenko and the real Tomura with the League of Villains, on Overhaul's arc a little and mostly on My Villain Academia.

I'll make a quick pause to mention from MVA on, Tomura goes most on the manga on a state of mind that is... Like dude. Fainting or severely sleep-deprived to outright possessed in various degrees. He's unpredictable to say the least but it allows us to break into the chaos of his mind.

Okay. Continuing.

With the League, we start seeing a side of himself that is more than a bloodthirsty criminal. We see that he cares about them, he's loyal. That doesn't come from AFO. We see he has hobbies, worries about the League and he pays attention to them. He trust and encourages them and values them closely, and doesn't hold them accountable for their own mistakes.

He gets his revenge for Magne, promises Toga he wouldn't destroy what she loves, compliments Twice and doesn't punish him for recruiting Overhaul and holds him down before panicking and warns them about a dangerous situation so he could protect himself (uffff!), plays games with Spinner and doesn't get mad when he complains about Tomura's leadership and values them just as much as everyone else on the League... Tomura priority was also to fulfill Mr. Compress wishes about food and find them some money, and he trusts Dabi blindly with operations, even shortly after their first meeting.

He seeks Deku to talk (in the most twisted way possible but c'mon, raised by AFO) and doesn't fall short on making rational criticism about the hero society. He explains his trauma to Ujiko and the League enough to make Spinner cry, noting that Spinner at that time was probably the most human of them all, the healthiest mentally.

Horikoshi intentionally makes you see how complex Tomura is so he can culminate with him tragically losing his consciousness and body to AFO on the War arc. Deku finally sees beyond AFO's disguise because he could connect with the Vestige world, but to everyone else? No clue they couldn't use or understand. It was all AFO.

⠀

Tomura's character is driven by the desire to find peace and closure about what happened that night with the Shimuras.

For 20 years AFO (basically the only person in his life beyond Kurogiri, who was a nomu himself, and Doc Ujiko, who doesn't count) convinced him he would find peace if he destroyed (everything). Tomura did as instructed, only to find AFO was tricking him into becoming his new body.

There's a lot about how he strikes some hard truths about the hero society on the process, but essentially what we see is a misconception. He tells people "I want to destroy" and people says "so you must be evil" and they fight.

Because Tomura can't openly say "I want to find forgiveness for something I did on accident when I was five and I want to understand why no one helped me back them" so people could say "then you are searching for peace and acceptance and you are upset because society failed you, let's rehabilitate you".

You can't ask him to judge himself. You can't ask someone who doesn't understand the situation to judge him either. But we, as readers, we know everything and are outside the narrative, that's why we're supposed to root for him finding closure. We're supposed to root for Deku reaching him because that means Deku successfully breached the gap of miscommunication between victims or the system and the heroes that are supposed to help them.

Deku saving Tomura is a representation of the new era of heroism triumphing and defeating AFO's manipulation once and for all. It's supposed to represent hope for those the light couldn't reach and instead fell om AFO's hands, hope for the forgotten and invisible, a world where a quirkless kid can protect the ones who are like he were.

BNHA is a story about how dangerous miscommunication is, about how big problems come from little problems who accumulated over the years, how victims become abusers and abusers can be victims, how a smile is worth everything but we need to fight for all the smile around us, not just our own.

It is a story about duty and recognizing we are to blame and we need help and we need to accept our responsibility and deal with the consequences of our actions if we want things to get better.

⠀

Tomura is an unreliable narrator because Deku is suppose to teach him all of that, like he taught Eri or Kota or Bakugo or even All Might.

AFO is the real villain because he doesn't want to be taught, he chooses to be blind. He ready once upon a time a story and decided everything was fiction and he could make up stuff and force people to believe it, if only he had enough power and influence to do so.

The story is not suppose to hand this to you word by word! You're supposed to make an effort to understand it. Yes, to understand every character including and especially Tomura Shigaraki.

I can't state this enough, but if you don't understand it now that I've explained it at length, better treat this manga as just another fighting story. Don't try to analyze the message blatantly ignoring what Tomura Shigaraki as an unreliable narrator means to it.

[vampiregirl1797]

Coming Home

GIF not mine. Rhysand x Reader

A/N: Hey, guys! It’s been a while! I hope you’re all okay!

I’ve just finished all of the ACOTAR books, and was craving some Rhysand fanfiction, but for some reason, there’s hardly any??? So this idea came to me, I had to purge it from my mind so I could move on, and 8,000+ words later, here we are! I hope you like it!

Word count: 8,006

Summary: Y/N has been in Rhysand’s life for a long time, and when he’s taken by Amarantha, she finds herself unable to help him, or return home to Velaris. Follow Y/N as she finds ways to help while she waits for Rhys’ freedom, and her reunions with all of her family when the wicked faerie is dead! And we can’t forget confessions to a certain High Lord about how she feels for him.

Warnings: torture, blood, pain, mentions of imprisonment—if I’ve missed any, let me know!

Masterlist Here :)

The stars glittered in the night sky like welcoming beacons calling me home. And that was what this city, this place was, home. A place she’d been away from for too long, while Rhys had been held captive Under the Mountain. In tying the wards and protective shields around Velaris to Azriel, Cassian, Morrigan and Ameren, he’d incidentally locked me out of the city as well. Not purposefully, I knew, I’d been too far away at the time, in Valhallen working towards an alliance between the Night Court and themselves. Rhys hadn’t been able to reach me like he had the others, although my power had allowed me to sense when it happened, and I’d tried to winnow home immediately but when I’d tried I found myself landing just outside the border of Velaris, unable to go any further. It was then I knew the extent of what he’d done, what he’d sacrificed to keep those he loved, the city he’d worked so hard to be a place of peace, safe and protected from that abhorred wretch.

