#he saw only Dorian first then the sins

[everythingdestroyingme]

Will never be over how Basil was just concerned for his friend. He just wanted what was best for him. And even when shown the epitome of Dorian’s soul, and forced to face the monstrosity of the painting, all he could think to do was point out all the places Dorian was still himself.

[justtwomushrooms]

(It's finally time I start posting on this dreaded website.)

The Illustious Client story breaks my brain in many ways but something that faszinates me so much is the Picture of Dorian Gray references Doyle slaps in there at the end, after the evil guy got hit by the toxin.

Like: - The features which I had admired a few minutes before were now like some beautiful painting over which the artist has passed a wet and foul sponge. They were blurred, discoloured, inhuman, terrible. - I could have wept over the ruin had I not remembered very clearly the vile life which had led up to so hideous a change. - “The wages of sin, Watson—the wages of sin!” said [Holmes]. “Sooner or later it will always come. God knows, there was sin enough,”

The entire theme of sin and evil in the end turning someone ugly. The first quote literally comparing the scene to a painting. Also the guy previously being described as very handsome ("He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. His European reputation for beauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not more than of middle size, but was built upon graceful and active lines. His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorous eyes which might easily hold an irresistible fascination for women. His hair and moustache were raven black, the latter short, pointed, and carefully waxed. His features were regular and pleasing, save only his straight, thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer’s mouth it was there—a cruel, hard gash in the face; compressed, inexorable, and terrible. He was ill-advised to train his moustache away from it, for it was Nature’s danger-signal, set as a warning to his victims. His voice was engaging and his manners perfect. In age I should have put him at little over thirty, though his record afterwards showed that he was forty-two." - thanks Watson, very heterosexual of you). The parallels are so strong.

Like, I know for a fact that Doyle read The Picture of Dorian Gray, he mentions it in his autobiography.

I don't know what to do with that. Just find it curious.

[respected-coconut]

Ok so a bit of a follow up on my post the other day about how I liked The Picture of Dorian Gray but I felt like liking it would cause me pain: I like this book but I have so many conflicting and confusing emotions about it.

Ok so Ik “the time period” and I can’t apply modern ideals onto stuff from the past, but at the same time there are so many things that make me feel icky about this book. Like Basil being thirty years old and straight up worshiping a 20 year old that is constantly being described as young and boyish and impressionable. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with writing fucked up things, it’s just in this case I have no idea if Basil is meant to be likable or not. I would understand if he’s presented as creepy like Henry is, but I really didn’t get that feeling; I feel like we’re supposed to like him (and I actually did until yk looking up the ages). i don’t know if this was some brilliant representation of creeps who still come off as nice or if Oscar Wilde was just wilding and wanted him to be some sad tortured artist nice guy.

Ok anyway onto other stuff that I find interesting; I mainly feel like this book touches a lot on like how younger more impressionable people are taken advantage of by older more powerful people, mainly through how Dorian (I think) basically came from a pretty shitty family background and then the first two people he meets are a guy who basically worships his every move bc he’s so pretty and a guy who’s telling him he’s only valuable is he’s young and pretty. I never really saw Dorian’s “narcissism” or ego really as him actually being in love with himself, or at least not fully, but I felt it was more so just a reflection of how he was basically told this was the only way he’d be of any important/use.

I think Henry’s pretty cool and I actually have some speculations about him. He’s basically Dorian’s bad influence who ends up leading him down the path of sin, but I think it’s really interesting how hypocritical he is. He contradicts his words a lot whether it be through other words or actions, and I think it’s actually because he truly doesn’t believe what he says; he feels more like some sort of observer who just wants to understand or experience things that he can examine, like when he was talking about how he wanted to basically experiment with Dorian, when he differentiated liking things and being fascinated by things, and how he mentioned that all influence was poisonous; it made me think that he maybe countered the latter point by just ceasing to form any ideals to believe in.

Anyway that’s all. I just finished this book and haven’t really thought about it/dissected it all that much so please be patient with me if I said anything stupid or confusing and feel free to correct me/respond.

[maleyanderecafe]

10:16 (Visual Novel)

Created by: catsket

Genre: Fantasy

I've actually been waiting for a while to do a review on one of @catskets's games since they also made a bunch of other games, and now I can! 10:16 is a game made for the #yanjam and it connects a bit to the other universe of Art without Blood (it has a reference for it, I'm pretty sure). Catsket always has a very ephemeral feeling in their games, so they're always fun to play.

The story starts with a cool intro (and very nice music) before watching the main character (Angel as a default name) going to down an elevator into Hell. They reach one of the floors to be greeted by a graveyard and meet a muzzle wearing long haired person, who welcomes us to heresy, the sixth circle. He introduces himself as Dorian and talks to them about their trip down here, how it was strangely pleasant to talk to the other keepers on the other floors. The sky starts to grow dark and rain ashes, so the two head inside of the library (which looks like a cathedral)for cover. Dorian tells Angel that he collects books of different types of heresies and offers a drink to Angel. Angel seems to be going down the seven rings of hell to make a plea with Satan, believing that they were incorrectly brought to hell, as they are a devotee for the Lord all of their life. We learn how Angel died, while going to mass, they were trying to help with something on the roof, but a bird startled them and they fell to their death. Dorian takes a pendant from Angel to find out why they were sent to hell in the first place. The two start talking and we learn that Dorian was once human a long time ago. He was burned for leading some Romans astray, believing that religion was selfish thus the reason he became the keeper of heresy.

Dorian is able to point out a specific point in time that caused Angel's downfall, specifically when Angel laughed at the idea of feeding the 1000, which is an act of heresy. Despite all this, Dorian asks if Angel still wants to go down to make their case with Satan.

There are about five different endings to this, ranging from going to meet Satan (and presumably failing their case, thus running back to Dorian), staying with Dorian without knowing the truth, running away and nearly dying from the ashes with Dorian coming to rescue them. Or being thrown into the elevator and presumably being torn apart by the rest of the levels of hell.

The ending that reveals everything is when Dorian reveals that he was the cause of Angel's death. Dorian fell in love with Angel the first time he saw them, visiting as a raven outside of their house, knowing that they would end up coming to this ring of hell. Dorian wanted to see them as soon as possible and was the bird that ended up causing Angel to fall to their death. Dorian asked the other keepers to play nice, all so that he could see you. Dorian confesses his love, promising that they have eternity to figure out what to do- just the two of them.

Like I said earlier, I generally really like catsket's games because they all have an ethereal feel to them. They generally focus on religion or a higher being (like a god or the personification of a certain concept) and they are always interesting. 10:16 is no exception to this. The sixth ring of hell as described in this game is very much of a godly air (so to speak) and it feels outerworldly. I like the MC, Angel in this too. I think I stated this before, but I do prefer having MCs that have more character to them since I can better picture why the yandere might like them. So it is fun to see Angel have this kind of devotion only to be sent to Hell despite being a devout person. I suppose regardless, their fate was sealed, either forced to stay in hell for a minor sin they committed and because of Dorian's interference which lead to their death. I think it was good that the yandere ending was the last one I played because it really does tie everything together pretty neatly.

Dorian as a yandere is pretty cool. Though his reason of falling in love with Angel is pretty plain, I do like the efforts he goes to in getting them to stay with him, from killing them early in an accident, to getting all of the other rings of hell to be nice to them and even giving the reason of heresy to convince them to stay (its possible he could be lying about it though since he is the keeper of heresy but who knows). In a lot of endings, Dorian will let Angel go, either letting them run away or going down to hell knowing full well they will fail. Plus, I think his design is pretty neat with the muzzle that's on him. There are some references to casket's other games as well like Limerence or Art without Blood that are sprinkled in there.

I think the funniest (unintentionally) moment in the game is when Angel asks why he has a cathedral in hell to which Dorian essentially responds "I just think it's neat!"

Overall, like I said, it's a pretty fun and nice for a spin off game. If you do like this style, then the Art without Blood series does have another yandere in it, which is always nice. Plus the intro song is pretty nice and I love listening to it.

[bowokshop]

The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

"When Basil Hallward paints the portrait of young, handsome Dorian Gray, he falls prey to his dazzling beauty. Afraid that his youth and looks will waste away, Dorian expresses a wish that his portrait, and not he, will age and fade over time. His wish is granted, and over the ensuing years, Dorian indulges in every kind of vice and pleasure, never ageing or disfiguring. Only his portrait, hidden to the world, bears the mark of his actions, and as his soul grows ever more wasted and corrupted, devastating consequences lie in wait."

It's difficult to review this book. I keep going back and forth between thinking it was a masterpiece and thinking it was overrated.

When I first started reading it, the first thing I noticed was the language. Jesus Christ - every sentence was so profound, and every word carried so much weight. It was quite difficult to read at first, but I got used to it.

Lord Henry's character was, I thought, that of a typical all-knowing older man. I found him quite annoying at times. A character would say one line and he would repeat back 3 pages of misogynistic nonsense. I can understand why a younger man like Dorian would be fascinated by him.

Basil was by far my favourite character. A tortured artist, his soul enraptured by this dazzling young man, and absolutely smitten with him only to be ignored and cast aside (by his closest friend no less!) - His character held so much potential. I only wish there was more of him.

Dorian's character confused me. I wish it went into greater depth of those years where his soul became so corrupt - what terrible things did he do? Why DID people leave the room when he entered? How many people has he hurt? I was quite confused reading the latter half of this book because of all these unanswered questions. I still pictured him as the pure boy we met in the very first chapter, and barely saw a shred of corruption in his soul.

The scene where Geoffrey shot the rabbit - that stuck with me for some reason. I felt very connected to Dorian in that moment. I could understand his anxiety, and his need to escape - that feeling that something bad is going to happen, it just felt very familiar. It almost felt too perfect that the man that was shot was James, which resulted in the situation being resolved as soon as it began. The guilt that might have gripped Dorian could've catalysed a deeper exploration of his soul.

But it stuck with me. The whole book has stuck with me since I read it. I do recommend reading it to anyone who wants to. I just wish there was a deeper, more personal exploration of the characters and their souls.

EDIT: After reading the preface again, I'm quite fascinated by the whole notion of the portrait turning corrupt. Did it really reflect Dorian's soul, when it was Basil himself who put too much of himself into it? It is said that his art turned sour after Dorian's portrait - what if this was a reflection of his soul? A soul who had fallen in love with the most beautiful of men, only to be rejected and pushed away? In addition to this, his masterpiece was never admired - it was shut away behind a curtain in a dusty room, locked to everyone except Dorian. And he despised the thing. It's said that a man can be forgiven in making a useless thing as long as he admires it intensely - and Basil adored the portrait. Even after seeing its grotesque form, he still loved it - he still loved Dorian. Perhaps the only sin Dorian ever committed was his indifference towards his own portrait.

[artwithoutblood]

Sorry that typo should have said ‘he “read” the prepared book’. I mean Dorian obviously made the exactly locket sized hole in that book ahead of time and had someone put the corresponding locket on MC before they even reached him. Yes, I bet the others remained silent about its purpose.

Perhaps I was wrong about it being formal ranks. Perhaps going further down the circles the punished sins become more grievous and so the keepers themselves become more wicked, more devious, more powerful.

I still don’t trust the fruity tea. Teas can be very aromatic and possibly unfamiliar enough to cover a lot of tastes. He did step away to prepare it.

And doesn’t he have a close friend who is omniscient within a certain range, experiences art as a personal interpretation of reality, and messes with people’s perception? The same friend that works with someone who deals in delusion? Also lives with someone whose words are powerful enough to shape reality, put you to sleep instantly, and is a doctor of sorts?

I wonder about those little bottles the other mortal saw in the cupboard. The special one found in the music room. There are a number of things both magical and chemical to soothe, to excite emotions, to dull thought and make one more pliable to suggestion.

Not that Dorian would need it. He’s ancient, manipulative and has a mismatched (potentially demon) eye himself. Maybe he gets insights he shouldn’t have or is simply as experienced in winning gullible people over as he was in life. He definitely gets a lot of quiet time to scheme.

I’m still confused how he managed the ‘error’ that got MC sent down to hell in the first place though. Perhaps the dogma regarding literal interpretation of scripture is that strict or for some reason each soul must make that journey. They weren’t a suicide and also that would have made them part of the woods (plus only able to speak under certain conditions?).

I still have not read Dante’s Inferno directly… but Virgil wasn’t allowed in heaven because he was born before Christ and a pagan while alive. The first obviously doesn’t apply to MC so perhaps it’s down to a schism in their church. There have been many ideological conflicts. So they chose the wrong Christian sect and were disqualified on a technicality? Were they somehow unbaptised despite being devout?

It doesn’t seem likely that Dorian didn’t plan on their coming. The way he killed MC was what he could do in his bird form but it also meant they died suddenly - so quickly and unexpectedly that they died unshriven. That has to be it.

