#he was doing his best to spite his father and win everything just to spit on his face

[arlathvhenan]

I know it’s pointless to try and win over the people who decided ten years ago that they hate Solas and he’s the worst despite never taking the time to actually *learn* about the character or understand why he believes what he does. Despite the theme of Dragon Age having always been good people resorting to horrific extremes for what they believe wholeheartedly to be a greater good, even at the expense of all that they once valued, because they truly believe there’s no other way. If you still hate Solas, if you absolutely *cannot* accept that there is good in him, then forget Solas entirely. Put him aside for now, and think about Varric, and what this whole journey means for him.

For all his wit, and cheeky humor, and roll with the punches attitude, Varric has suffered immensely in his life. This will be the third game we spend with him. The third time Varric is being asked to let the ugliness and brutality of the world poison and destroy what he holds dear. It destroyed his culture, his home, his family, and has taken so many of his dearest friends.

His father’s greed saw the Tethras family disgraced and cast out of Orzammar before he’d even been born. They found a new home in Kirkwall, the only home he’s ever known, and tried to rebuild, but the damage was done. Despair drove his mother to alcoholism, and so great was his brother’s desire to undo the damage his father had done, it ate him alive. Varric had to put his brother down like a sick dog with his own two hands. Then watched as ignorance and hatred ravaged his beloved city. And he watched again as his friend—a man he’d come to know for his gentleness and compassion—was driven to self destruction by despair.

But he kept living. Kept going in spite if it all. Then along comes Corypheus, and The Inquisition, and The Venatori. Varric has already been displaced and separated from the people he cares about. Even those who survived Kirkwall can’t be by his side because this sick and wounded world demands everything they have to keep it from falling further apart. But he finds a new home anyway, new friends, and that’s ultimately taken from him, too. If Hawke was left in The Fade, then he’s also had to watch his best friend of ten years become another victim of despair. Of the world’s demand for suffering and sacrifice.

Now here we are with Veilguard. Yet again, he must watch as someone he cares about is crushed under the weight of their own despair. Solas is doing what he’s doing for the same reason Anders did. Or Clarel. Or Logaine. Or so many others. Just like them, his actions are driven by a sense of despair.

I can’t imagine Varric doesn’t look at Solas and see every other person the world has taken from him. All the people he couldn’t save. All the death and failure that weighs on him, because he either couldn’t help them, didn’t know how, or just didn’t make it in time. Again, he’s been asked to just accept things as they are.

“People die. It’s what they do.”

This exchange was more than a grim and fatalistic quip from Solas. It’s Varric’s own words being thrown back at him. That is the very reality Varric himself once told Solas to accept. The man on the island lost everything and everyone, but so what? That’s life. That’s the world. People die and you can’t do anything about it. Except, he can’t do it this time. He can’t just sit back and let the world keep taking and taking. He’s reached the point where it’s just too much. Too much loss. Too many sacrifices. Too many good people eaten alive, spit out as monsters, and discarded as lost causes. This time, he can’t be content to sit in the sun. He’ll save the world AND save his friend.

No more passive acceptance. No more sacrifices. No more broken heroes.

That’s what this one means to him. Hate Solas all you want, but Varric’s not letting him go without a fight, and I feel like that should mean something.

[palettepainter]

