#everything connected to the betrayal is so so well done. its a shame we never got a proper conclusion

[pixiecaps]

something that really fascinates me about roier and bobbys relationship is that while roier did truly love bobby the initial foundations of their relationship was very. two faced. roiers kindness and gentleness towards bobby came from a place of burning hatred towards spreen. he had a master plan in mind to use his son to get revenge on his enemies. he wanted bobby to be strong and a warrior not because he wanted his son to be protected from the dangers of the world but because he wanted bobby to kill spreen. he wanted bobby to be the one to end him. particularly theres a moment where he goes to grab a bow in his storage room and direct states this is all part of his master plan. teaching bobby how to properly use a bow so he can murder his enemies for him soon. again this isnt to discredit bobby and roiers relationship because it did progress and develop into an earnest love and caring dynamic but the begins of their interactions were heavily influenced by roier wanting to seek revenge. everything he did was with an ulterior motive. the mindset of act like a loving father, smile, give the kid everything he wants, and then once you’ve gained that affection and undying loyalty use him like a sword. theres something to be said about this deceitfulness brewing inside of roier after being betrayed himself because his revenge on spreen wasnt as simple as a desire to kill him. he wanted to BACKSTAB him. he wanted to return everything he felt with the betrayal back towards spreen. he wanted spreen to trust and be his friend so that he could ruin him. a methodical approach to vengeance that came with roier using bobby and shaping him into the person he needed him to be for his plan to succeed.

a lot of people perceive what jaiden roier and bobby had as the perfect family and in a way they were because roier wanted them to be. (and of course it helped that jaiden was an amazing mom) roier wanted bobby to grow up happy and comfortable and with all the confidence a kid could ever have because otherwise he’d be useless in his plan. so in turn you have this sort of picturesque life bobby lived but a lot of the beginning was with a darker intent. again roier did love bobby and its evident by his hurt when bobby died. roier truly had grown a genuine attachment to bobby. there’s no doubt about that. but theres a lot of aspects regarding the betrayal that bleed into qroiers character and his actions soon after it occured and its important to note that he’s not a saint. he’s smart about the way he goes about things and his unshakeable anger can be a dangerous force of willpower that makes him capable of using anyone to get what he wants.

[yui-kuromori]

I watched Squid Game a few days ago and I have a hot take for y’all.

EPISODE 6 WASN’T THAT SAD

And here’s why:

And don’t get me wrong, I was still very upset after it was over. It was wonderfully acted, cinematography was beautiful and the way that the game unfolded was incredibly well written.

The whole issue with this episode is its buildup.

Let’s take for example Alice in Borderland’s dreaded episode 3, a counterpart to Squid Game’s episode 6. The episode that killed many favorite characters in a short span of time that broke the viewers’ hearts.

What makes AiB’s episode 3 work so well is the element of surprise that makes it so much more impactful. Firstly, its placement. By putting the “kill everyone’s” episode so early on in the season, the writers put this expectation that they’ll somehow make it out alive. Arisu has already proven to be able to save everyone from sticky situations and we as the viewers think that surely, they wouldn’t kill half their main cast so early on in the season. Characters like Karube and Shibuki usually make it out to at least half the plot, so it was shocking how they actually did die so early on.

Secondly, we have Chouta playing a red herring for this episode. Chota is the typical first death sacrifice. A kind hearted, innocent character that would probably die early on in the season to put the stakes higher and mature the other main characters. Since we were all somewhat expecting Chouta’s death, Karube and Shibuki’s come as a surprise. The underlying expectance that at least Karube will somehow survive the 7 of hearts makes the episode’s impact so much stronger, to the point that the entire fandom still theorizes on how they could have all survived. The open nature of the game also contributes to make the episode even more heartbreaking. They could *all* have lived, but didn’t.

Now, Squid Game’s “Kill half the cast” episode came a little later on, and anyone that has any experience watching battle royals types of media was already expecting it at this point. There was no way that the entire main cast was making it out alive, and honestly? They made it farther than I personally expected.

The construction of the killed characters also does the episode no favors.

The old man was never going to make it all the way through. He had an overall well rounded character arc with the Main Character, and as sad at it was, his death was fully expected. There was no wonder in there, no question. From the moment the game was announced we all knew which one of them was going to survive. I was also kind of expecting for him to die in his sleep because of his illness, with the buildup of him laying in the bed, sickly and all.

Ali had also no chance of survival. He very much fit into the same category as Chouta did. When he was first introduced, saving the main character, grim faced and strong, I had hope that he would make it, but as soon as he blinked those innocent eyes, smiled and trusted Sang-Woo, I knew he was done for. As soon as the games started, I knew he was going to die. I was expecting his death the entire season. As well written as Sang-Woo’s betrayal was, there was no way his death could pack a huge punch without the element of surprise.

Lastly we have Ji-yeong, the girl who sacrificed herself. She had some wonderful dialogue, and her actress was doing the most, but surprisingly, she was the death that least impacted me. When I first saw pictures of her and Sae-byeok on Tumblr, I was expecting for them to have walked in the games as friends already. There were so many parallels drawn between her and Karube from AiB, which made her feel like even less of a well developed character to me.

With Karube, we have two full episodes with him as a main character to get to know him. As little time as that may look, it was enough for us to know everything we needed about him. We see his love for his friends, his desire to marry the woman he loves. We see the uglier sides of him and the kinder ones as well and by the time he dies, we actually have something to mourn over. His relationship with Arisu is what really sells his death for me, they clearly had so much love for each other.

Ji-yeong however, had roughly two episodes, one where she had very few lines and the one she dies in. All that we know about her has been told us, rather than shown us. She shows up, has a beautiful 20 minutes of wonderful chemistry with Sae-byeok, literally tells us her tragic backstory and dies. There was little to mourn, little connection between the character and audience, and that really weakened her impact as a character for us. She also had no relationship with Sae-byeok other than some sort of friendliness. We saw that they had time and means to build compelling relationships in Squid Game, like the main character and the old man, so it’s kind of a shame that they didn’t develop the girls any further. Sae-byeok also barely mourns her (logically so, they didn’t know each other) whereas Arisu, who screams, goes suicidal and spends up until the very last episode still mourning his friends, keeps digging on the grief that their deaths brought to the audience.

Overall, episode 6 was kind of a disappointment. On its own it’s a pretty solid episode, with nice dialogue and emotional scenes, but the lack of buildup and characterization kind of kills any real punch that it might have had.

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal Story - Part 6

Hii look at what I finally finished! sorry for taking so long to post this guys, I don't even have an explanation lol... I have something else already half written for the boys so hopefully I won't take so long to update the story again 🙃 anyways, I hope y'all like it <3

tagging @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot @sunflower1000 @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove @boxofsilence @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince @livingforthewhump @1becky1 @shameful-indulgence @whatwhumpcomments @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @starnight-whump @writingbackwards @noodlesandkareokee @mylifeisonthebookshelf @nightwhumpee

CW: forced sedation, manhandling, drugged whumpee, needle mention, aftermath of branding/burning

Part 1 here, continued from here

-

Liam can’t move. Every time he does, his arms do too and the mere brush of burned skin against pristine bandages is enough to get him on the verge of tears.

The room he’s kept in is too barren, too small to provide any kind of distraction from the constant pulse of pain – too much and never abating. No one listens or cares when he begs for medication, for anything to ease the agony. The doctor comes in to see him, give him antibiotics and check if there’s no infection, but barely looks at Liam when he whimpers under gloved hands.

The first time he takes a glance at the twisted skin underneath the wound dressing, a breathy, hysterical laugh slips out, quickly followed by a silent gasp as Chase’s initials weigh on his arms. He was always his, in the end, wasn’t he? Even after being betrayed and stabbed and kidnapped, he could never get the agent off his mind. Now he’ll be on Liam’s body as well.

It takes all of his willpower not to rip the dressings off once the doctor and nurses leave, just to stare at the hideous thing his arms are now.

But in the silent room, with nothing to do but think and despair, Liam can’t stop looking at the bandages.

He doesn’t know how long he spends staring at it – at the white itchy gauze, and the burns that hurt underneath it. At the C and the R he knows are forever burned on his skin. Like fucking cattle, marked with his owner’s name. Like the stupid boy who thought he could give his heart away to the beautiful, mysterious man that smiled at him. If nothing else, it is a good reminder of how big of a fool Liam is. If he lives long enough for it to be useful, that is. If Jonah doesn’t decide he’s had enough of Liam soon.

Horror floods him at the thought, and when his heart speeds up, Liam can’t hold it any longer. He pulls off the bandages in one swift movement, holding his breath when a wave of fire licks his arms. It doesn’t stop him from ripping out the second bandage though.

His hands tremble on his lap as Liam stares at the skin above his wrists, red with blood and raw skin disfigured into letters. It looks just as ugly as it feels.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear drips on his thigh. And then another and one more, until he’s openly sobbing, chest heaving and stomach twisting.

Lost in tears and the sight of burned skin that sinks into his heart and burns everything there too, Liam only realizes there are people in the room when a hand grabs his forearm.

“What did you do? I just bandaged that,” the nurse complains.

This time, this one time, he moves. Liam yanks his arm away from their grasp and stumbles out of the bed, away from the nurse that stares at him with wide eyes and a startled frown.

“D-d-don’t touch me,” he hisses, holding his hands as close to his chest as he can, and hissing again when sore skin rubs against his shirt. “Stay the fuck away!”

But instead of moving back or so much as talking to him, the nurse calls for the guards and starts walking in his direction.

Liam takes a step backward and presses his back against the wall, wild eyes searching for an escape, a weapon, anything, but salvation is nowhere near. “Please, don’t. Leave me alone.”

When the guards open the door and enter the room, Liam slides to the ground, as small as he can make himself, elbows on his knees, arms protecting his head.

“Get off!” he screams when hands grab at him, and thrashes in the hold. His foot connects with soft flesh, his knee with someone’s chin, but there are too many men. Too many hands for too little strength, no matter how desperately Liam fights.

They drag him through the floor as Liam writhes with every last bit of stamina he has, panic driving him to fight like he wishes he could every time he’s hurt.

A different kind of pain blooms as he squirms uselessly in unforgiving grips – one deeper, familiar, warmer. Liam still doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, he reopened the stab wound,” someone shouts over the cacophony of pain and panicked struggling. “Hold him down, now!”

Liam is pushed to the floor, and when someone squeezes both his arms to keep him there, right over the exposed burns, the world turns red, and a scream tears its way out of his throat.

“No, no, no, get off!” he sobs, kicking out even when a needle sinks into his arm. “n-n-nggh off, get, get o-off,” he tries again, but the world is already slipping through his fingers. He kicks out and thrashes as best as he can, but it isn’t enough. There are stronger bodies over him and the movement is barely there at all.

As much as Liam tries to keep his eyes open, they weigh too heavy, the drugs stronger than he is.

What isn’t?

Liam’s body relaxes against his will, slumps under harsh hands and angry stares, and all he can do is whimper when they drag his limp body to the bed.

-

Chase moves through life like a ghost, only a shell of helplessness and worry, and for the first time, his team notices. He hasn’t slept in days, not with Liam’s face twisted in agony ready to wake him up each time he closes his eyes. Has barely eaten, no appetite left when all he can think about is the boy he loves being hurt on his account.

How can he be free when Liam is locked up? How can he be the one who isn’t hurting when he is the only one who ever deserved it?

“Come on, I know that there’s something wrong,” Zoey says, crossing her arms.

If he could simply flee, he would, but with the hacker standing right in front of him, Chase knows it isn’t worth it. Even if he did leave, she wouldn’t stop trying to get the truth out of him. So Chase sighs and looks down at the blond woman who looks ready to commit murder.

“We all know it. You look like shit. What’s going on?”

It takes all of his strength to plaster a smirk on his lips and lean against the wall with a casual tilt of his head. “You guys worry too much. I’m fine, Zo. Probably could do with a little more sleep, but who couldn’t?”

As convincing as he hopes he sounds, Zoey doesn’t seem at all impressed by his acting. If anything, her frown deepens. “I know you, Chase. And you know me, so you know you can trust me. You look even worse than you did after that mission with the newspaper boy.”

Newspaper boy. If that was all Liam meant for him, maybe Chase’s heart wouldn’t be this tattered.

“Zoey. I am okay, I p– I promise.”

I never lied to you, he had said to Liam as he bled out in Chase’s arms. I betrayed you, yes, but not once did I lie. Stay alive and I’ll prove it to you.

But that was just another lie, wasn’t it? Liam is as alive as ever, and all Chase’s done is cause him more pain than any of them ever imagined possible. All he’s proven is his failure to keep Liam safe.

What is another lie when he’s already filled with them? Maybe that’s all he was always meant to be, all he will ever be – a betrayer. A traitor. A liar.

With a casual shrug that makes his stomach twist, Chase sidesteps his teammate. Before he can move farther away though, she grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“You are good at lying, but I can see the way your eyes have gone dull. I’m not going to force you to say it, but when you get tired of pretending to be fine, I’ll be here. Okay?” When Chase doesn’t answer, she takes a deep breath and nods. Zoey leaves him standing there, feeling dirty and raw, something stirring inside his chest and begging him to tell her everything.

Chase opens his mouth, the truth one breath away, and takes a step towards Zoey’s back. And then his phone buzzes, and reality comes crashing back as he looks at the screen and she disappears down the corridor.

Wanna see him?

It’s the first message he’s gotten from Jonah in days, and Chase holds his breath and freezes for a second at the words.

He’s rushing to his car even before his mind has caught up with his legs.

He’s standing in front of Jonah’s building in a matter of minutes, heart racing but mind weirdly quiet. Static silence, fear building up.

Jonah waits for him in the lobby this time, leaning against the open door of the elevator with a smile on his lips.

“Chase! Long time no see.”

“Where is he?”

“Straight to the point, huh. Boring as ever,” Jonah rolls his eyes. “I was feeling generous today, thought you might want to say hello. I’m not sure our dear boy will answer you, but you can try for yourself I guess.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Chase hisses as Jonah nods for him to get inside and presses the button.

“Nothing bad. He was just fussing about the pain, so my nurses gave him have a little something to relax.”

Chase steps into the elevator, two guards close behind, and fears he’ll shatter his jaw from how hard he’s clenching it.

“He also doesn’t really like his new… adornments, I don’t think. Ripped the bandages earlier today, wet the whole bed with tears.”

Jonah’s voice is light as he says it, the tone one would use to talk about something meaningless, something that doesn’t make Chase sink his nails into his palms and hold his breath. The man’s eyes are the telltale, shining with dark glee, and Chase can see the way Jonah follows his every movement like a predator, reveling at the little cracks in his unruffled façade.

“So when I offered him something to calm down, he didn’t even think before accepting,” he continues.

The doors slide open before any of them can say anything else. A small mercy.

The walk to Liam’s room is as quick as it is infinite. They stop in front of the door so incredibly soon, yet so painfully late.

“Be nice to him, I think he’s going through a phase,” Jonah chuckles as he nods for one of his men to unlock the door. “And don’t forget that this is your fault, dear.”

He barely realizes he’s entered the room until the lock clicks behind him. And then Chase’s eyes find Liam, and the world stops on its tracks, just like it always does when they are in the same room together.

He’s lying on his back, arms open and hands hanging off the bed, bandages covering the skin from Liam’s elbows to his wrists. His eyes are open, but unfocused, slow blinks that lead to nowhere even when Chase takes the first step towards him. His chest rises and falls slowly, rhythmically, a shallow blow of air through parted lips, and despite everything, Chase is happy that Liam isn’t in pain.

It is only when he stops beside the bed that Liam’s head lolls on the pillow, a sunflower looking for the sun even though no real light can reach him here. Still, he looks, and half-lidded eyes roam around the room before finally stopping on Chase’s face.

“Hey,” Chase says, curling one hand into a fist while the other clutches the edge of the bed.

“Mmgh,” Liam slurs with a shuddering breath and a crease on his forehead before trying again. “I, mm, I’m not, n-uh not feeling… well.”

“How can I help?” Chase’s voice is hoarse and low, pained, but Liam hears it. He hears it and he whimpers, shaking his head no.

Make it stop, his mouth forms, but doesn’t voice.

I can’t, Chase wants to scream, I’d give anything to make it all stop but I can’t. Instead, he softens his voice and tries to smile. “What if I do something to distract you? I… I was told you are under some strong drugs.”

Green eyes blink at him, and Chase is happy there are only the two of them in the room. He might actually lose it and punch Jonah square in the face if the man was here.

“How about I tell you a story? You’ve always liked them.”

Liam swallows, eyes darting around the room again, and even though Chase knows he isn’t listening, not really, he sits on the edge of the bed and starts talking.

“It’s about a boy who thought he could change the world, but instead changed the person who was sent to stop him.”

“Sou-sounds like a shit story,” Liam mumbles.

“Depends on how you look at it. Or who’s the one telling it, I guess.”

There’s a pause, and Liam sighs softly before talking again.

“Are you… are, are you really… here?”

The words slam into his chest, shattering anything left in there, and though Chase holds himself firmly still and keeps his face carefully free from anything but tenderness, something collapses inside of him. Maybe it’s his heart. It feels like it, and he wants to cry, to grab Liam and leave, but he can’t, and Liam strains to focus on his eyes, so Chase smiles like there isn’t burning agony rippling through him.

“Do you want me to be?”

“I, I don’t, I don’t know.” It is only a murmur, but Chase knows he’ll hear its echo in his nightmares for a long time – the uncertainty, the fear, the sadness. The helplessness.

I’m here. I would be here forever if I could.

But the words are only that – words. He can’t be here forever, nor erase all the pain he’s caused and continues to cause. So Chase picks up the pieces of his heart and pretends it doesn’t hurt to smirk and brush Liam’s hair away from his forehead like he used to do so long ago.

If he can’t take Liam away from this nightmare, the least he can do is pretend it is a dream.

“Then you should stop dreaming about me.”

“Ca-can’t,” Liam frowns, staring at the hand Chase just touched him with. “Will, will you leave? Again?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Liam looks up again, and something is missing in those eyes. A spark of life that was still there the last time they saw each other, but isn’t now. As Chase searches for the hope he always loved in the depths of Liam’s gaze, what he finds instead is sadness.

“Don’t go,” Liam breathes. “I, I, my h-head, it it it feels weird, Chase.”

“I know, love,” Chase says calmly, nothing of the wild desperation that rages inside of him seeping through the words. Not when Liam is this lost, this vulnerable. Not when it is the first time he has called Chase by his name after the betrayal. “It’ll pass.”

“I’m scared,” he murmurs, shifting on the bed. “But, I, I don’t remember… why.”

“You are okay, Liam. I promise. You’ll be okay.”

Liam closes his eyes and shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is only a whisper, gone even before he finishes. “I don’t believe you.”

Chase bites on his lip and creases his forehead, but none of it shows when he takes Liam’s hand in his own and gives it a little squeeze.

“I know. That’s okay too.”

But Liam isn’t there anymore to hear it. His body sags on the bed, taken away by the drugs, and Chase is left alone in Liam’s cell, watching the boy he’d kill and die for fall asleep. As he does, all Chase can think about is that he needs to get Liam out of here. Somehow, he needs to get him away, no matter the cost of it.

An hour goes by, and though it is one of the worst hours of Chase’s life, is it the first time he doesn’t feel like a part of his heart is bleeding in days. Not when he can see the bleeding part right in front of him.

He wants to wake Liam up, to hear his voice while he can, before he’s forced to leave again. But there’s peace on his face as he sleeps, and Chase can’t take him back to reality when he looks like he used to, like he could wake up at any moment and kiss Chase with a smile.

And then the door opens, and the memories vanish as Chase reluctantly gets up. As soon as he does though, Liam stirs on the bed, frail hand reaching out and grabbing Chase’s wrist before he can move away.

“You promised me… a… um, a story.”

Liam’s eyes open for a moment before closing again, but he doesn’t let go. Chase shoots one look at the guards waiting by the door and knows that nothing good will happen if he waits. He has to play nice if he wants to get Liam out.

Chase looks down at Liam again, and when he finds half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open, he can’t stop his voice from breaking mid-sentence.

“It’ll have to stay for another time, okay? I’ll see you soon, love.”

Liam’s eyes flutter back closed with a soft sigh. His voice is soft as the tears that sting Chase’s eyes when he speaks. “You al–, you always leave in real life too.”

Chase can’t find an answer before he is dragged out of the room by a firm grip he knows better than to fight. He yanks his arm away as soon as the door locks him and Liam on different sides, and hears the words rattling around his head while he is lead to sit in Jonah’s office to hear what the man wants next. All the way back to his house.

He doesn’t think when he calls Zoey. All he hears is Liam.

All he can see is Liam’s lost gaze, the life fading out of his eyes. All he knows is that if he lets him in Jonah’s claws one more second without doing anything, he might actually, truly, crumble down until he can’t pull himself back up.

He is sitting on his couch, hands over his face and elbows on his knees just like they have been since he got home, when his friend opens the door.

“Oh, Chase,” she breathes as soon as she sees his face and sits beside him. “What happened?”

He doesn’t get to crumble down. Not when it’s Liam the one being hurt. The one branded and tortured and kidnapped and betrayed. Still, when Zoey’s gentle arms wrap around him, he hugs her back.

“It’s Liam,” he says, fighting to get the words out through his heaving breaths, trying to force his mind to put them together long enough for someone else to know it too because he can’t do this on his own. He thought he could, he thought he was enough, but he isn’t and he needs to get Liam out, no matter what, no matter how, he has to, he has to before the light goes out in that beautiful green gaze. “He, I, he’s caught and it’s my fault and I thought I could keep him safe but I can’t and now–“

“Chase, breathe,” she commands, and he answers. It’s all he knows how to do, isn’t it? Answer orders. Look at what happens when he’s left on his own. “Let’s start from the begging.”

So Chase does.

(next)

[pennylaneforthoughts]

Lokius Hogwarts AU

All right my dudes, hot take time:

I’ve seen a lot of Hogwarts AU headcanons floating around, and having thought waaaaaay too much about it, I’m here to add my two cents.

( @sortinghatchats has my favorite sorting system I’ve seen to date, since it goes so much in depth into themes throughout the HP series that good ol’ JK barely touches on in her pretty surface level commentary on the subject, so that’s the system I’m gonna use. Go to their blog to learn more about the way the system works bc I’m too lazy to go more in depth than I already have.)

This is gonna be Hella Long tho so I’m putting it under a cut.

Loki: Petrified Slytherin Primary/Slytherin Secondary - sorting: Slytherin House

Perhaps it may seem trite, but Loki really is a Slytherin Primary at heart. Yes he is ambitious and all that stereotypical stuff, but that’s not really what makes a Slytherin a Slytherin. Anyone can be ambitious. No, he’s a Slytherin because he unapologetically prioritizes himself and the people he cares about above all else. 

“Slytherin Primaries are fiercely loyal to the people they care for most. Slytherin is the place where “you’ll make your real friends”– they prioritize individual loyalties and find their moral core in protecting and caring for the people they are closest to. Slytherin’s reputation for ambition comes from the visibility of this promotion of the self and their important people– ambition is something you can find in all four Houses; Slytherin’s is just the one that looks most obviously selfish.”

However, Loki’s trauma has pushed him to something this system calls Petrifying.

“Whether through death, betrayal, abandonment (from either side), or through never having had any to begin with, the Petrified Slytherin has decided that having important people is too dangerous. Having those strong ties leaves you open to pain and weakness, and the pleasure of those connections aren’t worth the despair that comes from their seemingly inevitable loss. In this way, they close themselves off to meaningful connections out of what is ultimately fear (though from the inside, it’s far more likely to be experienced as a rational, sensible decision given the circumstances of the world), and gives them a stony exterior that seems impenetrable, resolute, and cold.” 