Communication had still been possible with those of my family inside Velaris, keeping it running smoothly and fairly without Rhys’s help, thanks to my power. With my abilities I’d managed to spell cast on a twin pair of mirrors, to allow communication through visibility and sound, as if we were in the same room. It was one of my most prided creations, especially over those 49 years, where my mirror was my only link to my home.

I’d returned to Valhallen, and explained the situation to them, about Amarantha and what she’d done to trap the seven High Lords. To my surprise, an offer of help was extended, but with the clause of the curse the bitch had put in place, invading with countless armies wouldn’t help. Not with her most likely protected against physical attack while she held most of the High Lord’s powers inside her. Instead I’d asked for refuge while I attempted to find and decode the spell she’d used to entrap their powers. I was kindly offered the opportunity to stay as long as I needed, an offer that I was grateful for given that I had nowhere else to go that was still habitable—the rest of the Night Court, that everyone had known about, had already been decimated to rubble and those that had lived there had either been slaughtered, or taken.

My determination had to be redirected when I found my powers wouldn’t allow me to access the spell used by Amarantha, indicating that there was nothing to be done and fate had to run it’s course. That was the part that I hated the most about what I was—having to accept when horrible things had to happen, especially if those awful events included a person I loved dearly. But I moved on and redirected my determination in forming alliances with the other faerie communities around Prynthian; a vision warned me of an impending war upon Amarantha’s destruction. So I prepared. I created an agreement with each territory, had them sign in blood upon their approval, and didn’t balk at the time it took to obtain each signature, each promise, to earn each High Lord’s trust. Because I knew in my bones that what I was doing was necessary, vital. The last territory ended in Cretea, where my old friends, Miryam and Drakon signed solemnly after learning about Rhys and Velaris. It had been a bittersweet visit, getting to see them again after so many years, and yet having to share such awful news. We departed with hugs and a promise to be updated with Under the Mountain.

That had taken three decades to accomplish, and once that was done, I began my next task: finding and containing the three feet of the Cauldron. After seeing the horrors that awaited if I didn’t achieve this task… motivation was not hard to come by.

I started in Sangravah, meeting with the Priestesses and allowing them to consult amongst each other before they allowed me possession of the item they protected underneath their temple. Once they gave it, I made sure to place wards around their sacred mountain, refusing to leave it unprotected when the Hybern soldiers would come searching, unwilling to expose the women there to such horror and trauma. The wards were impenetrable when I was finished with them, and the priestesses blessed me before I left. The same occurred in Cesere and Itica, though the former took the longest to obtain—three years—while the others took less than six months combined. But I didn’t mind; I had time after all, and I understood their hesitance.

Once I’d done that, time moved quickly with me travelling to each territory—except the Spring court—to repair the damage caused by Amarantha’s destructive soldiers that had destroyed each one for sport. I helped any survivors I found, and when I found the Winter Court still being ran by Kallias’ love, Vivianne. She had been apprehensive at first, but accepted my help with gratitude once she saw it came from a place of sincerity. It took a decade and a half to repair all six courts and to place spells on each to appear still in ruins until Amarantha fell. I couldn’t risk Amarantha getting wind of my power, or my presence, because if she did, I’d have no doubt that she’d try to deplete my abilities as well.

News came of freedom a few months later—I’d returned to Valhallen at that point, and as much as I’d immediately wanted to return to Velaris and see my family, I had to ensure the alliances I’d formed with the others outside of Prynthian remained strong. That had taken two months in total, and after that I spent another two months travelling to the other courts, to see how they were adapting to life and to extend help to everyone, as well accepting thanks for the reparations I’d done to each of their respective lands. Some met me with hostility when I announced that I was of the Night Court, until they learned of how I’d helped them. That knowledge cooled their ire, but didn’t erase it entirely, and my heart hurt knowing that Rhys had been forced to things so horrible beneath the Mountain to not only remain the ‘cool’, ‘aloof’ and ‘unfeeling’ High Lord of the Night court, but to survive. I hoped the anger from the Winter Court and the Autumn Court would fade once they realised whatever Rhys had done, had been motivated by survival and not malice. Blame lay solely with Amarantha and her decaying corpse.

I was bought out of my trance by the sound of laughter, and found myself smiling as my eyes trailed two children, a girl and a boy around the age of five, running past me further into the city. I’d decided to winnow into the city—the wards having been amended by Rhysand upon his return four months ago—and walk to the town house, where I could feel almost everyone was, along with a new unfamiliar presence. I stared at the fogged glass for a moment before reaching up and knocking quietly on the door. I knew they’d hear it, and I felt myself bubbling with anticipation, practically bouncing in my eagerness for someone to open the door.

‘Y/N!’ Cassian’s booming voice practically vibrated down the entire street, but I had no time to look at the looks we’d probably attracted as I was pulled into strong arms that scented of burning fire and freshly cut grass, the door slamming shut behind me so hard it rattled.

I didn’t remember reaching up and winding my arms around his neck, but my grip tightened as I breathed deep, tears falling down my cheeks as the years I’d been away from my family finally hit me full force.

‘Easy,’ Cass murmured, gently wiping the tears from my cheeks and kissing my forehead.

I opened my mouth to respond but I sensed someone else joining us in the foyer, a feeling I’d been without so long that I felt another sob come from my throat. Azriel had once asked why I relaxed whenever he entered a room, as with his scars and the shadows that were as much as a part of him as his wings, he usually got the opposite reaction. I’d told him whenever my power sensed him, it bought a feeling of warmth over me, like being bundled into a fluffy blanket while sitting by a roaring fire and watching the snow. He’d blinked at my description, but shown no other sign of emotion. After a moment he’d kissed my forehead for the first time, and since then, we’d been closer than ever.

‘Az.’ More tears fell, but I didn’t care as the shadowsinger scooped me up and held me against his chest as I breathed him in, his scent of spice and fresh night air making my tears come faster where my head rested against his shoulder.