DO NOT REPOST/EDIT/COPY/TRACE MY ART OR OC!!! Warning to his backstory, mentions of abuse and murder Adding yet another Hazbin Hotel OC to my swarm of other characters, because why not? His backstory is still in the works but I'll dump some ideas I've had for his personality/character/backstory below -Captain Cutthroat hails from Safe Haven, born to a wimpy scullery maid and being born at sea, Cutthroat's (or Kennedy as he was called when he was alive) life has been a rough sail on the sea's from the start. His mother, a small frail looking thing was sold to his father, the captain of a famous fishing crew as a servant/errand girl. His father, a brash, crude leader to a gang or rotten, backstabbing crew of pirates, and his father found a sick liking towards the skittish, pale looking cabin maid. Cutthroat is born out at seas and right after a long hard night at sea through a long storm. Years to follow are filled with back breaking labor given to Cutthroat curtsy of his beloved 'father', all the while he's under the sharp eye of all of his fathers intimidating crew members. Swabbing the deck after the crew had a drunk night of celebrating, washing the laundry, cleaning the dishes after meals - but at least little Cutthroat has his mother, it makes things bearable. Sneaking away scraps of food, managing to weasel his way out of trouble by the skin of his teeth, being made a fool by the crew members while his father barks with laughter along with them. But having his mothers side to cry into, it makes life bearable. -Cutthroat and his mother make their escape from his fathers clutches when Cutthroat is at the brisk age of 16, he's just turned in after he's finished mopping the decks, and overhears his dear old dad gabbling away with another sea captain. His father, not keen to part with his gold, bets his mother. Cutthroat is frozen with fear, anxiously watching and listening through the crack in the door, as the other captain earns himself a win - it is decided, Cutthroats mother would be handed off to him first thing in the morning. Cutthroat has done his best to push the memory of that night from his mind, but that night he was body was shaking worse then a scrawny nobody in a storm as he woke up his mother, and hurriedly made his escape with her in the dead of night. Life on the streets was no better for them, cold nights and days without food left his mother sick and weak, and Cutthroat had to work tooth and nail just to scrape by with savings for food. Lie, cheat, steal, he did it all - the boy had it rough in his young adult days, selling whatever he had on him for whatever coins of gold he could get to care for his mother. Unconsciously he follows in the footsteps of his father, turning to the black market where anything and everything can be sold for cash - if you're clever enough to know the ropes. Cutthroat knew the black market was not the most moral of jobs: trapping and hunting sirens without drowning was rare, but their scales and fins where worth a pretty penny or two. Snaring griffins was a shot in the dark, but their skulls and feathers would pay them enough to live comfortably for half the year. The more magical the creature, the more it was worth - but money is money, and Cutthroat, young and desperate, was prepared to sell soul and left leg for it -His mother, despite suffering from the abuse and mistreat by his father, still tried to guide Cutthroat down a good path, one that wouldn't make him turn out like either of them. She genuinely tried, but in her sick state she couldn't do much, even when at sea she was not the best - she would sometimes forget to feed Cutthroat as a baby, she simply didn't have time, would spend days on end sleeping when Cutthroat was old enough to take the burden of tasks off her shoulders. To wee Cutthroat, his mother was an angel, and you can imagine his distress when his mothers sickness grows worse. She becomes sicker and sicker by the day, every day she's a little weaker, more colour draining from her face. Enraged at his own weakness, Cutthroat takes his mother to the nearest inn, slaps some gold in the owners face, and sets off to sea in search for his father. New at sea he doesn't fair well, he gets lost a lot, nearly gets himself killed a few times, but somehow, through spite and determination (but mostly spite) he tracks down his father. Cutthroat may not be a good sailor, but at the age of 20, he's become pretty darn good at playing his cards right - he's young, his father is old, and the black market has taught Cutthroat the best ways to throw a man off guard. Cutthroat infiltrates his fathers ship, putting up the facade of simple new lad on the ship, and one by one he poisons his fathers crew mates, slowly by surely riding his father of his little lackeys, no one to call for now. Daddy dearest he saves for last, the poison works on him slowly, Cutthroat WANTS his dad to feel every bit of pain. Cutthroat draws out the torture, taking his sweet time to give  back to his dad all the pain he put his mother through - just when his father goes to draw his final breath, he turns to give Cutthroat a pained crooked smirk, spitting blood before he slurs 'just like yer old man, eh boy?' - something within Cutthroat snaps, and he deals the final blow to his father with a knife to the throat (hence his name, Cutthroat) -With revenge done and his old man dead, Cutthroat spills oil upon the deck and sets the boat alight while escaping in one of the emergency boats, his fathers ship burns into the fog, and is left to crumble and rot at sea. Cutthroat, stronger and tougher, returns home, not regretting an ounce of his actions. Returning home to the inn, Cutthroat isn't prepared for the hord of staff and people crowded round his mothers room: There she is, laying in bed, face pale and forehead cold with sweat, bags under her eyes as a doctor tends to her at bedside. Pneumonia, and it's bad. Cutthroat is at his mothers side in a heartbeat, the tears already swelling in his eyes as he grips her hands, they're cold to the touch, and she can barely manage to keep her eyes open to look at him. When the doctor tells him that it is unlikely she was survive the month Cutthroat warns him to shut his trap, when the doctor offers for them to end her suffering humanly, Cutthroat has to hold the urge to throw a lamp. He yells at them to get out, to leave, and to never come near him or his mother again! As soon as the door closes, he breaks, leaning his head gently onto his mother as she weakly rests her hands in his wind swept hair. On top of having to get enough money for food, to pay to stay at the inn, and for whatever medicine he can find to ease the pain for his mother, Cutthroat decides it's time to skip town, he'll get her help elsewhere..They don't make it far, carrying his mother is not hard, years of working on his fathers boat built up his muscles - but the cold is not helping, and even Cutthroat needs rest. The pain is getting worse, his mother is struggling to breath, she's eating less, her coughing is becoming more violent. It takes three days of travelling for Cutthroat to realize the harsh truth, his mother wasn't going to make it, and he'd been putting her through hell by pushing her forward, when all she wanted to do was rest. Cutthroat asks his mother one day if she wants to rest, and his mother replies, barely above a whisper, that she is very, very tired. They both know what has to come next. Cutthroat ends her life, as swift as he can - it hurts him, hurts him so damn much - her death is sadly slow, Cutthroat does not have the power to make it fast and painless, so he cradles her body, his tears dropping onto her face as he howls with sobs, body trembling