Loki wants love and acceptance so badly, but he is convinced that the kind of attachments and relationships that that comes from are far too dangerous and the risk isn’t worth the reward. He pushes people away, hides behind a mask of self-aggrandizement, and betrays others before they can betray him in an attempt to protect himself from potential pain.

In the series, however, we see him slowly unpetrify and move towards a more healthy style of attachment because of Mobius and Sylvie’s influence on him. Whereas his circle of priorities used to include only himself (and arguably Frigga and later, Thor, in the movie timeline), he proverbially “thaws” enough to let Mobius and Sylvie in, and tragically, because of that, the loss of them hurts him so deeply because by the end of season 1, they’re all he had.

His Slytherin Secondary, however, is obvious in his methodology. He’s the god of chaos. He loves improvisation, and plans only exist as long as another better idea doesn’t come along and usurp it. He’ll change and adapt (quite literally) to best fit the situation in front of him, and he takes joy in that. But beneath all the running and his many personas, he has his “neutral state” that he lets only a precious few see. Mobius gets to see it, and so does Sylvie, and as he progresses through the series, he starts to be more comfortable existing in that state where he’s no longer hiding behind everything he feels like the world expects him to be and he can just be himself. 

Mobius: Slytherin Primary (Hufflepuff Model)/Hufflepuff Secondary - sorting: Slytherin House

People like to put Mobius in Hufflepuff, but honestly? I don’t think that’s where he’d be most comfortable. Yes, he is kind and caring to basically everyone, and we see this over and over again in the series. The man radiates comfort. However, like it says in Inky and Kat’s description of the Slytherin Primary, 

“Wanting to help someone doesn’t mean you’re loyal to them. Wanting to help them at the expense of your comforts, your values, your commitments and sometimes even yourself–that does.”

Mobius is kind to a fault. But he is not kind at the expense of himself. Not to everyone at least. He is kind to the child in France, but he is not kind to the point of saving him from the resetting of the timeline, and he doesn’t feel guilty about that. He believes in a duty of care, but he does not believe he has any obligation to go beyond what he thinks that duty of care is. He unapologetically plays favorites, and this is mentioned on multiple occasions. Above all else, Mobius values loyalty as a virtue. Sure, he cares about the TVA and its accompanying morality, and he genuinely does believe it’s his duty to care about and be kind to others. He seems to vibe quite well with the Hufflepuff ideal of caring about people simply because they are people, but this is all secondary to his personal loyalties when push comes to shove. For Mobius,

“dropping that model in order to stand by someone you love, or in order to protect yourself, doesn’t feel like a failing. Sticking to that modelled morality at the expense of betraying or abandoning one of their own would make a Slytherin feel guilty and wrong. Being able to put the things and concepts you like aside for the sake of the people who need you feels more righteous than any moral posturing.”

It’s for this very reason that Mobius gets so angry and feels so betrayed when he thinks Loki has abandoned him for Sylvie, and when Ravonna lies to him and prunes him.

“Betraying your own is the worst kind of crime. Loyalty is precious and terrible; it makes you vulnerable. It’s given sparingly, deeply, and a Slytherin will stand by their loyalties through the same death and fire that a Gryffindor would brave for the sake of doing the right thing, or a Hufflepuff to help someone in need.”

Loki is Mobius’ own. Mobius prioritizes Loki over almost everything else, sticks his neck out for him over and over again, and is willing to sacrifice his own happiness for him. He’s even willing to abandon the whole of his former ideology and prior friendships for this relationship that has become closer to him than his own self, the highest tier of trust and loyalty a Slytherin can give.

“It’s an extreme Slytherin who would let the whole world burn for the sake of a friend, but every Slytherin Primary would be at the very least tempted.”

And Mobius very nearly does exactly that. Even says the words, “burn it to the ground” when Loki asks him what he’s going to do. And he doesn’t feel bad about it. Especially after realizing what the TVA has done to him and the people he cares about. He kicks the TVA out of his circle of care, and doesn’t look back. And he does it for Loki.

Mobius’ Secondary is where people get his Hufflepuff vibes from, I think. A Hufflepuff secondary is marked by “their consistency and the integrity of their method. They’re our hard workers. They build habits and systems for themselves and accomplish things by keeping at them. They have a steadiness that can make them the lynchpin (though not usually the leader) of a community.” And that is what Mobius is. It’s why he radiates that kindness and comfort. He quietly and carefully works at and invests in the relationships in his life to the point that people almost automatically trust him, and over time he has learned how to read people and figure out what makes them tick. 

He approaches new situations with a steady head and gentle hand that Loki is unused to, and it’s this approach that eases Loki into learning how to trust and rely on people. It’s an inherently Hufflepuff approach, and it’s the key to his success as an analyst for the TVA and an understanding friend for Lokis across the timelines.

Tl;dr - Application to an actual Hogwarts AU fic:

THEREFORE! There’s a compelling narrative to be had with a tiny, first-year Loki coming into Hogwarts. He comes from a pureblood family that’s very proud of their Gryffindor heritage (they don’t talk about Hela, and Loki and Thor don’t even know she exists until later in this story), and his brother had been sorted into Gryffindor a couple years prior, and Loki has heard very little other than contempt for Slytherin House and everyone in it. Loki doesn’t want to be sorted into Slytherin. He doesn’t want to deal with the disappointment and shame from his father and the sad eyes of his brother. But the sorting hat sorts him there almost immediately, and his heart sinks. He wanders over to the table miserably but determined. If he’s gonna be sorted into the “evil” house, might as well just run with it, right? Best not to get close to people though. It’s Slytherin. Who knows when someone will betray you.

Enter Mobius, the tiny muggleborn, bright eyed, bushy tailed, and having no clue about the prejudices between houses. The hat takes a hot minute sorting him, giving him the choice between Hufflepuff and Slytherin and telling him Hufflepuff would love a kindhearted and welcoming member like him. But Mobius has been eyeing the little black-haired kid who got sorted before him and is now sitting far apart from everyone, and he can’t help but feel like he needs to be this kid’s friend. And didn’t the hat just say Slytherin is where you’ll make your real friends? Friends are what Mobius cares about, so he’d like to go to Slytherin, thank you very much, so that’s where he goes, and he happily plunks himself down right next to Loki and sticks his hand out.

“I’m Mobius. What’s your name?”

 Loki looks at Mobius’ hand disdainfully and doesn’t shake it, but he does answer, “Loki.”

Mobius’ eyes go wide, and he smiles. “Loki? Like after the Norse god?”

Loki nods, eyeing Mobius suspiciously. People don’t often bat an eye at his name. Not in the wizarding world, anyway.

“Wow, that’s so cool! I loved reading about Norse mythology in school and Loki was always my favorite. Names have power, you know. If you’ve got the same name, then you must be just as awesome.”

Loki has no idea what to do with this kid, but he’s immediately aware of two things:

He’s absolutely sure that this Mobius kid is in the wrong house. No way a Slytherin can be this excited without a single hint of deception in his face.

He’s going to be eaten alive by the other students if Loki doesn’t protect him. What a pain.

Loki is completely wrong on both of these points.

[yandere-sins]

may i request some prince!shouto x reader? maybe reader is another royal and shouto threatens war over their kingdom unless they marry him? he's just very much in love

Anytime! We all like some powerful yandere don’t we? Thanks for requesting ^-^

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-«« 

Normally, there wouldn't have been a reason for you to accompany the diplomate of your country to peace negotiations. But this wasn't normal. The war outside wasn't one done for any noble reasons like expanding kingdom borders or a natural rivalry. No one wanted the other's plot of land, and the people of the regions weren't on unfriendly terms with each other either. It was all because the king's son wanted to marry into your royal family.

He wanted to marry you.

King Todoroki wasn't a nice man, and there had never been praise sung in his name. But he wasn't a terrible king. Aside from the whispers of his inability in social connections, the queen banished into a monastery and a lost, believed dead son, he actually worked for the people in his land. He gave them work and food to keep them healthy and satisfied, and his reign wasn't questioned by anyone under him.

Despite this, he never showed much capability in raising his children. While they were good royals, there wasn't a family attachment like in yours. You could see it just by how far they stood away from him, cramped around the empty throne of their mother. You, at least, felt pity for them. Though that didn't mean that you could understand their course of action.

"We beg Your Excellency to please not advance your troops! We have offered you all we can, including all the royal siblings of their Grace. The king can't possibly annul the arranged marriage to the Mighty Kingdom in the north. Our throne child has been promised ever since their birth, and we won't be able to survive an attack over the broken promise!"

Huffing, King Todoroki, known by his byname 'Endeavor', didn't seem terribly impressed by the diplomats pleading. After throwing off every offer, even your father had decided that if no gold or other marriage worked, your kingdom wasn't strong enough not to plead for mercy if it came down to it.

You didn't miss the side-glance to his youngest son, who had positioned himself the farthest from his dad. Even so, Prince Shoto caught the look from his father, making a small, barely noticeable shake with his head. It was hard to see if anyone else noticed their quiet exchange, especially with you hiding behind other diplomats and guards that arrived to guarantee your safety through security.

Feeling your stomach churn, you knew there wasn't much to do. They wouldn't let down on something they've been pursuing for years. You didn't agree with your father's decision to plead, knowing that your opponent kingdom was well aware that your people and lands were suffering from the ongoing war. By now, it was only a question of who was going to stomp you into the ground. Either King Todoroki's nation, or the one of King Yagi. Your father had practically admitted to losing the war already.

"We don't agree. Our conditions are clear, they have been so from the start. All you do now is bring shame over yourself."

The diplomat's shoulder slumped as he listened to the king speak, the eldest daughter mumbling a very quiet, "Father, please--" as she saw the disappointment and frustration in everyone's face. Bless her, you thought. It was at least one person that cared, even if it was short-lived as she got bumped into the shoulder by her brother, lowering her head.

A moment of quietness fell over the throne room as everyone tried to think about what to do, but when the diplomate sighed, you knew the discussion was over. Of course, you felt the disappointment in each of your bones, the knot in your stomach burning with anxiety and fear. You only half-heartedly watched as the diplomate bowed, turning around with a sorrowful look on his face. Your eyes met before he sighed, waving at the men acting as your defense barrier.

With the loud clacking of moving armor and shuffle of fabric, everyone before you suddenly moved aside, exposing your cloaked form, as you stood there startled. Blinking a few times, you looked side to side, every eye you met immediately turned away from you, no one having the guts to look at their most precious throne child as you almost felt like... they were betraying you.

You couldn't help but look up at the royal family, who almost looked as baffled as you, before you felt the diplomate tug at your arm, pulling you out of the secure cave of people. Like an unwilling child, did he have to pull you forwards, your mind not giving your feet any directions. "Your Highness," he mumbled, almost ashamed, brushing back his hair with his free hand as he addressed the king. Not even the diplomate dared to look you in the eyes, whispering a useless apology as he tugged down the cape of your coat, revealing who you were.

"We've come to you today to offer you a peace treaty..."

Suddenly, his words became nothing but a monotone buzz in your ear as the situation dawned on you. Even if it had been your suggestion to tag along, you hadn't been in charge of anything. You were their last move on the chessboard, and you had come here in case everything failed. Your people, your kingdom, and your father had knowingly sent you as a backup plan. They had delivered you, knowing it would most likely fail.

What you felt wasn't just disappointment. The full weight of betrayal was coming down on you as you looked up at the king. He sat up, straightening his back, and looked over to his son as if he needed the approval. You couldn't help but follow his gaze, noticing how Prince Shoto wasn't looking back at him, an expression caressing his face that you hadn't thought him to be able to make.

Truth be told, you had known Shoto for a long time. You two had always been the same age, and he had always danced with you on the many, MANY parties in your childhood. You thought you knew him well from the countless visits between your kingdoms, after all, they once had been close business partners before they sent the first proposal of marriage.

But never before had you seen him look like this.

And it scared you.

He looked... ecstatic. Eyes open so wide as if he feared to miss even a second of looking at you. The heterochromia was piercing you with its shine. Success, relief, and maniacal happiness showing in them. A wide, toothy grin on his face, his hands turned to fists and one leg already in the front as if he was going to jump and cheer any moment now.

Even if you couldn't concentrate on anyone else, everyone in the room exchanged conflicted glances. Still, the first one to relax was the king, sinking back into his throne again. "So be it," he announced, even though the diplomate was still rattling down the conditions. He didn't even wait for everything to be said, not shying away from any cost it may bring over his kingdom, as long as his son was happy.

A slow, weary clapping resounded behind you from the people attending this meeting. They seemed unsure if this was a reason to be joyful, but latest when the diplomate let go of your arm, they all started to mumble and giggle, happy that the war was officially over now.

Only you remained with a confused, even frightened expression on your face as you finally looked away from your future husband. Shoto slowly regained his composure accepting congratulation of his court while you spaced through everyone who came to congratulate you. You had a bad feeling about this, dangerous and wrong. Maybe it was still the feeling of betrayal that you lived through, or perhaps the fear for your kingdom and what fate was to fall over it.

But peeking up through your eyelashes, you noticed the other royal family staring back at you. They had shuffled away from their brother, towards their father even, looking back with at you with sullen expressions.

Oh, how quickly table turned, you wondered. Maybe you had misjudged them for their family situation and relationship with each other. After all, it was now all of them who looked at you with pity in their eyes.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? IV

A/N: Oof. This chapter was really fun to write, especially beginning to explore Freydis's abilities more, and whereas I wasn't too sold on the last chapter, I REALLY feel good about this one! Ivar didn't have to face up to much of what he'd done in Kattegat during Season 6, and as much as I love him... He's facing up to it now. It's not too easy to earn the forgiveness of someone you killed, after all, is it? I hope you enjoy :) Skål!

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive… she may have to learn to trust him again.

Masterlist

--

The Moment of Adrenaline

What followed was not at all something the spectators had expected to see. They had expected a joyful reunion, husband and wife reunited when her life had been cut short. Of course, had the story of Freydis’s death been truthful, had she really died in the Siege of Kattegat as a casualty of war, then this would have been true.

Those watching this hadn’t known that Ivar was the one who killed her. They were found in the same tomb, buried as husband and wife, and the truth died with Hvitserk. All that was known was that Freydis had sacrificed her life for Kattegat. It made sense that, instead of this, Freydis and Ivar should have been thrilled to be together once more.

However, now she was facing the door again, instead of running to him, and pounding on it, begging to be released. It seemed she had even forgotten what she could do, that if she wanted to, she could pull the door from its hinges with a flick of her wrist.

When the door didn't open, Freydis felt her heart sinking into her stomach. She was well and truly stuck in here with him. Finally, she turned, looking at him with wide eyes. From the way her chest rose and fell, he could see she was panicking. So, he lifted his hands and began to approach her as one approached a wounded animal.

"Freydis, I'm not going to hurt you," he promised. "I swear, I won't hurt you again."

"Liar!" Freydis shouted back. "You killed me, Ivar! How am I supposed to believe you now? You killed me, and you killed our baby!"

The two spoke in Old Norse, and those watching behind the mirrors began to look to each other confusedly. Only Professor Andersen understood a word of what they said, and his eyes widened at the revelation. They'd just proven about a million history books wrong.

"I know, I know," Ivar said. Every step he took, her breathing became faster and harder. So, he paused, and watched her movements instead. He needed her to calm down before something went wrong.

The truth was, though he knew what powers were given to him, he couldn't be sure what they had given to her. It was very likely that she had something different. After all, he'd been told he could see her if she survived her experiments and tests. They'd had next to no doubt that he would survive.

And, try as he might, they wouldn't hear of him trading experiments with her. He had begged to see her before they did anything to her, in case she didn't survive, and he had begged to take what they were giving her, begged for them to give to her what they wanted to give to him. After all, after what he'd done to her, he knew she was the one who deserved to survive this. He was the one who should sacrifice himself for her.

It didn't seem Freydis knew any of this, though- not that it would make up for what he had done, not in either of their minds. He'd killed her, and even sacrificing his life now to save hers wouldn't undo that. He doubted if anything could undo that betrayal of her love and her trust.

That didn't mean he wouldn't try to earn it back, if he could. Even if he had to fight tooth and nail to earn it back, he would.

But what Ivar didn't know, was that Freydis hadn't loved him when she betrayed him. Far from it, she had come to hate him. Even now, she hated him. The betrayal that turned her against him was his decision concerning Baldur. That hadn't been his decision to make alone, and it wouldn't have been one she'd have ever agreed to anyway. Then again, perhaps that was exactly why he made it alone. Perhaps he preferred to beg her forgiveness, rather than to ask for her permission.

Whatever it was, he knew that gaining her trust would not be easy, not now, and he might never have her love again. The part of his mind that rarely let him rest whispered that he didn't deserve to, and he knew it was right. No man who would kill his wife deserved her forgiveness.

Clearly, she was having the same thoughts, as she had finally seemed to realize he didn't mean to hurt her, regardless of what he did mean to do. The fear in her eyes slowly turned to that of confusion, as she looked over him from head to toe, and then her eyes slowly returned to his eyes.

"How are you standing here?" she asked him. "Your legs, they should be breaking."

"It is whatever..." He waved his hand about, not having a word for it in their tongue. "Serum they gave me. It healed my body, Freydis."

She held up a hand, and closed her eyes, almost looking as though he'd just slapped her. "Do not speak to me as if you know me," she hissed out. "You have lost that right."

"I do know you, though," he said. "I'm the only one here who does."

Freydis laughed bitterly, looking at him and crossing her arms. "Is that true?" she questioned. He knew that tone in her voice, the sort that warned him he was treading on thin ice. "What do I prefer to drink with my evening meals?"

Ivar blinked a few times. "Ale," he said, as if it were obvious.

"Mead," she corrected. "You preferred ale. What was my favorite color, before?"

"Red."

"It was blue. You favored red."

He swallowed thickly, feeling no small amount of nerves coursing through him. "Freydis," he said quietly.

"Don't."

As her eyes connected with his, he saw that strength returning to her. The very strength that he'd seen in her eyes when she looked at him, and confessed to letting Björn, Hvitserk, and their army into Kattegat. He shifted on his feet.

"You never knew me, Ivar. I knew you, but you did not know me. I did everything for you, and what did you give me in return? You gave me a throne, but you made it miserable to sit in."

"I loved you," he replied. "That was all I could give."

The once Queen laughed, and shook her head. "You say you loved me, but I am not sure you did. I think you believed you did, but you loved how I loved you. Can you truly kill someone you love?"

Flashes of blonde hair, a bloody battlefield, axes and swords, slipped quickly through Ivar's mind. Two brothers, lying on the ground, gone. He had killed Sigurd, he had killed Björn, and he had killed Freydis.

His eyes refused to meet hers, proving- if nothing else- that he felt a deep shame for what he had done. That was three he had killed, three of the people he had loved most dearly. And he'd even asked her once if he should kill Hvitserk, who he may have loved most of his brothers, in the end. Hvitserk, who returned to his side, and stayed by his side, after all he had done. He'd been the only one.

"I did love you," Ivar said, nodding a little as if reminding himself of that. "I still do."

Now, it was Freydis who swallowed. "Part of me wants to believe you," she said. "Part of me does. You even told me, before you killed me, that a part of you would always love me. So perhaps that is why I believe you do love me now. Or that a part of you does. But you must know I have lost my love for you."

Finally, his eyes did return to hers, and he almost wished they'd still been as cold as they'd been only a few moments ago. Instead, he found that they were sorrowful, and she was approaching him. He could almost picture that dress she'd been wearing when he killed her, her hair pulled back in that braid, as she walked.

He blinked again, and he realized he actually did see that, that he saw them in Kattegat once more. She cupped his cheek, and he blinked a few times as he looked into her eyes. “You left my heart in that forest with Baldur,” she whispered.

Ivar's eyes widened a little as he looked into hers, and he began to pant softly. "Freydis," he breathed, looking away from her and back to Kattegat. "How did you- how are we...?"

"How are we what?" she questioned, watching Ivar curiously. He looked up at her with a confused expression, and she only mirrored it.

"How are we in Kattegat?" he asked her.

She gave a slight chuckle, and answered, "We have always been in Kattegat, Ivar. But you cannot stay."

Ivar looked around, and when she chuckled darkly, he looked back to her again. "Freydis..." he began warningly, and her chuckles turned into laughter as the doors burst open.

Björn and Hvitserk entered the room, which he knew to be the Great Hall of the longhouse he'd grown up in, and he stepped back.

"Thank you, Freydis," Hvitserk said, and smirked as he approached and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his hand resting on her back.

"You've delivered him to us as you said," Björn commented with a smirk. "And now, we will deliver him to you."

Freydis smirked as well, a dark look in her eye, as she turned and wrapped her arms around Hvitserk's waist. "Thank you," she said. "I look forward to seeing him burn. Or perhaps we should tie him up, leave him to starve in the forest as he did Baldur."

Hvitserk chuckled as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Whatever you wish, sweet Freydis," he said.

Ivar was backing away from Björn , who was steadily encroaching on him as Freydis began to laugh, until pain shot through his body from one kick from his brother. His leg broke, and as he fell to the ground, Björn made sure to break his other leg as well. "No escape for you, Boneless," he growled. "Not this time." He could barely see Freydis looking up at Hvitserk, could barely see his brother kissing her, his wife, before his eyes were drawn to the sword Björn pointed at him. The sword slid into his chest and made Ivar gasp, which drew the attention of Hvitserk and Freydis, the latter of whom finally pulled away from the former to approach him. Björn moved away, sheathing his sword, as Freydis got to her knees and cupped his cheek.

When he reached up to cup hers, she caught his wrist, and twisted his arm so that he cried out, unable to stop her as he grew weaker. "I look forward to seeing your body hang from a tree," she hissed out, and the world went black.

Things suddenly shifted, and Freydis was standing right in front of him, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. She seemed angry, and perhaps a little amused, though the look in his eyes could only be described as confusion and fear.

"How?" he managed, looking back around the small room he'd been allowed into so he could see her. "How did you-?"

"I showed you your worst fear," she said, and smirked. "Admittedly, I doubt Hvitserk would have killed me. He wasn't the one who killed Thora after all, was he?"

Ivar blinked a few times as he looked at her, shaking his head. "Freydis..." he said once more. "Why would you show me this?"

She gave a small shrug before answering, "Because I wanted to know. And, if I am entirely honest, because you deserved it."

"I-?" he managed, shaking his head. "I am not sure that is my worst fear. Not now. Now, that is a nightmare, but it is not my worst fear."

Freydis looked at him with a slightly curious expression, and she lifted her hand. "Shall we see what is your worst fear, then?" she asked. "I would be happy to do so..."

Red smoke began to slip out of her fingers, and he watched as her eyes turned red. Whatever power they had given her struck terror into his heart, and he was almost entirely sure his worst fear was already playing out before him. The one woman who had every reason to hate him now had powers beyond that of any Völva, and could possibly kill him with a flick of her wrist. He was entirely reliant on her mercy.

"Freydis," he said, again lifting his hands in a show of surrender. "You do not want to do this, hm? You don't want to kill me."

Rage overtook her, and she screamed out, "You do not know what I want!" A flick of the wrist and he flew back into the wall, a harsh thud sounding throughout the room as he hit it, and fell to the ground. "You are the last person who knows! You took everything from me, Ivar! You took my son, my love, my people! Do you want to know what I want?"