‘Welcome home, Y/N.’ Az murmured, so quietly I was sure even Cass still standing nearby wouldn’t be able to hear even with his advanced hearing. I held him tighter in answer, reaching back for Cass’ hand and tugging when his strong calloused hand gripped mine.

I didn’t know how long we stood there, holding each other, and breathing each other in, but I didn’t let go until my mind accepted that this was real. I was home; I was with some of my family. I was home. They seemed to understand, and didn’t say a word, only letting go and stepping back when I released the general’s hand and stepped back from Az’ chest. I lifted my hands up to wipe the moisture away from my cheeks and offered them both a bright smile that made their wings lift slightly—a sign of happiness.

‘So, where the fuck is he?’ I asked, my voice still heavy with my tears, but I didn’t care.

Cass grinned, Az’ eyes brightened and the former pointed to the dining room behind the staircase. I felt my eyes brighten, my nose already trying to pick up Rhys’ unique scent of—I swear to the Mother—starlight itself. I burst into the dining room, my eyes connecting with the High Lord’s violet ones immediately, and the sight of him, the sight of his happiness to see me, the sight of that lingering trauma in his eyes, the tears began to fall again as I ran for him. He winnowed from his seat at the table to three feet in front of me, and I didn’t falter and simply leaped, knowing he would catch me, and he did. He lifted me up, my legs winding around his waist and the move felt so familiar that a sob escaped from my throat as my forehead fell against his. Rhys said nothing, one hand at the back of my neck, gently massaging, the other on my back holding me in place.

I felt a gentle caress against my shields in my mind and instantly lowered them, letting him in, letting him see everything I’d been up to the past five decades, everything I’d seen, everything I’d felt. I felt his sorrow, for my inability to return to Velaris, and his pride at what I’d done, what I’d prepared for, instead. When he’d seen everything, he retreated from my memories but lingered.

I’ve missed you Y/N darling.

On a scale of 1-10?

It was our code, our way of asking how the other was.

A sigh echoed in my mind, one of exhaustion, of desperation to keep moving.

Off the scale.

My eyes squeezed shut, my heart aching for him.

Can I do anything?

You already are, Y/N darling. Seeing you, seeing what you’ve all done to keep our home safe is helping more than I can verbalise.

I knew he meant it, but I also recognised he was making light of what had happened to him, but he understood if he wanted to talk to me, he need only find me. That was how it had been for the past five centuries.

I nodded, leaning back and silently asking him to lower me to the ground again, when he did I pulled him close for another embrace, inhaling his unique scent, assuring myself once again it was real. He was here. I was here. This was real. Once I was satisfied, I stepped away, wiping my cheeks again as my eyes fell on the other presence in the room. One I recognised from visions I’d been given of the curse being broken, but not a High Fae I knew personally.

She looked absolutely dreadful. Her skin was so pale it looked paper thin, underneath her eyes shone purple, her face was thin, her golden-brown hair lacked lustre, her clothes hung loose on her and her blue eyes lacked life, though I could see the tiniest spark of curiosity in that moment. My eyes found Rhys’ again, his own now holding sadness as he took in the other occupant in the room.

Feyre. She is the one who freed us from Amarantha, though you know that already.

I nodded and silently took the seat in between Az and Cassian, across from Feyre.

‘So where is everyone else?’ I wondered, noting that food hadn’t been served yet, and there was another two settings placed at the table, one on Feyre’s left, and two to her right. Both ends of the table remained free. Rhys took the seat on the High Fae’s far right. I noted the way Feyre stiffened as the High Lord slid into his seat and wondered if she was uncomfortable around him. But if she only knew the part he’d undoubtedly played beneath the Mountain… well it made sense.

‘They’re coming, but I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer with our beautiful faces a little longer.’ Cassian winked, laughing when I rolled my eyes.

‘Suffer’s right.’ I murmured, grinning at the sound of Az’ soft chuckle.

Before Cassian could retort with a retort that undoubtedly would have been wicked from that familiar gleam in his eyes, I cut in with, ‘so tell me, how has Velaris been?’

Cass and Az shared a look, the shadowsinger not flinching when I took his hand and interlaced our fingers; his scarred calloused hand entwined with mine was a feeling I’d missed dearly. Each of my family knew of my love for casual affection by now, but I didn’t miss the curious gleam in the newcomer’s eye across the table.

‘Everything’s been running pretty normally. We’ve been keeping a close eye on the Illyrian camps like you suggested, and came down hard on those intending to break the wing-clipping laws. Those who attempted were reprimanded and moved to different camps. Their daughters were given the option to remain with our financial help, or move to the city. All of them chose to move to Velaris, and have been set up with accommodation and helped to find work they each love and pays decently.’ Cassian explained, his eyes taking on that responsible glint that only appeared when he talked of his duty as general, as protector of people in Velaris and the Illyrian community.

‘I’m so glad.’ I breathed a relieved sigh; happy I hadn’t been too late in stopping my vision from coming into fruition. Seeing those young girls be held down as their wings, their freedom, their identity was forcibly taken away from them… my free hand rubbed my chest, an attempt to remove the achy feeling from my heart.

‘That bad?’ Azriel asked quietly, squeezing my hand in reassurance.

I only nodded in answer, shaking off the visions of what hadn’t been, feeling a sliver of guilt in my stomach for getting held up on something that hadn’t happened when Rhys had endured true horrors Under the Mountain for years. My eyes found his and his lips lifted into a small smile of reassurance, his chin moving down in an ever so slight nod in answer to my question. He was fine. We both knew he wasn’t, but he’d come to me when he was ready.