as she rubs her hands gently over his back one final time. Cutthroat gives her her own burial, in a nice field by the sea, which he knew she loved to look at -Cutthroat, having lost his only true family member, falls back into the ways of his younger, troubled self: he sells on the black market, does illegal trading, hunts down exotic creatures across safe haven and becomes a notorious criminal (the work nullifies the pain from his past, if he just keeps working, he'll forget it). Years later when hunting and trading of exotic creatures is banned in safe haven, that does little to stop Cutthroat, he continues about his way, not shy of getting rid of any lil sneaks that may run the risk of turning him in. Cutthroat eventually dies by a spear to his throat, the aftermath of a little disagreement between Cutthroat and another crew of traders that tried to swindle him of his treasures. It's no surprise to Cutthroat when he ends up in hell, and he makes himself very much at home at Hellside coast: Hellside coast is his turf, he owns that part of town, and even though visitors are scare, he does well to make his reputation known. He is a big dealer on the black market and a local hunter and trader of goods, he charges a high bargain, but is willing to trade for the right valuables. Despite his gruff and his towering height and strength, Cutthroat can be somewhat decent, he's a lil on the snarky side and makes playful jabs at visitors - jabs that often have a darker meaning or jabs that are meant to serve as a warning - 'Swimming eh? Knock yerself out meatbait, just make sure yet rugrats are attending too. All unattended children will be snapped up by a' sea serpent, don't stand a chance against those...HAHA! Lighten up, was just a joke..last year only half as many kids disappeared then usual' -Cutthroat, no matter what, deep deep DEEP down will always have a hidden soft spot for kids - he goes by the motto 'talk shit, get hit', if he sees someone being a prat or more so, sees someone being a prat to a someone who can't defend themselves, this man is quietly lumbering over to break things off, and this man gets violent very quickly when those who are weak are involved. This is mostly because Cutthroat, despite his reputation, understands what its like to be vulnerable and helpless. He claims he is not capable of being soft, but that's a big fat lie -He knows of Pip, and has actually grown fond of the little rats company. Pip came to Hellside coast when he was spending the weekend with his Uncle Angel Dust, he and Iridescence had been playing outside when a turf war broke out in the area they had been playing in. Pip, rightfully afraid, scrambled down to Hellside coast and hid in the first place he saw, inside an empty barrel by the coasts docks. Little Pip is then rightfully terrified and can barely manage to speak when the barrel is rolled onto the ship and the boat pulls out from the harbor. Hours go by, Pip is scared, his small body trembling from the cold. Deep below deck Pip finally manages to crawl out from his barrel, the sea tossing the boat and causing poor Pip to stumble his way along the boat, maybe he could sail back in one of the smaller boats? How far from shore could he be? News flash: Very far. Pip is very nearly tossed over board by the raging waves, until a firm hand grabs him by the scruff and drags him back inside, Cutthroat. Rightfully so Pip pushes himself into the furthest corner from Cutthroat. Cutthroat, rightfully so, tears Pip now with all his yelling and demanding 'What the BLOODY HELL where you thinking?!' - Pip, shaken and scared, soo begins to cry and the sight of Cutthroat and curls in on himself as the boat continues to rock...which is why he is very surprised when Cutthroat offers him a blanket (all be it a smelly one, but it kept him warm), a small meal and some water, and reassures him he'll make a turn around back to the docks as soon as the storm passes. Cutthroat roars with laughter when Pip meakly asks for Cutthroat not to throw him overboard, Cutthroat admits though he could easily toss Pip across the room no sweat, he isn't big on killing a helpless kid: maybe grow up a little first, then the next time you sneak onto his boat he'll toss you over, if that's really what you expect him to do. Pip becomes comfortable very quickly on Cutthroats boat, and Cutthroat quickly becomes annoyed at the boys jabbering and constant questions, as soon as he reaches shore the next day he drops the kid off at the hotel and makes his way back to his boat when he's sure the kid is A-okay at that fancy shmansy hotel. Every visit from that day on Pip visits Hell side coast, some days he'd simply watch Cutthroat do his thing about the docks, other days he'd follow behind him like a lost duckling, completely in awe at seeing a real pirate! Cutthroat is..50/50 with his company, he likes the attention, but he does love his peace and quite, and having a kid constantly chew your ear off made him realize how much he loved his silence in the afternoons, but somehow - he ends up liking the brat -When Pip excitedly told Cutthroat he wanted to be a pirate just like him, Cutthroat stared at him blankly, then replied with a casually: 'Heh, a terrible decision kid' - and told Pip to change his life goals fast. The day in which Cutthroat properly began to care for Pip was the day the little brat came running up to him, tears pouring from his eyes, Cutthroat didn't get a chance to ask what was wrong or scold him for fleeing up onto his ship with his tail between his legs, before two other men dressed in suits come rushing down the path. Cutthroat goes up to his deck to retrieve the boy when the two men approaching his ship, he goes to tell them his business for the day is closed and to come back tomorrow, but freezes when they explain they're looking for a little scruffy haired boy, how his father is looking for him, and demands that Peter be brought home. One scared look from the shivering boy is all Cutthroat needs to tell the two men that he ain't see no boy, and to get lost. Cutthroat couldn't pry all the details from Pip, but he quickly gets the impression that Pip's father, this Castello character, ain't a nice man. Cutthroat knows he's been through some stuff, he ain't the best person to be giving advice, but something about the sad slump in the boys shoulders and his messy untamed hair made him think back to a time when he was like that. From that day fourth, Cutthroat takes the boy under his wing. He asks Pip if he still wants to be a pirate, when Pip sniffles with a weak nod: Cutthroat says lil pipsqueak has a long way to go, ties a red bandage round Pip's shoulders, shrugs, and says that an old sea dog like him will just have to show him the ropes. The way in which Pip's face just lights up, it's hard for Cutthroat to not chuckle at. Pip becomes Cutthroats prodigy, at first, he spent time with the kid in hopes it'd make him feel better, but in the end, he too began to grow to enjoy their time together, his mouth would quirk up into a lazed but happy grin when he saw the pint size running down the beach to greet him, he couldn't help but be smug when Pip failed miserably to reel in an escaped fish from his net (may or may not have had several heart attacks when Pip was nearly swallowed by huge deep sea demonic lobster), can't help but ruffle that messy hair of his, can't help but tease at how utterly tiny Pip is, how terrifying he is for a pirate in training, he's seen scarier goldfish! Cutthroat loves that little brat, and also loves the free adoration and idol like praise Pip gives him. That's all for now! Had a tone of fun drawing this guy so I hope you like him! Cutthroat/Pip/Iridescence - me