She crouched down in front of him, looking him in the eye as the red faded from hers, and the smoke retreated into her hand once more. "I want it all back." Her voice cracked as she spoke, and her eyes began to water. "I want our son, I want our lives, I want our love back," she whispered. "But you destroyed it all." Her finger jabbed him in the chest, right where Björn’s sword had driven through his heart in the vision she had shown him. "I cannot have any of those things now, Ivar. You killed our son, our love, and you killed me. I can never trust you after what you did. Just as you knew you would never again trust me."

She had claimed just a few moments ago that he didn't know her, but Ivar knew that wasn't quite true. Perhaps he hadn't known her favorite drink, or her favorite color, and perhaps he should have, but he did know the look on her face, the sound in her voice, when her heart was breaking. Or, more accurately, when her heart was broken.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, wanting to comfort her, but she pulled away before he could touch her. "Don't do that," she said quietly, her voice strained. "Don't."

With that, she stood, and walked to the door. He watched as she now opened it, with what he could only describe as her magic. One thought was constantly echoing through his mind as he watched her go, his heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears.

He was lucky to be alive.

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[hyena-frog]

I personally don't understand people who think that Virginia 'can't win on her own'. As if she has to prove herself or she is 'too nice' and has to learn 'how to violence'. Just because Sevro's solution for everything is cutting some fingers or worse, doesn't mean he is always right or that Mustang's work to keep that balance and play within the designated lines is not badass or interesting. She is the only demokratic ruler and her own people gave her absolute power of decision making to end the war at any cost. What's not great about that!?

If Virginia was indeed 'too nice', she would have perished long ago - last absolute cinnamon roll we saw was Julian and we all know what Society thinks about people like him. Just because she plays by the rules, doesn't mean she has no claws - she wiped a terrorist's memories away for fuck's sake. Now that the rules have been extended, you can bet your ass that she'll take more than one page out of Nero's playbook. After all, she said it herself, she tamed herself, but it's fun to let the lion out.

Agreed 110%! I don't understand people who give Virginia shit in general tbh. I mean, how do you not fall in love with her immediately? How are you not ride or die for her from the get-go? It boggles the mind.

Those arguments, being "too nice" or being unable to win on her own, are reaching and easily debunkable. The lack of reading comprehension. 😒 If you don't like her, then whatever. I may not understand how that’s possible, but it really isn’t necessary to make shit up, you know?

Virginia can't win on her own, huh. The nerve! Where would Darrow be without her? Dead. Many times over. He would have bled out after Cassius stabbed him if Virginia hadn't helped him. And it was Virginia who brought the Howlers back from the Rim weeks in advance of Darrow actually needing them, just in case. So many things would have gone wrong in Morning Star if she wasn't at Darrow's side (and if Ragnar hadn't gone out of his way to make sure she'd be there, the absolute legend).

Perhaps it's Darrow who can't win on his own? But that sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? All of his successes were achieved through teamwork. Darrow acknowledges this many times. It's the same for Virginia. While it's simply not true that she can't win on her own, it’s also untrue that the inability to win on your own is a bad thing. The whole argument doesn’t make any sense.

The idea Virginia still needs to “prove” herself despite doing so plenty of times already throughout the series is frustrating. The fact of the matter is, the success of the Rising relies just as heavily on Virginia's intelligence as it does Darrow's battle skills. The Solar Republic simply wouldn't exist without her. Fitchner never had a clear vision of what "after the Society" would look like and neither did Darrow for a long time. The war effort needs a conscience and a vision for the future, otherwise it's just endless bloodshed. Virginia helps Darrow see beyond the bloodshed. Plus, Darrow has no interest in politics. He'd be the first to admit he’s not good at the slow game of political maneuvering. But Virginia thrives in that environment. In Dark Age, Darrow even admits his current predicament is a consequence of not trusting his wife's way of running the Republic, and he vows never to do that again.

Sure, Virginia doesn't get into physical fights often, especially now that she is Sovereign. But politics is no less perilous a battlefield. I feel like because the political battlefield isn't as flashy and fast paced as a literal one, people forget the constant danger she is in, even before the Senate's betrayal. Silenius' Stiletto is a delicate tightrope act she has to perform every day to drag progress forward while keeping her opponents in check. This requires a level of self-restraint, clear-headedness, and badassery, that no other character can achieve.

Virginia is not "too nice." She is practical. And often, is it practical to play nice. Not every confrontation is best solved through violence Sevro. We all know the line: Virginia is the mustang that nuzzles the hand; people know they can work with her. That’s why the people chose her consistently for ten years, over literally everyone else in the solar system, to run this new government. And her steadfast resolve to gain Imperium legally, to not force her will on the people, proved to them again that she won’t abuse this ultimate power to end the war.

No, Virginia may be reasonable but that doesn't mean she is too nice. If she was too nice, she wouldn't have used her relationship with Cassius to protect her family. She wouldn't have shot Cassius in the throat with an arrow. She wouldn't have promised Ephraim he would "die shitting in a foreign bed" if he skipped about on their bargain to return the kids. She wouldn't have zapped the Duke of Hands' entire personality from his head. Like you said, she never would have made it this far if she was truly toothless. She's practical, and sometimes the practical solution doesn't require violence, but creative thinking.

Speaking of creative thinking, one thing Virginia doesn’t get nearly enough credit for is abolishing the death penalty immediately after Adrius was hanged. That wasn't her being "too nice" or too lenient on her caste. Yes, she feels life in prison is the moral option over the death penalty. But she knows her people. The punishment for the worst criminals in Deepgrave is a Gold's worst nightmare. Life in prison denies a Gold their desire for a glorious death, to be remembered through the ages for their deeds in battle. The Republic's justice system sends a clear message: "Mess with us, and you won't get your notoriety or fame, you'll only get obscurity and shame and sucking algae through a tube until you die naturally of old age." That to me is crueler than hanging.

Virginia’s mind is her greatest weapon, but more than that, her greatest strength is how she applies her intelligence. Her ability to read people, and to communicate, is greatly underappreciated imo. These skills require nonviolent interaction yet they yield great results. There are many examples of this. She used her natural charisma to gain Octavia's trust. She brokered an alliance with the Rim when she thought Darrow was dead. She held the Republic together for ten years despite constant, increasing animosity from the Vox. She refused to torture Lyria and was able to see she was not lying about being an unwitting pawn in the kidnapping scheme and was rewarded with information and a new ally. She figured out exactly what Sefi was planning for Cimmeria, even manipulating the situation to her advantage without Sefi realizing it. She knew Victra was going to bargain with Sefi for the kids, without being told. In her own words, this is simply what she does.

There is a quote in Iron Gold that caught my eye: "Communication is the soul of civilization." (532) Now, this line has nothing directly to do with Virginia. This is Ephraim trying to get a rise out of Gorgo. But it fits Virginia perfectly, doesn’t it? The Republic is able to exist as a civilization because it has such an amazing communicator at its center.

Virginia is such an excellent communicator that she is even able to get parties who refuse to communicate with her initially to reciprocate communication eventually. She convinces Sevro, Dancer, and even Victra to stop freezing her out and work together. She does this by speaking their "language." She knows exactly what to say or what to do to get them to finally listen to her. Revealing she already knows exactly what is going on works for Sevro, providing hard evidence of conspiracy works for Dancer, and proving her actions (showing her scars) works for Victra. This isn't to say she never makes mistakes. She shouldn't have called the Wardens on Darrow, for example, just as Darrow shouldn't have kept the meeting with the Society "diplomats" a secret from her and the Senate. But more often than not, her nonviolent communication skills yield valuable results.

As for Virginia apparently needing to learn how to use violence… While Victra and Sevro’s feelings were justified, their actions at the end of Iron Gold and the beginning of Dark Age were just wrong, wrong, wrong imo. Freezing out Virginia did nothing but delay the return of the kids. It's frustrating to think how much heartbreak could have been avoided if they'd just put their heads together from the moment the kids disappeared. And what exactly did Sevro's rampage through Luna's underground accomplish? Some dead Syndicate thorns, sure. But that tantrum put a huge target on Sevro's back. As Virginia said, one lucky sniper and boom, no more Sevro. What would Victra have done then?

While it may feel like Virginia would have achieved more if she just beheaded some people, she has a responsibility as Sovereign to consider the bigger picture. She has to consider the Stiletto. If the Vox saw her offing some fools it would have added credibility to their smear campaign. The people would have lost faith in her and think she turned into another Octavia. Whoever replaced her could use her actions to justify their own dictatorship. Violence was simply not practical for her until she legally gained Imperium. Now though… 😈

Virginia's over here playing 3D chess while everyone else is playing Connect Four, but this still isn’t enough for some people. After the clone gets the better of her, she gets flack for not being an omniscient god and just knowing her twin brother laid out a plan to clone himself ten years ago. Tut, tut, should have seen that one coming, despite the lack of evidence. If only she’d punched some people. (Can you see I hate this argument with every fiber of my being?)

In Dark Age, Ozgard says this about Electra and Pax: "She is better fighter. He is more dangerous human." (184) Well, Pax gets it from his momma. Pax and Virginia may not be able to throw devastating punches but in many ways, their intellect is what makes them the greater threat to their enemies.

Thank you for the ask!

[artificialqueens]

In Sickness and In Health Ch7 - shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - It’s been a looong day without you my friend…

Oops. I’m sorry. I am a busy busy bee and I love you all!!

Last time: Under Yvie’s control, Alaska forced Sharon to leave without her. She starts an ill-advised plot to feed her a taste of her own medicine.

This time: That won’t happen (CEO of changing ur mind xo)

“I need your help, urgently. I cannot do this alone.”

Three pairs of eyes. One narrowed slightly, almost squinting, silver-blue and filled with desperation. The other two curious, eyebrows furrowed, calm and yet intrigued.

“What an odd greeting. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“No one has. But I need you, both of you. Please.”

A pause. Two pairs of eyes regarded the first, each watching for something different. Nothing but sincerity lay within them, the pain and honesty laced within her voice.

“I had heard you were unwell, is it true? You seem to be in good health now.”

“It’s true. I’m well again, at a terrible price. I have lost something dear to me, and I have every intention of getting it back, but I can’t do it alone. I have a feeling I’m not the only one to have suffered this fate.”

Sharon sat rigidly straight as she spoke with the other two women, her hands folded in her lap to keep them from shaking. Ever since she was a little girl, she had been taught not to express emotional extremes to anyone outside of the palace, just in case they should turn against her. Even some of the palace staff should be spared from such moods, she was told, in case they might gossip. Only Miss Michaels knew the true extent of her temper. The thought of bearing her heart in front of two different kingdoms - it was scandalous. Her father would’ve thrown a fit, ironically, if he could see her behaviour.

There was a certain level of respect that the other women needed, Sharon knew that. Their three kingdoms were not currently the greatest of allies, but Sharon was working on it and planned to even more once she had been crowned. An allyship would be greatly beneficial to all three of them, and Sharon saw no harm in starting early, even if she was still just a princess whilst they were queens. Never mind that it was highly unorthodox for Sharon to even ask two queens for a personal favour.

Queen Brooke was very charitable and a pleasure to talk to at a ball, but in the setting of a meeting between three royals in her own parlour, she was a little intimidating. Her blonde hair was swept into a neat bun, silver tiara resting atop, and her cold grey eyes stared impassively forwards. In front of her, an ornate teacup sat on a dish, undrunk. 

Queen Scarlet was a totally different story. Her coronation had been more recent than Brooke’s, and whether formal or informal, she was a calamity of a person. Sharon’s father had warned her that partnering with Scarlet’s kingdom was a no-go, given that they were ruled by a young woman who had once been incarcerated and treated for hysterical madness, but Sharon had always quite liked the strange queen. Having recovered from her insanity, she was a fairly successful and friendly ruler.

“Your letter was distressing. I thought perhaps our kingdoms were on the brink of war, and we needed to negotiate.” Brooke’s voice was level, measured. Sharon decided she would be a fantastic person to emulate once she was a leader.

“No, not at all. I’m here about something much more serious. Her name is Yvie.”

At once, the atmosphere shifted. Previously in control, Brooke’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly and she drew in a sharp intake of breath. Next to her, once carefree and kindly concerned, Scarlet looked as though she had seen a ghost.

Thank fuck, Sharon thought to herself. A reaction. If any of her research and guesswork had been incorrect, she might as well have kissed goodbye to her kingdom, her alliances, her family and her life.

“What… What about her?” Scarlet winced, the terror in her voice painfully evident. It was clear that she didn’t want to hear that name, or she hadn’t for a long time. Something about it arose memories that she had most likely tried to forget.

“She cured my sickness. She brought me back from the brink of death so that I can sit here before you now as healthy as I ever was. Not a single physician could cure me, but she did in an instant.”

Brooke’s eyes were glassy. “At a price.” The words left her lips without a thought, drawn out as though in a trance, or by force. She swallowed roughly and hardened her gaze.

“What price?”

Sharon closed her eyes, her mind filling with hazy memories. A sweet common girl with her hand stuck firmly in the air, stood up in front of everybody. Alaska, with her joyful laugh and fighting spirit. The feeling of safety as she slept in her lap, her arms, by her side, comforted with the knowledge that if she died, she would have died alongside somebody who really cared.

“The price of a loved one.” Sharon equalled Brooke’s stare, confident now that she was armed with facts that would ensure Brooke’s cooperation or the ruin of her kingdom. “I believe you wanted prosperity for your kingdom in the midst of a crisis. Your commerce and trade had dwindled to almost nothing. Your people were dying, it was necessary. You needed Yvie’s help and the price was Vanessa.”

There was no stopping her now. “Vanessa, a commoner who worked as a lady-in-waiting for you whilst you were a princess, and continued when you became queen. The two of you were in love and so she accompanied you on what appeared to be a perilous journey. Yvie demanded her as a commodity and you gave her up.”

Perhaps her attack was a little harsh, but Sharon had no time to worry about that. Brooke’s face was flushed crimson, though with anger or shame, she couldn’t be sure. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white, and it seemed the more stoic queen was losing her propriety with every word that came out of Sharon’s mouth.

“How do you- How do you know about that?” She demanded. “I never told a soul.”

Scarlet was watching the exchange with an expression of sheer melancholy, saying nothing. Sharon knew her turn would come, but she needed to focus her attention on Brooke, and it seemed that Scarlet was content to listen and say nothing for the time being.

“Gossip, rumours, and a little bit of research assistance from a kindly witch. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is, I can help you or hurt you. You can have your lover back, or have the reputation of your kingdom shattered. It seems like an easy choice.”

In hindsight, delivering such an outright threat to a powerful Queen when Sharon herself was still only a princess… was a little risky. But there was no time to back out, and judging by the way Brooke’s nostrils had flared, her face pinched in abject fury, the damage had already been done.

“I don’t know who you think you are, Princess, but I-”

Sharon prepared herself to be sentenced to execution, or to be exiled from her land, or to have a cup of hot tea thrown at her, but instead, Brooke was cut off by Scarlet, who placed a gentle hand on her leg and looked forlorn.

“Yvie… She didn’t want them to take me away. She wanted to help me herself.” Her gaze dropped into her lap. “I went crazy. It’s not fake, it’s not rumours. I was insane. The facility helped me. But Yvie…” Scarlet blinked, her eyes filling with tears. “She was so angry that I went with them. I wasn’t in control, but she felt so betrayed by it… Is this what she’s been doing? Taking people’s loved ones?”

The story started clicking into place, and Sharon’s heart sank. She had questioned Max within an inch of her life about everything relating to Yvie, naturally, but she hadn’t made the connection that Yvie’s hard bargains were inspired by her perceived betrayal.

“Yvie has been doing these kind of deals for years, that always come at a price. My sickness was my parents’ price. But it seems people are the currency now, since she lost you, Scarlet. We need to go to her, get them back, and… Scarlet, maybe you and Yvie can work something out.” She paused. “My family don’t know I’m here. They think I’m still on the journey to the witch who can heal me, or perhaps still with her being treated. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Brooke frowned, her eyebrow furrowing. “Your kingdom?”

“It’s not mine yet.” She shrugged. “I don’t even want to rule it without Alaska there. I don’t think I can.”

A silence settled over them. There was nothing else to be said - three noblewomen having shared their sorrows in the unlikeliest of situations. After a moment, Sharon picked up her teacup and held it before her, offering a solemn, unspoken toast. Brooke and Scarlet joined her.

“Please.”

-

Alaska folded her arms and flopped back down onto the ground, where Vanessa lay beside her. They had schemed a million times by now, it seemed, and nothing would work.

“You were right. It’s not like we can trick her into drinking her own truth serum that she made us brew! She’s not that stupid.”

Vanessa puffed her cheeks out. “She’s fuckin’ smart, it’s the worst. I’m startin’ to think I’m never gettin’ outta here, and maybe I shoulda figured that out a while ago.”

Alaska shook her head. “Yeah. This might be it, for us. But at least we have each other, right?”

“Sure. You’re all I got, now.” She hummed. “Your princess seemed pretty set on coming back here, though. Must be nice.”

A grimace made its way onto Alaska’s face; it was the only thing that could hold her tears back. “I hope. I hope she’s fighting for us.”

In the beginning of her time with Yvie, Sharon had been all she’d thought about to get through the day. Those few minutes that she had been able to see her in full health and beauty again, when she had seen a flicker of the righteous anger of a queen instead of the feeble protestations of a princess. Even dwelling on the way her eyes had filled with furious tears and heartbreak was better than nothing at all, as something of a comfort to remind Alaska that once, she had known her.

Still, the memories got more painful as time went on, and she soon decided that perhaps it was best to not think about her. As much as she wished Sharon was out fighting for her, amassing an army to storm Yvie for her return or maybe bargaining and charming her way back, she doubted it. Princesses had to adhere to strict rules.

She missed Willam, and Courtney. It had been forever since she’d thought about them, and she wondered if they were anxiously waiting for her to come home. What she wouldn’t give to see their faces again.

“Let’s just get back to work.” Alaska sighed, feeling miserable. “If we haven’t cleaned up Yvie’s mess by the time she comes back, we’re done for.”

Vanessa nodded. “Alright, Blondie, let’s go. We got fuckin’… books to shelve, or whatever. I didn’t listen to what she asked.”

Reluctantly, Alaska pulled herself up and made her way into the centre of the cottage. The room was cluttered and messy from Yvie’s musings, and she had ventured out into the surrounding forest a short while ago, leaving her two servants to clean everything up. At least it was a distraction from the boredom, Alaska thought, even as the spilled potion she wiped up with a rag started to burn her hand. It was better than nothing.

Yvie returned with a bag slung over her shoulder and an irritated expression, meaning that no doubt, she would take out her anger on Vanessa and Alaska.

“That’s the last time I listen to Raven, stupid fucking creature.” She hissed, throwing her bag down upon the newly-swept floor. “And now this isn’t even done! Do I have to do everything myself, you imbeciles?”

Alaska bowed her head. “We’re working on it.”

“I’ve a half mind to-”

Yvie trailed off abruptly, freezing in place. Vanessa stared at Alaska in confusion, the both of them watching Yvie to see if there was a reason for her unusual behaviour.

“The wards.” Her voice came out hardly a whisper above silence. “She wouldn’t dare…”

She turned suddenly. “The two of you, out. Now.”

As before, they were all but shoved back into the small room they shared. Vanessa scrambled towards her small pile of belongings and produced two strange-looking opalescent lenses. She handed one to Alaska and pressed it against the wall.

“I took these fuckin’ forever ago because I thought they looked pretty, but you can see through shit with ‘em. I wanna know why she’s so fuckin’ rattled.”

Alaska did the same, shuffling as close as she could to look through the wall. The lens focused just in time, as Yvie graciously opened the front door and offered a chilling smile.

“Sister.”

Yvie laughed. “Ha! You have a lot of nerve to walk down my path, let alone to address me as your sister. Most inferior witches tend to avoid associating themselves with superior witches, do they not?”

Max stood, tall and unwavering in the doorway, her short silver hair moving in the wind. “Perhaps they do, sister. You know I care little for which of us is better or worse. But I have been incited to care about which of us is good or bad.”

“A truly wonderful philosophical concept. I’d invite you in to debate it over some tea, but I don’t trust myself not to poison yours with belladonna.” Yvie’s voice was dripping with sickly sweet venom. Alaska shuddered at the sound of it. “Why do you dare to come to my door?”

Max remained still. “See for yourself.”

Almost at the exact same time, Alaska and Vanessa sprung backwards from the wall and darted towards the door, seemingly sensing the same thing. Anticipation and fear wrestled angrily in the pit of Alaska’s stomach, but she had to see if her hunch was right. The two all but fell over each other as they stumbled into the centre of the cottage once again, gazing open-mouthed out of the front door.

The sight that met them could’ve been an illustration from the beautiful book Sharon had read to Alaska in the carriage. A few feet behind Max, two proud stallions pawed the ground, their riders equally as dignified and powerful. Alaska didn’t recognise one of them, a pale blonde wearing regal purple riding gear, but the other was a face she could never forget, even in the deepest of nightmares.

Sharon’s face was resolute, her body language firm and unmoving. Like the other rider, she wore jodhpurs and a shirt, an outfit unbefitting for a queen or a princess but perfectly suited to a courageous storybook heroine. The other woman held Sharon’s hand and lifted their arms into the air, at the same time as Vanessa and Alaska clung to each other in disbelief.

“Oh my god. That’s my Brooke.”

Alaska couldn’t muster speech, but she didn’t need to. Behind the two, cavalry reinforcements waited for their command, leaving Yvie well and truly outnumbered.

“Let them go.” Sharon climbed off her horse, Brooke doing the same. As they approached the door, where Yvie looked dumbfounded and furious, she shot Alaska a brief, reassuring gaze. “That’s an order.”

Yvie kept her cool in spite of the army facing her. “Oh dear… someone seems to have forgotten that we made a deal.”

Brooke smiled. “Do you have it in writing? What happens if we take them?”

“This.”

Yvie snapped her fingers, and in an instant, she and Vanessa were hoisted into the air, suspended by thorny vines. Alaska could feel that one of them had drawn blood, but regardless she strained and struggled against the bonds. They had to win this. Freedom was so close. 

“We thought you might do something like that.” Sharon crossed her arms. “Your Majesty?”

Brooke stepped closer. “Another deal, then. Make a new deal with us to overwrite these previous ones. We have something you won’t wanna miss out on, and your sister here as a witness in case you try to fuck us over. It’s that, or we take them by force and destroy our offer to you.”

Yvie snorted. “Sure. A failure of a Queen and what, some pathetic little Princess have something I would want? I have power, the more you’re indebted to me, the better. Why should I agree to this? Why shouldn’t I just…”

She snapped her fingers again. The vines tightened, smaller ones creeping their way around to Alaska and Vanessa’s throats. They choked and coughed, the vines only squeezing more as they tried to resist. Tears came to Alaska’s eyes, the pain and fear overwhelming her. Whatever this power play was, it needed to work.

Sharon’s glare was murderous, but her jaw was firm and resolute. “Fine.” She unsheathed the dagger hanging from her belt, which Alaska immediately recognised from their visit to the palace from what felt like years ago. “I was loaned this dagger by another kingdom. We could wage another several wars by me desecrating this blade with the blood of another royal, thus pitting kingdom against kingdom against kingdom, which surely means a lot of deals made in your favour…”

With a tiny nod, both Sharon and Brooke stepped aside at the same time, allowing a third woman to step forward between them. Her head was held high, regal, but her pretty face was marked with disgust.

“But that also means killing Queen Scarlet here. I’m sure you won’t have an issue with that if you get so much power from it, right?”