Or maybe despite being a yandere he routinely murders a number of romantic prospects just to see which ones will enter hell and potentially succumb :/

He was pretty quick to discard MC when he didn’t immediately get what he wanted.

i had dorian make fruity tea because he's a fruit that's the only explanation i can give you 😭 he likes flavor! and i hate bitter tea.

the most dorian probably would've asked if aeron would've been to keep an eye on m/c when he couldn't. but that's delusion's passive anyways, like it's a pokémon. so it's not like aeron wasn't already doing that.

concerning the little purple vial found in awb, that was made by another oc of mine. he's dead. he used to run a drug bar before he was overcome with. something. that's not for y'all to know yet. that oc and dorian have never met. dorian knows of items like that, but he's never tried those specific drinks. those did not come into play.

iirc that's kinda what limbo is: sorry you were born before christ. xx. you get the caves bitch

although not based entirely on real christianity and mostly stealing aesthetics and terminology, i might say one reason why dorian killed the mc, as opposed to waiting or getting someone else to, is because the mc was killed and touched by a demon. it's a claim. god doesn't want that. i fuck around and find out.

and about the ending part: i think he tries romantic prospects until one sticks. and despite having you in his hands, he's a bit of a brat.

[nitrateglow]

Halloween 2022 marathon: 19-25

The Picture of Dorian Gray (dir. Albert Lewin, 1945)

I think most people know the basic premise: through ambiguously supernatural means, a young man gains eternal youth while a portrait of him grows old and corrupt, mirroring his sins.

I saw this adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s novel on TCM years ago, but remembered little of it beyond "cinematography pretty." Having read the book for the first time, I figured a revisit was in order.

This movie is a great example of what I often call "Old Hollywood gothic"-- those classy but eerie black-and-white thrillers Hollywood churned out in the 1940s-- Gaslight, The Lodger, Rebecca, The Spiral Staircase, and Dragonwyck are probably the best of the lot. This lavish and literate take on The Picture of Dorian Gray fits the bill well, creating a sinister atmosphere from its chilly cinematography and the coldness of the lead character.

Now, I know Hurd Hatfield's take on Dorian is controversial. A good portion of viewers find him too remote to be effective. Personally, I liked him-- he's blandly handsome, but as his character becomes corrupt, his eyes take on this cold, dead look that's incredibly creepy. We're dealing with a guy who's shallow to the core, emphasizing temporary pleasure over lasting value, and physical beauty over true substance. Those qualities also enhance the callousness he displays towards his victims.

It certainly helps that the most sympathetic of his victims is played by a young Angela Lansbury (RIP), who gives a truly touching performance as the ingenue songstress Sibyl Vane (changed from the Shakespearean prodigy she was in the novel). Eking out a living in a tavern, she idealizes Dorian as a knight-in-shining-armor who can rescue her from her squalid life. Unfortunately, Dorian ends up subjecting her to a cruel and misleading "test" to prove whether or not she's "pure" enough for him. When she ends up failing, Lansbury's quiet depiction of despair proves more haunting and effective than any histrionics would be.

Of course, as an adaptation of Wilde's novel, the movie isn't wholly successful. That the book's gay subtext is almost entirely scrubbed out to suit the restrictions of the Production Code is something everyone knows about (Basil Holwood's implied romantic affections for Dorian is about all that remains on that front), but the book's cynical take on morality is also absent. The movie adopts a more traditional "good versus evil" stance, whereas the book is much more complicated, with Dorian's attempts at good deeds being more a sign of his ego rather than any genuine remorse for the people he's hurt. To be honest, I feel like this movie wants to be Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde more than a substantial take on Wilde.

That being said, this is still an entertaining horror movie, even if it isn't the best adaptation.

Frankenstein (dir. J. Searle Dawley, 1910)

College student Frankenstein wants to create life from nothing. Mixing ingredients in a saucepan and then baking the mix, the result is a funky-looking monster who may or may not be the symbolic embodiment of Frankenstein's dark side... or something. I don't know. only the power of love can stop it-- that and a well-placed mirror.

Yeah, this first movie version of Mary Shelley's book is a trip. I wrote about this one more in-depth under my Short of the Month feature on my Wordpress blog. It's a weird little artifact from the nickelodeon era, but it's definitely a good bit of spooky fun. I really like Charles Ogle's monster make-up too: he's very shaggy and Victorian, the complete opposite of the more modernist approach taken by Jack Pierce for the famous 1931 version.

The Old Dark House (dir. James Whale, 1932)

A severe thunderstorm sends a group of mismatched travelers into the safety of a remote Welsh manor owned by the eccentric Femm family. At first, the Femms seem mostly harmless: Rebecca is a selectively deaf religious fanatic, her atheist brother Horace a witty coward, the 102-year-old patriarch Sir Roderick a cackling eccentric, and the butler Morgan a mute, lumbering presence. But the Femm house harbors a dark secret, one that might prove fatal to the stranded travelers. And when Morgan gets violently drunk, that secret just might be unleashed. The Old Dark House is an absolute favorite of mine, but it took two viewings to click. Film historian William K. Everson once said the movie inevitably disappoints on a first watch and I think that is very true. Considering the film is directed by James Whale and stars Boris Karloff, one expects something eerier, not unlike Frankenstein. However, this is as much a comedy of manners as it is a horror film, and Karloff is only one part of a fantastic ensemble cast.

A lot of the comedy comes from the clash between all the characters. The travelers come from different social backgrounds: the upper class Wavertons (Raymond Massey and Gloria Stuart-- the latter is best remembered as old Rose in James Cameron's Titanic, and yes, she really was a dish!), the disillusioned WWI veteran Penderel (Melvyn Douglas), the chorus girl Gladys (Lillian Bond), and the wealthy businessman Sir William Porterhouse (Charles Laughton), who came from the working class and had to buy his title. There's a low-burning tension between all of these characters, with some class resentment as well, but everyone ultimately has to work together to survive the night.

There's a lot of comedy in this film too, most of it very droll and odd. Horace's delivery of the line, "Have a potato" cracks me up everytime I see the movie, but it's impossible to explain exactly why it makes me laugh. If you don't go for that sort of thing, the movie will probably not appeal to you as much. However, this is still a horror movie at the end of the day, with fantastic stretches of suspense. The physical threat of Morgan and then later of the Femm's big secret locked away in the attic are presented as potently dangerous-- no winking there.

I've seen this film many times over the years and always lamented that the old Kino DVD was so murky-looking. This year, I finally upgraded to the recent bluray release and WOW-- it was like I was seeing a different film. It's so much easier to appreciate the expressionistic lighting and the spooky atmosphere of the cavernous dining hall or Rebecca's suffocating Victorian bedroom decor. In fact, if you love this film and you don't have the newest restoration, let me tell you the upgrade is worth every penny. It really enhances the experience.

The Phantom of the Mall: Eric's Revenge (dir. Richard Friedman, 1989)

Eric is a high schooler disfigured in a fire when unscrupulous developers burn down his family home to make way for a mall. Donning a mask made from a mannequin's head and driven crazy by revenge, Eric makes himself a new home beneath the mall, all the while looking out for his grieving girlfriend Melody, who now works there.

So back in high school, my big obsession was The Phantom of the Opera. I read and wrote phic, I watched every version I could find, I read and reread the original novel, I regularly listened to the original Broadway cast recording of the ALW version. I also regularly watched a channel called Phantom Reviews on YouTube, where the host made it his mission to sniff out and evaluate every single adaptation of the story.

It was on this channel that I first heard of this glorious 80s take on Phantom. Watching the movie, it's an awkward cross between a sleazy slasher and a teen romance, combining the inherent cheesiness of both genres. It has everything: corny love scenes lit by candlelight, Pauly Shore monologuing about subliminal messaging, the Phantom spamming spin kicks during every fight scene, snakes biting the privates off piano-playing parking lot creepers, ridiculously gory kills-- POETIC CINEMA.

The Shining (dir. Stanley Kubrick, 1980)

For me, this is one of the most perfect horror movies ever. Kubrick had no prior experience in the genre, but he totally got what makes a “haunted house” movie work: slow-simmering suspense, a strong sense of ambiguity, and a heavy dose of the unknown. And that last part is why I love this movie so much: it never overexplains itself-- to explain something is to make it less frightening. It never really explains itself at all, which is why The Shining means a thousand different things to different viewers.

On a related note, I tried reading the novel recently, just to better appreciate the differences between the source material and the Kubrick version. But I couldn't do it-- I got about 47 pages in and gave up. I really disliked the writing style and found myself a bit bored, though I can't put my finger on just what doesn't work for me. I liked King's later novel The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, so maybe it's just early King I don't like? Who knows? Maybe I’m just not in the mood and should try again some other time.

Vampires (dir. John Carpenter, 1998)

Vampires is basically a horror/western mash-up. It's set in remote, dusty regions of the southwestern United States and the vampire hunter protagonist Jack Crow feels like your classic gunslinger type transposed to the 90s. The fight scenes are delightfully over the top (the main method of vampire slaying is hooking the undead up to a Jeep winch and then dragging them kicking and screaming into the sunlight), and the dynamic between the foul-mouthed, off-color Crow and his nerdy priest cohort Fr. Guiteau is endlessly entertaining.

However, despite these strengths, the movie itself is mostly a mixed bag-- when it's the Jack Crow and Fr. Guiteau Show, everything is campy and fun, but everything else tends to drag when they aren't onscreen. I particularly did not care for Crow's partner Anthony and his weird, uncomfortable relationship with Katrina, a vampire bite victim whose psychic link with the bloodsucking villain helps the hunters track him down. To be blunt, I found Anthony unpleasant and Katrina extremely underwritten, so their scenes tended to either annoy or bore me.

From reviews, people either tend to think this is an unjustly overlooked gem or the nadir of Carpenter's career. To me, it's nowhere near his best work, but it's hardly unwatchable, even if I have no real desire to ever revisit it.

[feysandfeels]

IT’S VAMPIRE TIME BESTIES. BITE BITE MFS.

Firs of all lets enjoy my background. Beautiful. Stunning. Dramatic

Now.

Did someone ask for this? No. However I am in the second chapter and I have thoughts. Decarte would be proud. 

Special shoutout to my eternal love @cassianandfenrysaremyboyos​ because she’s the one who recommended this book to me. So if you’re annoyed with my thread, go complain to her. 

Bites bites.

1. I already like Isolde. I don’t know if its the complete irreverence with which she regards her own sexuality, the fact that she is 26 (god bless someone who is my age), the fact that she is a brunette or that she grew up training to be a fighter. 

2. There is an Alucard looking dude in the woods and I, as an Alucard slut, say thank you and I am willing to become his humble hoe. Clearly the vampire prince... but I love this trope of “random dude in the woods who I am attracted to turns out to be big baddie”. Also, points for the man, monster, lover, line... that got me. 

3. Poor Killian?? They called him bad dust (Colombian colloquial way of saying you are bad at sex... if you are good then it’s good dust)

4. I’m already here for the fact that Isolde is to be queen and no one is like “oh but she’s a woman”. Solid points to this world because of this. 

5. Also solid points because this book gave me two minutes of normal narration and then it went oh “HORNY HOURS START NOW”. Much appreciated, now I know what I am heading into.

6. Oh she’s a cynical romantic? Are we besties Isolde?

7. Also how are we feeling regarding Jamie Campbell Bower as this Alucard dude... whatever his real name is I will call him Alucard. But yea I am feeling Jamie. Either him or Daniel Sharman... but he is already my Dorian.. and Jamie does have more vampire vibes. 

8. Right so.. the mom is dead. Is the mom a vampire? Idk Idk maybe Idk. 

9. Killian is a little snitch. And snitches end up in DITCHES. Little bitch.

10. Also that father is dead. He will not survive this book or series. 

11. Papi, Commander Killian, shut up! Let the sexy blond speak. If he wants marriage then we must consider it, for the good of the people.

12. Alucard really did say “love at first sight”. The man is a romantic, a hopeless full romantic. See? nuance.

13. ohhhhhh forced marriage trope?

14. Kinda think that Alucard and the kin would have a wonderful husband-father in law relationship. Shame they are enemies. OH MY GOD! ENEMIES TO HUSBAND/FATHER IN LAW LOVE. OH MY GOD.

15.well marraige it’s not about having kids Isolde.. have you thought about that? maybe the man saw you in the forest and decided he loved you and wanted to spend eternity with you. Sometimes it happens. 

16. “you assume I want a wife, I came for a queen” OH MY JESUS ALUCARD WOW, SIR. “I am offering the promise of pleasure” sir i am IN PUBLIC!

17. “tomorrow I would marry our conqueror” Post colonialism trope besties.

18. I think it should surprise no one who has been following me for a while that if I could I would 100% want to be a vampire. Yes I would go through the process of transformation and yes I am willing to live eternally. I do not care. I would be a vampire. 

19. Is she going to? oh okay... she’s going to cope with the whole day by masturbating? okay yes. It was one of those days I guess. 

20. Killian for the love of fuck stop being so inconvenient. I swear to god you’re making the cardinal sin of being annoying. 

“drive a knife to his heart and then we can wed” AJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA  What the fuck man? have you not been paying attention. 

He truly gave me no choice but to laugh

21. There was this one time Isolde went like “there’s only wrath in me” and I was like #CROSSOVER!

22.Bestie what do you mean you weren’t made for running? Aren’t you a trained fighter?