[sinnabonka]

Hey Hun! Lots of love to you. For starters I wanted to say that there should be no cell in your body blaming yself in any way. You and your blog were hope for so many people. You were the "you are not crazy" of the final weeks, and I'm forever grateful to you. Instead of dying of anxiety I managed to have a blast in this time of waiting, thanks to you. I passed my master thesis, because you gave me strength to see past the fear. I laughed in those weeks more than in last 5 years, and all of it because of the hope you gave me.

The rest of the msg is going to be pretty emotional rant about the awfulness of it all, and I know my opinion doesn't matter to anyone but I wanted someone important to me to hear my thoughts, if that's ok. It's also ok if you don't want to read it ofc. It's like my breakup letter to the show.

I hear many people cheering for the finale and i find it really hard to deal with. I always considered myself an open person who fights for healthy love as the only redeeming quality of the universe. I could see people's point of view, even if it didn't sit well with mine, and I would always try to hear them out respectfully until they weren't being respectful themselves. That said, I'm fully unable to understand cheering for this type of spiteful content and hearing those cheers makes me feel like the entire world is listening to "this is how you treat your fans, this is how to abuse your power over naive sheep, this is how to keep dumb, hopeful minorities in check" and taking notes.

It also upsets me that the people who gave this show all of themselves and tried to understand it to the core are given no resolution, are spitted on and buried under the rug for doing their best to appreciate the art and the story it was telling. Yet people, who just hang around and watch the show doing the dishes, with no consideration to it's story or characters, got as nonsensical ending as their whole idea of character development in SPN.

I know people say that it was good enough, because it leaves space for guessing and own interpretation, but I feel it's really undermining the extend to which the finale was awful and hurtful to the fans. There is no end that realistically could stop fanfic writers from finding way around it in the world of Supernatural, so saying it was thoughtful of them Is like excusing abusive partner because "they could hit me harder, but they didn't. That means they care"

Lose ends, characters being written in a way that is totally not true to them and their development (personally my biggest allegation), dismissing years of story development, proving that it was all 'queerbaiting' in big part in the end (hell, even the whole "Cas is in heaven so do with it what you will" is a shameful way of appalling to LGBTQ community after using them so hard.

In the pie scene, the roles should be swapped, it's Dean who should say that Cas is on his mind and Sam explaining him that it's only right to keep on living doing good in their name. That's what Dean told Sam at the beginning of the season, when Sam lost Rowena, so it would be at least a bit poetic. This would at least give us some truth from Dean for once, but he died how he lived, in shadow of his fear to be true towards his feelings and needs. And as he died, he bound his little brother to the hunting till the end of his days, by guilting him into it on his deathbed. Guess Dean took after his father.

Have you realised what that emotional "love speech" from Dean to Sam resulted in? It was writers taking back Cas' confession after they didn't need our viewership anymore.

They basically gave us love confession to get us to follow the finale and when they didn't need us anymore, not only they didn't commit to the confession, but they undermined it by having Dean's speech to Sam go the way it did with obviously higher emotional charge, successfully taking back the value of Cas' confession and making it about a bait for "Tumblr idiots"

Finale killed my feelings towards Destiel, not because it wasn't confirmed canon, but because from what I see in the episode, they canonically confirmed that

- for Dean, Cas was only means to an end, which is such an awful way of ending Cas' character arc. They gave him everything he was scared of and nothing close to consolation price and they dare to tell us he had a happy ending, "because they said so". Well, I didn't see him being happy, and knowing what i textually know i can empathise enough to say that he faced a miserable finish. Even Chuck got an end that was better than Cas' fate.

- Dean, given power to do anything he could dream of, chooses to not even greet Cas, after Cas gave his whole life to Dean, told him he loved him and died for him. I know some people consider the little smirk of Dean confirmation of his feelings, but let's be real for just a second. If someone you deeply loved for years confessed to you, told you they thought you don't love them back, you would be freaking running to see them and tell them how much you love them. That smirk to me reads as "I'm relieved to know you're not going to spend eternity in mega hell that i left you in" and we really need to stop giving credit to writers for scraps like this when it's the last episode ever and we know this isn't going anywhere.

Not to mention that by having Jack bring Cas back behind the scenes it just highlights the fact that Dean didn't ask him to do that in episode 19.

As result, I'm unable to look at any Destiel scene and not think "in here Cas already loved him and in here Dean already abuses the power he had over Cas, because of his one-sided love"

And yet, the episode and endgames for everyone (maybe not Sam, but he was seriously pinning for Dean his entire life. Wincest much?) managed to be so bad, that not even bringing Cas back or following up on Destiel would make a difference in my eyes. I know you believe that Destiel would save it, but for me as much as it would be a redeeming quality, it wouldn't be enough to save this awfulness that writer doomed characters with.