She levelled the dagger at Scarlet’s throat, just below her chin. All three royals stood defiant, while Yvie’s face went slack. Without warning, the vines receded and disappeared, and Alaska and Vanessa hit the ground with a thud. It hurt, and Alaska’s hands went straight to her neck as she tried to catch her breath, but her gaze remained firmly on the spectacle in front of her. It was unparalleled - Yvie, silent, dumbfounded.

“Sc… Scarlet?”

She nodded, and Sharon lowered the blade, sheathing it. “It’s me. But I’m not sure you’re you. I don’t remember the Yvie I knew being this cruel.”

Yvie swallowed thickly. “They took you away. I could’ve fixed you but they took you away and you let them!”

“I needed to go!” Scarlet grabbed Yvie’s shoulders, steadying her. “But I’m back, and I’m fine, and I’m successful. You don’t have to do this. The old you would never do this.”

“She wouldn’t?”

“She wouldn’t. Don’t forget how well we knew each other, Yves.”

“I couldn’t forget. You’re unforgettable.”

“Let them go.” Scarlet’s voice was gentle, but commanding. “You have to let them go.”

Yvie whirled around, her eyes landing on where Alaska and Vanessa were crumpled on the ground, recovering. They still clung to one another, and her eyes seemed to widen at their desperation, as though she had no idea that she had caused it.

“How can I? Give them over, face trial, go to the dungeons, lose everything?” She was growing frantic.

Scarlet held out her hand. “No trial. No dungeons. I’m taking you home. Let them go.”

There was an ever-so-slight inclination of Yvie’s head, but that was enough. Both girls got to their feet without wasting a second, and whilst Alaska was sure Vanessa had run straight into Brooke’s arms, she didn’t bother looking to check. Every fibre of her being was pulling her towards Sharon, some kind of invisible magnetic connection forcing them together. She gave in to the impulse, almost throwing herself into her lover’s waiting arms.

“I’m so sorry it took so long I’m so glad you’re safe,” Sharon rushed out in one breath, her lips pressed against the top of Alaska’s head as she buried her face in her blonde hair. Alaska could hardly breathe, pressing herself into the crook of Sharon’s neck, just letting the feel of her skin against her own say everything that she couldn’t articulate.

“You came back.” Alaska’s heart was pounding. “You really came back.”

Sharon clung to her. “Of course. I could never leave you behind. You risked everything for me.”

It felt like centuries ago that Alaska’s only motivation had been the money. The reward was still a tantalising offer in the back of her mind, but almost all of her other thoughts were consumed with nothing but bliss. She had taken on a seemingly impossible task to find a cure for a cursed princess who wanted nothing but to die, and would return with the princess alive and well, and madly in love.

Willam and Courtney were going to lose their minds.

“How do we proceed from here?” She asked, her voice muffled against Sharon’s skin. “What happens now?”

Sharon tensed for a moment, but she relaxed again so quickly that Alaska thought maybe she’d imagined it. “Well, Her Majesties Queen Brooke and Queen Scarlet will come to the kingdom with the two of us, as they deserve equal credit and respect for removing the witch problem. You’ll receive your reward. I’ll deal with some business and then… I don’t know what. But I want you to stay in the palace, if you accept. You don’t have to, if you’re more comfortable in your home with your friends, I just thought maybe-”

Alaska silenced her with a kiss, and then smiled. “I’ll think about it. Let’s get home, yeah?”

-

The journey back to Sharon’s kingdom was pleasant, and uneventful. Scarlet and Yvie left together in a carriage, already discussing plans for a formal pardon and perhaps even to instate her as an apothecary in Scarlet’s kingdom. Alaska wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea, but she knew better than to argue with a queen, and since it didn’t affect her own kingdom, she held her tongue. Brooke and Vanessa took a carriage together too, seemingly too wrapped up in each other to really notice anyone else. As Alaska helped Sharon into their carriage, she was pleased to find that the dread that previously filled her chest was gone. 

It was still awe-inspiring, how miraculous her recovery had been. Alaska swore her hair had never been so dark and glossy, her eyes so bright, her lips so pink. She could spend hours just looking, taking her in, if only she could resist the urge not to kiss her whenever the sunlight hit her face.

With Sharon’s life no longer hanging in the balance, the journey seemed to pass much faster than it had before, although the days and nights stopping and starting still grew a little bit tedious. By day, they did everything they could to distract one another - Sharon had been reading fairytales with her again, and Alaska felt shyly proud of being able to muddle her way through a couple of pages at a time. Sometimes they sang, Alaska showing off the lewd, patriotic, and always drunk songs that people sang in the tavern to make them both laugh. Or they would just talk; endlessly, for hours, with comparisons of their lives and general excitement for the future.

But at night, things were different. They would both curl up to sleep, often leaning against one another, but Alaska kept noticing how Sharon’s eyes would stay open long after she’d fallen silent, staring out as if in thought. She didn’t probe, but it concerned her. She sincerely hoped Sharon hadn’t sacrificed anything for her - she couldn’t think of anything worse than the whole cycle repeating again.

As they approached the edge of the kingdom, Sharon drew the curtains shut around the carriage to give them a little more privacy, and they made their way into the centre, towards the palace. Brooke and Scarlet had stopped for a few days in another kingdom, and would be following in a week or so once life had settled back into a normal pace with Sharon’s return. Excitement was starting to take hold; Alaska’s life was about to change forever.

She still hadn’t decided what she would do, yet. A life in the palace sounded tempting, but she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to get mixed up in all the politics of royal life. A part of her wondered about taking the money, buying a decent sized home somewhere nice in the kingdom, and living with Willam and Courtney, working only because they wanted to, not out of necessity. Sharon could visit anytime as an escape from the difficulties of being a leader, and they’d be in love just the same.

Alaska loved Sharon, but she didn’t know if the palace was somewhere she’d thrive. After all, she’d spent her entire life humble, or in other words, dirt poor. She wondered if it would be too big of a change.

When the carriage came to a stop, Sharon took a deep breath, and started to laugh.

“My god. I just realised I have so many apologies to give. I was such an asshole when I was sick.” She giggled nervously. “I hope Laila forgives me. Being her age is rough.”

Alaska nodded. “Honestly. I know they’ll all forgive you, though. It wasn’t like you could control it.”

It didn’t feel like Alaska’s place to intrude into the palace, or even to step out of the carriage first, so she smiled and waved her hand, allowing Sharon the first glimpse of her home since they’d left. For a moment, just briefly, Sharon hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure, and then drew the curtain back and moved to step down. It struck Alaska right in the chest - she hadn’t expected to be coming home. When they’d departed, seemingly forever ago, she had been on the very brink of death and expecting it to take her. 

A part of her wondered if the reason she had even agreed to go on a treacherous journey to find a witch had been solely to allow her family the privacy to mourn her without having to witness her death within the palace walls. It was a dark thought, and she shook it out of her mind. The what-ifs didn’t matter, not anymore. Sharon was safe and well, and she glowed with life.

The palace was much less intimidating without the entire royal family welcoming her into it. Around her, members of staff were busily cleaning and scurrying and working, almost paying no attention to their special arrival, although Alaska swore she could see a few nudges and smiles as they undoubtedly gossiped. Sharon made to start walking inside, only to stop in her tracks as a woman ahead of them did the same thing.

Miss Michaels was working by the palace gates, sweeping the leaves and dust from the ground, but the moment she locked eyes with Sharon, the broom fell from her grasp with a clatter. Her face twisted with a mixture of sorrow and relief, an expression that could only reflect a mother’s love. She all but ran towards them, enveloping Sharon in her arms.

“My girl… my sweet, gorgeous girl…” Alaska could hear the thickness in her voice, in turn making her well up at their reunion. She pulled back only to hold Sharon by the arms, taking in as much of her as she could before resuming the embrace. “Oh, look at you! You look like a summer’s day! Oh, darling girl…” 

Sharon sniffed, not too good to hide her tears. “Mother Dust… were you worried I wouldn’t come home?”

“Not at all,” Miss Michaels told her. “Just infinitely glad that you did. Come on, we have to get you inside this instant. Your family will be overjoyed, dear. And you too, Alaska! The hero of our story.”

Alaska blushed, pretending to herself that it was from the compliment, and not from how easily Sharon took her hand as they started walking. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit.”

“Yes she can,” Sharon butted in, “And she should. She gave me a reason to keep fighting.”

Miss Michaels raised her eyebrows, a small smile playing on her lips. Alaska felt as though her heart was going to beat right out of her chest.

“Oh, she did?”

Sharon laughed. “I didn’t say you could tease me.”

“My dear. I’ve changed you, bathed you and fed you. I don’t need permission to do a little light teasing.”

“I love you, Mother Dust. So… let’s go console my grieving family, right?”

Sharon’s hand slipped into Alaska’s so naturally as they made their way up the palace steps, and yet it almost took her breath away. She didn’t know what the royal family would make of this - hell, she didn’t know how Sharon was going to play it. They were in love, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a complicated situation. Future queens were rarely seen marrying commoners, let alone female commoners.

Once they were stood just outside of the doors into the throne room, they came to a stop. Miss Michaels had tears in her eyes.

“You’re crying?” Sharon sounded perplexed, but her expression was kind. She pulled her maid into a hug. “Why are you crying?”

“It’s - It’s a real life mir-miracle, seeing you walk so far without losing your str-strength.” She managed, her voice wobbling. “Standing upright… not coughing at all…”

Being back where it all began, Alaska wondered about who had been hit the hardest by the illness. Miss Michaels was doing everything she could to swallow back her tears, overcome by the sight of Sharon healthy and flushed with life. She had cared for the princess ever since the onset of her sickness; she had most likely watched her rapid deterioration with a heavy heart, and sent her away in a carriage feeling sure she would never see her alive again. Hell, beyond that, she had raised Sharon since she’d been born, and what a horrible way she’d been led to believe it would end.

“I’m not ready to do this.” Sharon faltered. “I don’t- I don’t know if I can go in there.”

Alaska squeezed her hand. “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“You’re right. Especially when I have you by my side.”

tags - purecamp, in sickness and in health, shalaska, sharon needles, alaska thunderfuck, yvie oddly, brooke lynn hytes, vanessa vanjie mateo, scarlet envy, scyvie, branjie, chad michaels

[alittlelessdemocracy]

Chapter 22

Excerpt from Robert Jay Lifton’s excellent book Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism:

A discussion of what is most central in the thought reform environment can lead us to a more general consideration of the psychology of human zealotry. For in identifying, on the basis of this study of thought reform, features common to all expressions of ideological totalism, I wish to suggest a set of criteria against which any environment may be judged - a basis for answering the ever-recurring question: "Isn't this just like 'brainwashing'?"

These criteria consist of eight psychological themes which are predominant within the social field of the thought reform milieu. Each has a totalistic quality; each depend upon an equally absolute philosophical assumption; and each mobilizes certain individual emotional tendencies, mostly of a polarizing nature. In combination they create an atmosphere which may temporarily energize or exhilarate, but which at the same time poses the gravest of human threats.

1. Milieu Control

The most basic feature of the thought reform environment, the psychological current upon which all else depends, is the control of human communication. Through this milieu control the totalist environment seeks to establish domain over not only the individual's communication with the outside (all that he sees and hears, reads or writes, experiences, and expresses), but also - in its penetration of his inner life - over what we may speak of as his communication with himself. It creates an atmosphere uncomfortably reminiscent of George Orwell's 1984.

Such milieu control never succeeds in becoming absolute, and its own human apparatus can - when permeated by outside information - become subject to discordant "noise" beyond that of any mechanical apparatus. To totalist administrators, however, such occurrences are no more than evidences of "incorrect" use of the apparatus. For they look upon milieu control as a just and necessary policy, one which need not be kept secret: thought reform participants may be in doubt as to who is telling what to whom, but the fact that extensive information about everyone is being conveyed to the authorities is always known. At the center of this self-justification is their assumption of omniscience, their conviction that reality is their exclusive possession. Having experienced the impact of what they consider to be an ultimate truth (and having the need to dispel any possible inner doubts of their own), they consider it their duty to create an environment containing no more and no less than this "truth." In order to be the engineers of the human soul, they must first bring it under full observational control.

2. Mystical Manipulation

The inevitable next step after milieu control is extensive personal manipulation. This manipulation assumes a no-holds-barred character, and uses every possible device at the milieu's command, no matter how bizarre or painful. Initiated from above, it seeks to provoke specific patterns of behavior and emotion in such a way that these will appear to have arisen spontaneously, directed as it is by an ostensibly omniscient group, must assume, for the manipulated, a near-mystical quality.

Ideological totalists do not pursue this approach solely for the purpose of maintaining a sense of power over others. Rather they are impelled by a special kind of mystique which not only justifies such manipulations, but makes them mandatory. Included in this mystique is a sense of "higher purpose," of having "directly perceived some imminent law of social development," and of being themselves the vanguard of this development. By thus becoming the instruments of their own mystique, they create a mystical aura around the manipulating institutions - the Party, the Government, the Organization. They are the agents "chosen" (by history, by God, or by some other supernatural force) to carry out the "mystical imperative," the pursuit of which must supersede all considerations of decency or of immediate human welfare. Similarly, any thought or action which questions the higher purpose is considered to be stimulated by a lower purpose, to be backward, selfish, and petty in the face of the great, overriding mission. This same mystical imperative produces the apparent extremes of idealism and cynicism which occur in connection with the manipulations of any totalist environment: even those actions which seem cynical in the extreme can be seen as having ultimate relationship to the "higher purpose."

At the level of the individual person, the psychological responses to this manipulative approach revolve about the basic polarity of trust and mistrust. One is asked to accept these manipulations on a basis of ultimate trust (or faith): "like a child in the arms of its mother." He who trusts in this degree can experience the manipulations within the idiom of the mystique behind them: that is, he may welcome their mysteriousness, find pleasure in their pain, and feel them to be necessary for the fulfillment of the "higher purpose" which he endorses as his own. But such elemental trust is difficult to maintain; and even the strongest can be dissipated by constant manipulation.

When trust gives way to mistrust (or when trust has never existed) the higher purpose cannot serve as adequate emotional sustenance. The individual then responds to the manipulations through developing what I shall call the psychology of the pawn. Feeling himself unable to escape from forces more powerful than himself, he subordinates everything to adapting himself to them. He becomes sensitive to all kinds of cues, expert at anticipating environmental pressures, and skillful in riding them in such a way that his psychological energies merge with the tide rather than turn painfully against himself. This requires that he participate actively in the manipulation of others, as well as in the endless round of betrayals and self-betrayals which are required.

But whatever his response - whether he is cheerful in the face of being manipulated, deeply resentful, or feels a combination of both - he has been deprived of the opportunity to exercise his capacities for self-expression and independent action.

3. The Demand for Purity

In the thought reform milieu, as in all situations of ideological totalism, the experiential world is sharply divided into the pure and the impure, into the absolutely good and the absolutely evil. The good and the pure are of course those ideas, feelings, and actions which are consistent with the totalist ideology and policy; anything else is apt to be relegated to the bad and the impure. Nothing human is immune from the flood of stern moral judgments. All "taints" and "poisons" which contribute to the existing state of impurity must be searched out and eliminated.

The philosophical assumption underlying this demand is that absolute purity is attainable, and that anything done to anyone in the name of this purity is ultimately moral. In actual practice, however, no one is really expected to achieve such perfection. Nor can this paradox be dismissed as merely a means of establishing a high standard to which all can aspire. Thought reform bears witness to its more malignant consequences: for by defining and manipulating the criteria of purity, and then by conducting an all-out war upon impurity, the ideological totalists create a narrow world of guilt and shame. This is perpetuated by an ethos of continuous reform, a demand that one strive permanently and painfully for something which not only does not exist but is in fact alien to the human condition.

At the level of the relationship between individual and environment, the demand for purity creates what we may term a guilty milieu and a shaming milieu. Since each man's impurities are deemed sinful and potentially harmful to himself and to others, he is, so to speak, expected to expect punishment - which results in a relationship of guilt and his environment. Similarly, when he fails to meet the prevailing standards in casting out such impurities, he is expected to expect humiliation and ostracism - thus establishing a relationship of shame with his milieu. Moreover, the sense of guilt and the sense of shame become highly-valued: they are preferred forms of communication, objects of public competition, and the basis for eventual bonds between the individual and his totalist accusers. One may attempt to simulate them for a while, but the subterfuge is likely to be detected, and it is safer to experience them genuinely.

People vary greatly in their susceptibilities to guilt and shame, depending upon patterns developed early in life. But since guilt and shame are basic to human existence, this variation can be no more than a matter of degree. Each person is made vulnerable through his profound inner sensitivities to his own limitations and to his unfulfilled potential; in other words, each is made vulnerable through his existential guilt. Since ideological totalists become the ultimate judges of good and evil within their world, they are able to use these universal tendencies toward guilt and shame as emotional levers for their controlling and manipulative influences. They become the arbiters of existential guilt, authorities without limit in dealing with others' limitations. And their power is nowhere more evident than in their capacity to "forgive."

The individual thus comes to apply the same totalist polarization of good and evil to his judgments of his own character: he tends to imbue certain aspects of himself with excessive virtue, and condemn even more excessively other personal qualities - all according to their ideological standing. He must also look upon his impurities as originating from outside influences - that is, from the ever-threatening world beyond the closed, totalist ken. Therefore, one of his best way to relieve himself of some of his burden of guilt is to denounce, continuously and hostilely, these same outside influences. The more guilty he feels, the greater his hatred, and the more threatening they seem. In this manner, the universal psychological tendency toward "projection" is nourished and institutionalized, leading to mass hatreds, purges of heretics, and to political and religious holy wars. Moreover, once an individual person has experienced the totalist polarization of good and evil, he has great difficulty in regaining a more balanced inner sensitivity to the complexities of human morality. For these is no emotional bondage greater than that of the man whose entire guilt potential - neurotic and existential - has become the property of ideological totalists.

4. The Cult of Confession

Closely related to the demand for absolute purity is an obsession with personal confession. Confession is carried beyond its ordinary religious, legal, and therapeutic expressions to the point of becoming a cult in itself. There is the demand that one confess to crimes one has not committed, to sinfulness that is artificially induced, in the name of a cure that is arbitrarily imposed. Such demands are made possible not only by the ubiquitous human tendencies toward guilt and shame but also by the need to give expression to these tendencies. In totalist hands, confession becomes a means of exploiting, rather than offering solace for, these vulnerabilities.

The totalist confession takes on a number of special meanings. It is first a vehicle for the kind of personal purification which we have just discussed, a means of maintaining a perpetual inner emptying or psychological purge of impurity; this purging milieu enhances the totalists' hold upon existential guilt. Second, it is an act of symbolic self-surrender, the expression of the merging of individual and environment. Third, it is a means of maintaining an ethos of total exposure - a policy of making public (or at least known to the Organization) everything possible about the life experiences, thoughts, and passions of each individual, and especially those elements which might be regarded as derogatory.

The assumption underlying total exposure (besides those which relate to the demand for purity) is the environment's claim to total ownership of each individual self within it. Private ownership of the mind and its products - of imagination or of memory - becomes highly immoral. The accompanying rationale (or rationalization) is familiar, the milieu has attained such a perfect state of enlightenment that any individual retention of ideas or emotions has become anachronistic.

The cult of confession can offer the individual person meaningful psychological satisfactions in the continuing opportunity for emotional catharsis and for relief of suppressed guilt feelings, especially insofar as these are associated with self-punitive tendencies to get pleasure from personal degradation. More than this, the sharing of confession enthusiasms can create an orgiastic sense of "oneness," of the most intense intimacy with fellow confessors and of the dissolution of self into the great flow of the Movement. And there is also, at least initially, the possibility of genuine self-revelation and of self-betterment through the recognition that "the thing that has been exposed is what I am."

But as totalist pressures turn confession into recurrent command performances, the element of histrionic public display takes precedence over genuine inner experience. Each man becomes concerned with the effectiveness of his personal performance, and this performance sometimes comes to serve the function of evading the very emotions and ideas about which one feels most guilty - confirming the statement by one of Camus' characters that "authors of confessions write especially to avoid confessing, to tell nothing of what they know." The difficulty, of course, lies in the inevitable confusion which takes place between the actor's method and his separate personal reality, between the performer and the "real me."

In this sense, the cult of confession has effects quite the reverse of its ideal of total exposure: rather than eliminating personal secrets, it increases and intensifies them. In any situation the personal secret has two important elements: first, guilty and shameful ideas which one wishes to suppress in order to prevent their becoming known by others or their becoming too prominent in one's own awareness; and second, representations of parts of oneself too precious to be expressed except when alone or when involved in special loving relationships formed around this shared secret world. Personal secrets are always maintained in opposition to inner pressures toward self-exposure. The totalist milieu makes contact with these inner pressures through its own obsession with the expose and the unmasking process. As a result old secrets are revived and new ones proliferate; the latter frequently consist of resentments toward or doubts about the Movement, or else are related to aspects of identity still existing outside of the prescribed ideological sphere. Each person becomes caught up in a continuous conflict over which secrets to preserve and which to surrender, over ways to reveal lesser secrets in order to protect more important ones; his own boundaries between the secret and the known, between the public and the private, become blurred. And around one secret, or a complex of secrets, there may revolve an ultimate inner struggle between resistance and self-surrender.

Finally, the cult of confession makes it virtually impossible to attain a reasonable balance between worth and humility. The enthusiastic and aggressive confessor becomes like Camus' character whose perpetual confession is his means of judging others: "[I]…practice the profession of penitent to be able to end up as a judge…the more I accuse myself, the more I have a right to judge you." The identity of the "judge-penitent" thus becomes a vehicle for taking on some of the environment's arrogance and sense of omnipotence. Yet even this shared omnipotence cannot protect him from the opposite (but not unrelated) feelings of humiliation and weakness, feelings especially prevalent among those who remain more the enforced penitent than the all-powerful judge.

5. The "Sacred Science"

The totalist milieu maintains an aura of sacredness around its basic dogma, holding it out as an ultimate moral vision for the ordering of human existence. This sacredness is evident in the prohibition (whether or not explicit) against the questioning of basic assumptions, and in the reverence which is demanded for the originators of the Word, the present bearers of the Word, and the Word itself. While thus transcending ordinary concerns of logic, however, the milieu at the same time makes an exaggerated claim of airtight logic, of absolute "scientific" precision. Thus the ultimate moral vision becomes an ultimate science; and the man who dares to criticize it, or to harbor even unspoken alternative ideas, becomes not only immoral and irreverent, but also "unscientific." In this way, the philosopher kings of modern ideological totalism reinforce their authority by claiming to share in the rich and respected heritage of natural science.

The assumption here is not so much that man can be God, but rather that man's ideas can be God: that an absolute science of ideas (and implicitly, an absolute science of man) exists, or is at least very close to being attained; that this science can be combined with an equally absolute body of moral principles; and that the resulting doctrine is true for all men at all times. Although no ideology goes quite this far in overt statement, such assumptions are implicit in totalist practice.

At the level of the individual, the totalist sacred science can offer much comfort and security. Its appeal lies in its seeming unification of the mystical and the logical modes of experience (in psychoanalytic terms, of the primary and secondary thought processes). For within the framework of the sacred science, and sweeping, non-rational "insights." Since the distinction between the logical and the mystical is, to begin with, artificial and man-made, an opportunity for transcending it can create an extremely intense feeling of truth. But the posture of unquestioning faith - both rationally and non-rationally derived - is not easy to sustain, especially if one discovers that the world of experience is not nearly as absolute as the sacred science claims it to be.