23. OH he calls her my sweet?! *bites lip not in a sexy way but like in an “i need to quiet my scream way”*

24. Honestly baby you giving Alucard the “intel” that Kilian wanted to kill him is not the news that you think it is... it’s like telling a teenager that his obsolete toddler brother is after him. 

25. “I promise not to kill your people, but I do not make any promises regarding the life of your commander”. 

Me *serving champagne*: oh well, we lost more in the great rains

26. My girl really agreed to this marriage proposal because she was *that* horny and I fear besties, I fear, I cannot judge her for it. 

27. “any attempt will be met with my Wrath”, “as if your Wrath could be any worse” #CROSSOVER

28. I am so Alucard coded because I too use “my sweet” as a threat and nickname. 

29. Lets be real Killian’s sex move is “I will tell your father”. 

30. oohhhhhhhhh Isolde is the reincarnation of Alucard’s love?? Please please please please let it not be her mother who was with Alucard. I am begging.

31. Yes of course you’d want to be armed in your wedding. Attending your own wedding without at least one knife hidden in you is just tactless and calls for a passionless marriage. Everybody knows that. 

32. Lol how fucking horny do you have to be to be trembling when you try to control it. 

33. “Soon, I hope you find pride in being my bride” This man is not even denying how P*ssy whipped he is.

34. Wait he can read minds? EDWARD CULLEN IS THAT YOU MY LOVE? Alucard ft Edward Cullen?? Yeeeeeesss don’t mind if i do.

35. Want to bet the song in her music box will be something Alucard remembers and when he listens to it he will freeze and be like “how do you know that song?” and then some big reveal about her mother and their past lives... yada yada yada. 

36. Also what do we feel about the theory that she was promised to him since birth or something like that and her mother, scared, hid her pregnancy with this human husband king and then faked her death to protect her baby further.... maybe the human king somewhat knew of it... so that’s why he didn’t put that much of a fight. 

37. Is it going to be a public consummation of the marriage?? Like right in front of Killian? JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA ah no. 

38. They send her to fuck in a room that has not been dusted?! NO WHAT THE FUCK. At least clean the whole room. Ugh. 

39. “I might hate you but the sex is so good to lovers”. Isolde bestie enjoy it! Enjoy it for the both of us. Morals do not exist. 

40. Oh my god she really did stab him. Respect. Wow. Of course that will turn him on and barely make a scratch, but respect. 

41. oh and he has scars... I love scars.. I fucking love scars. 

42. Oh my jesus.. “scream my name so that your commander knows how much pleasure I give you” JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA in this house we want to annoy the shit of Killian. AJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA ZERO RESPECT TO THAT MAN TRULY. 

43. when Isolde said that Alucard looked at her like he had been starving and all that... I’m telling you he already knew her and had literally been waiting for her for centuries or something.. I’m even willing to say that all this war was to find her.. his promised queen

44. “Because as much as we were fighting for dominance he had given me the one thing I was looking for... “ she’s going to say orgasm isn’t she? My girl Isolde is about to sell her kingdom because the power of d*ck is that strong, and that doesn’t have me questioning her morals.. rather like... wanting to see for myself said power. You know, for science. 

[magnimoon]

Chapter 19: A hurt templar - A Cullevelyan fic

You can read it on AO3 as well as the rest of the episodes!

Summary:

Choosing the mages over the templars would bring consequences. Cullen was definetely hurt about his and both him and Bryony need to confront any issues they might have.

The rest of the episode under the cut

“Oh boy, that happened.” Bryony sighed while finishing drinking her third mug. She even thought of drinking alcohol only to forget that awkward moment. No, I mustn’t destroy this place, she thought.

She asked Flyssa to deliver a barrel of grape juice into her cabin so she could drink alone. Now, Bryony was only resting her face over her desk, just… tired of everything.

“What were you thinking. Turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!” Cullen’s words echoed through her head, clearly disapproving her actions.

Josephine throughout the whole meeting was delivering the pros and cons of said alliance, mentioning the meetings Bryony now needed to attend due to her decision. Leliana was the only one supportive of her idea, although she was trying to gather information about the smugglers the Herald had contacted. After all, they needed lyrium to support the mages. But the templars were unhappy about the alliance, and they needed the addictive substance as well. The Orlesian no-

“UGH, it’s too much!” Bryony shut up her thoughts angrily, grabbing her hair while rubbing her forehead on the old table. Too much juice and thoughts only created a lousy headache.

Her return to Haven was too intense for the poor mage. By the time they arrived, word that the Inquisition had allied with the mages was in everyone’s mouth. Some disapproved said decision, others were grateful about it. Others didn’t care much and the rest feared of the consequences. Whatever would happen afterwards, good or bad, well… now is easy to blame someone.

But the templars, oh no, the templars. Those were the worst. She doesn’t hate them at all, but she was considering so badly firing all of them given the attitude they showed her. The level of betrayal they felt was beyond words. Some of them were even gossiping that it was an unavoidable event since the Herald is a mage herself. “They only think about themselves and their kind,” some would whisper. Some, who used to talk to her, gave the cold treatment, even Ostwick soldiers. A minor group were even trying to spat on her due to the audacity to show herself in front of them. The nerve of allying with abominations.

Hadn’t been for Cullen, they would’ve started a riot with the mages right there. But the templars respected the Commander, so they obliged to his orders. Not hers.

Vivienne was also siding with the templars, not very happy about Bryony’s decision. Her words, however, didn’t reflect her emotions. She was already thinking how to contain the situation, which the Inquisition would actually need in case an Abomination runs amok the town.

“However, she didn’t have to be so rude about it!” Bryony yelled while hitting the table with her fist. A small purple spark was released with the impact.

“Do you know how young mages are found? … A teenage boy has a fit, and lighting rips his mother to pieces.” Vivienne’s voice couldn’t escape her head.

Bryony received that comment very personal since it was very similar the way she awoke her magic. That templar probationer didn’t even receive a fatal blow or something that injured him permanently. Yet everyone looked at her as if she had committed the worst sin in her life. Even Hector couldn’t believe was he saw that day.

The humans are angry, the templars are angry, the Chantry is angry, probably Ferelden is angry as well. Only Tevinter could be rejoicing in a huge party right now. No, they would want to conquer Ferelden first.

The only one who was being very supportive right now was Dorian, since he is a fellow mage. And Varric, the dwarf patted her in the back once they were returning to Haven. She assumed that his happiness had to do with Hawke, since she also allied herself with the mages.

But the one that probably she angered the most was Cullen, and that was a heavy blow for her. The Commander tried many times to persuade her about the templars. All was in vain, ever since the beginning she was convinced that the Inquisition should aid the mages. She just didn’t want to be the one making that choice. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, she thought.

Bryony was overthinking the whole situation. No one could blame her, after all the stress she gained from the last meeting, anything put her on edge.

There was a mix of frustration and confusion regarding the ex-templar. She was angry, annoyed that she “maybe” ruined their whole relationship. There were no romantic insinuations between them, or at least that’s what she believes, but the friendship blooming between them just crumbled to the floor. And that’s what confuses her, because she only thinks there’s a platonic feeling between both. But it doesn’t feel friendly, there is something else being denied by the mage. Maybe she doesn’t want to believe there is some opportunity with the Commander.

“I need some air. Maybe I could talk with Dorian, and Solas, and Bull. Maybe fix any grudges between me and Cassandra.” She spoke loudly as a way to silence any other thought regarding an attractive ex-templar. She rose from her chair.

So, before heading out, she washed her face with some hot water she boiled in her chimney (cooled down with a bit of ice magic). Finally, a change of gear, she wanted to try on the new armor made in the morning thanks to the materials found in the future. After arranging herself, Bryony opened the door, heading outside.

-------------------------

Maker, I was so unfair towards her. I didn’t mean to… Cullen was overthinking as well.

He acted as if he was reading some reports in the middle of a training session. None of the words written in front of him were actually being comprehended, his eyes only watched scribbles while his mind swirled around the last meeting.

After the news hit Haven about this new alliance, everyone knew the Commander would’ve been displeased. They weren’t wrong. Part of him knew this was bound to happen, she is a mage after all.

However, he should’ve known the level of rejection she was bound to receive from many people in general. The templars in particular weren’t so kind with her. So, it wasn’t necessary to rub more salt on the wound. At least, that’s what the Commander thinks.

Once Bryony arrived at the Chantry, one of the first things he did was criticize her decision. She thought of this alliance as a probation for the mages, which they do deserve; but Cullen’s fear at the minimum chance of possession brought the worst out of him.

The rest of the meeting was awkward at best, torturous at worst. Clearly, Bryony wanted nothing else for the rest of the day, yet the responsibility rested on her shoulders now. Ever since every topic was adjourned, the Herald exited the Chantry without saying anything and decided to spend the rest of the day inside her cabin, as well as the next day. At least her presence could wait for a bit, the Advisors started moving their troops, spies and contacts in order to prepare. Sealing the Breach was a few steps away now. The three of them decided it was for the best giving Bryony some days off.

Cullen’s comments sure didn’t help, but he wasn’t fully responsible of Bryony’s discouragement. The three Advisors now knew about the future she lived through for hours. Nobody in their right state of mind could end sane after seeing their loved ones getting killed or known about their demise in that twisted reality.

Then again, the Commander couldn’t stop blaming himself, he wanted to approach her and encourage her once more. But he feared he might mess it up again. Is not his fault the way he acted; he is a human after all. I need to be better than this, I thought I left the templars and joined the Inquisition to amend myself. He thought.

“Right, thanks, Cassandra. I should get going.” Cullen heard her voice not too far from him.

His eyes tried to find her, no, he knew where she was. Right behind a pile of dummies, boxes and hay, a few meters apart from him. The Seeker always trains there, and she regularly receives Bryony’s visits, right after the Commander was visited first. Cullen sighed a bit disappointed that this time he wasn’t the first one to get talked to. He became aware of this habit thanks to the non-stop gossip of his recruits. It gave him hope that she might feel something for him.

Cullen noticed the Herald leaving her spot, heading probably to the smithy or inside Haven, however their eyes crossed paths. Maybe she tried to glance at him, maybe it was just a coincidence. Once they looked at each other, they remained in silence for a few seconds before Cullen unconsciously made a step towards her. He probably blurted “Herald”, or tried to before his throat dried faster than bandits pickpocketing people on Kirkwall. It would’ve been very uncomfortable if she just left as if seeing nothing. This made Bryony head towards him.

“Hey, I suppose you have something to report.” Bryony started the conversation, a bit farther than usual from him.

“The mages are ready to approach the Breach. I pray this will be enough to close it.” Cullen acted like his usual, formal self. Thinking about work as always, he tried his best to sound normal, not frustrated nor anxious. He wanted to give Bryony a safety sensation, he wasn’t angry anymore, he just didn’t know how to show it.

She sighed, looking tired. “Look, Cullen, I know this wasn’t what you wanted. You weren’t happy with how I brought in the mages. Do you have a problem with me as well?” She went straightforward to the confrontation. Her brows were slightly upwards, expressing her concern that this decision would ruin their friendship.

“Of course not!” He sighed as well. He knew he couldn’t avoid this conversation. He began to massage his neck. “I have no intention of endangering your alliance, but I must ensure the safety of those here. That concern extends to the mages. They are putting themselves at risk for the Inquisition, as are you. Any precautions taken are meant to aid you, nothing more. I hope you will accept them as such.” He noticed Bryony’s slight dark circles around her eyes.

“I know, and I’m thankful, Cullen. But I want to know if our… nature…” speaking became troublesome for her, “are we really disgusting that even an alliance is a monumental offense to the rest of Ferelden, or my friends?” Bryony looked at Cullen at the eyes with a desperate tone in her voice.

“It is not, Bryony. It will never be.” He didn’t even hesitate to answer, looking deadly serious at her. He furrowed his brows, not because of anger, he was determined to express his honesty as possible.

The Herald stood speechless, with both eyes open widely. She realized it was the first time, since they met, that he called her by her name.

“I…” Bryony couldn’t say anything. Her eyes fell to the floor, lacking the confidence she had to look at him.

“I… don’t have fond memories due to the mages. I don’t…” his eyes reflected the pain of his memories, squeezing them momentarily. “Perhaps at another time we can address those matters. At least when we are not in public. But those weren’t you, and I believe you won’t become like them. I do not regret my reaction from before, but it doesn’t mean it will compromise anything more.” I won’t compromise my feelings towards you, he wanted to say that. Alas, he answered as polite and professional as possible.

“I understand. I just want to give the mages a chance to prove themselves. If they do head towards possessions, would that mean that I was naïve?”

“No, not at all.” Cullen answered with a small waver at the end.

Both remained in silence. He appreciated her efforts, calling someone naïve for trying to help wouldn’t be too farfetched from the truth. However, Cullen wants to believe that it is possible for her.

“If it helps in anything… I could send a letter to my brother.” Bryony stood in silence, thinking for a while. Her eyes were fixed to the floor, looking for possible solutions. Once her mind clicked, she looked at Cullen once more, not resenting him at all.

“Your brother?” He cleared his throat.