And all the Wincest scenes in the finale... I low key expected them to make out and it made me feel physically sick. Also, cutting Misha out because of coronavirus is a cheap excuse. We all know better than to believe that, so let's not fall for the self pity play from the abuser.

If you managed to stay with me till this point, thank you so much for hearing me out. I hope i didn't anger you with my monologue. I will always think of the lamp when i think of you. The reality is that you were the lamp for so many of us in this darkness.

Love you so much, wish all the best to you, take care of yourself and stay safe!

Oh my god, if I didn’t cry with the final, I definitely am crying now. And now I have to explain my partner why I’m staring at my laptop and sobbing ugly. What have you done? 

First of all, I hear you pain, my friend! I share it! I didn’t spend a second after the final without the feeling of my heart being shuttered into million pieces, being stitched back just to break again, and so on and so on. 

I had my first panic attack in two years yesterday, when I kept thinking about the message the show sent to the fandom via Dean’s fate. I have a few posts in my draft on the matter, but I am not sure I will ever share them, because it is one strong depresso, and I don’t think people following me should see how fucked up it really is (if they didn’t get it by themselves, of course). 

I want to remind you, my gentle soul, that the story belongs to us. We know Dean, we know Cas, we know Sam and others. We know that the final is not who they are! I know it’s hard to ignore the text, the canon, because it’s kinda godsent, but the truth is essential. And the final is not the truth.

The truth: 

Cas loves Dean, he sacrificed himself for him, he saved his life on multiple occasions, he told all those beautiful things and he meant every word.

Dean loves Cas, he was on his lowest every time he lost him, Cas was his “big win”, his best friend, his brother, his white light that lead him out of his anger, hatred and despair. He took a dog and called it Miracle, he was looking for a job to retire from hunting, he didn’t kill Chuck - all of that, because the sacrifice Cas made was not in vain! The message was clear. 

I choose to ignore the “Carry on”, the only attention it is going to get is me creating 20 more mails just to put a one star review there and to drop some more salty or bitter comments with it. Maybe I will read through some reviews, too, add them to my collection. 

Maybe I will one day write here an article from scriptwriting perspective how fucked up in was, because that’s what I can do about it, without throwing up. 

If you can’t ignore it, I understand it. It is painful, it is disrespectful, I hate it as much as you do, probably. 

If there’s anything I can do for you to feel better, just drop me a message, we can talk about it. I am on the lowest, too, but maybe we can help each other.

You say I was your lamp. Let me lead you our of the darkness one more time <3 

CW can suck my metaphorical dick (I’m tagging every angry post with it), but Supernatural is not just the show on CW, it’s a big family. 

And you can’t give up on it! You can’t give up on Dean and Cas, you can’t give up on Destiel! It’s so much bigger then the show itself.

Rediscover the show for yourself, remind yourself that Dean and Cas are real, it was never one sided, it was always something amazing. 

What is real? We are.

Don’t you ever change.

I rather have you, cursed or not.

It’s love, hun, and love always wins. 

[primordium]

      ❝   what   is   more   UNFAIR   than   having   to   choose   between   being   a   monster   or   being   a   hero?   (    𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍   𝐘𝐎𝐔   𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄   𝐓𝐎   𝐁𝐄   𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇   )   when   you   learn   that   the  ROAD   to   hell   is   paved   with   more   than   just   good   intentions.   you   are   not   HEADS   or   TAILS   ;   you   are   the    𝒄𝒐𝒊𝒏.   ❞

         merlin’s   beard,   what   is   ALFRED   “FRED”   BILIUS   WEASLEY   doing   out   at   this   hour?   for   a   half   blood   who   is   TWENTY   FIVE   years   old,   he   /   they   really   ought   to   know   better.   you   know,   i   heard   that   they’re   aligned   with   THE   NEUTRALS   /   PREVIOUSLY THE ORDER, CODENAME REYNARD,   but   that   could   just   be   a   rumor.   i   do   know   that   they’re   a   DEMIMALE   and   a   gryffindor   alum   who   works   as   a   BROOMSTICK   MAKER.   they’re   very  VERSATILE   &   INDEPENDENT   but   also   quite   COWARDLY   &   ERRATIC.   some   people   say   they’re   the   spitting   image   of   lucien   laviscount,   but   i’ve   never   heard   of   them.   word   on   the   street   is   they’re   THE   HERCULEAN   TRAGEDY   and   their   prophecy   is   prophecy 28,   but   only   time   will   tell   if   that’s   true   or   not.

𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 !

your mother always maintained that it would be CRUEL to name you after someone who was so much larger than life, and your father said that he understood. they’re settled upon the name arthur ( in honor of your grandfather ) by the time that she’s about to pop, and alfred is a last minute addition to the name pool ; a compromise, of sorts. they look down upon your cherub cheeks and huge brown eyes, and they promise they’ll call you ALFIE. they’ll honor fred the first, but they’ll allow you room to grow. you’re three years old the first time that someone slips and calls you ‘fred’. by the time you turn six, everybody is. for the record : your mother was right. 

people ask your parents if you’re a handful, like all FIRST children seem to be ; they smile and say you’re not, and it’s nice of them to lie. you are unmanageable in the WORST sort of way, and they are the parents at the family barbecue who just can’t seem to grab their speed driven five year old. the first time your mother takes you along to diagon alley, you throw a tantrum in the middle of the pavement that brings TEARS to her eyes. you feel everything in an extreme, and the truth is, you very almost make them decide against a second - though with help from your grandparents, they feel as if they’ll MANAGE. you never really STOP feeling everything so much ; but you hate being the cause of those stress lines upon your parents faces, and you try very hard to be better.

your wand is STUBBORN by design, down to its very core. acacia is a firm and unyielding wood, and it is coupled with two temperamental strands of hair. you’re told that it is what is meant for you, and that as so it’ll never let you down - but quietly, you wonder if either is the truth. when you struggle more than your classmates do in spite of having a brand new wand, you resent the fact that you own it in the first place. when you are let down again and again, you wonder where the mistake was made : with the wand, or with the wizard. 

like so many weasley’s that have come before you, you are sorted into gryffindor. wonder of wonders, you are able to force the happiness that you know you’re meant to show to the smiling faces of your family. you tell them that you’re PROUD to carry on their legacy, but you aren’t sure whether the fact that they believe you says more about them, or your ABILITY to lie. the TRUTH ( that thing which finds and corners you when you are alone in a dormitory room ) is that you don’t feel that you belong, and that is something which never really goes away. it isn’t a deep seated fear of belonging in ANOTHER house that plagues you, but the one that you do not belong in any. there is always a part of you tormented with the feeling of flying by on luck alone, and you are the only one who you will ever admit it to.

you are diagnosed with chronic insomnia in your THIRD year - and you stop taking the potions that you’re given for it some time between christmas and summer break. you don’t have a good reason for it, really ; nothing that would justify it to yourself, let alone to another. you know that you’d be better off if you were WELL rested, if you could turn your mind off for just a moment ; but there’s a certain, clinical part of you that wants to see how bad it gets. that takes a degree of SATISFACTION from it. there’s a darker facet to who you are that wonders, morbidly, whether anyone will even notice - and will anyone even care.

you are turned away from the GRYFFINDOR QUIDDDITCH team year after year, though by all accounts, you are a talented player. you fly steady and you fly fast, and you’d make one hell of a chaser - but these things are popularity contests at their core, and you are not a widely known guy. you’ve never gone out of your way to make FRIENDS, be known, and you haven’t gotten the politics of quidditch down. when they tell you that you aren’t aggressive enough, you come back the next year and you try again. after, they tell you that you went too far ( as if you do not realize from the steady stream of blood running from your nose ). you aren’t sure what they want, just that you do not have it.

everybody says that you’re a BRIGHT student, so it baffles them all when you barely scrape by in your owls. your professors understand it even less than your parents do. you know the spells. you know the motions. something just isn’t CLICKING, it seems, and nobody knows what it is. when your parents ask if you do, you simply shake your head ( you’re telling the truth ). when they ask do you want a new wand, you tell them that yours is fine ( you imagine your eyes wide and pleading as you lie, and imagine them seeing through your words, though they never do ).

maybe there is too much muggle within you. maybe you are simply unexceptional. maybe, you are trying to hard to live up to a name that belonged to someone else before it was YOURS. there are so many things that it could be, that make you feel as if your life is using you as a punching bag. you never get the answers that you seek, and though you are promised things will get better once you leave the halls of hogwarts behind, they do not.

what you do, what you choose as your career path - that is HONEST work, and you like it more than anything else. you can spend hours in your workshop all alone, nothing but the sound of a whittling knife against wood and the cloying smell of broomstick polish to get you through - and it is the first thing, the very first thing, that brings you some amount of JOY. the order that your family is a part of, that you feel... pressured into joining - that DOESN’T, but it is what you must do. the weasley family has been tied to this path since the moment your uncle ron met harry potter ; and you will not be the one to let them down. sometimes, you feel you sacrifice so much of what you want for what you know everybody else does. you go through the motions. you do what you must.

you try so hard. by now, this is the true cornerstone of your personality. you do everything you CAN to be who you know you should be, and though you would never have chosen this path for yourself, you throw yourself into it. people see something worthwhile in you, you know this ; they tell you, and you aware aware that you would not be kept around if people did not believe in your GOOD. but you are a little TOO much, you’re told time and time again ; a little too reckless, a little too forceful, a little too lenient,  a little too prone to darting in without thought for the consequences. you want to bring HONOR to yourself, you want to save the world, but you also want to fly beneath the radar. you want to go home. you want to fight to GLORY. all of these conflictions live within you, and all of them combine to your own detriment. when you are caught on what should only have been a scouting mission because you believe you know best when you do not, you almost assuredly doom yourself to death. 

but here is something that you do not know about yourself until it is too late : up until this moment, you have held cowardice within you. and when your seemingly POINTLESS life is threatened, when you have broken under duress and you see the end looming ever closer, then you do not hesitate to reveal the one piece of information you have that should never have been UTTERED. you did not kill harry potter. you are just the weakling, the coward, the traitor who revealed where he and his family were - so that THEY could do the deed themselves. they leave you there to die and disapparate.