Yet so strong a hold can the sacred science achieve over his mental processes that if one begins to feel himself attracted to ideas which either contradict or ignore it, he may become guilty and afraid. His quest for knowledge is consequently hampered, since in the name of science he is prevented from engaging in the receptive search for truth which characterizes the genuinely scientific approach. And his position is made more difficult by the absence, in a totalist environment, of any distinction between the sacred and the profane: there is no thought or action which cannot be related to the sacred science. To be sure, one can usually find areas of experience outside its immediate authority; but during periods of maximum totalist activity (like thought reform) any such areas are cut off, and there is virtually no escape from the milieu's ever-pressing edicts and demands. Whatever combination of continued adherence, inner resistance, or compromise co-existence the individual person adopts toward this blend of counterfeit science and back-door religion, it represents another continuous pressure toward personal closure, toward avoiding, rather than grappling with, the kinds of knowledge and experience necessary for genuine self-expression and for creative development.

6. Loading the Language

The language of the totalist environment is characterized by the thought-terminating cliché. The most far-reaching and complex of human problems are compressed into brief, highly reductive, definitive-sounding phrases, easily memorized and easily expressed. These become the start and finish of any ideological analysis. In [Chinese Communist] thought reform, for instance, the phrase "bourgeois mentality" is used to encompass and critically dismiss ordinarily troublesome concerns like the quest for individual expression, the exploration of alternative ideas, and the search for perspective and balance in political judgments. And in addition to their function as interpretive shortcuts, these cliches become what Richard Weaver has called "ultimate terms" : either "god terms," representative of ultimate good; or "devil terms," representative of ultimate evil. In [Chinese Communist] thought reform, "progress," "progressive," "liberation," "proletarian standpoints" and "the dialectic of history" fall into the former category; "capitalist," "imperialist," "exploiting classes," and "bourgeois" (mentality, liberalism, morality, superstition, greed) of course fall into the latter. Totalist language then, is repetitiously centered on all-encompassing jargon, prematurely abstract, highly categorical, relentlessly judging, and to anyone but its most devoted advocate, deadly dull: in Lionel Trilling's phrase, "the language of nonthought."

To be sure, this kind of language exists to some degree within any cultural or organizational group, and all systems of belief depend upon it. It is in part an expression of unity and exclusiveness: as Edward Sapir put it, "'He talks like us' is equivalent to saying 'He is one of us.'" The loading is much more extreme in ideological totalism, however, since the jargon expresses the claimed certitudes of the sacred science. Also involved is an underlying assumption that language - like all other human products - can be owned and operated by the Movement. No compunctions are felt about manipulating or loading it in any fashion; the only consideration is its usefulness to the cause.

For an individual person, the effect of the language of ideological totalism can be summed up in one word: constriction. He is, so to speak, linguistically deprived; and since language is so central to all human experience, his capacities for thinking and feeling are immensely narrowed. This is what Hu meant when he said, "using the same pattern of words for so long…you feel chained." Actually, not everyone exposed feels chained, but in effect everyone is profoundly confined by these verbal fetters. As in other aspects of totalism, this loading may provide an initial sense of insight and security, eventually followed by uneasiness. This uneasiness may result in a retreat into a rigid orthodoxy in which an individual shouts the ideological jargon all the louder in order to demonstrate his conformity, hide his own dilemma and his despair, and protect himself from the fear and guilt he would feel should he attempt to use words and phrases other than the correct ones. Or else he may adapt a complex pattern of inner division, and dutifully produce the expected cliché's in public performances while in his private moments he searches for more meaningful avenues of expression. Either way, his imagination becomes increasingly dissociated from his actual life experiences and may tend to atrophy from disuse.

7. Doctrine Over Person

This sterile language reflects characteristic feature of ideological totalism: the subordination of human experience to the claims of doctrine. This primacy of doctrine over person is evident in the continual shift between experience itself and the highly abstract interpretation of such experience - between genuine feelings and spurious cataloguing of feelings. It has much to do with the peculiar aura of half-reality which totalist environment seems, at least to the outsider, to possess.

The inspiriting force of such myths cannot be denied; nor can one ignore their capacity for mischief. For when the myth becomes fused with the totalist sacred science, the resulting "logic" can be so compelling and coercive that it simply replaces the realities of individual experience. Consequently, past historical events are retrospectively altered, wholly rewritten, or ignored, to make them consistent with the doctrinal logic. This alteration becomes especially malignant when its distortions are imposed upon individual memory as occurred in the false confession extracted during thought reform.

The same doctrinal primacy prevails in the totalist approach to changing people: the demand that character and identity be reshaped, not in accordance with one's special nature or potentialities, but rather to fit the rigid contours of the doctrinal mold. The human is thus subjected to the ahuman. And in this manner, the totalists, as Camus phrases it, "put an abstract idea above human life, even if they call it history, to which they themselves have submitted in advance and to which they will decide arbitrarily, to submit everyone else as well."

The underlying assumption is that the doctrine - including its mythological elements - is ultimately more valid, true, and real than is any aspect of actual human character or human experience. Thus, even when circumstances require that a totalist movement follow a course of action in conflict with or outside of the doctrine, there exists what Benjamin Schwartz described as a "will to orthodoxy" which requires an elaborate facade of new rationalizations designed to demonstrate the unerring consistency of the doctrine and the unfailing foresight which it provides. But its greater importance lies in more hidden manifestations, particularly the totalists' pattern of imposing their doctrine-dominated remolding upon people in order to seek confirmation of (and again, dispel their own doubts about) this same doctrine. Rather than modify the myth in accordance with experience, the will to orthodoxy requires instead that men be modified in order to reaffirm the myth.

The individual person who finds himself under such doctrine-dominated pressure to change is thrust into an intense struggle with his own sense of integrity, a struggle which takes place in relation to polarized feelings of sincerity and insincerity. In a totalist environment, absolute "sincerity" is demanded; and the major criterion for sincerity is likely to be one's degree of doctrinal compliance - both in regard to belief and to direction of personal change. Yet there is always the possibility of retaining an alternative version of sincerity (and of reality), the capacity to imagine a different kind of existence and another form of sincere commitment. These alternative visions depend upon such things as the strength of previous identity, the penetration of the milieu by outside ideas, and the retained capacity for eventual individual renewal. The totalist environment, however, counters such "deviant" tendencies with the accusation that they stem entirely from personal "problems" ("thought problems" or "ideological problems") derived from untoward earlier influences. The outcome will depend largely upon how much genuine relevance the doctrine has for the individual emotional predicament. And even for those to whom it seems totally appealing, the exuberant sense of well-being it temporarily affords may be more a "delusion of wholeness" than an expression of true and lasting inner harmony.

8. The Dispensing of Existence

The totalist environment draws a sharp line between those whose right to existence can be recognized, and those who possess no such right.

Are not men presumtuous to appoint themselves the dispensers of human existence? Surely this is a flagrant expression of what the Greeks called hubris, of arrogant man making himself God. Yet one underlying assumption makes this arrogance mandatory: the conviction that there is just one path to true existence, just one valid mode of being, and that all others are perforce invalid and false. Totalists thus feel themselves compelled to destroy all possibilities of false existence as a means of furthering the great plan of true existence to which they are committed.

For the individual, the polar emotional conflict is the ultimate existential one of "being versus nothingness." He is likely to be drawn to a conversion experience, which he sees as the only means of attaining a path of existence for the future. The totalist environment - even when it does not resort to physical abuse - thus stimulates in everyone a fear of extinction or annihilation. A person can overcome this fear and find (in martin Buber's term) "confirmation," not in his individual relationships, but only from the fount of all existence, the totalist Organization. Existence comes to depend upon creed (I believe, therefore I am), upon submission (I obey, therefore I am) and beyond these, upon a sense of total merger with the ideological movement. Ultimately of course one compromises and combines the totalist "confirmation" with independent elements of personal identity; but one is ever made aware that, should he stray too far along this "erroneous path," his right to existence may be withdrawn.

[fandom-queenliness]

The Breaking Part 3: Kagami

This is Part 5 of my Burning series, you can read the rest of it here.

Shoutout to @im-here-for-the-content for helping me with this!

This is shorter than my other pieces simply because Kagami does not beat around the bush and blunt as hell. Anyway, onto the pain!

The Breaking Part 3: Kagami

Kagami was not surprised when Chloe exited the elevator looking drained. She walked over to the chairs where they were seated and dropped down. Nino moved forward and asked how it went, and the blonde mumbled something about nearly snapping his wrist. Kagami felt pride at that. Agreste deserved to hurt for what he had done.

Marinette’s voice rang through her head and she flinched. The pain she spoke with—it killed Kagami. It made her want to break something.

A man exited the elevator and scanned the waiting room, when he spotted her he walked over, carrying a long object wrapped in white cotton. He bowed and offered it to her.

“Kagami-sama,” he greeted. “The package you requested.”

She nodded and grabbed it, holding it delicately in her hands. “Arigatō gozaimasu.” The man – an assistant of some sort – left.

Nino looked over to her. “What is it?”

“A symbol,” she answered, “a sword.”

Worry made its way onto his face. “Are you planning to kill him?”

She shook her head, running a finger along the black hilt. “I am not expecting it to ever be used. It is symbolic.”

Chloe’s head tilted but she did not comment. “Your turn. His secretary told me she wouldn’t announce you, just in case he calls security. She’s planning to quit after today anyway.”

Kagami nodded to the secretary, who was manning the desk a floor below Agreste’s office instead of her usual one right outside it. She held hate in her eyes for her boss.

She gripped the hilt of the sword and nodded to her friends, then headed for the elevator, jabbing the button. Her last look of her friends was Chloe wiping away tears as Nino comforted her.

Agreste looked up when Kagami walked in. He was holding his wrist close to his chest and she thanked Chloe for that. The betrayed look in his eyes was worth it.

“Agreste,” she greeted coldly, placing her package in the chair beside her. She remained standing.

He looked up from where he was leaning against the desk and grimaced. “Hey. Sorry, Chloe just dropped by. You think she’s mad?” He held up his bruising wrist jokingly and it set a fire within Kagami. He was joking, laughing, as his wife fell apart. The nerve, the selfishness—

She took a breath, steadying herself. She had words to say before her anger could be loosed.

“But can you believe it?” He asked, rubbing his wrist. “I thought Chloe would understand, growing up with politics and all. She at least should have understood why I would need to clear my name.” Agreste sighed. “She even thinks everyone would be against me. But you’re here, proving her wrong. I never would have expected she would…” he sighed and shrugged. “She’s just being dramatic. Hey, do you think I could use your phone to call Marinette? She hasn’t been answering my call—”

That was the final straw, assuming he had the right to talk to the woman he had hurt more than anyone else. Kagami held up a hand and he paused, puzzled.

With no emotion, she told him, “I am here to formally cut any connections with you.”

His smile dropped, he stared at her. “What?”

“I find myself unable to remain your business partner when you have committed acts that go against my morals and expectations of you,” she told him ruthlessly. A weight was lifted off of her with each word, like tiny anchors. “Any and all business between us is over. You will be getting calls from my lawyers later today.”

“Bu—but you’re my friend!” Agreste protested, sounding like a petulant child.

She held up a hand, and it took all of her mother’s training to keep it from trembling. “Are you addressing me as a business partner or a friend?”

“A friend. What else?” He said, still staring like a gaping fish.

“Excellent.” She pulled her arm back and punched him in the mouth. He fell against the desk with a dull thud.

“Wha—Kagami what the hell?!” Agreste shouted, holding a hand to his bloody mouth. She stared down at him, remorseless.

“You wanted your friend, well here I am,” she told him, spreading her arms. “I am the friend you lied to, the friend who loves your wife—evidently more than you do.”

Agreste scrambled away from her, behind the desk, trying to get out of her reach—useless.

“You are a stain upon your family, upon this world,” she told him, anger filling every word. “You betrayed your wife and friends. No longer can I look upon you without seeing a liar and a bastard.”

He tried to speak, made to put a hand forward but she pushed onwards. “You are without integrity, honesty and loyalty are absent from you.” She planted her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “You are a coward, you are weak.”

“I thought you would understand!” Agreste burst out, his own anger making itself known. “You grew up like me, you must understand what it’s like Kagami!”

“Keep my name out of your mouth,” she snarled over the desk. “I will not have cowards speak of me. Cowards who hide behind their family name and use their upbringing to justify their mistakes.” She slammed her fist down on the desk, making it rattle. “You are a grown man, you can no longer hide behind your father’s mistakes. Everything you have done is your own fault and you are weaker than I thought if you are attempting to blame it on a bad childhood.”

He stepped forward, glaring at her. “My reputation is all I have! Without out it— without it I am noth—"

“You think your reputation is all you have? What of your wife?” Kagami seethed. “Your friends? Your children? Or are those just things you may abandon, expecting them to remain where you left them? You are still that child who is blind to the harm he causes others, lost in your perfect world where nothing can go wrong. You are still that fool who is selfish enough to think Marinette will just fall into your arms, forgive you after a moment of anger. You won’t even let her feel anger! It’s been less than two hours and already you think you may speak to her.”

Marinette was worthless to him, she meant less than the words of others in his eyes. She was glad she had left her sabre at home, she would have killed him then and there.

She shook her head and stood up straight. “You expect her to love you no matter what you do, that she will accept your mistakes when she is the one hurt more than anyone else. It’s just like all those years ago when we went on that double date to that ice rink.” Oh, the silent tears Marinette had shed when she recounted it. Kagami wished she had realised then the pain Agreste was causing her. She would have told her to leave him before he hurt her even more.

“You were pining after Ladybug—Marinette herself—and thought it was acceptable to string me along, to ask me on a date when you were still not over her. I was fool enough to agree, to think I was helping you when all I was doing was enabling you. And you dragged Marinette along too, selfish even when you couldn’t see how hurt she was.”

Outrage flashed across Agreste’s face. “I didn’t know she was Ladybug! She never told me how she felt, how she—she was Marinette! And she agreed to that date, all on her own. It was her decision, you can’t blame that on me!”

“I can blame you for being blind!” Kagami shot back. “I can blame you for being selfish in every part of your life. I can blame you for being a characterless coward. I can blame you for so many things because you are idiot enough to not learn from your mistakes. I can blame you for playing Marinette’s heart then and breaking it now. I can blame you for denying her the chance to be with someone who cherishes her more than you ever could. Someone who has stood beside her and seen all the wrongs you have done and let her go regardless.”

Agreste gaped again. “Who—Luka? Marinette chose me over Luka all on her own! It was her choice!”

He still didn’t know about Felix, Kagami realised. He was still so blind that he couldn’t see the longing and love in his brother’s eyes whenever he looked at Marinette.

“You are a small-minded fool,” Kagami said instead. It wasn’t her place. “Marinette had options other than you then, and she has them now. She doesn’t need you, and only an idiot will think she wants you after what you have done. She has people who love her, and she doesn’t need an honourless husband.”

Agreste stomped forward, pointing a finger at her. “I—”

“You haven’t changed in all the years I have known you,” Kagami said over him. “You are still a passive aho. You are a child. You couldn’t even tell her of your disgusting deeds yourself, to her face you instead made it all public, so desperate to be seen in the best light you didn’t even pause to think of your family. The definition of selfish cowardice. Ruining any chance of leniency in an effort to avoid false drug charges.” She growled. “You’re an even bigger idiot than I could ever think. You have dishonoured your name and your family. You have tainted every memory anyone has of you with the betrayal you have committed. You have ruined anything and everything.”

“I—”

“Your children will look at you and they will see a monster. They will see you only as a shame. They will spend the rest of their life with the knowledge their father is a heartless beast that cared more for his own pleasures than them. You shall be their greatest regret, the man who tore their family apart over sex, not even love. You will no longer be their father, instead, all they will see is the man who broke their mother’s heart. They will hate you.”

He took a step back, eyes wide with shock before narrowing into rage. “Kagam—"

She didn’t give him a chance to speak, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down until he was sprawled across the desk. He let out a cry and looked up to her in fear. She grabbed his tie, pulling him up until he was nearly choking. “You are a stain upon this world,” she hissed. “An enemy to Marinette and her children. Your words are worth less than dirt. Nothing you say can be trusted after months of lies. You were weak enough to betray her, and you are no longer worthy to even call yourself hers. You have dishonoured her and everyone who loves you.” With that she let go of him, grabbed the package she had brought with her, unwrapping it and holding it up for him to see. The silver blade of the sword glinted in the light.

He gasped and scrambled away, pressing himself again the glass wall behind him in horror. “That—that’s a—”

“A wakizashi,” she finished ruthlessly. “The sword of ritual suicide. Samurai would fell themselves with their wakizashi to restore their honour.” She laid it down on his desk and met his eyes. “I leave you this not to tell you to kill yourself—even now I hold some regard for your health.” Her voice was bitter. “I leave this to you instead as a constant reminder of the crimes you have committed. The dishonour your actions have brought upon you and all who know you: Marinette, Emma, Hugo, Felix, Nino, Chloe, Alya, your father. Your mother.” He winced at that and she pressed on it. “You have dishonoured the woman who raised you by committing such acts against your family. You have dishonoured the dead and the living.”

She stared at him, at his shock and fear, and felt no guilt. “Goodbye Agreste. My lawyers will be calling.” She turned for the door.

He ran out from behind the desk, eyeing the wakizashi fearfully. As she touched the door handle he grabbed her arm. She froze, turning to look at him with only one eye.

“Please Kagami,” he begged. “We both know this doesn’t mean much. Marinette will forgive me, take back the wakizashi. See sense—”

She elbowed him in the gut and then kicked him in the ankle, putting all of her rage and loathing into the moves. He fell to the floor and she stood over him. She placed a foot on his chest and put weight on it, making him groan.

“Do not speak to me,” she hissed. “You are without integrity, without honour. Be thankful you are even breathing now.” She removed her foot, stalking to the door. She paused just outside, ignoring the looks some of the designers were giving her. Kagami stared down the coward she had once called friend with no regrets. “You are nothing.”

Adrien stared after her as she disappeared into the elevator, left lying on the ground with only the injuries she had given, the words she had said, and the wakizashi.

It felt really good to write this. Sometimes I wish I could punch Adrien too.

Anyway, next up is Nino’s part!

[venus-says]

Star Twinkle Precure Episodes 17-20

Cure Cosmo says Happy Pride!

No, I’m not dead!!

Okay, maybe I am. But that’s more like a spiritual thing rather than a health issue.

I don’t know why I’ve been procrastinating and delaying this. I just have more fun spending an hour watching people play RPG than watching anime. Not that Star Twinkle is bad or anything, I'm just not feeling it anymore the way I used to in its first 5 episodes or so, and I have no one to blame other than myself and how my life has been in the past 3~4 months.

But anyway, enough babbling, let's go to the episodes.

Episode 17 was... meh? As much as I like Blue Cat and all this episode was pretty bland. I also don’t like how they reused the planet AND EVEN THE FIRST SCENE WAS ALMOST THE SAME AS THE ONE IN EPISODE 15. Like, if you wanna do something with Blue Cat you can do it on another planet. She’s a thief, she travels space stealing, there’s no need to reuse a planet and use such a bland plot for it.

Another flaw of this episode is that this is obviously a Blue Cat focused episode, but since they have to justify Elena getting the new pen they try to focus on her as well. But in the way they’ve done we got way more Blue Cat and Hikaru rather than Elena, so when they try to make a nice moment with Soleil before she gets the pen it falls flat because who interacted more with Blue Cat was Hikaru, not Elena. In the end, it feels more like they’re saying burglary is okay rather than trying to be nice to someone.

The last complaint I have about this one is how Drums says he has investigated both the girls and Blue Cat but HE DOESN’T KNOW THEY’RE PRECURE. Is something dumb to complain about, but is me we’re talking about so. XD

But this episode isn’t all that bad. First I like how they’ve kept Elena as being the diplomat of the group, is a role that fits her very well and I’m always down to see it more in action. Second, Hikaru is absolutely amazing in this episode, she shone in this episode and her comedic scenes were just the best. And last but not least, I like how they planted things that would become relevant in the future (given that is a REALLY NEAR future, but it was still nice).

Different from the last one, Episode 18 was AMAZING. I liked the plot and it was nice finally getting to see more of Hikaru’s family, all we’ve known till this point was she has a strict grandfather, a grandma, her mother, and her absent father and a dog, and that was all. Now we know her mother is an aspiring mangaka and her father works traveling the world, that’s neat.

Hikaru's mom is really cool and I think in the end she serves as a good example both for kids and the older precure audience. It is the same "keep chasing your dreams" motto that we always see, but a reinforcement of the thing is never too much.

Another beautiful thing about this episode is the Mom-Daugther relationship between Terumi and Hikaru. They bond over something most people would consider childish, but for them, that's really important and it's what makes them support each other so well.

But the lesson I take from this episode as the most important one is what Terumi says to Hikaru in the flashback: You don't have to like what everyone likes. Just pick the things that really resonate with you and be passionate about them because independent of what others think they're precious to you and you should treasure them without the fear of being judged. Just beautiful.

And to not ignore the precure side of things, the fight was nice too, I like when they make things with paint and paper and they somehow integrate that to the monster's fight style. Yes is a shame that is such a short fight, but I know that this is there just because is "mandatory" so is not that big of a deal.

If there's one bad thing to say about Episode 18 is that it somehow feels lost in the timeline...? It's kinda like Episode 16 with Madoka's competition that came out of the blue. They are good episodes, but their placement doesn't feel right. I think that because they got smushed inside the Blue Cat ark in a way to fill it up in order to not make Cure Cosmo feel like an outsider of the group they sit on this void of the timeline where isolated they're great but when you watch them in a batch there's something weird about them. It’s not really a big deal, but this made me feel like Lala trying to read manga upside down. XD

Episode 19 brings us back to the Blue Cat plot.

It shares the same problem as 17 does. This is an obvious Blue Cat episode, but since Lala has to get a pen in the end, they try to shine her more. But it doesn’t work. Her moment protecting Blue Cat of the Nottrigger works better than Soleil’s moment but is still lacking in my mind. But this is the only negative feeling I have about this one. But this is an episode of reveals and these reveals make for a more interesting episode than 17 was. 

First, Eyewon petrifying an entire planet, so far we’ve seen the black pens’ power and being honest they never seemed to hold that much power on them before, but now to see how destructive they can be is really a shocker.

Second and most important, BLUE CAT WAS BAKENYAN ALL THE TIME. I never saw THAT coming. Yes I had my suspicions about Bakenyan before, he always looked very shady even for a villain, but it never crossed my mind that he could’ve been Blue Cat. That really exploded my mind.

I wish they’ve worked a little more in explaining the background of the whole situation because in the way it was done it was a little confusing timeline-wise, but I know the next episode is a direct continuation of this so it’s not a problem since it has room to clear these issues.

I also feel a bit weird about the ending. Because we’ve spent 19 episodes with the villains trying to steal the pens BUT BLUE CAT HAS DONE IT IN LESS THAN 30 SECONDS. AND SHE ALSO STOLE FUWA. I get that they needed a way to put those elements in her hand so that she can transform but cmon, this was way too easy.

Episode 20 is the beginning of this ark’s climax.

This episode is amazing. I watched the whole thing glued to my chair doing nothing and witnessing this masterpiece. I didn’t take notes to write about, I didn’t take timestamps to make gifs, I didn’t even take screenshots to illustrate this post, I had to watch a second time and even in the second time I’d space out and forget about what I was doing because I was enjoying it so much.

This entire episode feels heavy, and they put you in the same mood as the characters are. We feel the tension of the cures, the sadness of Blue Cat and even the anger from Eyewon. Everything works very well. 