A knock on frosted glass had me scrambling from my chair so quickly I knocked it over, but I didn’t look back as I assured everyone I’d get the door. I heard three chuckles but ignored them and swung the door open with enough force that it shattered against the brick wall. I winced, but didn’t have time to so much as yell an apology, as my arms were suddenly full of Morrigan and Ameren. The former and I were crying, and while Ameren herself didn’t release any tears, she hugged us both as hard as we hugged her. I felt the last piece of my heart click into place as I inhaled their scents; Morrigan’s scent of jasmine and fresh rain, along with Ameren’s scent of earth and lightning. Home. I was home. Another deep breath was taken by each of us before we pulled apart. I wiped my cheeks for what would hopefully be the last time tonight, and smiled brightly as the three of us entered the dining room.

I noted that Cassian had moved to sit at the empty seat to Feyre’s right, leaving the other open for Mor; I assumed he wanted to minimise her discomfort as much as possible, by not wanting Ameren to have to sit so close to the newcomer. I was proven right when my onyx haired friend slid into Cassian’s former seat, offering Rhys and Azriel a wink. Mor greeted Feyre with a familiarity that clearly indicated they’d met before, one I hadn’t seen in anyone else aside from Rhys.

‘Now the reunions are finished… shall we eat?’ Rhys asked. The table filled with food in answer and we all, aside from Ameren, dug in.

//

It was much later, when the food had been eaten, wine drank, and all of us had gathered in the sitting room in front of the crackling fire, that conversation turned away from casual and safe, to uncomfortable but necessary. I was on the sofa, Azriel to my right, Cass to my left and Mor on his other side. Ameren and Rhys claimed an armchair each, and Feyre sat alone on the remaining couch.

My hand was entwined with Cassian’s, Az’s arm around my shoulders to help me lean closer into his side. His shadows were playing with my hair, and caressing the back of my neck. I was so relaxed and content that I was on the verge of falling asleep when—

‘So, girl, have you heard anything about the King of Hybern’s plans while you’ve been away?’ Ameren asked, probably smirking at my groan. I wouldn’t put it past her to have waited until that moment to ask.

‘No,’ I grumbled, groaning at the amusement that broke out in the room, but my heart warmed at the sound, ‘tomorrow, too late for that talk now.’

‘She has a point,’ Morrigan agreed, that amused lilt I’d grown fond of in her tone, ‘I suppose you don’t feel like dancing?’

I snorted, ‘definitely not. Some other time, when I’ve not been rendered useless by wine and good food.’

‘I’ll hold you to that, darling.’ I opened my eyes to catch the wink she sent my way and offered her a smile in return.

‘You guys coming?’ She asked, looking between Cassian and Azriel. I felt the latter look down to where I was still snuggled against him, while the former’s gaze fell to our still joined hands.

I chuckled sitting up and releasing my hold on them, ‘I’ve clung to you long enough for one night, go and be free. Have fun.’ I grinned, stretching my arms above my head as I sent a wink over to Rhys, ‘besides, our High Lord hasn’t had the chance to be my teddy bear yet. He must be positively bursting with outrage.’

I laughed at the amusement that twinkled in his violet eyes and smiled softly as the men left me with a kiss to the forehead, and the women placed kisses to my cheek, before they exited the townhouse as a unit. I opened my mouth to speak when Feyre abruptly stood and left the room, her journey upstairs vocalised by her angry sounding footsteps. I looked to Rhys with a raised brow, amused.

‘Is she always so delightful?’ I wondered, running a hand through my hair as a yawn fell from my lips.

‘Only when I’m around.’ He rolled his eyes, but I could see the haunted look he was trying to hide behind his casual dismissal.

‘Why is she here?’

He took a breath, running a hand through his hair that was so dark I often wondered if it was blue or black, and explained everything that had happened with Feyre. The bargain he’d made with her, to heal her and ensure they had a chance at being freed from Amarantha. She was to spend a week in the Night court every month, though he hadn’t cashed that in until he’d heard her panic through the bargain bond on her wedding day. Following that, Tamlin had locked her in the house, leading to her having a panic attack and Mor collecting her. She’d been here since.

‘That’s a lot of information to take in.’ I blinked, shaking my head in an attempt to clear it, ‘well, Tamlin sounds as big of a bastard as I remember.’

Rhys snorted, but didn’t say anything more; he didn’t need to.

‘So she’s a member of the Night Court now?’ I knew that she didn’t have to be; she could be staying as long as she needed, to decide what she wanted, where she wanted to go, but I doubted she’d want to return to the Spring Court, and I couldn’t imagine she had a home anywhere else on this side of the wall.

‘Not officially, no. She’s taking time, working through becoming a High Fae and Tamlin…’ he trailed off his eyes glittering with guilt. I didn’t ask, knowing if he wanted to explain, he would, ‘it’s my fault.’

I frowned, not understanding what he could possibly mean by that statement. I’d heard it so many times over the past five centuries, he could be talking about anything. He had a habit of taking on guilt for things he couldn’t have prevented, or things that simply weren’t his fault.

‘She gave Amarantha the answer to the riddle, and broke the curse immediately, but her neck still broke, and… I could feel her through the bargain bond, and I held onto it, made her stay as I invaded the minds of the other High Lords and made them give a seed of their power. I made them save her. If I hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t be a High Fae, she wouldn’t have had to suffer from everything preceding her transformation. I took her choice away.’ Tears glittered in his eyes and I was sat on his lap within the blink of an eye, gently wiping away those that escaped.

‘You didn’t take her choice away Rhys,’ I cupped his cheek, gently made him meet my gaze, ‘Amarantha took her choice away, by killing her, you gave her life. You made it so she now has the opportunity to make her own choices for the foreseeable future. Maybe some would say it wasn’t up to you to save her, but saving someone who sacrificed so much to save someone she loved, to save us, would never be a bad thing. She’ll be grateful for it one day, when she’s ready to live the life she’s been given.’