“Yes, Hector. He is still in charge of the Templars on Ostwick. Maybe he could send some of his troops to help us.” She sighed, once more. “I don’t want any misunderstandings between us, Cullen. If I had the option, trust me that I would’ve taken an alliance with both teams. I just don’t know why the Templars suddenly went silent.” Bryony crossed her arms in disappointment, frustrated while remembering Leliana’s last update on the Order. Both ladies had a bad feeling about it.

“You don’t… hate us?” He took a few steps forward, getting close to her. She didn’t step back.

“Of course not! I respect them if anything. They have to deal with a constant addiction through the rest of their lives, deal with the worst of my people, and deal with whatever the Chantry forces them to do. Are they innocent? No, they are not. But that doesn’t mean that there is not a single templar fighting for what is right. Just like us.” Quite the contrary, Bryony, also got closer to him. Even more aggressively, to the point where his armor almost touched her vest. This time, she was the one not hesitating with her answers. There was a passionate tone in her words. Even if she sided with the mages, she was ready to defend the Order and those innocent soldiers in it.

Cullen had to use all of his willpower to restrain himself. He just wanted to take her into her arms, thank her for her trust. But… alas, they are only Commander and Herald. Coworkers if anything. Well, they are friends to his knowledge, but the other recruits training would drop their routine just watch the show, even if it was only a hug. Yeah, just a hug.

The Commander wasn’t ready to admit the complexity of his feelings, of course he wanted more than just a friendly embrace. He wanted to take her in right there, hope that she would reciprocate the gesture. Try to guess the smell of her hair or know how soft her skin is. Due to their current proximity, he could only guess that her cheeks we in fact very delicate and squishy if he holds them in his hands. But the most tempting part had to be her lips. Her creamy, yet slightly pinkish lips were calling him to taste them, claim them as his own if she desired to.

“T-thank you, Herald.” Cold sweat ran from his body while trying to refrain himself, evading her purplish eyes. He didn’t step back, though, he wouldn’t miss this chance to contemplate her this close.

“Hmm? For… what?” Bryony asked, dense and dumb as ever.

For your support… and an excellent view, he thought, not allowing to express his feelings while eyeing the curves on her body. He is a man, after all.

“I should get back to work. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.” Finally, the Commander had to fall back, using the report on his hand as an excuse.

He tried to read those damned scribbles once more, but the letters resembled spirals and wobbly drawing in his mind. It was impossible to concentrate, not for this day. He had to return to his tent and… “think”. Yes, lots of thinking.

“Cullen.” Bryony’s voice was low and soft, this gained the immediate attention of the Commander.

“Yes?” He gazed once more at her eyes. He couldn’t say no to her.

“I do not hate you. I could never.” She frantically smiled, looking a bit nervous.

“I… ah, thank you.” He couldn’t decipher her intentions. So, in his trembling voice, he answered what was possible.

“I should get ready. We need to seal a Breach immediately. I’ll let you guys know when we move. It should be soon.” Bryony meant the Advisors. She waved a goodbye before returning to Haven.

The Herald of Andraste, savior of the mages and possibly the only hope for Ferelden, almost tripped while walking towards the entrance. Meanwhile, the Commander of the Inquisition, survivor of the Kinloch Tower and ex Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, stood dumbfoundedly happy.

For Cullen, Bryony and the word “cute” were synonyms, without doubt. The Commander couldn’t bring himself to admit his crush for the Herald; but he was beginning to believe that maybe… maybe she might. Foolishness could be clouding his judgement, or it was just a naïve hope. It didn’t hurt to feel that way.

However, even if said feelings were to be true, it was probable that he would never make the first move. He is still the Commander, his duty comes first, he can’t afford any emotional luxuries.

At least, both Bryony and Cullen solved their misunderstanding and were willing to help each other. She, on her side, began writing a short letter for Hector, requesting aid from the templars. The answer wouldn’t be received soon, but it was more than enough. Cullen, on his side, continued applying discipline to the Templars. They need to begin accepting their new allies, some might resent him or felt betrayed, but the majority will comply to his will.

Now, they needed only to head towards the Breach. Sealing once and for all the threat. Nothing else could wrong…

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[belle-keys]

parts of some classic lit that hit different for me

“Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty. There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.”

- the iconic piece on books and morality from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to displace with your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But, in this separation I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp distress I may. O God bless you, God forgive you!

- the “you are in every line I have ever read” tyrade in Great Expectations by Charles Dickens

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.

- the whole opening of Lolita by Vladimir Nabakov

My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.

- Catherine’s confession about Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.

- Darcy admitting the big truth to Lizzy in Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss. I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy. I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.

- Sydney Carton’s last words (*crying*) in A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

You cling so tightly to your purity, my lad! How terrified you are of sullying your hands. Well, go ahead then, stay pure! What good will it do, and why even bother coming here among us? Purity is a concept of fakirs and friars. But you, the intellectuals, the bourgeois anarchists, you invoke purity as your rationalization for doing nothing. Do nothing, don’t move, wrap your arms tight around your body, put on your gloves. As for myself, my hands are dirty. I have plunged my arms up to the elbows in excrement and blood. And what else should one do? Do you suppose that it is possible to govern innocently?

- Hoederer being a realistic bad bitch, that’s what, in Les Mains Sales by Jean-Paul Sartre

I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.

The “they were careless people” realization in The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

‘Hateful day when I received life!' I exclaimed in agony. 'Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemlance. Satan had his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and abhorred.'

Frankenstein’s monster’s teenage angst in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

[2tired2study]

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of Jani Lane who Died: August 11, 2011 in Woodland Hills, California

Jani Lane (born John Kennedy Oswald; February 1, 1964 – August 11, 2011) was an American recording artist and the lead vocalist, frontman, lyricist and main songwriter for the glam metal band Warrant. From Hollywood, California, the band experienced success from 1989 to 1996 with five albums reaching international sales of over 10 million. Lane left Warrant in 2004 and again in 2008 after a brief reunion. Lane also released a solo album, Back Down to One, in 2003, and the album Love the Sin, Hate the Sinner with a new group, Saints of the Underground, in 2008. Lane contributed lead vocals and songwriting to various projects throughout his career.

Lane was born John Kennedy Oswald (later changed to John Patrick Oswald), on February 1, 1964 in Akron, Ohio to Robert and Eileen Oswald. He was raised in Brimfield with four older siblings: sisters Marcine Williams, Michelle Robinson and Victoria Ley, plus older brother Eric, already an accomplished guitarist. With sisters Micki and Vicky and brother Eric harmonizing and playing guitar, Lane taught himself to play drums, guitar and piano by ear by age five. He grew up listening to Cleveland rock station WMMS (100.7 FM "The Buzzard") and was introduced to a variety of music by his older siblings.

With connections from siblings Eric and Vicky in and around the music scene (and with his parents' help), Lane made a name for himself at a very young age. He played drums under the pseudonym "Mitch Dynamite" in clubs by age 11 and with a local band "Pokerface." By that time, his siblings had left for college or marriage, although Vicky was still active in the entertainment industry in northeast Ohio and southwest Florida. Due to Vicky's numerous connections, Lane was able to network with industry execs in pursuit of his dream. Lane graduated from Field High School, in Mogadore, Ohio, a nearby city to Brimfield in 1982.

Lane is credited as the vocalist/drummer on Warrant's Latest and Greatest CD. Throughout his career, Lane would sometimes play drums/acoustic guitar and piano with his band and played the drums in various formats and gigs with other musicians.

After high school, Lane joined the band Cyren, featuring vocalist Skip Hammonds, guitarist John Weakland, bassist Don Hoover (and later Rusty Fohner) with Lane on drums and vocals. Many of Cyren's shows opened for a popular local band called Risque'. When their bassist, Al Collins, noticed Lane's vocal talents, he convinced Lane to form a new band they eventually called Dorian Gray. The new band also included Steven Chamberlin on drums and Dave Chamberlin on lead guitar. Dorian Gray was designed to have Lane as the lead vocalist and to perform original material, but Lane wasn't ready to be the lead singer and quickly returned to the drum kit. Billy Denmead was hired as lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist. After only a few shows, Collins left the band, vowing to put a band together when Lane was ready to be a lead vocalist.

Lane moved to Florida in 1983 with Dorian Gray. He eventually formed Plain Jane with Collins and Chamberlin, adopting the stage name "Jani Lane" (Chamberlin would also soon rechristen himself Steven Sweet). He took the name "Jani" from his German grandparents, who spelled his name "Jani" and pronounced it "Yay-nee."

Lane began vocal training with vocal coach/trainer Ron Feldmann, who introduced him to Creative Engineering, Inc. in Orlando. Lane worked there as a programmer of the animatronic character Dook LaRue, the drummer for The Rock-afire Explosion. His vocal debut was at The Station in Fern Park, Florida.

Lane, Collins, and Chamberlin recorded the first Plain Jane four-track demos at their rented house in Winter Park, Florida. Although reluctant to leave Florida, they rented a trailer in the spring of 1984 and moved to California with hopes of landing a record deal. They were broke by the time they landed at the Hollywood Bowl Motel and resorted to making sandwiches with mustard packets while taking turns calling their parents for cash.

Struggling to make ends meet as a musician, Lane resorted to working in a pornographic video warehouse. The band, along with a new road crew and a few girlfriends, pooled their wages and lived in a two-bedroom condominium rented by new Plain Jane guitarist Paul Noble. At one time there were 13 people living in the crowded space.

By 1985, Plain Jane had become a regular feature on the Los Angeles club circuit and opened many shows for a band called Warrant. Plain Jane's bassist and guitarist both left the band on the same day Warrant's singer and drummer quit. Erik Turner, who had founded Warrant in July 1984, was impressed by Plain Jane's songwriting and vocal performance and invited Lane and Sweet to jam with his band at Hollywood's db Sound in September 1986.

After generating notoriety on the club circuit, Warrant began to attract the attention of record labels. Following an abortive deal with A&M Records over a contribution to the soundtrack for the motion picture Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, the band signed with Columbia Records. The Columbia deal came via the partnering of Warrant and manager Tom Hulett, known for working with The Beach Boys, Elvis Presley, The Moody Blues and others. Hulett became Lane's mentor and friend until Hulett's death from cancer in 1993.

As lead vocalist with Warrant, Lane wrote all of the material for the band's 1989 debut double platinum album, Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich, including four Top 40 hit singles: "Down Boys", "Sometimes She Cries", "Big Talk" and the No. 2 Billboard Hot 100 hit "Heaven." The album peaked at no. 10 on The Billboard 200. Lane also wrote four Top 40 hit singles ("Cherry Pie," "I Saw Red," "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and "Blind Faith") for the second album, the 1990 double platinum Cherry Pie, which peaked at no. 7 on the Billboard 200. Lane also co-wrote and performed with Warrant the song "The Power" in the 1992 movie Gladiator. In 1992, Warrant released Dog Eat Dog, their gold third album, which peaked at no. 25 on the Billboard 200.

Lane left Warrant in March 1993 to pursue a solo career. He returned six months later, helping the band secure a new record with Tom Lipsky of CMC International. Warrant recorded Ultraphobic in 1995, Belly to Belly in 1996, Greatest & Latest in 1999 and a cover album, Under the Influence, in 2001.

Due to personal and business disagreements, Lane left Warrant again in 2004. In January 2008, the band's agent, The William Morris Agency, issued a new photograph of the band with Lane prominently featured, confirming his return to the band. It was the first time that all original members had been in the band since 1993. The band's first show with all original members was in May 2008 in Nashville, Tennessee. Warrant performed a series of shows during the summer of 2008, but by September, the band and Lane agreed to move forward separately due to "too much water under the bridge." Warrant and Lane both continued to perform Lane's compositions live and Lane continued to write for himself and other artists.

Lane became involved in acting in the early 1990s. He made a brief appearance in Caged Fear and appeared in High Strung in 1991.

In 1993, Lane started working on his first solo project. Titled "Jabberwocky," the album represented a significant musical departure from previous work. Between 1997 and 2000, demos of Lane's solo material began surfacing on the Internet, with some bids on eBay reaching an estimated $100 per copy. In 2002, Lane decided to postpone the "Jabberwocky" project and released a new project as his debut solo album. The "Jabberwocky" project remained unreleased.

Lane's official debut solo album, Back Down to One, was released on June 17, 2003 through Z Records and in the U.S. in 2006 on Immortal/Sidewinder Records. It carried a "power pop" sound more closely aligned with the sound of Warrant than "Jabberwocky." Shortly after the album's release, Lane was admitted to a rehabilitation center for alcohol and drug-related exhaustion.

In the fall of 2004, Lane contributed lead vocals for the first ever theme song to a novel, Billy McCarthy's "The Devil of Shakespeare," along with James Young from Styx, Ron Flynt of 20/20 and Chip Z'Nuff of Enuff Z'Nuff.

Lane contributed vocals on the track "Bastille Day" and "2112 Overture/Temples of Syrinx" for the Magna Carta 2005 Rush tribute album "Subdivisions."

Lane had success with the "VH1 Classic Metal Mania: Stripped" discs, where the acoustic version of "I Saw Red" was included on disc 1, a new acoustic swinging version of "Cherry Pie" featured on disc 2, and a new acoustic version of "Heaven" featured on disc 3.