We touch in Blue Cat’s past and get the explanation I feel that was needed from the last episode. I wish we could’ve gotten a little more, or at least got to know Blue Cat’s real name from it, but it was still nice to see how that world was and actually see a planet that “died” from the Nottrayders influence. We’ve barely seen any of that and make it feel like they’re not a real threat but now we know what they really can do. It was an accident but still got that entire planet doomed.

I wish we could’ve seen more of Eyewon and how the Bakenyan betrayal messed with her, but I believe this will be touched on the next episode so no complaints there, I’m just very excited to see it.

Another thing I wanna mention is, what’s the thing with Hikaru’s grandpa? We’ve seen him here and in the last episode in a kind of prologue with things related to rain and it seems like they’re trying to build up for something that’s about to come. I have a feeling that it will be something to play with Cosmo and how she’s the “rainbow spectrum that shines in the galaxy” and they’re just trying to allude to that, but I wish it was something else, maybe related to the next ark.

And since we touched in the Cosmo subject, let’s talk about her!

I like all those confrontational scenes of the girls and Blue Cat before the real action takes place, but I think the connection they tried to make with her and Cure Star was a bit weak, they tried to make as both motivations having the same weight but I don’t see that way. As I see it Cosmo has a much bigger burden on her shoulders because, 1 she’s alone, 2 she saw the horrors of what the Notrayders are capable of. But I can get past that.

The actual moment of her transformation was really nice. When she steps up and tries to protect them it is made to be as “she’s doing something out of character because of the influence of the cures” but in reality, she was just being true to herself. She wants to do good, she wants to protect people, if that wasn’t her nature she wouldn’t have become Blue Cat in the first place because she would just run away and not try to revive her planet. And I think that this was one of the reasons why Fuwa was comfortable around her even though at that moment she was being kidnapped, she saw the good on Blue Cat all the time and this culminates on her becoming Cure Cosmo moments later.

Cure Cosmo is amazing. I admit, I wasn’t happy with her from the leaks, more so because of the leaks themselves than with her design and everything, but still I wasn’t keen on having a fifth cure. But after seeing Blue Cat, and that gorgeous transformation I completely fell in love with her. I love how elaborate it is, there are prisms refracting the light all around, the moment she paints each tile of her skirt, that moment when she sticks her tongue out is just amazing, but the real highlight is right at the beginning when we see all of her personas showing up, is just beautiful. I can’t wait to finally see her more in action from here on now.

The last thing I have to say. When Fuwa summons Bue Cat’s pendant we cut off to Princess Taurus and Darknest for a brief second and that got me really intrigued. This, together with those Hikaru’s grandpa prologues, makes me want to believe that something even greater than Cure Cosmo is about to come. I’m don’t wanna get excited for nothing, but I can’t deny that I already am. XD

And I guess that's it.

I wish we lived on a planet where a day lasted for 32 hours so that I could promise you all to be back soon but sadly, that's not the case so I don't know when I'll have the time and be in the mood for it so... sorry. XD

See ya next time~

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - In The Meantime Chapter 7

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

A/N: FYI, I haven’t read the Shade short story yet, so comparisons are futile. Any canon divergences – or blatant similarities – are happening by pure chance. If there are blatant similarities, I’ll grin up to the moon, and if there’re divergences – well, I’ve been working on these headcanons for two years and can’t throw everything overboard at this point ;-)

Returning

He still had his ability after all, or they couldn’t have had teleported out of Whitefire into the tunnels.

Diana let go of his hand and Shade snorted at his former doubt, which had been stupid to begin with. How could his ability have left him when, just minutes ago, he’d used it to kill a dozen Silvers?

He stemmed his bloody hands against the damp wall. Almost he was able to pretend his hands weren’t stained with blood but only with common dirt. Dried into black, Silver blood looked as ugly as its Red variant, and its smell made him as sick. Shade tried to clean off the worst of it with the condensed water on the tunnel wall, not caring that it was dirty in its own way, if only it helped him not to throw up.

Diana seemed as if she’d like to throw up as well, whether from the horrible battle, teleporting, or due to her numerous wounds, he could not say. She leaned against the wall, exhausted. Her head was thrown back, her palm rested on her stomach, on her bruised ribcage. The older wound on her cheek was torn again.

He took a deep breath, another attempt to calm himself, to get loose from the weight on his shoulders, both from what he’d already done and what he was still about to do. Save Mare.

He had to focus on that, on his ability. But still, she was nowhere he was able to jump to, if she even lived. He sighed. “Come,” he said to Diana, and offered his hand. “If not to Mare, I can bring us to Kilorn.”

Slowly, sheshook her head. “Spare your power,” she declined. “Nor would we get on the train now.” With a groan, she stemmed herself away from the wall and stumbled toward him – again, without talking his hand. “There’s a safe house in Archeon that’s closer.” She looked at him, her gaze once more burning with intent. “Hopefully, with an informant who knows what the hell has happened in the meantime.” She told him where to go, and in the end, she touched his palm with such a reluctance that he barely felt her fingers at all.

“King Maven was hailed even before everyone knew the old king was dead,” Will Whistle told them in the bare, but comparatively comfortable safe house. “And then, it was more important to announce the arrests of the murderer and traitor prince Tiberias, and of Mare Barrow, the fraud. They’re in the Bowl of Bones now,” he added, along with the details of the morning’s shifting events.

“The arena’s cells are made of Silent Stone, negating abilities,” Will finished.

Shade’s eyes widened. “What?”

“To assure no interference, besides from those Arvens. They can tolerate the silence, as they’re somehow involved in its creation,” Will explained.

Shade buried his face in his hands. “That must be why I can’t get to her…” he muttered.

Will cleared his throat and Shade raised his head, seeing Farley nod at Will. As if she could hide any of her own shock coming with Will’s revelations. If anything, she seemed tenser than before. “Anything else?” she asked.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Shade burst out. “Farley, you said the crown prince said no to you, to any kind of coup. Why would he kill his father?”

Farley opened her mouth, but he went on, “Was it brotherly affection? If not Mare, did he want to save at least his brother from prison?”

Will cackled. “Oh no, there’s no love lost between the Calore brothers, Shade. If you let me finish, please?” he chided him, turning serious again. “Just a minute before you two arrived, the execution was announced. Of Mare and Tiberias. Seems like our new King Maven prefers a specific kind of feast for his coronation.”

Shade frowned, but Farley left for the bathroom with a rushed “excuse me”.

He stared after her. “She has to take care of her injuries,” he said.

Will shrugged. “Shade, you see, it probably has to do with the whisper queen. Everything must have. Likely … Maven’s whole recruitment was a trap, planned by the queen.”

Shade cussed, then calculated. It seemed so obvious in hindsight, but … well, he’d never spoken to Maven, only believed in Farley’s reluctant trust in him.

“Then we did everything wrong,” he said quietly.

Will moved over, and briefly touched Shade’s knee in reassurance. He didn’t like that, and suddenly, he understood Diana’s distance that denied any kind of comfort or closeness. He straightened his posture, shaking Will off. “The battle isn’t lost,” he claimed. “We still can – have to – do something.”

Will’s answering smile was mirthless, and Shade wondered how long and full of relapses Will’s own struggle had been.

“Indeed,” he heard Farley say, who was just returning from the bathroom. She’d gotten rid of her bloody and torn jacket, her shirt baring bruised and bandaged skin. She tried her best to appear commanding, although that was obviously difficult for her. She even stood uneven.

“As important as Mare Barrow is,” she glanced at Shade, “our priority is evacuating Naercey. Will you assist us with your skill and connections there, Will Whistle?”

The corners of Will’s mouth twitched. “Sure, Captain.”

Haste and urgency had taken over Naercey. Of course, Shade and Farley weren’t the first to return to Naercey, although they hadn’t been sure if the news of threat and betrayal had reached their comrades. But they had to know enough to warn the inhabitants, so the evacuation could begin. People were moving from dwelling to dwelling and transports were loaded and leaving. Shade offered his help and was put to work fast enough, shortly briefed that transports were sent off single and in irregular intervals to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

“The mersives have left too, and will return soon,” a woman told him. “There’re only so many safe houses in the surroundings, and the mersives can go to larger bases.”

Shade nodded and went on to follow his instructions. The road ahead was less important to him than going back to save Mare. He knew he didn’t do as well as he could, with his hands shaking and his thoughts straying off like his eyes that searched for familiar faces that appeared in the distance and flickered away from his blinking, tired, gaze.

He couldn’t believe it was only early afternoon, still the same day, when his group released him. There was no time to rest, and too much to do to save as many as possible. He felt so exhausted, not least because of his teleporting fight in the morning, although the lack of sleep they all had suffered took its visible toll as well.

And the uncertainty about Mare, he thought, then yawned and stretched.

“Hey.”

He flinched too hard. Even as he turned and saw Farley, his heart continued to beat faster. It’s just the exhaustion, he told himself. But that was a lie. He felt unguarded at every moment, his confidence was shattered and he was overwhelmed by danger and forlornness.

Farley hardly looked different, certainly not better. She’d finally changed into fresh clothing, but wore her wounds visibly, including a careful, tired stance.

So different from the woman from last night.

She rolled her shoulders. “Time to talk about Mare,” she said. “Well, I have time. You?”

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “If not, I’d make some.”

She tilted her head. “Of course.” She smiled wryly. “I’m not of much help here, so all my focus is on Mare now.” He blinked. “You know, since I’m at fault for all this …” Her grimace had to be painful with her injuries, with the way it stretched the old wound on her jaw, re-opening the cut he’d stitched himself.

“What?”  he gasped. She stared him down until he shook his head. “I understand, but … we all agreed to the operation. Especially the other officers.”

“Oh sure,” she hissed. “So far, Naercey isn’t under attack, but once it happens, when Maven, his witch of a mother, or whoever the fuck is in charge now, starts it, I’ll gladly blame them. For now, these people are losing their homes, Shade. Whether they flee or risk staying, I brought this upon them, with my arrogance and foolishness.”

It was easy to see beneath her grim face and dark humour. He knew she had a point. But he also noticed how much she needed to say this, to confess and acknowledge her guilt to someone.

He stepped toward her, reaching out with his hand. She flinched, maybe out of pain, maybe because she was still scared of him. But then she leaned into his touch, let him cup her mostly uninjured left cheek. Her gaze seared him and he believed he saw in it a yearning for his closeness.

“It’s quite self-absorbed and arrogant to take all the blame onto yourself, Captain Farley,” he said quietly, before she moved away. Eyes downcast, she gulped and her expression changed from bitter to sad.

She wants me, he thought, only that she thinks she doesn’t deserve to be with me.

She looked up with a snort. “Mare,” she reminded him.

“How could I forget?” he said.

She irked him, no, almost angered him. She was playing him again with the way she ignored him and their relationship. She freely wallowed in her own guilt and became distant to “punish” herself, but what about him, and his sins? He’d killed today, many people, and he didn’t know how to deal. He was back at the Choke, in the bleakest days of his life, shocked over those Lakelanders he’d killed there. Today, they’d been Silvers instead of Reds, yet they’d died for his self defense as well. It didn’t change the disgust, nor the dark pit of shame he felt that made him doubt he was right to be here, to be a rebel fighting with all he had.

I can do this, he told himself, I’ve proved it already.

I only do not enjoy it.

He wished he could talk to Diana. He was sure, believing he’d already witnessed it, that she wasn’t perfectly okay with all of it either. But she continued to avoid him, so he went to Kilorn who had no such qualms, and was happy to see his friend, to give him a hug and to plan to free Mare.

Kilorn was occupied with packing the explosives that were to be used in smaller amounts, piece by piece. With his nimble hands, Kilorn showed quite a talent for it, one he’d used in the morning too, when they’d destroyed Archeon’s bridge. Shade couldn’t match and Kilorn taunted him about it. Jokingly. Softly. Shade didn’t know how Kilorn managed it, to be funny despite all this, and yet he was grateful for it.

“You’re staring after Farley like some lost puppy,” Kilorn remarked the next time his shaking fingers dropped something. Shade cursed and Kilorn took it away from him, shaking his head. “No use here,” he muttered.

Shade cleared his throat. “What do you mean? She’s not even here.”

Kilorn shrugged. “But you search for every little glimpse of her, instead of looking at the work.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, his head lowered in embarrassment, and to hide his blush. He still felt Kilorn’s gaze on him. Then he rose. “Mare is our priority,” he claimed.

Kilorn nodded, “Of course.” Yet his face appeared so curious, so understanding that Shade was tempted to blurt everything out. He opened his mouth, tongue tingling. He wanted to talk about it, about her, about them. But in the end, he lacked the words to describe it. What was between them now? Were they in love? In a relationship? He could say what they did, or had done, but that wasn’t what he really craved to figure out.

Kilorn began to smile, still soft and not making fun of him. He was happy for Shade, whatever for, and for now, that was enough.

Shade squeezed his hand. “If I’m so useless, I better take a rest,” he said and took his leave.

He had every reason to be tired and still, he paced Naercey for a while first. If he was honest, he just wished to encounter Diana again, by accident, so he could claim he kept his distance as she seemed to wish. But the sun started to set and he longed to rest like he’d told Kilorn. He entered the building where most of the Scarlet Guard were staying, if on packed bags now. Shade prowled the corridors, noticing how his steps slowed the closer he came to Diana’s room, where they’d spent the last night together. Although “night” was hardly accurate, given how short the episode had been. It seemed so long ago now, his sense of time warped by the onslaught of the morning.

In front of her room, he stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say, but now he was here, he could at least tell her to go to bed after this awful day. That woman never considered her own needs.

He took a deep breath and entered. Immediately, he froze on the threshold and gaped. Because she wasn’t up and planning or giving orders, but asleep on her pallet. Weapons were placed around her, easy to grab, but she didn’t stir. Shade hadn’t been quiet. If she was as alert as the weapons indicated, she should’ve woken up. Yet she slept on without a tremor, more at peace than he’d ever seen her. He couldn’t imagine she’d ever intentionally let down her guard in that manner, so only exhaustion could’ve taken its toll and she’d relented.

As much as that relieved him, as stunned as he was, it meant he had no reason to stay. He respected her privacy and left to let her sleep.

The next morning, the sky was overcast with foreboding, dark clouds. The air felt heavy with heat and humidity, adding another weight onto the backs of those left in Naercey. All of them, whether soldier or civilian, cast glances around, at the sky, into the distance, as if they expected the assault to arrive from the air or on the ground at any second. Even when Captain Farley roused her soldiers, giving them their orders and instructions for this operation. Shade listened and tried to maintain and show determination, but like the rest, his whole body was tense, and his eyes wandered furtively just the same.

“Rise, red as the dawn!” Diana finished with a shout and Shade and the others fell in.

They’d lost; they’d been down. But they’d go on. Always.

The drive with the undertrain continued in similar fashion, an odd blend of weariness and enthusiasm. When the train reached its hidden stop, the team members jumped off with careful motions. It was a little walk to the Bowl of Bones, but it was also safer this way.

“Kill or take out any patrols you encounter,” Farley ordered, with gritted teeth. Strange to kill on the way to safe someone else. Shade didn’t think her nap had been restorative enough, if anything, she looked worse and he could only hope she felt better.

“We should be fast enough their absence should be irrelevant,” she went on, “but we have to use Maven’s neglect of the tunnels as long as possible. For now, he has other jobs to do before he can – ” She stopped as Shade spun around in front of her, halting as well.

“Why don’t you stay back, Captain?” he said.

“What – “

“Aren’t you injured enough already?” He looked her over, eyes lingering on her visible limp. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Someone has to secure the way back to the train,” said he. She opened her mouth, but he continued. “No need to have everyone close to the detonations,” he insisted, staring into her eyes. “Those are often a strain on bystanders, no matter the precautions.” She gaped, not believing he challenged her, told her, who always walked to the front, to stay behind. But he’d decided he would win this one glaring duel against her. And eventually, her gaze waned.

“Take them and run,” she said snidely. “I guess you don’t need me to carry those two.”

He nodded and before he got on, he took her hand and squeezed it. “See you in a few minutes.”

Her sneer softened slightly.

It took longer than a few minutes. Once they’d reached the space beneath the arena, the techie among the group produced a screen and as fast as he was, he needed a moment to find pictures of the events above. As they watched, the detonation specialist hesitated to act. “Fight’s too unclear,” he insisted, but Shade saw more than one finger on the triggers after the bombs had been placed. It didn’t make him any less nervous. His fingers and toes twitched, and the throbbing pulse of his blood drowned out the sounds around him.

Kilorn touched his hand in reassurance, and after a thankful glance, Shade started to focus back on his comrades’ discussions as his eyes fixed on the screen where he saw Mare dancing in a lethal battle.

Finally, the metal girl ran away, leaving the arena almost empty but for the condemned. “What are you waiting – ” Shade cried out, but a guard held up a hand to halt him.

The techie pointed at the screen; at the darkening sky, to be exact.

“Get ready to trigger ten seconds after the first lightning strike,” the lead detonator commanded. Indeed, the sky was lit up white and purple with lightning before a minute had passed.

Silence fell upon them, only broken by a few gasps until the thunder began to rumble, audible even down here, even over Shade’s hearing protection and his rushing blood.

Just seconds later, another kind of thunder reverberated through the tunnels, the sound of explosions timed to be unremarkable in the lightning storm.

Unremarkable to those above, hopefully. Not to Shade, not to the team. Shade grabbed onto anything he could grasp, and still he stumbled from the recoil. So did the others, and they were shaking and blinking and hugging themselves and each other, hoping the ringing in their ears and the dizziness were temporary.

The detonations were successful, and now, there was a small hole in the ceiling, creating a direct view to the sky and into the arena.

Shade crawled toward the opening. No one followed yet, some of the team had actually been thrown back. For a moment, he closed his eyes, relieved he’d made Diana stay back. Then he reached the hole, pulled himself up, and the first thing he saw was a lightning strike hitting the ground just two meters away from him. His sister Mare was merely another short distance away.

Shade began to grin.

The little distance was still potentially deadly, he knew. Soldiers were marching into the arena, guns ready. Mare, the prince next to her, continued to bring the lightning from the sky into the arena to halt her opponents. But she strained under the effort, not able to go on like this for much longer. That didn’t quench Shade’s amazement at seeing Mare’s power in the flesh for the first time, made glorious rather because it was hard on her. But the threat combined with the rush of his comrades as they joined him sobered him.

Shade hadn’t touched his pistol. But the others, Kilorn being one of them, were less reluctant. They shot the enemy soldiers, taking down many by this absolute surprise, but not enough to eventually defeat them.

We’re back to hit and run.

Shade used the chance of the moment when Mare was out of the center of attention for a second and jumped toward her, grabbing her and the prince to vanish at the next breath.

A few more bombs secured their escape, smashing parts of the tunnels as a result, as Shade couldn’t hope to teleport all of them back to the train. He would if he had to, now that others carried Mare and the prince as they ran. Shade glanced at her at every other second, worried by her unconsciousness. He told himself she was taking her first teleport as badly as Diana, but Mare was no less injured than her either. What the combined shocks had done to her remained to be seen.

The manacled prince had woken, unlike Mare, as they reached the undertrain. They had to shove him forward as he beheld the vehicle, although he didn’t stall in a way that sabotaged them or their escape.

Getting in and getting started was a matter of heartbeats under Farley’s command. She didn’t display excitement over the success apart from the smile that lasted a split second when she saw Mare, now carried in Shade’s arms. Even when she glanced at him every now and then during the drive, she stayed next to the prince, keeping watch over him like he was her personal trophy.

Once, Kilorn touched his shoulder in relief, a tear rolling down his cheek. He needed a moment to look at Mare cradled on Shade’s lap, before he was urged to resume some errand. It was merely to maintain alertness, Shade guessed, as the danger wasn’t over, might not ever be. He leaned back, eyes closed, finally feeling the greatest weight lifted off him, as he and Mare were finally together again.

That small peace, however, vanished as he opened his eyes, and by chance, found Diana’s gaze. It spoke of the gravity of the things to come, and Shade inclined his head in understanding.

Hitting and running and fighting would continue, and they had no idea how the game had changed, now that Maven Calore had taken the throne of Norta by betraying his family, the Scarlet Guard, and Mare.

Then Mare opened her eyes.

A/N 2: And so we've reached the end of Red Queen. There are some holes between the one-shots I wrote for Glass Sword that I might fill, although I believe the canon short story covers similar same points. I don't know if I'll compete there, I guess I might as well simply bow to the perfection it is ;-)

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @clarafarleybarrow @carstairsjames @inopinion @sarcasm-and-procastination @eurydicel @selenbean-beany @marecalrandomstuff @thelightning03 @mareven0123 @gisabarrovv

[ofxelvhen]

She supposes some part of her knew. When that first wall came down claiming the Creators were only mortals elevated far above, when step after step everything Solas had ever said about the Dalish history being skewed, some part of her must of known. But denial held it back. She hadn’t seen him in years, not truly, not actually. Sometimes she thought she saw him in the distance when she was back with her clan, but she was never certain, as the moment she turned to look he vanished.

Maybe she suspected before then, maybe it was when they found a dead Qunari during the peace talks, maybe it was the first moment she stepped through the Eluvian and everything felt different. She can’t be sure. All she knows is when the Viddasala told her Solas was one of Fen’Harel’s agents she couldn’t deny it any longer, everything made sense, everything she saw in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking, everything he didn’t say after the Temple of Mythal and removing her vallaslin. It was too perfect, he was Fen’Harel.

Walking through the last Eluvian, Eve’s not sure what she expects, not the way back to be barred, not the sea of petrified Qunari before her, not Solas’ voice in the distance speaking to the Viddasala she pursued. Part of her wants to hesitate, but she carries forward. He was closer than he had been since he left, close enough she could hear him, close enough she could feel herself gravitating towards him. Only when she sees the Viddasala turn to stone before her does she hesitate. That was a display of power she had never seen from him, he hadn’t moved a muscle and she was petrified, just like that.

“Vhenan,” the word comes softer than she means it to, not the call after him she wanted but she sees him stop and turn anyway. Her next words swallowed by the pain of the anchor flaring again, bringing her to her knees before him. Isn’t that ironic? Falling to her knees in front of one of her false gods, but one of the Creators nonetheless? The pain subsides and she looks back up at the man she had once shared a bed with seeing in a moment the sorrow in his eyes, the hurt and regret and she knows it’s echoed back in her own.

“That should give us more time.” He speaks softly, and she can still hear affection in his voice. Before she can imagine they’re back in Skyhold spending an afternoon together, he speaks again. “I suspect you have questions.”

“Not anymore,” she replies trying and utterly failing to keep her broken heart from coloring her words with sorrow. “I think a part of me knew. Not always, not from the beginning. But... from the end, maybe. You always spoke of Elvhenan as though you had been there, Solas. You carried a weight on you and expected me to not see it when I carried a similar burden. I set mine down around you, but you never did, not truly. Any doubts I had were shattered when the Viddasala told me.” It fixed nothing, she knew.

“Well done,” he congratulates and Eve hates how her heart still wants to flutter at his praise, even now, even in the ruins and wreckage of everything, even in a sea of petrified Qunari.