Tears still fell, and I wiped them away gently, laying a kiss on his forehead when they stopped. I tried and failed to ignore the way my heart skipped a beat and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. After all this time, you’d think my feelings for my High Lord would have faded by now, but they’d only grown stronger with time. But on the plus side I’d gotten good at hiding them. I’d never told anyone—well aside from Mor—and I had the knowledge locked inside an impenetrable box inside my shields, so I didn’t have to worry about Rhys finding out every time I let him inside my head. I’d felt him find it more than once, felt his growing curiosity every time, but he respected my right to my secrets and never once asked about it.

‘We should sleep.’ I murmured, noting that it was nearing two in the morning.

He sighed, ‘you’re probably right. I asked the others to be here bright and early tomorrow morning for a breakfast meeting, you should share what you’ve done.’

‘Okay, but if you want me up early, you’ll have to promise me blueberry pancakes.’ I told him, my eyes dancing with amusement but the rest of my expression completely serious.

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling prettier than all the stars in the sky—it was thoughts like that, that went straight inside the box—and promised me he would.

‘Good. Now would you mind being my pillow tonight, or do you want to sleep alone?’ It might have been stupid on my part to spend nights in his bed, being held by him, so close to what I wanted, and yet so far away… but I’d long ago decided to take whatever Rhys was willing to give.

He grinned in answer, black mist surrounding us for a moment, and when it dissipated we were in his bedroom, directly on his bed. I chuckled as we moved underneath his silk covers, him pulling my back to his chest with a hand to my stomach; it stayed there once we settled. I reached for his free hand and entwined his fingers with mine, my eyes falling shut at the familiar callouses and his warmth and scent.

I missed this.

//

‘Well… you’ve definitely been busy, girl.’ Ameren was the first to comment, while everyone else—aside from Rhys—gaped at me.

‘I had to keep busy, and you know I won’t ignore visions.’ I shrugged, attempting to hide my blush—family or not, I hated this much attention.

‘It means we have a lot less to worry about, if Hybern still decides to go to war without the cauldron, we’ll be much better matched with the allies that Y/N has managed to secure outside of Pyrinthian and the tentative alliances with the other courts.’ Rhys said, drawing everyone’s eyes to him, I shot him a grateful smile and he gave me a wink in return.

I returned to my pancakes, fighting the urge to hum happily as I enjoyed them. I reached forward for the jug of orange juice to re-fill my cup when I was taken by surprise. A tingling sensation started behind my eyelids, commandeering my vision immediately. I gasped, and vaguely heard the sound of the jug I’d been holding hitting the table before I was somewhere else entirely.

I was standing in a castle that had become familiar to me over the past fifty years—not because I’d seen it plenty, but I’d had more than enough visions to recognise Hybern’s palace when I saw it.

‘What do you mean, you couldn’t find it?’ the King thundered, his eyes dark with fury and pure madness.

‘We tried to enter the temples, your highness, however we couldn’t get through. Each were surrounded by impenetrable wards.’ One of the guards relayed, not looking happy to be the one delivering such disappointing news.

‘That’s not possible! The temple’s are neutral grounds, none should be warded.’ He paused for a moment, his fury melting into contemplation. ‘Unless… Amarantha would have mentioned having her power, but I never asked and just assumed… such a foolish mistake!’

‘Your highness?’ the guard sounded wary, and I didn’t blame him.

‘A witch warded the temples.’ He said calmly, tapping his index finger against one of the armrests on his throne, ‘to break the shields, and retrieve the feet, we must kill her.’

‘Do you know of this witch?’ a different guard asked, sounding nervous and fearful; I wasn’t surprised, it was every Fae’s usual reaction to such a word.

‘Yes. Y/N of the Night Court. We’ll need a plan to draw her out, and once we do, we shall ensure her death and continue with the rest of the plan.’

I felt myself go cold, my blood rushing in my ears. How did he know? How did he know it was me?

//

It took me a minute to shake my fear before I could break free from my vision, and when I did I found everyone staring at me, most with concern and one with wariness.

‘What did you see?’ Cassian finally asked, his hand relaxing away from the dagger he had strapped to his thigh.

As I spoke, I noticed Azriel’s hand relax too. I told them everything I’d seen, not leaving anything out, as well as mentioning that the wards I’d placed around the temples wouldn’t fall during my death. Nor would the wards around the three feet I’d relocated to three separate locations.

‘So, there’s nothing to worry about because even if he kills me, those wards won’t drop.’ I forced a smile, hoping they couldn’t see the fear that had been wrapping around my gut like a snake since I’d come back.

‘Nothing to worry about?’ Rhys repeated softly.

I noticed Mor wince and frowned in confusion. What had I said wrong? I jumped as Rhys stood so abruptly that his chair clattered to the floor. His wings emerged and spread wide, his power invading the room in a black mist knee deep.

‘We have your life to worry about, Y/N! That’s more important than Hybern finding those fucking feet!’ Rhys exploded, his violet eyes practically glowing with anger, but I could see the concern there too, which was the only reason I didn’t rise to meet his fury with my own.

‘I love you too, Rhys.’ I told him continuing at his blink of surprise, ‘and there’s no need to be worried about my life. Hybern couldn’t find us here if they wanted to—he mentioned trying to draw me out, but I have no plans of leaving Velaris unless absolutely necessary, and there’s nothing beyond this city that could get me to leave. I’m going to be fine. I was just making the point that even if I were to die, everyone in those temples, and the feet of the Cauldron would be safe.’

‘You’re not going to die.’ His voice carried such authority that I didn’t dare argue with him, nor did anyone else.

‘No one is going to die.’ Mor said quietly, Cassian and Azriel nodding in agreement.

‘Right, now that’s settled.’ Ameren broke through the tension, her voice free of the concern and fear that had been festering in the room since my vision, ‘I’m going to go back to my apartment, unless I’m still needed?’

‘Azriel ask your spies to gather information on Hybern and their impending plans. If their next move is to attempt to kill Y/N, I want to know how they intend to do it.’ Rhys said, his voice authoritative, ‘Cassian, visit the Illyrian camps and see how they’re progressing, they potentially need to be ready for war. Mor, I think it’s time I paid a visit to the Court of Nightmares. Ameren, research the Cauldron, see if you can find out where it is.’