when you are found, broken, you have a choice. you could tell the people who transport you to st mungo’s for urgent care what has happened, and what you have said. perhaps, if you HAD, you would have been able to give a necessary heads up. but your newfound cowardice wins out. you fear the repercussions - you fear the look in your parents eyes and the lines which will be etched into their faces for all of ETERNITY. when the darkness swallows you whole, you do not fight it ; and when you emerge, you emerge to a world in which harry potter died. you will live with the weight of this for the rest of your life. you will always be the one - not he who diverged from the path your family has walked for a lifetime, now, but the one who BETRAYED everything they have stood for their whole lives. you did not mean to do it, and yet all it took was an instant ; guilt will eat you alive, this you know with complete certainty. you welcome it. you WALLOW within it. this,and no more, is what you are aware you deserve. 

you say i’m just not ready to go back, yet. they say they understand. you tell them that what you’ve been through has not disillusioned you from the cause, but has made you scared, and everyone can attest to the wild look in your eye. distance from the order should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. if it’s not one thing, it is another. you should have known that by spinning the story, by putting them into a position of feeling... sorry, for you, that you’d only make yourself feel worse.

𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !

fred is a coward, at heart. let that be known, and let it be known loud and clear. he wants to be valorous and he wants to be something more, but he doesn’t know if he ever can be. at hogwarts, he was never the first to speak up for those who were being threatened, those who were being BULLIED. he would allow his head hang in shame, after, but that did not stop a rinse and repeat. he was a part of many a fight, but never allow it be said that he threw himself into them for noble purposes, because the truth is... he never did. of course : he’s well meaning. he always HAS been, at his heart. but intent does not equal result.

he has so many fears. they eat him alive, from the inside out : but perhaps the biggest, the most withstanding, is the fear of disappointing those he loves the most - his parents. especially his mother. he has always tried to be better for them, because he has always been aware of his own crushing shortcomings. all this, however, leads into a point that deserves to stand alone :

he has become good at lying. ADEPT at it, even. when he desperately wanted to change who he was for the sake of his parents, who didn’t deserve to have such deep age lines so young, he realized that the only surefire way to do that... was to lie. it started small, with learning to say that he was fine when he wasn’t. it’s grown, over his lifetime, and now he doesn’t struggle.

he’s always been rather fearful of his own legacy. that is to say : he lives with a name that was given to him secondhand, and nobody understands PRESSURE like someone named after a dead man. the thing was, while george and angelina could push for everyone to treat fred like his own entity... that didn’t stop people seeing every milestone of his as another for fred the first. 

[bigdaddyomega]

The Nunz: Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, far, far, far away, there was a church. This church was far different from an ordinary church. If one were to pass by, they probably would have never expected it to be a church. The appearance of the building seemed very old and rundown. Most were surprised that there were people still living in it. Though it was still very active. The yard and the greenery was indeed a very beautiful sight to see. The pond was perfectly clean where fish and many other small creatures were able to swim freely. The grass was perfectly cut and the flowers began to bloom. Which meant that spring was beginning to come.

Despite the beautiful sight of everything, Alyssa Nelson hated this place. It made her sick to her stomach just to look at it. She despised the way that the building looked. She felt that she would be living under terrible conditions during her stay at this place. If she could go back in time, she would have tried to convince her mom to not even think about sending her to this place that she believed was so horrid. She observed who she assumed were humans wearing silver masks and all black outfits playing a game of football with one another. She believed that they looked intimidating and already decided that she wanted nothing to do with them.

"Mom, do I really have to do this?" Alyssa asked her mom as she turned to look at the older version of herself.

"Yes, it's for your own good." Mrs. Nelson replied to her eighteen year old daughter. Alyssa shook her head.

"But I'm eighteen years old. I shouldn't have to go to rehab." She disagreed.

"It's not rehab. It's an alternative program for you to better yourself. And I am sending you here because you are eighteen. I don't want you to go down the wrong path and end up dead when you're twenty. That's my worst fear." Mrs. Nelson explained. Alyssa could hear the worry in her mother's voice and that made her feel extrmely uneasy.

"They always say that one time won't hurt, but that could not be further from the truth. I want you to better yourself. Just give this place a chance, Alyssa." Her mom said. This was the last time she could convince her child that this was what was best for her. The only response that her daughter gave was to roll her eyes and get out of the vehicle. At this point she knew that she no longer had a choice. All hope was lost for her. She popped the trunk open and began to get all of her belongings out with the help of her mother. Luckily, Alyssa was able to carry it all with both of her hands.

Meanwhile, a girl the same age as Alyssa was still sitting in the car in front of them. She observes the entire area. She admires the beauty of it all. But hates the fact that she has to be here with a passion. Like Alyssa, she felt that she had done nothing wrong. Or at least nothing horrible to where she needs to be here. Her father stared at the spitting image of himself in disgust. He most definitely believed that she deserved to be here. He wanted her to change. He just didn't want the responsibility of helping her to change.

"I hope that you get something out of however long you need to be here. So that you will never do what you did again." He told his daughter in a stern tone. She didn't mind him talking to her in this tone at all. In fact, she wanted to get out of the car so that she could get the hell away from him.

"Alright, later dad." Were this girl's departing words from him. She stepped out of the car and slammed the door to the passenger seat just to spite her father. She opens the back seat of the car and starts to take out each trash bag containing her belongings one at a time. The attention of those who are outside is now on her. Not a single one of those ghouls could take their eyes off her. Some were admiring her beauty. Others were judging by the way that she carried herself. Fire, the smallest ghoul of them all, could not help but to laugh. He did his absolute best to hide it by pretending to cough, and clearly that did not work. His best friend Aether shook his head.