In 2005, Lane became a fan favorite on the popular VH1 series Celebrity Fit Club 2. His problems with alcohol were highlighted and many viewers supported his efforts at recovery.

With the reissue and U.S. release of "Back Down to One" in 2006, Lane attempted to restart his version of Warrant. Although "Back Down to One" was credited as a solo release, Lane assembled a new touring band called "Jani Lane's Warrant." The band's first shows in Michigan were stopped by legal action from former bandmates objecting to his use of the Warrant logo on his posters. Lane subsequently continued touring without the Warrant name and logo.

Lane lent his vocals to numerous tribute CDs during the 2000s. In 2007, he released a solo cover album titled "Photograph," featuring a collection of his tribute contributions.

Keri Kelli and Lane wrote a song for Alice Cooper titled "The One That Got Away." It was recorded by Cooper on his 2008 record Along Came a Spider. Lane also finished work on a side project, Saints of the Underground, which included Kelli and Bobby Blotzer and Robbie Crane, (both from Ratt). Their album, Love the Sin, Hate the Sinner, was released on April 22, 2008 by Warrior Records, and was mixed by producer/engineer Andy Johns, who'd worked with The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin. The album featured additional bass work by Chuck Wright (Quiet Riot, House of Lords). The band was originally called "Angel City Outlaws" when they posted their first two promo singles, "Bruised" and "Exit."

In summer 2010, Lane toured with Great White, filling in for singer Jack Russell, who was recuperating from surgery after suffering internal complications.

On August 11, 2011, the Los Angeles Police Department and local news stations announced that Lane was found dead of acute alcohol poisoning at a Comfort Inn hotel in Woodland Hills, California at the age of 47. Lane was pronounced dead by fire department personnel who responded to a call shortly before 5:30 p.m.

[ravenclaw-booknook95]

Why I loved reading The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

So I read this book after reading and interacting with a post from @is-it-mungojerry-or-rumpelteazer and knew I needed to check it out.

I got a copy from Thriftbooks and read it in under a week. This book is 20 chapters and about 250 pages in length. Very short compared to books that I normally read which are close to 400.

I was hooked after I read the foreword and looked at the cover itself. Both gave me a sense of foreboding, uneasiness, and horror. Now, I don’t normally read horror since I usually think of Stephen King.

But can this book be considered horror? I’d like to think so.

~Spoilers for a book that’s been out since 1880ish~

As I kept reading, I somehow began reading it like a Classic Twilight Zone Episode. The first several chapters outlining the plot, characters, and what the lesson might be.

Wait a sec. There’s a lesson?

Yep! At least that’s the way I read it. Our title character Dorian Gray begins as a naive young man who gets his portrait done by an artist friend Basil Hallward. The portrait becomes one of his best works and shows Dorian as a beautiful creature. However, it is his other friend Lord Henry Wotton who puts these ideas into his head about securing beauty and escaping the concept of age.

This was the first time I read a book where I had a heavy dislike for the main character. And I think that was the point. Dorian Gray is someone who we should not be. He loses his boy-like ideals when the ‘love’ of his life kills herself after she discovers what love is. She is a young actress and portrayed characters who were young, innocent, and in love. Dorian is enamored by her and quickly wants to marry her but ends it when her performance is less than beautiful because she found love herself.

What baffles me the most about this situation is how I saw it coming. This man does not take responsibility for his actions at all.

And this can be found throughout the story.

Then we have this portrait his friend made for him. Even though it is beautiful in every way, we come to understand that his 'crimes' against this woman are now reflected in the portrait. The portrait went from showing himself as a ‘beautiful’ human being to showing his guilt and flaws. He becomes ashamed yet fascinated at the picture. He hides it from everyone including his friends.

He goes along with his life the same as before, while also becoming less than human internally. Dorian Gray ‘escapes’ age only to become an ugly person.

Every time he commits a sin or crime, his portrait becomes more terrifying.

His past catches up to him and he has no choice but to commit the ultimate crime: Murder.

But that does sound like a Twilight Zone episode or what? I think that’s why I loved it so much. It’s more like a physiological horror than anything but I was hooked.

The edition I got from Thriftbooks was from 1999 and has a forward by Nancy Springer who explains why The Picture of Dorian Gray was actually not very popular when it was published in the Victorian period. It was actually called “immoral” because of how Wilde wrote and the way it showcased homosexuality. Which is a weird thought since there are times where he talks about the beauty one man finds in another but it’s for plot purposes. However, Springer also explains how Wilde was technically a “rebel” in writing something like this.

But she brings up a great question. Why are we still reading this book?

For me, it’s because I can see it in social media and the way we take pictures or even in reality. We want people to perceive us in certain ways and by doing so creates a version of ourselves that erases our past and misdeeds. However, our past always finds a way to creep upon us.

This book was real to me because of that.

Overall, I give this book ★★★★ out of 5 stars. It’s a fantastic book that brings up topics that were controversial at the time it was published and is poignant to what we see in modern times. However, there were times where I was confused with the time jumps but that's about it.

Please read this when you have a chance. It's pretty short and is a great read. This book is also perfect of you want horror but not something that's Stephen King type horror.

[writtenonreceipts]

Heya, absolutely love your writing!😍I was just wondering when you have the time and all, would you consider writing something about rowaelin where basically the same thing happens to Aelin as it did Lyria, but only modern au (Lyria never happened).

Thanks so much, it means a lot that you like my stuff!  Thanks for the prompt.  It kinda got away from me… I got in pretty deep with plot points and stuff, haha.    Based on Characters from the Throne of Glass series.

Warning: don’t let the first half fool you, there’s gonna be tears and pain.

#

All My Love

It started at seven fifty-nine on a Friday night.

Rowan Whitethorn was hurrying through the City Park cursing at the crowds of people standing in his way.  He should have remembered that the city tradition of open mike night at the gazebo by the waterfront would have made the park nearly impassible.  But did people have to stand so close together?

He’d gotten of late from his at the police station and was a short walk away from his small apartment.  Or what would have been short had the park not been infested with tourists and and locals alike.

The sun barely began its descent leaving the sky graced with gold and hues of pink.  Heat from the record high day lingered, despite being so near the lake.  Normally Rowan might enjoy the view, but there were too many people invading his space.  At least he could be happy that he wasn’t assigned the shift to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.

He moved down the stone path that cut behind the gazebo and took a shortcut back to his apartment.  As he dodged a running child, however, something caught his attention.

Actually, it was someone.

She stood in the center of the gazebo; her long and willowy limbs were leaning against a white piano while she laughed at something her companion said.  Her long, golden hair swept down her back in soft waves.  Even a distance he could tell she was beautiful.  The woman patted her friend on the shoulder and moved to sit at the piano.  And then she started to play.

The notes were slow, soft, gentle.  A tune tumbling forth with careful measure.  The song wasn’t one Rowan recognized, granted he knew next to nothing about music.  Yet the longer Rowan listened the more entranced he became by the song.  Slowly, he picked his way around the gazebo so he had a better angle on the woman as she played.

The sight was indescribable.  In all honesty, it looked like the woman had become one with the music.  She moved with each caress of the ivory keys as though she herself were dancing to the song.  Her eyes shut softly and an easy smile moved across her sinful mouth.

It was glorious.

When the end of the song regretfully came, the park erupted into cheers and applause.  A man came forward and began speaking into a microphone setup.

“The ever wonderful, Aelin Galathynius,” the man called out, his words were eaten by another round of applause.

Aelin.  Aelin.  Aelin.

She offered the crowd a dazzling smile as she politely declined to play another song.  A small band replaced her, three guys and a rustic looking guitar.

Rowan watched as she descended the small steps to the gazebo.  She greeted a few people with a wave or a pat on the shoulder.  All too soon, in Rowan’s opinion at least, she was forgotten to the new beats of a guitar and low gravely notes of the singer on stage.

There was something about her that called to him.  Rowan didn’t know what it was exactly, but his eyes easily tracked her as she moved up the path that led away from the gazebo and up a boardwalk that wrapped around the lake.  Before he could think twice about what he was doing, Rowan followed her.

He caught up easily to her and his steps on the wooden planks caused her to turn around and meet his gaze.  Her wide blue and gold eyes snagged him immediately and Rowan wouldn’t have minded drowning in them.

A slow smile slid on her lips as she eyed him. “Hello.”

She was confident.  With that smile.  With that word.  With that stare.  And Rowan found himself dumbfounded.

“You don’t usually play on open mike nights,” he said.

Aelin quirked an eyebrow. “You sound certain of that.”

“I would have remembered,” he replied.

She laughed and rolled her eyes as if his words didn’t mean anything.  But Rowan noted the soft blush rising on her cheeks.  She was flattered.  Slightly uncomfortable, but that could have been from performing in front of a crown.  Everything else about her welcomed his advances and Rowan took care to read each and every signal she sent him.

“Dorian forced me into it,” she said, “told me it would be good business for the shop.”

The way she casually referenced the mayor didn’t go unnoticed to Rowan, but he found himself more intrigued by the second part of her sentence. 

“Shop?”  

“Queen’s Place,” Aelin replied, “my bookshop.  And where I teach piano lessons.”

Rowan found himself smiling at the image of her moving through a bookshop, of her sitting with children at a piano bench, at that smile brightening everyone’s day.  

“I walk by it every day,” he said.  He wasn’t lying, but to be honest he’d never given the shop a second glance.  What a fool he’d been.

“Well, now you have a reason to actually come in.”  

#

Waking up beside her was the one thing Rowan knew he would want to do for the rest of his life.

Curled on her side with her legs tangled in his sheets, Aelin slept soundly.  Her hair was a mess and that was entirely his fault.  As were the growing marks on her neck, her collar bone, lower, lower they descended.  

Leaning up on an elbow, Rowan watched her sleep as the early gray light of morning filtered through his bedroom window.  She didn’t stir.  He watched the rise and fall of her chest, how her eyelids fluttered, and the slight pucker of her lips.  

Those sinful lips.

Rowan reached a hand out and gently brushed her hair out of her face.  

They hadn’t been together very long.  Not when you considered how often Rowan worked and the fact that Aelin ran her own business.  They were often like ships in the night.  But each time they passed by Rowan was filled with inexplicable joy.

Aelin sighed softly and reached a hand out.  Rowan captured her hand with his and brought her fingertips to his lips, kissing softly.  A slow, lazy smile spread on Aelin’s mouth and she cracked an eye open.

“Are you watching me?” she asked.

“Naturally,” he said.  He grinned as she scrunched her nose and grumbled.  When she tried to regain her hand, he tightened his grip and pulled her closer to him.

Humming happily, Aelin tilted her head up to accept a kiss.  A long, deep kiss to be sure.

“I love this,” she murmured against his lips.

“What?” he asked, his hands trailing down her bare sides.

“Waking up with you,” she said.  She threaded her fingers in his hair as she pressed closer to him.  “Mornings like this.”

It was the closest they’d ever come to admitting their feelings.  Even though Rowan was certain he was in love with her.  He had been from the moment he saw her in the gazebo playing the piano.  He wanted to tell her of course.  Wanted her to know.  But he also knew what was keeping him from doing so.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table and Aelin cursed into his mouth.  Rowan swallowed the word, absorbing the disappointment it held before pulling away to check the message.

“Work,” he said.

“I know.”

Rowan looked down at her with her eyes closed and hair a halo on the pillow.  He wanted more than anything to make sure he’d always wake up beside her.

#

Maeve Valg was not the kind of person Rowan wanted to work for.  It took him a long time before he figured out what it was about her that made him so uneasy.  She was driven, dead strong, passionate--all good things.  It took him entirely too long to see her cruelty, her pride, her bloodlust.

“All I’m saying Detective,” Maeve said as she leaned across his desk toward him, “is that your skills and specialties are remarkable.  You’d make a difference to your country if you’d consider my offer.”

Rowan stared at the woman.  She had to be in her mid to late thirties--and yet her long dark hair framed a youthful face, full red lips, and devilish eyes.  This was the third time in as many months that Maeve had tried to recruit him for her independent security agency.  Mostly because his former sergeant Gavriel--damn him--had recommended Rowan for the position.

“I’ll think about it,” Rowan lied.

In all honesty, right now was not a good time to even consider changing jobs.  Not when there was a ring burning a hole in the side table of his dresser.  Not when he’d spent the last four months convincing Aelin to move in with him.  Not when he’d just left her side barely an hour ago and he was already craving her touch, her taste, everything about her.

It wasn’t until later that night when Rowan met Aelin at that fateful gazebo that he was finally able to push all thoughts of Maeve aside.  When he was finally able to smile freely at the sight of her in a pale blue dress that clung to each and every one of her curves.

“Hey,” she said as he approached.

Whatever else she’d been about to say was cut off when he pulled her into a kiss.  His mouth slanted almost urgently against hers and he couldn’t help the way his finger dug into her waist desperately.

“Hey,” he said when he finally pulled back.

Aelin grinned wickedly and he knew she was thinking about breaking into the nearest boathouse to continue that kiss.  But all too suddenly her expression turned serious.

“What?” Rowan asked, heart stilling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

Rowan froze, terrified that she knew about the ring. “I don’t--”

“Lorcan told me about Maeve,” Aelin continued.  She rested a hand on his cheek. “Rowan...that job sounds amazing.”