Everyone but Feyre and myself left to fulfil the tasks they’d been given. Feyre excused herself to go into the city, and I waited until the front door closed to speak.

‘I could find the Cauldron.’ I murmured, moving to sit in the empty seat Azriel had vacated.

His eyes lifted to mine, and the empty look there made something in my heart ache.

‘Rhys.’ My hand found his, holding it tighter when I felt the tremble running through him, ‘we’re going to be okay.’

His violet eyes stared into mine for a long moment, an emotion so intense shining in them that it took my breath away. I wished I could place it, but I was at a loss.

‘I hope you’re right.’ He squeezed my hand and released a deep sigh.

//

Rhys was going to kill me. He was going to kill me dead. Well, that’s if I escaped here first.

Azriel had received word from his spies that Hybern planned to draw us out by using Feyre’s sisters, on the other side of the wall. The King had heard what happened at the Spring Court and where Feyre was now, and well he’d put two and two together, and knew it was our weakness. So, everyone aside from Ameren, Mor and I had gone to the human realm to secure wards around Feyre’s family estate and show them how to contact us if anything odd happened. Mor had gone to the Court of Nightmares to check on the damage Rhys had inflicted on her father upon our visit last week, and Ameren was still researching the Cauldron. I however had a stupid idea. One that was definitely going to get me killed.

I’d figured if Hybern was going after Feyre’s sisters, then the Cauldron—that I’d tracked to Hybern’s castle a few days prior—wouldn’t be as heavily guarded. And I figured—Mother knows why—that I could retrieve it myself. Well… to be fair I had managed to do that, I just hadn’t accounted for the guard change over, and I’d been caught in the cellar alone where the Cauldron had been. Before I could winnow, or run, or do anything, I’d been hit over the back of the head and some kind of powder had been put on my face. I didn’t know what that substance was, but I felt my powers being suppressed as darkness consumed me.

Now here I was; tied down naked to what was known as the inquisition chair, the nails piercing me everywhere, but from the weights I could see by my feet, it had the potential to get a lot worse. I reached for my power, but it was flickering like a candle in the wind, unable to burn bright enough for me to summon even an ounce of it.

‘Well, when I received word my soldiers were unsuccessful in capturing the Cursebreaker’s sisters, I assumed I would have to wait a long time for an opportunity such as this. It was nice of you to grant it to me so soon.’ The King smirked, his eyes positively dancing with triumph.

‘Happy to make your life easier.’ I forced a smile, which made his delight grow.

‘Now, the plan is to kill you.’ He strutted forward, his hands behind his back, and stopped in front of me, ‘but first, I thought I’d make your death entertaining. More for the inconvenience you’ve caused me with your wards’ he hissed the word, ‘but also because it’s been a while since I’ve had someone to torture, and even longer since I’ve been able to use this particular method of punishment.’ He sighed somewhat nostalgically, his eyes taking in the way I was tied to the chair, the blood that was already pooling underneath from where I was punctured all over.

I didn’t say anything, I didn’t tell him that killing me wouldn’t do what he wished, I didn’t tell him that he was a pig who was going to lose the war, I didn’t tell him that I hoped his eventual death was as long and painful as he planned for mine to be. I knew my family would avenge me, and if they were able to, each would take turns in torturing him to death. But he didn’t need to know that. I wouldn’t beg, I wouldn’t make promises to him, because I didn’t need to. My family had my back, they always had and they always would. I hoped Azriel’s spies managed to relay my situation before I bled to death, but if they didn’t… well I’d lived a full life. I had people I loved, people who accepted me completely… I had a home. And that was more than some people ever had. It was definitely more than this sorry bastard would ever have.

Though, my heart ached with the fact that Rhys would never know how I felt. He would never glimpse inside that impenetrable box inside my mind that was dedicated to my love for him. And for what? Because I was afraid of rejection? Afraid he wouldn’t reciprocate? In the face of absolute death, those suddenly didn’t seem like good enough reasons. I wished I hadn’t been such a coward, and if I, by some miracle, made it out of here alive… I would blast that box to smithereens and allow him to see everything. Every memory, every feeling, every thought. And if he didn’t feel the same, I knew our friendship wouldn’t be decimated, because whether he loved me like I loved him or not, Rhys would always be a part of me in the same way that Azriel, Ameren, Mor and Cassian were. They were my people. Nothing would jeopardise that.

If only I realised it sooner.

I winced at the pain that suddenly overtook the right side of my face. He’d slapped me back to attention.

‘Are you listening, you stupid bitch?’ he spat, his face directly in front of mine.

I didn’t answer, only stared. He wasn’t going to get anything out of me, not a damn word. I didn’t care what he did to me.

His eyes narrowed, as if he realised that, too. A slow smile of pure excitement broke out across his face, ‘it’s been a while since I had the pleasure of breaking someone quite as stubborn as you. This is going to be fun.’

He reached down, picking up one of the circular weights that rested beside the chair and lowered one onto my thighs, smiling at the squelching noise accompanying the nails being driven further into my flesh. The only acknowledgement I allowed myself to make was to take a deep breath. He didn’t like that, his eye twitching in irritation, and he leaned forward to pick up another weight—a bigger one this time. My hands clenched the arms of the iron chair, bracing for the pain, but I couldn’t have been prepared for the feeling of the nails tearing through muscle and hitting bone. I took another deep breath, fighting the urge to scrunch my eyes shut, knowing if I did tears would break free, and I refused to give him the satisfaction. If this bastard wanted me to put on an ‘entertaining’ show for him, well I was happy to disappoint.