“I was Solas first, a name given to a wandering child surviving on his own. Fen’Harel came later, inspired by some...friends of mine. It was meant as an insult even as I took is as a badge of honor. That I was dangerous enough to be exiled as such by those I sought to bring down. It was a mantle I took gladly, reminding those who needed it I was to be feared, while comforting those who turned to me for it.” He glances away and Eve can feel her heart breaking on the words to come next. “What was the Dalish curse? ‘May the Dread Wolf take you?’“

“And he did.” The words are off her lips almost before he was done speaking, colored with pain, not an accusation as they could be, as she felt they should be. Part of her was still angry, angry that he left her, broke up with her when she needed him most, when she was preparing to fight Corypheus. She needed him to hold her up more then than anything and he had left. But standing before him again, pain won out.

“I never lied. Not about this. I would not have been with you under false pretenses. Whatever else you may believe of me, believe this.” And the conviction in his voice almost broke her again, it made it worse. That he loved her and still left her. That he couldn’t bear to let her know the truth and decide on her own.

“I loved you, Solas. I still do. Did you think I wouldn’t understand? That I wouldn’t help you as you’ve helped me?” There’s the anger, late and without all the fire, but it’s there. Not sharp but enough to convey her betrayal, enough to tell him why she hurt, why this hurt.

“Ir’abelas, vhenan.”

“Tel’abelas, vhenan. Don’t you understand? If you love me, tell me. Tell me everything. I’m owed that, you owe me that.”

He turns away, as though he can’t tell her the story under the shame of having hid it for so long. He tells the tale of freeing slaves and anyone who came to him, of being named Fen’Harel. Of the others being elevated to godhood and their crimes thereafter, of forming the Veil and cutting the world from its magic and stripping the elves of their immortality. His voice carries the weight of his actions, the weight of a world long gone, destroyed by his own hands. She knows the weight, of having to choose between two bad choices and never being happy, of holding too many burdens and hoping none slip through her fingers. She can’t imagine his pain, his weight, can’t imagine carrying it alone, can’t imagine godhood when cared as deeply as he did. 

He only turns to look at her when speaking of his own crimes, as though imploring her to understand that he’s not the man she thought he was, as though convincing her of this would make her love him less, make her hate him. It does the opposite of its goal, instead deepening her sorrow thinking of him carrying this alone through his time in the Inquisition, about him having to hide it from all of them. From the woman he loved.

“What about now? What about this world, Solas? What about us?” She thinks she might know his answer, thinks she knows his goals but she needs to hear him say it, needs to hear him tell her what he intends.

“I slept for many ages after the Veil, countless wars passed in my slumber. I only woke a year before I joined you. I gave Corypheus the orb; I couldn’t unlock it, I was still too weak. He was supposed to die when he did, I did not expect him to learn the secrets locked within and use it to claim the godhood I sought to prevent.” He pauses for but a moment, turning and walking towards the open Eluvian before them, and she trails behind listening, waiting for her answer. “The elves fell because of what I did to stop the Evanuris, but they can rise again. I will save the Elvhen people, even if it means this world must die.”

“Let me come with you, Solas. Let me help you.” She manages to not sound desperate. She agreed with his goal, agreed with the idea of fixing what he had broken, she merely wanted to help him do so, to be with him again as they had been before.

“I cannot do that to you, vhenan.” He doesn’t turn to look at her, and sounds even sadder than before, if possible. And she refuses.

“But you would do it to yourself? I couldn’t handle the Inquisition alone, I can’t bear to think of you doing this by yourself.”

“I walk the Din’anshiral, I would not have you see what I become.”

“You’ve seen me through my worst, vhenan. Let me help you. You have to set down your burden sometimes, let it be with me. Allow me to be what you were for me,” She insists, stepping further, wanting to reach out to touch him but unable to do so, unsure how he would react.

“This is my fight,” he insists, shaking his head slightly. “You should be more concerned about the Inquisition. Your Inquisition.” As he turns to face her, she can see his determination setting in and she knows he won’t let her come, knows he doesn’t want to be followed. But she can’t let him be alone. She can’t be alone.

“Don’t you understand? Solas, I would die for you, for this. I am dying, let me spend it with the man I love,” she pleads, hands clenching to fists at her sides for lack of anything else she can do.

“And that is why I can’t let you come with me. I have lost enough, vhenan, I can’t bear to watch you die. Not when it was my mistake that brought this fate upon you. The Inquisition needs you now more than ever. It will be filled with corruption and betrayal even with you at its head, it will only be worse without you. With luck, you will not need to worry about the Qunari again for some time, but there are others.”

“You have spies.” It’s not a question and they both know it.

“Yes. How else did you think I brought this plot to your doorstep? My spies found theirs.”

“If you do this...” She bites her lip and looks away momentarily, “If you do this, will the- the Evanuris be freed?”

“I have plans for them.”

“Which are?”

He shakes his head. “Telling you would compromise them.”

“I’m on your side, Solas. But... aren’t we even people to you?”

“When I awoke, it was to a world that had lost its connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil. You showed me I was wrong for believing such, that there was still great emotion and passion in the world. And knowing so only makes this harder. I take no joy in this.”

“What about the anchor?” She asks. “It’s getting worse and you are the only one who understands it.”

“I know, vhenan.” He glances away again and Eve can feel the farewell. “We are running out of time.”

The pain flares once more and she falls to her knees again. She’s not sure if it’s her despair or truly the anchor worsening, but it hurts so much more than it did even last it flared at the beginning of their talk. She knows it’s only a matter of time before it takes her life, she only wanted to spend the remainder of her days with Solas. Fen’Harel. The man who would not let her follow.

“Drawing you here has given me the chance to help you, for a time,” he kneels before her and if she wasn’t in so much pain, she would laugh at the brutal irony of one of the Creators on his knees before her.

“Solas,” she looks up at him, despite the mounting pain in her hand, shutting it out to focus on him, knowing that, if he has his way, this will be the last time they meet. “Var lath vir suledin.”

“I wish it could, vhenan.” He pulls her closer and she just barely catches his eyes glowing before their lips meet and the pain in her hand slowly slips away. She tries to convey her love and desperation in her kiss, tries to convince him one final time to take her with, but then he’s pulling away and standing. “I will never forget you.”

And that breaks her as he turns and walks away. She vows to herself to spend the last of her days looking for him, if she must, vows to do anything she needs to find him and be with him again. But also knows she may never succeed. He knew things she never would. But she loved him.

Var lath vir suledin, ma vhenan.

[akria23]

So it comes to an end

You know I often hear pieces like Make it Right the series being referred to as productions made by and for fangirls who wanna fetishize male-male love relationships. It’s often because you have these young hot guys together, in these stories that are thought to be shallow. And on top of it you have the fandom success of young girls who claim to be obsessed with these relationships and the fan-service that is often done for these productions. These are excuses people allow themselves to use to tear down or ignore the work that’s being done. I look at productions in America, that’s where I live, and I find that there are many people getting praise for things that aren’t actually praise worthy. For things that aren’t actually good representation for the people in the community. I look at stories like Make it Right and I find it funny that someone could disregard this series because it did more in the terms of Bisexuality than I’ve seen for 5-10 years. Just by actually having bi characters and understanding what that really means without no backhanded phobia that leaked in. The story is not just about male-male relationships. Within these perimeters these young men were finding themselves, learning how to love and be loved and love themselves.

My favorite relationship out of the show has always been Frame and Book, because I think their story was honest and necessary, taking that journey with them felt real.

The writer nor the director went into this with shallow intentions. It was very clear early on that they had a story and they wanted it to progress as it should. There was no love at first sight with this couple, no magical love makes everything disappear conundrum. Yes you get the feeling that secret feelings were under the surface, but no grand schemes. These were two people who had been around each other but weren’t exactly friends because they were on total different ends of the personality spectrum. Book, like his name, was very bookish. He’s a loner and an introvert. And although we find out why latter, he intentionally set himself apart from others. Frame, on the other hand, is very outgoing, very friendly and popular. He’s very extroverted and intentionally puts himself out there def sexually. We find out why he extends himself sexually later in the show, but one thing I really love is they didnt shame his sexualization. It’s not at all about shining bad light on sex, from the sex female worker to him. In fact his sex drive remains high after they get into a relationship. They never use him as the bad boy…they didn’t write him as the playboy who was a dick. He was a guy who had been emotionally hurt in a relationship and this led him to not wanting to enter that kind of pain again so his mindset was sex, not relationship, simple as that. He didn’t use his past experience as an excuse to treat others like shit. He didn’t toss away bed partners like they were trash. Or look down on others. In fact, Frame is one of the most genuine, caring, emotionally honest characters in the series. It’s this caring nature that helps him obtain the love of his life.

Back to the beginning: Frame said to Book in the first season, “If you are a star, you are a star that was beautiful when I looked from afar. But when I look closer, the more beautiful you are.” This line was only great because despite the cheesy structure, the scene does not come off as false at all. They did an amazing job of fitting it into the perimeters of them and making it work. Not only that, but, this line is one of the ones that I find fits their relationship so well. Def from the position of Frame to Book. Like I said you get these undercurrent feelings in the start. Not love, more - if he was interested…I would totally go there - type of vibes. That impression where it’s like, this guy isn’t necessarily a friend but when he’s around, I find his nature cute and interesting. The moment he finds out Book is actually interested in male-male connects, all bets are quickly off the table and we def see him making these moves and these gestures to build that bond between them. On Books end there was def a crush that was in place before they even became friends. Like I said, Frame’s caring nature got him the guy before he ever really knew he was ‘the guy’. We see these flash back moments of before and you realize that Frame has always been nice to Book, his niceness wasn’t served to get anything back. He would exhibit random acts of helping Book, or trying to include him into the group. Naturally these things moved Book, but because of his own past, because of his need to isolate himself and lock that part of him away, Book would have never crossed that line or made those interest known. Which is why their relationship happened as it did.

I’m a goner for consistency and not fucking up character. Luckily they did not mess up either for my babes when part 2 rolled around. I said I love FrameBook for its honesty, and I do. We leave part one with them being open about what wanting to be together and what that meant. But I also loved them for their internal struggles and hope those struggles sometimes top our honesty levels. We often want our partners to look at us a certain way, so we keep hidden things that we find shame in, things we want to forget. But when those thing still have power over us they find ways to slither back in our lives and prove themselves very present, and this was a problem Book had in season 2. His past relationships and the bad fallout that took place left him deeply scared with trust issues. Trust issues that invaded his relationship. When we’re reintroduced to Book he’s happy, he’s been isolating himself less, he’s on the path to being sexually free and accepting. However, he still exhibits signs that show all is not good. He still an extreme workaholic for some reason. He’s still showing signs that he doesn’t fully trust his partner even though Frame has never done anything to harm him or ever present something to the world that he wasn’t comfortable with.  It’s so strong, so powerful it knocks him out of his happiness, out of his moment of bliss, it rides his shoulder and whispers temptations of damnation in his ear. It doesn’t matter that Frame doesn’t deserve the lack of chance, that’s not how trust issues work and the show intentionally showed that. They highlighted the good moments of their relationship and showed the comparison of his prior relationship. This is because that’s how trust issues work, it ask that deep question of ‘didn’t I love and wasn’t I loved before I was betrayed and everything shattered.’ He did and he was and trust issues remind him that betrayal still happened.

Book had not only been betrayed in case of his lover but from the two people that was supposed to love him when the rest of the world turned its back, his parents. These people were honestly so disgusting. To stand in front of this young man and argue over who has to ‘deal with him’ after they’d already isolated him to his own livings and given him a set of rigorous rules that he would have to excel at or be out altogether. He was dealing with depression and his parents didn’t help at all. He would reach out to them and they would show no interest, ignore him or use the communication to force more stress onto the button of his emotions. His parents were one of his triggers to be honest, you def see this in that big moment, where he’s thinking and you just see all these things that have damaged him, and have been just unhealthy for him altogether.  A big part of the reason he distanced himself from Frame was out shame. Most people don’t want their current lover to see them that way, and when the video had been revealed the first time around the treatment he got from those around him stippled those thoughts of shame in his sexualization. He doesn’t want Frame to turn his back on him, doesn’t want him to look disgusted, or be disappointed. It’s easier turning your back on someone else than having them present you your grand fears. It wasn’t just the trust issues that led him to push away Frame, it was also his parents. Through isolating him in the first place, they coded within him this need to be alone when dealing with issues, this need to shut everyone and everything out and deal on his own. No one had ever been there to protect him, or stand beside him. Even with his need to be studious, while that is in part because of the demands of his parents it’s also because he knows he can’t forever rely on the finances of his parents – who use that as a way to threaten him. Book had to come to a place where he could face these issues head on, his parents were gonna love him or not love him. Learning to lean on someone, and trusting them to be there wholeheartedly. Standing up in the face of things he was ashamed of. Accepting his own sexual drive.

Frame seemed to match his name when it came to Book. He was a surrounding of love, care and patience. And it’s not to say he didn’t feel tested, that he wasn’t stretched to his limits. He was. His own fears were present in the reality of Books secrets coming to bite them in the ass. Being left behind, being cheated on or left for another. Frame was someone who was used for his looks and then to get passed that he allowed his looks to be the forefront of all his relations, never intending for it to get further than that with anyone. So of course his internal fear then becomes that his only worth his looks. Again it’s that thing on the shoulder whispering temptations of damnation. This time the question just becomes, ‘if I am loved for my attractiveness then doesn’t someone who is equally or more so attractive capable of taking from me the love I have obtained?’ And it’s also not about Book because Book has never cheated on him, nor has interest in anyone else, past or otherwise but that fear disregards that. Still, Frame remains loving and caring, even as he questions things. When we’re introduced to Frame this season he has moved in with Book. His grades have gotten better because he’s using his boyfriend as a free tutor. He’s extremely happy, and satisfied. His boyfriend has hit that glow up and he doesn’t know if he should look at him adoringly or with lust. He finds a nice balance of both. Frames unique mission has always been to take care of Book. He makes sure he eats when he forgets because of studying. He does these special things so he knows he’s loved. He stands beside him, with him, or for him. Tries to understand his depressive modes and his push back. Doesn’t criticize him, instead he tries to help him take those steps of getting back into himself and just being there. He wants Book to be happy, it’s as simple and as complex as that. He wants their future together, but he’s not naïve about it. He knows that because they are both men that this mean having to take certain steps, to have a certain determined nature, to be prepared for the battles that are promised to come your way.

They were good for one another, I mean yes they were flawed, but it made it that much more real. Sometimes people hurt us and that pain is sometimes so powerful that we retain it. We take it with us into our next relationship and this is always a damaging thing. Love is being courageous enough to face those internal wars within ourselves, not just for the other person but for the love of ourselves. The story of Frame and Book is a beautiful one, from the moment of discovering like of one another, to the sticky messiness of it all and deciding they want it enough to fight for it. Having those frank conversations. Just being loved, really loving someone and understanding what that’s worth.

undefined

I say this a lot, but it’s because I really mean it – Ohm and Toey really did a good job with and for these characters. They took it seriously. For Ohm to be so young when they started this project, I am extremely proud of him because he does such a good job with this craft. He was meant to act. He’s a great model, has nice screen presence, he’s very charismatic with the audience.  I hope he really tones his skills, and takes classes to further his gift because I think he can take it very far. Toey’s just one of those people that just slides into the character like he’s actually the real person. It’s not even like he’s acting. You forget that the character is a character because it seems like him. I really appreciate these two for being serious about their part, I’m always for being trying even when there are flaws because trying means you’re capable of developing of growing. I hope they remain as close as they have been. I would love to see them work together again, no matter the circumstances. I know gay is normally a way to enter the acting world and most actors never do a second production, but I wouldn’t mind see them again in anything. This has been a journey, I’ve been here since day one and it was something. I have to thank Toey and Ohm for playing the roles, the writer for creating the characters, the director for bringing the story to life, those who spent hard time subbing episodes – you guys are the crème del crème because without you my ass couldn’t understand the story. Last but not least, to video makers because videos of my ships help me love them more – I always find highlights of scenes and see them differently, or in a way that just hits home – and I love that. It was a great fandom - no bitterness. I’m gonna miss everyone.

[firekissedpiper]

— ✗ 𝕋𝕀𝔼𝕊. — ✗ Time Period: Early January, 2019. — ✗ TW: Mentions of sexual assault, abuse, child abuse by proxy. Piper wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She had been switching back and forth rather wildly in her brain between two mindsets through the plane ride, and the car ride. And just about ever since she’d embarked on the journey. Now she was here. It hadn’t been planned, in fact it had been rather last minute. She’d been taking advantage of the fact that the students were free to go for the break. The trip had been rather last minute, considering it was only a day or two before New Year’s. But it was about time she spoke to her parents, told them about the baby she was expecting. She didn’t know if she had much faith in them not to judge her. Or her mother at least. The woman seemed constantly disappointed in her. She just hoped whatever the outcome was she would feel better about it. She wouldn’t feel like it was some big secret anymore. People would find out soon anyway. Outside of the estate that was. Everyone there had seen her walking around appearing as if she had swallowed a planet. She had arrived not long ago, pulled up to the large castle. She’d always thought the estate was large, but she’d forgotten just how big the castle was. It was large, daunting in appearance. Or maybe it was what was inside. She hadn’t seen her parents since they had sent her away to the estate, since her mother had told her she didn’t believe her and said she needed to learn how to own up to her mistakes. The brunette had made her way in, wandered the familiar halls of her childhood and explored the place only briefly. She’d run into a few guards, but they’d quickly cleared her upon recognition. It was odd being there. She barely remembered being happy there. There was the competition with her sister, the disapproval from the parents. Any good memories had been when she was under the influence of something and those didn’t seem so good anymore. When she stumbled upon one of her mother’s personal assistants she stopped him briefly. He expressed his obvious shock at seeing her there. She supposed that made sense. By the way her mother had spoken last time they’d seen each other it seemed like the woman had every intention of keeping Piper there for as long as possible. “Finn, do you know where my mother is?” She asked keeping something of a distance. She might have gotten somewhat used to some men, but she wasn’t going out of her way to touch or connect to any others. “She’ll be in her study in about half an hour, she’s in a meeting right now,” he said, the shock still clear in his voice. Piper gave a brief nod of her head before heading down the hall, taking a left when she reached the intersection of hallways. She knew the way to her mother’s study well enough. Her mother would take her there to shame her for her behavior all the time. She certainly didn’t take her there when she approved of something she did. Often times the woman she knew would sit behind the desk, doing her best to look intimidating while she ripped into Piper with her usual lecture, accusing her of being a disappointment. She carefully made her way down the hall, taking another left into one of the other hallways. Carefully, she stopped at the large double doors. Her mother wasn’t there, but the memories of old times burned fresh in her memories. She was just hoping that this would be another of the times. Piper pushed open the doors, closing them behind her and stepping in. The office was a large room with five walls and a high ceiling. She remembered thinking how oddly shaped the room was before. One of the walls was lined with a bookshelf, the other with filing cabinets. Trust her mother to be neat and organized. She wouldn’t be shocked if there wasn’t a file out of place. The brunette carefully wandered into the room further, her eye peering around. She made her way to the desk, running her fingers over the polished wood. Not a scratch on the desk. Everything was in perfect condition. She rounded the corner of the desk, making her way back to the large office chair that sat behind the desk. It was newer than the desk. She and Phoebe had broken the last chair in one of their rare moments of getting along. They’d been spinning in it. And Phoebe had been leaning on the top while Piper remained on the seat and it had broken the back clean off. They’d had a laugh about it, but their mother hadn’t found it so funny. Carefully, she sat down in it, giving half a spin as she crossed one leg over the other, resting her hands absently on her swollen stomach. She was anxious, more so than usual. Maybe it was the hormones. Or maybe it was because she feared what her mother would say. This time it was more than just her. It was the life of her child as well. A few moments passed, and the anxiety was getting the better of her. Her hand was absently twisting with the hairband on her wrist and her food that rested on the floor tapped against it. Carefully, she reached down, pulling her hand away from the wristband out of worry she might end up snapping it fervently like she would when she got really anxious. She carefully pulled open one of the drawers. Or started to. There was resistance. Locked of course. Carefully she reached up under the desk, pulling out the little wooden block. There in the middle was the key. Her mother hadn’t changed her hiding places since. She carefully unlocked the drawer and opened it up, placing the key back in its little ray for now while she scanned briefly over the files. Nothing of interest really seemed to catch her eye. Not at first. She gave that brief scan over the files, studying the little white labels carefully printed in her mother’s handwriting. Then she spotted it on her second glance. It stood out like a sore thumb. The file read of Tomas’ name, followed by private investigator. Piper tensed almost immediately. What was that doing there? What could her mother have possibly wanted to learn about Tomas? The brunette reached down, carefully grasping the folder in her hands and tugging it out. It took a few minutes but she opened it. She started to read through it. She saw the words but they didn’t sink in at first. She had to read every sentence over about three times before she finally grasped what each meant. There were all sorts of pictures in there, lawsuits, cancelled ones, pictures of women covered in bruises and close up images. But each thing that hit her reinforced what it meant. Her mother knew. Her mother knew the whole time what a monster he was. Something rare happened for Piper. Very rare. She felt moisture pooling in her eyes, felt the tears in them. She had known her mother had disdained her. There was no arguing that. She brought shame to the family wherever she went. She brought the wrong kind of attention and disappointed them as royals. She disgraced her entire line and family legacy. She’d heard it all before. But of all the things, she never thought her mother had hated her. She didn’t think she hated her enough to do that to her. She knew her mother was cruel, she’d proved that when Piper had tried desperately to explain to her what had happened. But she had never expected that the woman had already known what a cruel monster her fiancé had been. She didn’t blink. The tears would fall then. But she couldn’t help it. They kept pooling in her eyes. More and more moisture. She felt sick all of a sudden. A deep nausea in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t quite get a handle on how she felt emotionally. There was betrayal, pain, shock. So much there. So much to sort through. The tears started to slip down over her cheeks and as soon as they were free she immediately brought her hand up to wipe away the little droplets from her face. Her hands shook. No her entire body shook as she tried to cope with the information. Soon she was on her feet, her legs shaking as she tried to gain a solid hold on her footing. She had to get out of here. Just as she was finding her footing enough to edge along the side of the desk, hands still resting with heavy reliance on it, the doors of the study opened. And in she walked. Her mother. The woman who was supposed to love her and protect her, who had put her in danger. Her emotions rocked her body all over again, hitting her in a sea of overwhelming despair and rage. “When Finn told me I was here I didn’t believe it, I figured you’d be off partying your days away at that estate,” her mother’s cold disapproving voice came off. It changed when she looked at Piper, looked her over. Not in her face particularly, but at the large swell of her stomach. “Oh dear god Piper what have you done to yourself now,” she remarked. There was no real emotion in her face, aside from exasperation of course, as if Piper’s pregnancy was a mere inconvenience. Piper didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The words were thick and heavy on her tongue, and she was already sure she might end up throwing up as it was, opening her mouth, trying to talk with the emotion vibrating through her with such an intensity, and that nausea bubbling up would be cause for disaster. “What, cat got your tongue? Who is the father? Or do you even know?” Her mother tutted as if it was nothing. “I suppose not, another drunken night I suppose?” Piper shook harder. It was a definite mix of rage and despair, all hitting her at the same time, feeding off of each other. She was about ready to lose it. She didn’t know what that was. Her mind maybe. She already felt like she was losing it as it was. She felt like her sanity was slowly slipping away from her with each passing moment. “You should have come to me sooner and we could have taken care of the problem before it had gotten this far,” her mother shook her head as she walked over to one of the chairs, her hands resting on the back of it. Piper felt a rush of defensiveness for her child. She had had the same thought at first, but for much different reasons. Hers had had little to do with salvaging her reputation or trying to save the family name. Hers had to do with what she had first thought about whenever the mention of her child was brought up. Things had changed now. It was quite clear how her mother saw the child. Her mother hung her head for a moment, as if she was doing so in shame. Piper had to take a moment to find her voice, find her ability to speak. “The /sperm/ donor,” she started in, her voice shaking but the words were spit with venom. “Is the man who raped me,” she all but hissed it, trying to ignore the rolling wave of flashbacks. Usually she kept in control, kept those thoughts at bay. But she couldn’t right now. She didn’t have any control. Everything was hitting her at once. It was like the pain was renewed all over again. “Oh you mean your husband to be who you left the night before your wedding? Don’t be so ridiculous Piper. We both know he didn’t do such a thing to you. Stop with your petty lies, you just didn’t want to have to be tied down,” her mother spoke, waving her off. She couldn’t believe it. There he was, denying it when she knew. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the woman had her initial hospital report. She wouldn’t be shocked by anything anymore. There was so much anger and emotion inside of her that it almost felt like it was burning. Once more she could find her voice. She was too emotional. “Perhaps if we call him he’d be willing to take you back. You humiliated him after all. Perhaps if you apologize, he’ll save what’s left of the tatters of your reputation,” her mother started to go off on her usual tangent, ready to pick up the pieces of the mess. Piper glanced down at the folder. She quickly picked up the folder. She didn’t gently toss it. She winged it at her mother’s feet. If the folder had had more bulk and heft it probably would have broken something with the strength behind it. Her mother glanced down. Piper saw the look in her eyes, the recognition. “What’s this?” The woman still tried to play it off, still trying to cover her own hide. “It’s exactly what you think it is,” Piper’s voice wasn’t shaking with rage this time. It wasn’t spit with venom. It was cold. It was like an icy breeze this time. This time it was her mother who didn’t respond when she spoke. “I wouldn’t bother, coming up with whatever you’re about to say. Whatever lie you’ll try to come up with to cover your own ass.” She carefully straightened up as much as she could, ignoring that nausea in her stomach as she tried to force it down. Her voice might have been uncaring, cold, but she still felt the whirlpool of emotions and confusion inside of herself. There was almost too much. She felt as if she might entirely break down. “I don’t hav-,” her mother started in. Piper didn’t even let her finish. “You knew!” Piper screamed it, slamming her fists down on the table. “You knew the entire time, who he was. You sent me off to him knowing that he would treat me like everyone else.” The emotion was back again. She was fluctuating between that icy numbness and the whirl of emotion. The numbness felt better but it didn’t seem to be her choice of how she felt. “You need discipline. You need control! I knew he’d put you in line!” The woman said, as if there was even a defense for what she’d done. “What did I do?” Piper wasn’t screaming this time. But her tone wasn’t ice this time. It was thick with emotion. Sadness this time. The anger was flattened out to the roots of it. She was heartbroken. She had no idea what she had done. She had been rebellious and she had caused problems. But she had to have done something more. “You hate me! You hated me the whole time, even when I was a child I could feel how much you hated me!” There wasn’t any response. “All you had to do, was love me, to care about me. All you had to do was give a damn. Once, twice. You were supposed to kiss my bruises and take care of me when I was sick. You were supposed to love me. I am your daughter. I am your daughter and you have despised me since you’ve known me and I want to know why!” “I don’t know why,” she said carefully. Piper had been resolved. No more tears. But once more, they were spilling over her face again. She wanted to know so badly what she had done. She had wanted so badly to understand. But there was nothing. No satisfaction. She wanted to believe it, that she’d done nothing. But she couldn’t help it. She didn’t feel that way. She felt as if somewhere something had gone wrong. Yet a small part of her knew it was something broken in her mother. “I should take this to the press, report the details of everything you’ve done,” Piper said it carefully. “I should destroy what little is left of your perfect reputation,” she said, one of her hands balling into fists. “But I won’t. Because I’m better than you. Because my child is going to come before my own petty need for revenge. They will never know how they came to be, so your secrets will remain your secrets. I hope you drag them to your grave,” Piper said the words with bitterness and anger. “I’m not sure if my father knows about this. Or precious Phoebe, but I assure you they’ll both find out if you try to do something like cut me off to punish me,” Piper made her way to stand in front of her mother. “We’re done here,” she meant more than being done with the meeting. She was done with it all. She was done with being her daughter. This was cutting ties with the woman who had raised her. The woman who had been responsible for her greatest pain. Piper turned on her foot, making her way towards the doors. She pulled them open and left without another word.