Blinking, Rowan fought against the rising panic in his gut.  He really wanted to find Lorcan and beat his ass, but he was also concerned by what Aelin thought about it.

“I’m not taking it,” he said flatly.

Aelin scowled. “Yes you are.  It’s higher pay for one.  Better control over your work.  Most of it sounds like a security detail.”

“I’m not taking it,” he repeated.

“Babe,” Aelin insisted, “it sounds like a great opportunity.  Why not?”

Rowan shook his head and pulled away from her.  This wasn’t how he wanted to do this.  Not really.  But with the sharpness to her eyes, the determined tilt of her chin--he had to do it.

“Because of you,” he whispered.

“Don’t,” Aelin said, “don’t put this on me.”

Rowan reached out automatically and grabbed her hands tightly in his. “It’s always been because of you.”

And then he was down on one knee while fumbling in his pocket for the ring.  

Aelin gasped and whispered his name.

Rowan looked up at her, the ring in his fingers and tears brimming in his eyes. “I first saw you here.  And I knew then and there that I was going to love you for the rest of my life.  If you let me.  Aelin Galathynius, will you marry me?”

She let out a small strangled noise that was a cross between a sob and something else that Rowan couldn’t decipher but the frantic bob of her head was enough for him to understand what the answer was.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered.

Rowan slid the ring on her finger and his lips on her mouth.

#

When Rowan took the job he still wasn’t sure about it.  But most of his friends were on the crew along with two kids who had just come back from Pakistan.  They were given weeks on end together to learn how they could become a team.

Aelin liked to joke that Rowan had gained five work wives now.  Rowan tried to tell her she was wrong but his words held no meaning.  Not when five out of seven days a week any of the boys in the crew ended up sleeping on the Whitethorn-Galathynius couch.  Usually Fenrys.

Unfortunately those nights grew few and far between as the year went on.

“How does Aelin feel about you spending your honeymoon with us?” Connall asked through an earpiece as they stood stationed around Senator Erawan’s reelection fundraiser.

Rowan could hear the grin in his voice.

“Yeah,” Fenrys added, “didn’t even have time to--”

“Stop talking.” It was Gavriel who spoke this time.  Rowan could see him across the hall walking behind the Senator and his wife. “Especially about my niece.”

The twins cackled.

Rowan shook his head and contained a smile.  As much as he’d been unsure about this job--it had given him some of the best friends he knew.

A gunshot rang out through the hall.

Immediately Rowan had his gun unholstered and turned to the source of the shot.  Out of his peripheral vision he saw Gavriel and Vaughn cover the senator and his wife.  Lorcan cursed over the comms.

“Lost him!”

“Got it,” Rowan replied.  Up on the second floor, a glass balcony overlooked the rest of the hall and a shape darted out of eyesight.  Running to the nearest stairwell, Rowan instructed his team on what he saw.

“Wait for backup,” Gavriel ordered, but Rowan was already gone.

#

He arrived home three days later to a royally pissed off Aelin.

Rowan knew it was bad when he walked into the kitchen to find three perfectly frosted chocolate cakes sitting out of the counter.  One had strawberries lining the top, another almonds, and the third a chocolate cookie crumble.  He was utterly screwed.

“Fireheart?” he called out hesitantly.

He heard the bathroom door shut down the hall and Aelin stalked toward him.  Her hair was pulled into a messy bun and bright red splotches colored her cheeks.  Tears rimmed her eyes.

“Baby,” Rowan said as he stepped toward her.

She shook her head and walked around him to the cakes.  There was already a piece missing from the one with strawberries and she cut another piece off and flopped it on a plate.  

“I am so mad at you,” she said as she stuffed a large bite in her mouth.

“I know,” Rowan replied.

“Fenrys told me what you did.  Gavriel told you to wait and you went charging after the man.”

“I know.”

“You could have died.”

“I know.”

Aelin nearly broke the plate when she threw it down on the counter.  Rowan stared into her brilliant eyes and waited for his next reprimand. “Stop saying that.”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Rowan said quietly.  He set his bag on the floor and crossed into the kitchen until he stood across from his wife. “We both knew what the job entailed.  And I had to catch the man.

“I was terrified Ro,” Aelin whispered.  She ran her fingers beneath her eyes and sniffed loudly.  “We can’t lose you.”

“I know,” he said, moving so he stood just before her.  He was going to say something else when Aelin’s words caught up to him.  “We?”

Aelin let out a strangled laughing as fresh tears washed down her cheeks.  She looked up into Rowan’s eyes, one hand going to her belly.

“We.”

#

Despite the chaos of his job and despite the chaos of his pregnant wife--Rowan Whitethorn knew that everything was going to work out in the end.  

With Aelin being nearly eight months along, they’d decided together that it would be best to start over.  For Rowan to leave his risky job behind and find something closer to home.  They’d both spent weeks thinking about it, talking to each other, and they’d come to the same conclusion.  They needed their family to stay together.

Of course, Maeve didn’t understand why Rowan would want to leave.  Not that he could make her understand.  Not that any of them could.  Even the rest of the team had understood the decision.  Rowan needed his family.

“Fine,” Maeve relented one day.  She sat behind her desk looking absolutely bored one day.  Running her hands over her desk she sighed. “I’ll let you go, Rowan.  But I just need you for one more job.”

Rowan stiffened at the sheer pleasure in her eyes of what was to come.  She tossed a folder at him.  He opened it and frowned.

Archer Flynn.  

A high end hooker for hire.  Known especially for sleeping with Senator Erawan.

“I need him arrested,” Maeve said.  She sounded as though she were requesting he buy lettuce from the store.

Rowan continued staring at the picture of the man. “I thought we were keeping an eye on Cairn.”

“Don’t worry about Cairn,” Maeve said.  “Mr. Flynn is far more troublesome.  Besides, Cairn is going to be taken care of.”

Rowan didn’t like the dismissive way that Maeve addressed him.  Nor did he like the smile that rested on her lips.

“And just like that,” he said, “ you’ll let me end my contract?”

“Absolutely,” Maeve promised.

For some reason, Rowan believed her.

He left with Lorcan the following day, assuring Aelin everything would be alright.  It was only an arrest after all.

When he and Lorcan found the apartment that was serving as Flynn’s hideout, Rowan should have known something was wrong.

The door was broken in, wood splintered across the floor.  A pool of blood was rapidly growing beneath a form tied to a chair.  Rowan and Lorcan rushed to room to the young Archer Flynn.  His blonde hair was plastered over his brow with a mix of sweat and blood.  The stab wounds in his legs and side were less than ideal.  Looking at all the man’s injuries, Rowan knew there was nothing that could be done for him.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Lorcan muttered while Rowan continued tending to Flynn’s wounds.

This wasn’t right.  This couldn’t have been right.

When Flynn began to speak, Rowan almost thought it was the man’s dying breath.

“S’lied to me,” Flynn rasped, his words to muffled to understand, “to all of us.”

Rowan lifted the man's chin. “What are you talking about?”

“Cairn was always the problem child,” Flynn whispered.  And then with a final breath--Flynn died.

Rowan let Flynn’s head fall.  What the hell was going on?

His phone rang in his pocket but he ignored it.

“Lorcan, he’s dead,” Rowan called out.  His phone continued ringing.

Lorcan reentered the room, phone pressed against his ear.  The man’s dark eyes were wide and a frown deepened his already deep scowl.

“Lorcan?” Rowan asked.

Clearing his throat, Lorcan shook his head. “We gotta get back home.”

#

Rowan had never liked hospitals.

They were death traps in his opinion.  Everyone he loved would always go in and never come back out.  So for the first time in a very long time, he found himself praying.  Praying that for once, he would be wrong.  That for once, something good would come of the hospital.  That for once, he wouldn’t be left alone.

“She was stabbed multiple times in the chest,” a doctor said, “they’re working on her now.  But you need to prepare yourself.”

They baby.  What about the baby?

The words never left his lips.  He couldn’t bring them too.  Or maybe he did say them and the doctor ignored him.  Either way, Rowan’s mind was churning too much.  Something had gone wrong.

“It was Cairn,” Gavriel said from beside him.

Rowan had no idea when the man showed up but he didn’t really care.  He stared at a wall advertising things for sale and brochures for various recovery programs.

“He got to her somehow.”

Maeve was supposed to take care of the man.  She’d said so.  Rowan didn’t say the words aloud.  They wouldn’t do much good.  Because as much as a bitch Maeve was, there was no way she could have predicted this.  No way she could have known that Aelin would be dying.

And where had Rowan been?  Off doing a damn job that didn’t even need him.

It wasn’t until three o’clock in the morning that Rowan learned that his wife was dead.  The baby too.

It wasn’t until three o’clock in the morning that Rowan allowed himself to cry.  Silent tears.

It wasn’t until three o’clock in the morning that Rowan heard the snip-snip of heels across linoleum.  Echoing through the halls.

“Oh, Rowan,” she crooned. “I am so, so sorry.  You have to know I never imagined this to happen.”

“Do you know where he is?” Rowan asked.

Maeve’s brows shot in the air. “What?”

“Cairn,” Rowan repeated, “do you know where he is?”

A smile spread over Maeve’s cherry red lips. “I promise, I will help you find him.  No matter what it takes.”

It wasn’t until three o’clock in the morning that Rowan said good-bye to his wife and made one final vow to her.

He would never forget.

#

as always, thanks for reading my dears!

tags:  @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

[louiseleblancdiggory]

O children

Chapter 1

--January 1987--

Aelin crossed her arms, the soft silk of the armchair she was sitting on feeling strange against her skin. Once upon a dream, she had wore beautiful silk dresses and slippers, matching headbands and scarfs.

That had been a lifetime ago, however. A world ago.

Now, as she seated in a finely decorated room, bookshelves reaching the high ceiling, big windows with carefully built details showing a well kept garden, the only feeling she had was indifference.

Pristine things were always bound to die in a dirty world.

And she had no interest in dying. Not yet.

Even without turning around, she could feel her family’s presence behind her. She knew both Aedion and Lysandra had a limp hand against their guns, and that Elide was surely in a position that would allow her to reach for her knives quickly. This was a peaceful meeting, he had said, but one couldn’t be too careful in a world of traitors. She herself was armed beneath her clothes, the black shirt, pants and jacket hiding any evidence of guns and knives strapped to her body.

She didn’t waver her gaze from the sight in front of her. There was a dark wooden table in front of her, a chair behind it and, instead of a wall ending the room, it was a huge window. Beautiful gardens, small hills and even a pond could be seen. Maybe if she focused long enough, the indifference would be turned to anger. Maybe if she stared at the finery too strongly, she would have the urge to break it.

Instead, she just listened to the rain outside, a small opening in one of the window’s details letting a drop at a time enter the room.

Drip drip drip

She heard the wooden double doors opening once more, footsteps sounding in their direction. She didn’t turn around, still watching the rain and the morning sunlight mixing together. She didn’t raise to meet anyone, not even the host. She just watched and watched and watched.

Her gaze finally broke from the window, looking to the once empty armchair by her side. Where nothing had been before, now a broad shouldered man sat. His silver hair caught in the sunlight, and he spared her a single glance before turning to her companions. Aelin did the same, examining the five men and one woman standing behind him. All seemed just as grave, all seemed just as cold.

She didn’t speak to any of them either, simply turning back in her seat, looking at the man now on the other side of the table.

Dorian Havilliard looked at Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn, something like hope shining on his sapphire eyes.

Aelin wanted to crush it.

“Good morning.” He said, his accent so much different from hers. Where the words rolled out of her tongue like a slow and soft melody, Dorian’s words sounded more rushed, more impatient.

No one said anything, the silence sounding eerie. Aelin’s eyes shifted to the window again, her body feeling light and heavy at the same time. She thought the window was perhaps supposed to be a mockery, a slap on the face of those who didn’t even know why they were suffering. She thought of the windows of the houses in her neighborhood, the windows that showed a broken world when you stood inside, the windows that showed broken people when you stood outside.

Drip drip drip

Even the drops sounded softer here. Aelin knew the sound of blood, the sound of a hanged person dripping out until death was kind enough to take them. It had always sounded so dirty on the public squares, it had always sounded like doom. Here it sounded like a natural thing, like a sound you could get used to while reading a good book.

Perhaps this had all been a trap and she would die here. Aelin wondered if her death would sound like soft rain or like dirty doom. She wondered if her death would be relevant enough to even sound like something at all.

She clenched her fists, looking back at Havilliard. He was staring at her, something like fear and worry evident on his face. Although Aelin could see he wanted to, the man didn’t utter another word.

She rested against the armchair, crossing her legs and laying her hands on her lap. “Happy New Year, Mr. Havilliard.”

He looked somewhat relieved she had answered. Maybe he had been staring at her because he wasn’t stupid enough to hope Whitethorn would be the first to reply. That man relied on people’s tension, lived off the feeling of other people’s discomfort.

Aelin turned to Rowan, finding his eyes on her. They slightly narrowed, the pine green and hazel shades in it hard. “Happy New Year, Mr. Whitethorn.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Happy New Year, Ms. Galathynius.”