My eyes fell to the floor as I saw something moving, only to note it was the pool of my blood growing bigger, and bigger. I felt suddenly woozy with the sight, as if seeing it made it real, made the effects that losing that much blood had on my body come forward. I leaned over the side of the chair, a sudden wave of nausea causing me to vomit. I thought I heard the King make a noise of disgust, but I couldn’t distinguish anything beyond the whooshing sound in my ears. When I sat back up, the nausea subsiding, I noted that the room was moving. The last thing I registered was a person of a familiar shape appearing behind the King, before I fell into the darkness.

//

Rhysand

There was so much blood. The amount coming out of her seemed endless and impossible. Cassian arrived first and had the King bound and gagged within thirty seconds, but not dead. No, that would come later. There had been at least fifty guards in the room we’d entered, but were all red mist with a wave of my hand. I didn’t stop until I reached her, dissolving the chair that held her to dust after I’d released her from it. I conjured a blanket to wrap around her as I held her to my chest, fighting the effort to stop myself trembling with rage. Revenge could, would, come later. Now, we had to get her taken care of.

Azriel and Cassian departed with the former’s shadows, back to the Court of Nightmares. I winnowed back to the townhouse, where Mor already had the healer waiting. My cousin blanched at the state of her, but ushered me up to my room where the healer was waiting. I refused to leave the room after I’d gently laid Y/N down onto my bed, not caring as her blood soiled the sheets. I conjured a chair and sat down, my eyes not leaving her chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath. Alive. She was alive.

I didn’t know how long it took her to finish, but the sun had long been set when she eventually vacated the room, offering a small smile to my genuine thanks. I moved the chair closer then, using my magic to clean the sheets, and dress her in one of her nightgowns, now that the blood had stopped flowing. I removed the dried blood from her skin, from her hair, and took her hand in mine, a breath of relief leaving me at the warmth, the life, emanating from her.

I’d been sat there for a few more hours before her mind started whispering. I tried to shut it out, knowing that her shields were more than likely down and vulnerable after what she’d been through. But one thought stopped me.

If I survive, I’ll let him see inside the box. He has to know.

I blinked, surprised. I knew what she was talking about—a box beyond her shields that had intrigued me for years. I had always wondered what lay within, but respected her privacy, but now she wanted me to see? Out of curiosity, I entered her mind, noting her shields were fully down, and when I reached that ever-captivating box, I paused. There was a key inside the keyhole. There never had been before. I took a breath, reached forward and unlocked it, and when it opened I was overwhelmed.

I blinked as the memory formed around me, when it finished, I recognised it immediately. It was the setting of our first meeting—in that Illyrian camp five hundred years ago. Mother had sent me off to gather firewood, and upon doing so I’d come across her, lying in the mud and unconscious. I’d shaken her awake, and when she stirred and looked up at me, one word had echoed in my mind: mate. Only her confusion and fear had forced those instincts down, not wanting to invoke any more distress. But now, I could feel what she had felt in that moment, and when her eyes met mine…

‘Who are you?’ she’d blinked, looked around at the mud, and my mother’s cottage behind me, ‘where am I?’

‘I’m Rhysand’ I’d told her, trying to make my voice as soft as possible, I’d held out a hand to her, that she’d taken and when I’d felt her tremble I’d held her tighter, assuming she was trembling with fright. But I’d been wrong. I could feel that she was disorientated, yes, but when she looked at me she was…overwhelmed with affection.

She’d felt the mating bond too.

//

‘Let me come with you, Rhys.’ She’d begged me, wanting to help my father and I avenge my mother and sister, but I’d refused. I’d already lost two of the most important women in my life and I couldn’t, wouldn’t, lose another.

‘No.’ I’d said, my voice void of emotion and I winced as I felt the pain it had caused her, to have that tone used in her direction. I’d left before she could continue, at that point she’d been making arguments as to why she should come for three days, and I’d heard it all.

But I hadn’t seen the way Y/N had fallen onto my bed after I’d left the room, hadn’t seen the tears streaming down her cheeks, hadn’t heard her sobs, and hadn’t felt her devastation, or her worry. Mor had entered the room shortly after and climbed into the bed, holding her close.

‘He’ll come back, Y/N.’ She assured her, stroking Y/N’s hair.

‘He has to,’ she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

‘You could tell him, you know.’ Mor said and Y/N sighed, as if this were something she was used to my cousin saying to her.

‘No I couldn’t. He doesn’t feel the same, and I won’t risk what we have, not now, not after he’s just lost his mother and his sister. He needs all of us right now.’ Her heart was aching at her words.

‘You wouldn’t be jeopardising anything. You don’t know for sure what his reaction will be.’ Mor said, her words were strong but her voice was soft.

‘Please, Mor. We’ve been through this.’ Y/N wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood, ‘Rhysand is too important to me to risk losing him, which I would if I told him I was in love with him. Just… forget it.’

She strode from the room, her shoulders slumped with defeat, and her heart aching more and more with each beat.

//

This was a memory I didn’t recognise. Y/N was sat in a cave lit in candlelight, sat inside a circle of salt and soil. She was cross-legged in the centre, whispering words too quietly for me to hear, until…

‘I have to save him. I can’t leave him there to suffer, not when I have the power to save him. To save everyone.’ Her voice was monotone, and I realised she was communicating with the sprits, perhaps just after I’d been captured by Amarantha.

‘You cannot.’ A deep voice answered back, the sound reaching her from the soft breeze that blew through the cave, ‘it goes against what is written. For you to channel the amount of power needed to do what you seek, it would defy the laws of nature. It would destroy you, destroy your soul.’

I felt her heart shatter at those words, felt her despair and uselessness. She was quiet for a long time before she murmured, ‘then tell me what I can do.’

The voice answered, telling her about the Cauldron, the alliances that would be beneficial to us, and when it stopped talking she slowly came out of the trance she had been under in order to communicate. Once she was back there was an explosion of power, one so strong that it echoed throughout the cave and beyond, I could hear trees falling outside, avalanches starting. But above all that I heard her sobs as her anger melted into sorrow.