[thetrashyvulpix-blog]

Do every question for Tip. All of them. *shot* In all serious do my cinnamon roll and whatever questions you want. I just always like learning more about Tip.

1. Tip generally doesn’t have much of a scent, showering regularly but not adding on anything that stands out. He does enjoy using “orange-scented” shampoo, though, so at times he’ll smell a bit like citrine. I like to think oranges are his favorite fruit, if only because they help make the breakfasts he prepares that much better (and healthier!). Nicole is living the good life, not gonna lie.

2. Tip has a higher-pitched boy’s voice, but his tone is usually soft and meek, allowing him to sound more polite and formal. During times when he’s uncertain or scared, his voice make crack, and he may sound more like a younger teen than a young adult man.

3. I like to think that Nicole is his biggest motivator. And, for a large part of his life, she is. But after she passes, Tip likely looks to his children and to his students. He obsesses over being the best father he can be, because it makes him feel like his life is still worth something, and that he’s still loved, even after Nicole’s gone... Granted, even with Nicole by his side, he still takes his fatherly role very seriously, but when she isn’t there, even his students become second children to him. I like to think he’s helped a lot of kids in his class because of this...

4. Tip’s most embarrassing memory is learning to do anything romantic with Nicole. Whether it be kissing, dating, or further. He always messes it up in predictable ways, and he’s just glad that, half the time, nobody’s able to really make fun of him for it... (Fuck you, Peach and Yoshi.)

5. I’m going to assume physical pain. Tip actually knows how to take a hit. As a creation, his mind works a bit differently from others, and the pain he feels is lessened as a result. You could give him plenty of cuts, but he’d recognize that, even though they hurt like hell, the person bleeding from their head needs more medical attention than he does. It’s a very useful skill for a supporter/healer to be able to heal his allies, even if he’s hurt. Some healers may panic and heal themselves when in pain.

6. Tip is most comfortable in his academia uniform; he prefers wearing formal clothing, with school colors, to give people an idea of his profession and his magical school of choice. And as a creation of Balance, it’s just what he feels most comfortable in… Magical clothes that can help bolster his magical energy, or even just keep it under control, makes life easier for someone who was born from magic.

7. I honestly believe it’s a cross between Ian and Nicole in SC. I know, I know; IAN. But I honestly do believe that having someone so sociable around, even if he’s a little… Ian… would help Tip to open up more and become a more social person, himself. Even if we didn’t get to see them interact that much, I think Ian would have encouraged Tip to become a better person by talking to people and helping them open up to him; this charismatic skill would come in handy in later years, where Tip becomes a professor and has to help his students. Nicole obviously does a lot because she’s his wife, and she always helps calm him down and keep him happy…. But some part of me really wants to think Ian would be a great positive force, too. Ian Kubrick was a great character, and to not have him have some sort of impact on Tip would be a complete shame on my part.

8. Tip eats the dust of stars, dude. It’s fucking weiiiird.

9. Tip cannot go to sleep without hugging/cuddling something. Whether that be Nicole, a pillow, baby dragon Celestia, or a child of his that’s having trouble sleeping themselves, Tip is always holding something or someone in his sleep. He believes it’s because he just can’t stand being alone at night...

10. Tip loves breakfast foods. He loves making a great breakfast that will wake his friends up, and he especially enjoys receiving praise for his work. Nothing warms the boy’s heart more than receiving compliments on his cooking in the morning~

11. Tip is most insecure about his connections to other people. He knows he isn’t human, and he fears that people may treat him differently because of what he is and because of his lack of knowledge… This leads to near-constant depression in his early years.

12. Tip enjoys long, flowing brown dresses that match his eyes. He especially enjoys dresses that cover a lot of skin, so that he can feel enveloped in a silky, regal charm…

13. Tip usually tries to apologize right away when faced with guilt, and will do whatever he can to make amends… He always tries not to get on anyone’s bad side, so when he does, he generally breaks down. However, if that person is someone who has done enough bad that even Tip doesn’t mind doing something hurtful to them… The guilt doesn’t really hit that hard. There aren’t very many people that cross that line, though. If someone gets close, Tip usually just avoids them and tries not to confront them at all costs.

14. I got to show this in BAT2, but despite his calmness… Tip didn’t react very well. He’s gotten to the point where he avoids the person and generally would never trust them. I think Tip would be unable to really forgive betrayal unless the person directly apologized and was clearly trying to make amends. So he reacts like any other reasonable person would, really… There’s only one tick. If that person has only done negative things, it’s very hard for them to get back on Tip’s good side. Not to say that Tip’s “bad side” is necessary a bad place to be (even enemies are treated with the same courtesy he tries to give everyone else; it’s just that they’re avoided), but Tip is capable of holding a grudge, even if he’s not outward about it like a character like Peach may be.

Let me explain further, actually.

So Tip is capable of holding a grudge, but again, you need to be a pretty shitty person to get to that grudge. You’d have to do very negative things towards him or a person he cares about, and then you’d need to go as far as to betray or to do something terrible to him and his friends. Afterwards, you have to show no remorse.

Finally, the grudge wouldn’t be that bad. It’s the least meaningful grudge ever. You’re just avoided. Tip would never not include you in something that should include you, and you would be treated like everyone else as a breakfast or dinner party.

15. Tip’s greatest achievement is becoming the Professor of Balance at Ravenwood. Doing this has led him into a very stable career, and it’s probably the thing that’s kept him sane during all of these years of eternal life… He’s also touched many, many lives by becoming a teacher who is dedicated to what he does. It’s his biggest accomplishment for himself by far.

16. Tip tends to be able to deal with being tired well. Given how he’s a creation, sleep isn’t a prime necessity for him, anyway… It just helps a bunch. He can take some Stardust and be fine if he needs to. He prefers sleeping and cuddling with Nicole, though~

17. Tip doesn’t drink. He just doesn’t. I can never imagine Tip drinking. He’s too much of a “good boy”.

18. Tip enjoys calm, instrumental music. He probably especially enjoys Disney music, if only because of Nicole’s influence, and especially loves upbeat music that can get him going throughout the day. When you’re alone in life… You really have to latch onto every source of happiness you can.

19. Right-handed.

20. Tip fears being left alone, having to fight alone, and having an evil that’s stronger than any hero appear...

21. Tip enjoys either a clear, sunny day, or a calm, rainy day. A day that’s too hot, a day with thunder and severe winds, or a day that’s only cloudy but not quite calm and rainy… Those days are just ‘meh’ to him. He appreciates weather that really sticks to one moderate side or the other.

22. Tip loves tan and maroon colors!~

23. Tip collects spell cards. They are physical manifestations of his own, learned spells. By the end of SC or BAT2, he only has about 22-25 spell cards, but by the time of SW… He likely has up to 200 spell cards, if not many more. Possibly 400 by the end of SE, depending on how much he studied Myth (Myth is the school I like to think has the most spells by far).

24. Tip prefers colder weather. He loves the cold breeze on a nice winter morning~

25. Brown eyes for Tip.

26. Tip’s race is “Creation/Human”. His skin is white.

27. Tip’s hair is also brown!

28. Tip is happy by the end of SC. He’s likely happy by the end of SE because of certain things that Terra has done. I’d say he’s pretty content… But in SW he’s a pure mess. With his wife gone for over a century and nothing but pain, the poor Apprentice has seen better days.

29. Absolutely! Tip tends to get up before Nicole to make her breakfast, and really enjoys helping everyone start their days right!~

30. Sunrise~

31. Tip is an absolutely organized person. He doesn’t like having to look for things, and he prefers making sure he knows exactly where everything is, all the time, even if it takes more time to get preparations and clean-up done.

32. Tip isn’t “peeved” by much, but someone who’s an out-right jerk could make him uncomfortable. He also doesn’t enjoy it when people pick on him for his quiet nature. But he would never get annoyed or angry with someone without great reason.

33. Anything Nicole had given him before she died is of the upmost importance… But, other than that, his Sidhe Staff. It was his first weapon, and still proves to be a valuable tool on the field thanks to its unique powers. It can help him gain more power pips, and will help raise the accuracy of his hard-to-use Balance spells.

34. Tip really doesn’t enjoy green peas. He doesn’t see how anyone could like those.

35. Gray. It’s a dull color that doesn’t really do much for him.

36. … Poison is a bad smell? Idfk. Bad smells are bad. His least favorite smell is probably the same as any other human’s.

37. The last time Tip cried was last Tuesday, obviously. He can cry often, especially when his situation really is stressful… And usually, when he does cry, it’s fair for him to cry, it’s just that he can get overly-emotional...

38. Tip was probably with Nicole the last time he cried. Tip always opens up to her, no matter what; he’s learned to trust her...

39. Tip has been injured several times in many battles. One time, in BAT2, he was severely injured by Nicole and Yoshi after having his identity taken from him by Doopliss. While physical pain doesn’t hurt so much, the emotional pain from having his friends attack him nearly destroyed him… If it weren’t for the heroes discovering the real Doopliss, Tip wouldn’t have made it long.

40. Scars can be healed in the Spiral universe, so no.

41. Does Tip struggle with any mental health issues?... Yeah, probably. I’m not an expert though.

42. Tip has a bad habit of being too formal to people, and not learning to cut back and try to have a warmer aura around him. When in ‘professor mode’ or ‘father mode’, though, he learns to curb these bad habits to become a more charismatic and happy person for his student/child.

43. Tip may be disliked because he’s not much of a people person. He’s quiet, timid, and always needs someone to stand up for him. Anyone who values confidence (aside from his more mature self in SE), a backbone, or some sense of masculinity will be disappointed in Tip Apprentice.

44. Tip is a very caring friend and very affectionate. He will do anything to make someone’s day, and generally does his best for the people who will let him. He is Balance…. Support. His life feels better when he can help someone else’s life feel better.

45. Ghosts are canon in the Spiral.

46. Tip would trust his best friends with his life.. And he would especially trust Nicole, his wife. He would also trust his children with his life, because he helped raise them.

47. Tip is almost always romantically interested in Nicole Peach~

48. Tip, luckily for him, is almost always married to Nicole Peach~

49. Tip isn’t a big fan of surprises. They scare him, and he’s always uncomfortable with having a plan ruined.

50. Tip’s birthday is…. I actually never thought of that. I’d say February 19th is his birthday~ That’s just after the beginning of the Spiral Chronicles RP, and it lands him in the Zodiac Sign I want for him.

51. He tries his best to celebrate his birthday with friends… But in his later years, he tends to enjoy quietly spending his birthday with close family.

52. Tip has no family until he’s married to Nicole. After that point, he wants a family, but it’s really up to Nicole as to how big that family gets. The only exception is Nicolas, a creation that is considered Tip’s youngest son, given how he was made almost a century after Nicole’s death.

53. Tip is close to his wife and children~ He views his family as the most important people in the entire world to him… He’d do anything for them, absolutely anything~

54. I’m already playing 100 questions, I’d rather not to a personality test too. owo;

55. Pisces. I think.

56. Hufflepuff? I have no idea.

57. Tip is a Lawful/Neutral Good. He may circumvent the rules to help others if he has to, but otherwise does his best to follow the rules.

58. Tip has nightmares about losing everything he loves. His nightmares are harsh and unforgiving.. Mostly because, some side of him is harsh and unforgiving towards himself. He constantly questions himself, especially with certain things...

59. Death is something Tip sometimes longs for, but he knows better than to take his own life. He has eternal life for one reason or another, doesn’t he..? Plus, even if he died, he wouldn’t go back to Nicole. He would suffer a far worse fate...

60. Tip will laugh at silly and cute things, but many clever/dark jokes will either fly over his head or disturb him.

61. Tip will pass the time by cooking or practicing new spells. And Tip has had many days of boredom in his years of living… This means he is both powerful, and a great cook!~

62. Tip Apprentice enjoys the outdoors, but he’s gotten used to the magically-conditioned indoors… It’s more comfortable for practicing support spells, cooking, and relaxing.

63. Tip has no accent. Even though everyone technically has some sort of accent, Tip’s tone and the way he says things are completely moderate thanks to being a creation. He does talk a bit too formally sometimes, though.

64. Tip actually prefers vanilla cake, so he’d offer the slice to someone else if he were given a slice of chocolate cake. Too much chocolate is bad for Tips.

65. Tip dying is a very complicated and touchy subject, especially given what it means for him if he dies… So I’m not sure if I can answer this without being in a call, rambling about him.

66. How Tip feels about sex… Well, it’s not all that complicated, but it merits a long explanation because of how it affects him.

Tip is very interested in sex. As a creation, he still has the same sexual urges anyone else would have at his age… But because he has eternal life, those urges last forever. He can’t help looking at Nicole in certain ways, and he feels his heart beat that much faster whenever he kisses her.

However, he’s disgusted by his own thoughts. Nicole is not one for sex (I believe she’s even sex-repulsed), and Tip is well-aware of that, so he likely keeps his feelings under wraps for a long time. However, when he wants to have a family… He realizes that sex is necessary. There are magical ways to get around it, but, he just can’t help but want to push his and Nicole’s relationship to ‘that level’. He’s outstandingly curious, and he has these intense feelings all the time…

But, ultimately, without Nicole saying anything or helping him… I don’t think Tip would do anything. He would, instead, silently resign himself to ignoring his feelings. He would likely become sexually repressed, not allowing himself to think about Nicole in certain ways, and even after her death, he would never touch himself or give into bursts of lust he may feel at night, thinking of Nicole.

Sex is an element to characters I think can be very intriguing for reasons like these. Even if Tip believes he’s disgusting for wanting sex, and even if he thinks he’s wrong… He’s really not. It’s his own instincts and body making him feel this way. Having a sexual attraction to a person you love is completely normal, but because he’s never really told this and because his only other real interactions with anything sexual is through Ian and Charles being crazy, kinky fucks… Tip can never bring himself to do anything.

I think that sex could become a large part of his depression in later years. He has these feelings, and his sexual repression has likely built up for over a century… His own wants and desires make him think he’s a disgusting person, and he begins to hate himself even more over it.

67. Tip is demisexual. He only has sexual feelings for Nicole. I imagine that, later into BAT2 (earlier than SC because of the Bond) and sometime after SC, Tip begins to feel a certain way for Nicole… And these feelings never die, because they’re a part of who he is, whether he likes it or not.

68. Absolutely… In the beginning. Later into his life, Tip has seen enough blood that he can deal with it, unless it’s on the floor/written on a wall/used for some sort of fucked-up thing.

69. Tip thinks his own sexual desires are gross, even if they’re actually rather vanilla and sweet. He resents them with a passion.

70. No idea! Fuck off TV Tropes I don’t have time for you *shot*

71. Does Tip Apprentice enjoy helping people?... Nah, probably not.

72. Tip is not allergic to anything. By-product of being a creation.

73. Tip does not have any pets. Celestia is not a pet. Celestia is Tip’s daughter.

74. Tip is the slowest to anger of my OCs. If he is actually somehow angry… You’ve really, really fucked up. You have to either be outright evil or an actual disgrace to humanity.

75. Tip is extremely patient. See the grudge stuff and the anger stuff for more details.

76. Tip is a natural at cooking. It’s his favorite hobby!~

77. Tip never insults anyone. Even the bad guys don’t really get insulted, he just points out that they’re wrong and they’ll be taken down. If he’s “insulting” someone, it’s usually just him pointing out a character flaw.

78. Bubbly and cute. Tip will act like sunshine and rainbows when he’s happy, trying his best to make everyone else happy, too~

79. I don’t imagine Tip would do anything with knowledge of others’ fears… Like, at all. He might try to help them overcome those fears, but he’d never push them to do anything, and the best he would do is give advice.

80. Tip Apprentice is the most trustworthy character of mine. He will never break your trust, so long as you are a decent person/nice to him and his friends.

81. The only times Tip hides his emotions are when he needs to (which is isn’t good at), or when it comes to sex. If he needs to hide his emotions, Tip is terrible at it, his true feelings usually seeping through… But when it comes to hiding his feelings about sex, Tip is really, really good. One would have to bring them up directly to catch him off-guard, as it’s a big mental barrier for him.

82. Tip exercises regularly by using his spells, which drain mental and physical power, but also help train his physical and mental features.

83. Tip is satisfied with his physical image. He thinks he looks alright, but not amazing or really cute or anything… He’s just fine with how he is.

84. Tip doesn’t immediately find anyone physically attractive for one thing or another… But after becoming close to Nicole, he finds almost every part of her attractive. Especially the kitty ears! So cute!!~

85. Great charisma will catch Tip off-guard and possibly trigger some attraction… But usually that attraction is short-lasting as he gets used to a person’s personality.

86. Tip enjoys sweet foods from time to time, but can’t have as much as Nicole. He prefers a mix of sweet and healthy foods.

87. Tip starts off 16-17, but is constantly 20-21 afterwards. Eternal life sure does suck.

88. Tip is short for his age and gender. He’s only 5’5’’, but he’s still taller than his wife.

89. Tip wears brown reading glasses. He doesn’t need them that much, but… Ian must have some influence on him, because even into SE, he thinks they’re stylish and cute.

90. Tip does not consider himself attractive. Actually, that’s something that constantly bothers him. He truly believes Nicole would never, ever find him attractive.. And, well, maybe that’s true. But because of that, alongside his more sexual feelings, his confidence is really low about how he looks and is when it comes to his wife. He thinks he looks alright to everyone else, and he doesn’t mind that, but he really frets about how he looks to Nicole… Even if he knows it may never truly matter, some part of him really wants Nicole to find him attractive.

91. Tip loves cute, easy-to-understand humor that doesn’t hurt anyone. He’s an innocent child like that.

92. Tip is most often in a gentle, neutral mood… But his mood can easily become happy at the sight of his family or loved ones.

93. Again, Tip doesn’t get angry easily. Villains, evil people, people who are mean to everyone…. Even those people cannot easily get the wrath of Tip Apprentice.

94. Tip believes that life for him is some sort of cruel tragedy, up until SE and Terra’s work. He generally has a negative outlook on his own life, but… He does all he can to make it better. When with his family and when helping his descendents, Tip’s outlook on life is at its brightest, and he can feel like he really does mean something… He cries at Chelsea’s wedding with Amber. He beams with happiness when Nicolas and Nina decide to have their second child together. He hums happily to himself as he helps take care of a younger Terra… He feels such strong, positive emotions when he gets involved with the lives of people he loves...

95. Tip can easily get sad or depressed. Whether it be through questioning himself, thinking about his sexuality, having to face his eternal life, or going through rough times… Many things make him sad.

96. Tip Apprentice’s greatest weakness is his Confidence. He cannot believe in himself, even when he really should, and he has trouble sticking up for himself or battling a threat alone.

97. Tip Apprentice’s greatest strength is his Kindness. He can help turn lives around, give people the strength they need to succeed, and give someone the love they deserve.

98. Tip Apprentice sometimes regrets creating Nicolas, because of all the trauma he had to go through… But when he sees Nick happy with Nina and Tabitha, he thinks it was all worth it, in the end...

99. Already answered on question 15, SUCK IT!

100. Tip is a creation of Judgement. As such, the Bond was created by Judgement as a way of keeping creations like Tip alive, even when they’re without Stardust. The Bond is a very versatile tool, and it’s one whose details I’d rather keep hidden for now… But all you really need to know is that it hurts the creation and the bond recipient when they are apart, and heals them and brings them closer when they are together.