They both turned back to Dorian, mouths shut once more.

This was a game of power, and there was too much that Aelin could lose. She guessed it was the same for Whitethorn.

“I want to start a rebellion.” Dorian said calmly as if he was talking about the weather.

“You’re a fool.” Rowan said before Aelin could even think of what to say to that bold statement. Aelin thought his voice would sound like an ancient song if it wasn’t so cold, so emotionless.

Dorian almost cringed, and the silence fell on the room again.

“Why?” Aelin heard herself asking, the single word sounding like a gunshot in the room. Dorian turned to her, surprise and gratitude on his eyes. Rowan also turned to her, but his expression was unreadable.

“Because you and Whitethorn are—“

“I know what I am. And I am sure Mr. Whitethorn knows what he is.” She said, a small and predatory smile on her face. She cocked her head to the side, hair brushing her shoulder. “I want to know what you are, Mr. Havilliard.”

“I beg your pardon?” He mumbled, cheeks heating. Rowan was still staring at her, and Aelin spared him a glance before turning to Dorian again.

“What are you, Mr. Havilliard? Why are you doing this? You have the world in the palm of your hand.” She gestured around with a single finger. “Your father is one of the governors. You can rule this world if you wish. And so I wonder, why join the rabble?”

Drip drip drip

“I don’t believe anyone should rule the world, Aelin.” He answered after a moment of silence. His gaze became intense, his words going from cold politeness to hard determination. “And I believe you don’t either. None of you do. You are one of the most important figures of opposition, just like Rowan. If I want to save the world, why not start with those already working in the process?”

“The world can’t be saved, kid.” Rowan said, his voice maybe even harder in order to throughly shatter Dorian’s hope.

Aelin didn’t look away from Dorian, but she nodded slightly. “No, it cannot.”

“It can be changed.” Dorian whispered, almost as if it was a sin speaking of change.

In this world it was, she supposed.

“Why?” She asked again.

This time, Dorian didn’t hesitate, didn’t take a moment of silence. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Because no one should dine while people starve, no one should be able to play God. Because maybe the two of you are right and the world is impossible to save, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t need the hope that it can be one day. Because the two of you are that hope.”

Two of the men behind Rowan scoffed, and Aelin turned to them, a leer on her face. “Did you say something, dears?”

“Galathynius.” Rowan said, voice hard. Aelin’s eyes snapped to him, the leer never leaving her face.

“Whitethorn.”

They stared at each other, the silence that was once eerie feeling heavy. Aelin had heard of him before, even if they had never met. His reputation preceded him; the man’s presence was enough to make anyone uneasy. Six foot six, lean muscular body and a face that was always locked in an expressionless state, there was nothing about Rowan that wouldn’t make you want to walk on the opposite direction when you saw him on the streets. The man looked like he was always a step away from crushing someone’s throat with his bare hands.

Unfortunately for him, Aelin had lost most of her self preservation a long time ago. She didn’t care about his reputation, much less about his surly demeanor. She didn’t care about Dorian, didn’t even trust him, but something about people laughing whenever change or freedom was mentioned made her blood boil. If someone didn’t desperately ached for any chance of freedom in their world, then perhaps they were the ones she shouldn’t trust.

“Control your lap dogs, Mr. Whitethorn. I don’t particularly care for any of you, but he laughs at the matter one more time,” she said softly, but there was a threat hidden in the words. “And I’ll fucking rip his spine out.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed, and Dorian let out a surprised cough.

She turned back to Dorian, completely dismissing Rowan. “Tell me, why should I trust you?”

“Why not?”

Aelin grinned. “I can give you a long list for that. Besides, I’m the one who needs convincing here, not you. Bewitch me, Mr. Havilliard.”

“You don’t have to trust me. You can sleep every night with a knife under your pillow for all I care.” Dorian said, fixing the sleeves of his suit. “I’m sure you read the documents I sent you. I’m offering a full compound for you to work, resources and whatever you wish. If I wanted to betray any of you, I would have already and would have spent way less energy doing so.”

“Betrayal tastes better with time. It’s like good whiskey.” Aelin claimed, reaching forward and taking a decoration from his desk. It was an old coin, slightly bigger than the normal ones. Aelin started playing with it with her fingers. “Why not wait months and then betray me?”

“The world is dying. I have better things than to waste my time with games.”

“Everything is a game. The ones who don’t think that are usually the ones who refuse to admit they’re losing.” Aelin tilted forward, grin diminishing on her lips. “Tell me, are you losing the game?”

“If you think this is a game, you’re mad.” One of Rowan’s companions— one who had laughed— announced, and Aelin’s head snapped back to him.

She smiled viciously at him. “And if you think this is a joke, you’re just as bad as them.”

Rowan turned around, looking at the man. “Enough.”

The guy had the decency of looking slightly embarrassed. Aelin wanted to smile at that, wanted to poke at him some more, but there were more pressing matters at hand. She turned back around. “You still haven’t convinced me.”

“I guess you’ll have to trust me.” Dorian said.

“Trust is earned, not given.”

“So don’t trust me. I asked for a rebellion, not for friends.” He snapped, and Aelin raised her eyebrows. Some part of her, the very stupid one, wanted to believe him. Wanted to get up, shake his hand and dive in. He had the money, the resources, and it was very unlikely that the regime would ever think that the son of one of the most influential governors was the person working to bring them down.

And yet, the smart part of her, the part that had to learn how to survive after her whole life was taken away from her, kept telling her no. Don’t trust him. Don’t let your guard down. Trust those who you know can be trusted. The easiest way of not having a knife on your back was to make sure only a very limited amount of people even had access to them.

“I will… consider.” She said slowly, getting up. Dorian looked at her, half pleased, half surprised. “I need to talk to my companions before I take any decision, and I still don’t know if I should trust you, Mr. Havilliard.”

He nodded silently. Aelin then turned to Rowan, a smirk on her lips. “Good luck convincing this one, though.”

Aelin turned around, both Lys and Elide already on her side, Aedion at her back. She then turned the smirk to the man who had laughed. “Hope you learn some manners, wolfie. Next time I won’t be kind enough to threaten you. Bad temper, you see.”

Aelin felt immensely delighted when he didn’t respond, only clenching his jaw. Despite Aelin’s indifference towards the man, she had to admit that it was impressing how Rowan had control over six people just by uttering a word.

“Good boy.” Aedion whispered as they passed the group, walking out of the room.

“I’ll send for you, Mr. Havilliard.” Aelin shouted over her back. “Send someone after me and you’ll receive their intestines in a box.”

——————

“What do we think?” Aedion asked the moment they finishing looking at their shabby house for any bugs. The place was falling apart, the walls grey as the paint fell off of it. It was cold and mostly dark, the furniture either old or of low quality. But it was secluded, and didn’t call any attention. Most of all, it was livable.

Elide sat on one of the chairs, looking at each one of them before sighing. She raised her hands, and Aelin stopped thinking about her own opinion to listen to Elide’s.

I think he’s both right and wrong. She quickly signed with her hands, facial expressions matching what she was trying to convey. He was right when he said we don’t have to trust him. We are in constant risk as of now, joining him would just be a different type of risk. He’s a stupid idealist, but he’s also rich. And would be a good cover if we actually want to do more change.

“We are doing some change.” Aedion grunted, hands moving a little more slowly than Elide’s. All three of them had learned sign language since a young age, how to communicate and express their feelings and thoughts through signs that were usually accompanied by facial expressions to make it even more clear what they wanted to say. Elide had been born mute, and learning how to properly communicate with her was the bare minimum Aelin and the others could do. Whenever they were in public talking to others, they wouldn’t sign since Elide could hear them —unless they were talking directly to her—, but whenever it was just the four of them, signing was just a natural thing.

Elide believed everyone should know at least the very basics of sign language, and Aelin couldn’t agree more with her. The world had gone to shit, but she also wasn’t going to sit there and pretend like it was perfect before. Most people had as little care for people like Elide now as they had thirty years ago, and it was fucking infuriating.

Not as much as we want, Aed. Elide gestured, her eyes showing determination but the rest of her facial expression showing that ever so slight supplication. Not nearly enough. Her eyebrows creased as she said the word nearly, putting emphasis in what she meant. Elide didn’t think they were useless, or that no change had come from them, but she was right in the regard that it was only a speck of sand in a whole beach.

“What about Whitethorn?” Lysandra asked, her green almond shaped eyes narrowing as she stared at one of Elide’s blade on the table. She moved her hands quickly as she raised her face, prominent jaw and high cheekbones shaping her harsh face so beautifully that sometimes Aelin understood why Aedion stared at Lys so often. “It’s not like the guy is easy to deal or to read. I’m more worried about him than Havilliard.”

Elide raised her eyebrows, nodding slightly.

“Yeah.” Aedion muttered, running his hands through his hair. He turned to Aelin. “So?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed, rubbing her temples. She moved her hands along with her words. “I’m not worried about Whitethorn. He looks like an asshole, and his crew looks even worse, but they have literally nothing to gain by betraying us. We are all in the same shit, even though we’re trying to get out of it in different ways. I just don’t know about Havilliard. He’s the governor’s son. One word from him and I’d be on my way to be hanged.”

“He could be telling the truth.” Aedion said.

“He could be telling a lie.” Lysandra countered.

Aelin turned to Elide, founding her black eyes already looking at her. Aelin trusted everyone in her group just the same, but she had to admit that when it came down to final decisions, she usually consulted Elide last. Since birth, Elide had faced a world that welcomed her in a different way. Aelin could voice her opinions whenever she wished, she could talk to anyone and they would understand, they would listen. In Elide’s case, so many people were cruel and didn’t give her the attention and treatment she deserved. The regime had never made her life easier, had never implemented sign language in public schools, had never declared that public workers should know the basics of ASL. In many occasions, Elide had been forced to keep her thoughts to herself.

Aelin couldn’t even imagine the strength it took to do so.

And Elide had done it perfectly. Aelin usually looked for her for advice because her friend saw and analyzed the world in a different way. She had to be quicker and smarter to live in a world that didn’t care about people, especially people like her. Elide was intelligent like no one Aelin knew, could observe and retain information because that’s what she had been forced to do since birth. She had become so good at expressing herself through facial expressions and gestures, that she also became a master in understanding other people’s minimal gestures and tells.

Elide Lochan was a genius, and Aelin trusted her judgment above all.

Elide gave her a simple nod, but her eyes were slightly wide, the white light from the lamp making them glint with cold determination.

Aelin nodded back, resting against her chair. “We join him.”

Aedion raised his eyebrows. “We do?”

Aelin assented, cracking her knuckles. “We wait a few days before sending our response, of course, but we join them eventually. Havilliard has the resources, and if I will be betrayed, I might as well do it in style.”

Aedion snorted, and both Lysandra and Elide smiled viciously.

And that had been that.

———————

--Mid-January 1987--

Aelin had to admit, she was surprised to learn that Rowan had accepted Dorian’s proposition as well. In her mind, he was too above everyone else to bother joining a rebellion.

And yet, fifteen days later, there they were in that same room, in those same places.

Dorian seemed more at ease now, but both Aelin and Rowan remained with their guard up, the people standing behind them just as cautious.

“You have no idea how glad I am both of you accepted.” Dorian said, sounding somewhat relieved. “One would do, but the two of you is perfect.”

“Why?” Aedion asked. He had requested Aelin’s permission to talk during the meeting before they entered, and she had given him— had given all of them— a green light to step in. “Why Whitethorn and Aelin?”

Dorian sighed, resting against his cushioned chair. Aelin resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She honestly didn’t know if he tried to look as magnanimous or if it was something natural after living all these years surrounded by money and people kissing your ass, but she found it ridiculous.

“They are the different sides of the same coin, you see?” Dorian explained, grabbing the coin Aelin had toyed with two weeks ago. “Whitethorn is the heads. He’s calculating and calm. He appeals to the part of the population that is more centered, more cold when it comes to the regime. People who want change, but will take certain paths to achieve it.”

From the corner of her eye, Aelin saw Rowan narrowing his eyes, but he didn’t deny anything.

Dorian turned the coin to its other side. “Galathynius is the tails. She’s unpredictable and wild. She appeals to the part of the population who can be moved by emotions, the part of the population that has suffered long enough and is willing to do anything to survive. You see, the people want change just the same, but, like Aelin, they will create their own path to achieve it.” Dorian threw the coin up, letting it fall to the mahogany table with a loud thud. Aelin stared at the rolling coin until it stopped, the tails side being shown. “They appeal to parts of society the other can’t. Rowan is too calm for the raging ones, and Aelin is too untamed for the controlled ones.”

Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes away from the coin, the tails side looking like it was burnt.

“We are your puppets, then?” Rowan asked, and only then Aelin raised her eyes to look at Dorian.

He smiled, setting his joint hands on top of the coin. “You are what you wish to be. You’ll work with Aelin, you’ll be by her side to show the population that we should not be divided now. That people with different ways of doing things can unite themselves when they stand against the same enemy, when they have the same morals. You are different, but also a mirror of each other’s deepest thoughts. You are to be a leader, Mr. Whitethorn, and you better be a good one.”

Rowan huffed, but didn’t say anything else.