‘I’m sorry Rhys, I’m so sorry.’ She drew her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, ‘I’ve failed you, I’m sorry…’

//

I felt the butterflies whenever I looked at her, when I winked at her. Felt how she burned every time I touched her. Felt her heart skip a beat when I laughed, or smiled. Felt her heart ache for me when I was mourning, when I was taking on the guilt from my failed decisions as High Lord. Felt her fear for me, pray for me, and hope for me, while I was Under the Mountain.

All this time, I’d thought the mate bond had been one-sided. I’d been blind. Completely and utterly blind.

//

I blinked awake, my heart hammering inside my chest when I met her eyes. She was awake, and completely aware of what I’d just bore witness to.

‘Hi.’ Her voice was shy, wary and weak.

I leaned forward, sealing my mouth over hers.

[corsairesix]

How would you change Fallout 4?

Okay so this is a long one so it’s under the cut

As I’ve mentioned before, I would make the main plot focus on synths as a metaphor for McCarthyism (and to a lesser extent transness). This is assuming a magical world where I have full creative control over a main game in a major franchise. The main character would either be a wastelander (with optional traits to be an escaped synth, mind-wiped or not) OR if we’re going with the Sole Survivor then it would confirm the Sole is a synth theory; if the game’s going to make roleplay decisions for me, at least let them be thematically satisfying and cool.

The four faction companions would all be synths (Sturges, Danse, X6, and Glory) and would all represent a different take on synths in society. Danse would be basically the same, synth who doesn’t know it, self-hating, forced to change through self-acceptance or die in Blind Betrayal. The main change would be significantly changed behavior after BB and a chance to join the Minutemen or Railroad. Glory would be a synth who knows she’s a synth, and is very concerned with synth welfare and autonomy. X6 is a synth who has been mind wiped several times by the Institute due to his increased contact with the outside world. As he travels with the main character, there are decision points where X6 raises concerns about “glitches” (developing a personality as he gains experiences) and the player can decide whether to wipe his mind again or continue to travel with him. Before max affinity, he will ask for your help escaping the institute once again, you can complete his quest or you can turn him over to be mind wiped. Sturges is a synth with a Railroad identity, but who has traumatic memories resurfacing after the attack on Quincy. He is stuck between the true, harmful memories of the Institute or the false, comforting memories of his invented life.

In general the synth’s exploitation by the institute veers away from the slavery metaphor that’s in the game. Robots address labor issues very well and the slavery thing was weird and bad, so we’re moving away from that.

Mind wipes are much more controversial, much more like how they’re portrayed in Far Harbor. Characters like Glory who are mostly opposed to them see them as destruction of identity, not quite murder, but something that should only be done in dire circumstances. Those who are for it, Desdemona and Deacon, see it as a tool for helping synths hide and covering up painful memories (imperfect, as Sturges shows), and that there is an ineffable self that persists between wipes. It’s a source of tension even within the Railroad.

The Institute doesn’t have synth spies, but it does have human spies. The idea that the institute would 1) put synths in charge of major cities while still claiming they aren’t sentient and 2) put their constantly-escaping labor force on the surface with minimal supervision always bothered me. Institute agents foment anti-synth movements on the surface and sabotage synth sympathetic communities.

However, synth paranoia still totally exists. The combination of institute interference and the presence of freed synths, the public is terrified that their friends could be replaced by synths. In reality, the “confirmed” replacements were freed synths who either died (and evidence of them being a synth was found on death) or felt that it was safe to admit to others that they were a synth. No body snatching actually ever existed.

McDonough is a regular wasteland human, a corrupt Boston politician. He made his political career on anti-ghoul fearmongering, but after kicking the ghouls out of Diamond City he needed a new target. He is not associated with the institute, but since he began targeting synths he has received monthly campaign donations. He started the synth activities committee to investigate suspected synth sympathies among the citizens of Diamond City and its surrounding neighborhoods.

That’s the main plot stuff but for companions the main changes are:

Preston is a faction leader, not a companion. He’s very involved and has the same character arc, but the quests he gives are less radiant and more focused, with a plot moving forward.

Hancock is not a companion either, and is less of a good guy than in the game. Goodneighbor’s government serves as a condemnation of the founding father’s idea of freedom and that kind of American libertarianism. (Really, he’s an anarchist but also immortal mayor-for-life?)

Piper is a blacklisted journalist and the most vocal critic of McDonough’s anti-synth policies. She’s somewhere between an Edward R Murrow-esque anti-McCarthyist and an underground journalist. She’s a little more self-admittedly editorial and is openly for using journalism to change hearts and minds. She’s also a better writer than in the actual game.

Curie is a Mister Handy instead of a Miss Nanny because I find the concept of a girl Mister Handy that does the housework (especially when that’s already what Mister Handys do?) a bit silly. She voices more of a desire to be human and have control over her own body, rather than just “I want to do zee science better.” She even admires the player character if she is a woman. You can go the regular in-game route (with strong objections and disapproval from Glory, who doesn’t like to see someone she was close to inhabited by someone else) or you can use the institute to print a synth body for Curie. This route can be done under the guise of an “experiment” if you are part of the Institute (although some scientists may question the scientific value of such a plan) or you can get Liam Binet’s help if you’ve made contact with him as a spy for the Railroad. If you print Curie a body, it will be created based on her self-perception, and will look different from her body if you use the wiped synth route.

Ada and Codsworth can have a synth body printed as well, to Ada’s ambivalence and Codsworth’s objections. This can only be done if you are allied with the institute; Binet won’t help if your companion doesn’t seem to want to be a synth. There is no benefit to doing this.

Nick Valentine was a private detective pre-war, not a cop. After the Eddie Winter quest, which skips the collect-a-thon part, Nick wants to solve a case that is all his own, an unsolved wasteland murder that was the first case he had walk away from.