Aelin had to admit, Dorian knew how to make pretty speeches. She didn’t know if it was his perfect face, the sapphire eyes contrasting with his rich brown skin and pitch black hair, the full mouth looking like it was always smiling just above his defined jaw. She didn’t know if it was because he had been raised among politicians, their ability to manipulate people somehow passing to him. Aelin didn’t know, and she honestly didn’t care as long as he didn’t try manipulating her.

“Once this is over,” she said, voice dangerously low. “Elections will be held, Mr. Havilliard. A proper government will be set. I hope you know that. And despite our differences, I believe Mr. Whitethorn agrees with me.”

Rowan didn’t deny, and Aelin though that was the closest to a yes she would ever achieve.

“What are you insinuating?”

Aelin smiled serenely. “You’re not dumb, Dorian, and neither am I.”

He shifted on his seat, eyes narrowing. His whole friendly demeanor changed, and Aelin wasn’t even remotely surprised to learn that the boy had a deeper personality than he let on. “Is this a warning?”

Aelin’s smile only grew. “It’s a threat. You try to take control by force and I’ll paint the walls with your brains.”

Aedion coughed pointedly behind her, and Aelin turned around to find him staring at her wide eyed. Lysandra and Elide, on the other hand, were trying to contain their smirks.

Aelin turned back to Dorian, angling her head to one side. “But let’s not start this with tension, right? You do understand that it’s all business.”

Dorian smiled, but Aelin didn’t believe in it for a second. Rowan didn’t either, based on his low scoff. “Of course.”

Dorian got up, straightening his suit before putting up another smile to all of them. “You’ll meet my… crew later this week when we go to the compounds. For now, I believe it would be good if you got to know each other. After all, you guys are a team now.”

Lysandra snorted. “I feel like I’m in primary school again. Is this the say your name and one fun fact about you type of shit?”

Dorian grinned at her. “Do you want us to know a fun fact about you?”

Lys rolled her eyes, and Aelin genuinely smiled. If circumstances were different, she would have loved seeing Lys and Dorian going toe to toe.

Trying to calm the mood before a fight broke, Aelin sighed, turning to Rowan’s group and pointing to Aedion. “This is Aedion Ashryver.”

“A pleasure.” Aelin heard Aedion saying from behind her, and she would bet all her money he had done a mock bow.

Aelin huffed at that, then jerking her head to the right. “This is Lysandra Ennar.”

“Hello.” Lysandra murmured, a saccharine smile on her face.

Aelin laughed. “Don’t trust her. She has a pretty face, the inside is not so pretty though.”

Rowan was staring at Aelin with calculating eyes, his face as stoic and hard as ever. His companions were easier to read, though. The tallest man, ebony hair and large figure, was eyeing each one of them calmly. The two identical men— one of them being the one who had laughed two weeks ago— were staring directly into Lysandra’s face. The fourth man was standing behind one of the twins, his flawless black skin and perfect facial features making him seem more of a model than a rebel. She guessed it came in hand sometimes, just like Lysandra’s beauty did. This one was looking at Aedion, as was the fifth man, tanned skin accentuating his pretty tawny eyes and blond hair.

The woman, their only woman, was however staring at Elide. It was such an intense gaze that Aelin wondered if the brunette could see the engines inside Elide’s head turning, her ebony eyes reading into every single one of them, noticing things she would surely tell Aelin later.

Aelin jerked her head to the left. “This is Elide Lochan.”

They now all stared at her, and Elide just stood there, chin high. Aelin looked at her friend, an identical leer showing up on their faces. Aelin turned back to them, shrugging. “She doesn’t talk much.”

Elide tilted her head a little forward and a little to the side, giving them a somewhat polite smile.

Aelin fake whispered. “Wouldn’t trust her either if I were you.”

“She doesn’t speak?” Dorian asked. Aelin sat back as Elide shook her head. Dorian nodded, resting against his table. “Anything I can provide to help?”

Elide turned to Lysandra, quickly moving her hands.

Lys turned to Dorian, a bored look on her face. “Paper and pen would be helpful to have around.”

Dorian nodded once more. “I’ll make sure there is always paper in the dining room, her bedroom and conference room in the compounds.”

Elide assented and then nudged Aelin’s shoulder, silently telling her to continue. “Well, you all know who I am. Won’t bother with presentations.”

The twins scoffed, and the woman had a ghost of a smile on her face.

Aelin was surprised when she saw Rowan rolling his eyes. It had been by far the most human action she had seen him performing. “The twins are Fenrys and Connall Moonbeam.”

The two smirked at her in sync, their posture and smiles making them seem like wolves in human pelts. Aelin didn’t bother even moving her head to acknowledge them, she just swept her eyes through their figures before looking expressionlessly at Rowan again.

“Lorcan Salvaterre.” Rowan jerked his head at the tall man with ebony hair. Aelin raised an eyebrow at him when she saw his sneer, and he only narrowed his eyes in response.

Oh, she would have fun poking that one.

“Vaughan Fagan, Gavriel Mulligan.” Rowan indicated the black and tawny men. Aelin could almost swear she saw a small smile on Vaughan’s face. He and Gavriel seemed like the calmest ones in the group. If she had to actually deal with the bunch of them for a while, she would probably prefer to dealing with the two. The twins seemed like idiots, Lorcan seemed like an asshole, the woman didn’t seem at all friendly and yet she looked like a kind person compared to Rowan.

No, those two would do.

“This is Lyria Salvaterre.” Rowan said, and Aelin’s eyes immediately went from the girl to Lorcan, going back to the girl at the end. She raised an eyebrow, and Lorcan’s eyes narrowed.

“My sister.” He grunted, his voice low and rough.

Aelin smiled sweetly. “Never said she wasn’t.”

He grunted, and Aelin felt a soft and almost imperceptible shove on her back. Judging by the direction it came from, it was Elide’s. It was the girl’s way of telling Aelin to tone it down, to be careful around Lorcan. Although she wanted to poke some more, she rested against her chair, eyes going to Rowan.

“I guess you don’t need an introduction either.”

“No, I don’t.”

They stared at each other, both willing the other one to talk and both not knowing what else to say. They weren’t friends, they weren’t colleagues. To be honest, Aelin couldn’t care less if the man lived or died. She was indifferent to him the same way he was indifferent to her. She wouldn’t be happy if he died, but also wouldn’t be sad.

Rowan Whitethorn was a person like anyone else to her. He didn’t scare or intimidate her, didn’t anger her or even made her feel anything other than boredom with slight peaks of the need to draw a reaction out of him. But she had that with everyone.

He was a step she needed to climb to achieve her purposes.

“Well, so good to see you two… bonding.” Dorian said, cringing at the last word. Even him, with his annoying optimism, knew things weren’t going so smoothly. “Why don’t we start talking plans? Strategies? Surely you guys have thought of something.”

Half because she actually wanted to do it, half because she wanted to see everyone else’s reaction, Aelin casually answered his question. “We explode the republic center.”

All heads immediately snapped to her, faces in different degrees of shock.

“That would take years to plan.” Rowan said matter-of-factly.

Aelin grinned at him. “Good thing I’m not planning on dying soon.”

He scoffed, eyebrows scrunching. He looked almost like a normal man at the moment. “You’re insane. This would be insanity.”

She only grinned wider, winking at him. “Afraid?”

Aelin knew it was a low blow; question his decisions, his courage during their first discussion. They were to be partners, equals. It certainly did put Rowan on a spot, because he shook his head, snickering. “Let’s hear your brilliant plan then, Galathynius.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

TAGS:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @heirofthenightcourt​ @tottenhamboys20​

A/N: To write this, I did a long research on ASL, the experience of mute people and talked to people who understand about the topic. That does not mean I can’t commit mistakes or improve, so never feel hesitant about correcting me if I screw up. I want it to be a good representation, not just something I threw in the story!

[rhyswhitethorn]

"I ACCIDENTALLY BURNED THE KITCHEN DOWN BECAUSE I WANTED YOU TO HAVE A NICE DINNER THEN PROPOSE TO YOU SOO..." for ANY ship!

This was fun to write, but I apologize if it’s a little on the short side :< It took me 5 minutes to decide whether it would be a Manorian thing or Elriel thing, and ended up deciding on the latter. Only cause Manon would just shake her head at Dorian in disappointment.

Also, a little bit of fluff!! Just a teeny tiny bit.

Burnt Proposals (ELRIEL)

Azriel was fucked. He was fucked, ten times over, and until he was long dead and paying for his sins in the Afterlife. He knew it. The kitchen was covered in soot, the air filled with the smells of burnt meat and wood. He stood by the island, beholding the destruction that had happened under his similarly burnt hands.

Azriel blinked as Nuala and Cerridwen rushed around, trying to clean up the ashy mess. The half-wraiths had already thrown out the turkey he had placed in the oven, and Nuala even had the nerve to lecture him about leaving the stove on for the sauce without monitoring it.

For a spymaster, you’re not very observant with your cooking, she had claimed. Azriel had just sighed at that. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it, and had not known what to clean first before the twins had walked in and taken over. He didn’t even know what to look at first. He just watched as they skittled around, as if it wasn’t a big deal. He finally settled on looking at the cause of the explosion; the source of the boom. The chrome coloured stove.

That beautiful stove. A gift from Feyre to Elain, procured by Azriel himself in the mortal world filled with Faerie in the rich city of Nova Avian. Studying it, he winced when he saw that the right side of it has melted significantly, along with a small part of the countertop beside it. That wasn’t the worse part. though. He surveyed the wooden cupboards and beams that surrounded the top half of the kitchen.

Or the lack of it, anyway.

Rhysand’s mother had never allowed Cassian or Rhys to cook in the kitchen of her cottage when they were training for this very reason. Only Azriel was allowed, and that was only to cook eggs.

She would’ve pulled his ear if she knew what he had just done.

Should he try to get a new stove before Elain comes home? Who was he kidding. It would take weeks for it to come here by ship. He gritted his teeth. trying to grind his gears to figure out a solution. Maybe he could bribe Rhysand into making Elain stay with Feyre for a little while. Not until this mess was sorted. Would she realize there’s a different stove in the kitchen if he replaced it for the time being?

The Fawn, he heard, an echo into his ear. The shadows around it twirled and curled, before dissipating. Azriel was still trying to think of an answer for his problem when he realized what his shadows were saying.

He turned slowly, and before him stood Elain Archeron. Her two hands were holding a basket of fruits, mouth gaping, eyes focused behind him, to where the stove would be. He hid his wince and was well aware Nuala and Cerridwen had left. Azriel should have ushered Elain away when his shadows had warned him, but could you blame the Shadowsinger when even his shadows shy away from her? It wasn’t exactly a warning.

Fawn, fawn, fawn.

The name the shadows had given her. He continued looking at Elain as her eyes darted around, trying to understand the situation. A look on the island and a sigh before she headed towards the dining table behind, setting down the fruit basket. Right. The island was covered in soot. She walked back to Azriel and crossed her arms.

“What happened?”

He gulped. “Um, this—I don’t know. I mean I know. I just don’t know how to explain—it exploded,” Azriel managed to say, feeling his face heat up. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, and was terrified he’d burst out.

“How did it explode?” Elain’s voice was soft now.

“I was baking something in the oven and cooking something on top and I looked away for a short while.” It wasn’t short. He was trying to hide something. Five minutes, tops.

“Why were you doing all that?” She asked, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. She was so close to him now, if he leaned down, he could kiss her forehead. Her scent filled his nose at full force and—yeah, there’s the rise of anxiety.

“I accidentally burned the kitchen down because I wanted you to have a nice dinner before I proposed to you!” The words came out in a rush, and she stepped back, her eyes widening.

Elain opened her mouth and laughed.

Azriel watched her in disbelief. She laughed for a while, her eyes tearing up and her stomach coming in stitches. Everytime she looked at him, she laughed again. He just blinked at her. The shadows began curling around his arm, his face, as if they were fascinated and attracted to her joy.

She finally settled down. It wasn’t even a good second before she threw her arms around in, hugging him tightly.

“You’re not angry? Why did you laugh?” Azriel asked, his arms wrapping around her instinctively.

Her voice was soft at his neck when she said, “Because, dummy, if you actually proposed, I would’ve said yes, and I would know that there are many kitchens to be burned down after this.” Azriel froze. She had already indirectly accepted the request. Might as well just skip the nice dinner, and go on with it. He pulled away, to her dismay.

“You ruined it for me,” he said, and she was about to answer when he pulled it out.

A long, gold chain he had to stuff through his leathers, causing the loss of the stove. She watched as he lifted it above his head and placed it through hers. Elain fingered the jewelry hanging at the end. A pale pink stone in the shape of a disc, with a smaller gem in the center. Cobalt blue. Just like his siphons.

“I love it,” he heard her whisper. He smiled.

“Will you marry me, Elain Archeron?”

Elain just looked up at him, eyes shining. She glanced at the fruit basket behind her, and added, “We’ll go eat along the Sidra.” She smiled and hugged him again, only harder.

“Yes. I’ll marry you, you clumsy bat!”

His laughed filled the air, followed by hers, and in that moment, the soot covered kitchen and melted stove was forgotten.