"Dew, Don't laugh, it's not funny." Aether criticized. However, Fire just could not find the strength to stop.

"I can't help it!" Fire almost screamed and began to become hysterical. Those around him could see the tears of laughter streaming down his eyes.

"I really don't get it. She couldn't just ask somebody if she could borrow a suitcase?" Rain commented.

"I bet you she's too poor!" Swiss said. All of the ghouls looked at each other and began to laugh in unison. Fire was right, it indeed was very comical.

The other girl made it to the front of the convent without her father. She wanted to do this alone. It was also too late to want her father with her, he had already driven off. There was no turning back from here. She was officially stuck. Both Alyssa and her mother stare at the girl. Regardless of them judging her, she gave them a smile. Before anybody could say anything, the door opened to reveal a petite aging woman who had long gray hair that was tied back. Though she was aging, she was still very pretty and presented herself very professionally.

"Hello. I'm Sister Imperator, and I'm the director of this institution." The older woman introduced herself. She held out her hand to Mrs. Nelson first. They both shook hands and Sister gave her a smile. This smile was almost too nice. It had the potential to be deceptive.

"Hi, I'm Adele and this is my daughter Alyssa." Mrs. Nelson introduced the two of them. Sister Imperator then shook Alyssa's hand giving her that same smile and turned to the other girl.

"I'm Star. Nice to meet you." The other girl was finally able to reveal the name that she had given to herself just before being here. Sister Imperator furrowed her brows.

"I'm sorry, there has to be a mistake of some sort. I didn't get the name of Star in anyone's paperwork." She stated out of confusion. Star had to think of an answer. She couldn't stand her real name and believed that now was her chance to get away from it.

"Ok, that's just my nickname. If you read my paperwork thoroughly, you would know that my real name is fucking awful. So please, just call me Star." The young girl practically begged. The only instant response that Sister could give was to nod after she shook her hand.

"I understand completely. My real name isn't all that great either. But anyways, it is nice to meet you all. We are so happy to have you join us. Come inside and I'll show you around the convent before we make any final decisions." She said and reentered into her own home. All three of the other women followed her inside. All of their expectations of what this place was going to be were now gone. The interior of this place was absolutely stunning. The entire place was brightly lit due to the row of crystal chandeliers. The pillars surrounding the second floor looked as if they were just built in. The checker printed tiled floor was probably just cleaned minutes before they entered.

Sister Imperator showed them every inch of the inside of the building. From the cafeteria that was empty at the moment, but it was a very clean place. She also showed them an example of the rooms which they are going to be staying in. The king sized beds made both girls tired just by the sight of them. They did not have to lay in them to know that they were extremely comfortable. Even their bathrooms were very luxurious. However, nothing could beat the chapel. This entire area of the large building was the most beautiful of them all. The stain glass windows reflected many colors into the room and behind the altar was a large cross. Alyssa and Star had never seen a crucifix so big in their lives.

"As you all can tell, we are a very Christian organization. We do our best to help late adolesence and young adults to better imporve themselves in order to go out into the real world in just under two years." Sister Imperator explained as she opened the back door which lead to the outside of this place. Everyone followed her. Alyssa and her mom seeming normal, and Star, her eyes were so wide due to thinking about how she may not get out of here until she's twenty. All three women enjoyed the sight of the outside. Mrs. Nelson was observing from a critical view. But the girls were more interested in the football game going on between the ghouls.

"One of the ways of improvement that we have observed throughout this entire program is having at least two hours of physical activity every single day." Sister added her commentary once again. All of them watched as a nameless ghoul named Mountain had the ball in his hands. He was trying to throw it, but another ghoul named Swiss was blocking him from doing so.

"Swiss, move!" Mountain yelled in a very annoyed tone. However, Swiss did not respect his request and actually did the exact opposite. Swiss made the wise decision to kick Mountain in the ballsack. This was the worst feeling in the world for ghouls and humans alike. Mountain held onto his crotch area as if he was holding on for dear life. The only female ghoul out there at the moment took notice of what had happened. Cumulus was probably one of the most caring individuals of anyone in this place. Not only that, but anyone who came into contact with her found her to be adorable.

"Blow the whistle! Blow the whistle!" Were the only words that Mountain could say at the moment. Cumulus did just that.

"Half time!" She called out. Everyone groaned out of annoyance because one of the two teams was on the verge of winning.

"Typical." Swiss shook his head. He kicked Mountain in that same area again. But this time the pain was a lot worse than the previous kick.

"Let me ask you something, if this is such a Christian envirionment, then how come all of them over there are wearing devil masks?" Mrs. Nelson inquired.

"Oh well, it's one of the forms of punishments that we have here. That would mean that they comitted a mortal sin." Sister replied. Mrs. Nelson nodded even though she may not have agreed with that. It seemed that this was the end of the entire tour, and it was now time to make the decision whether or not Alyssa would be staying there. Alyssa was hoping and praying to the god that she doesn't believe in, that her mother has changed her mind.

"So, the last thing that I need to go over with you is pricing. I have the bill right here for you to make the final decision." Sister went into her jacket to take out an average piece of paper. Mrs. Nelson took it and her eyes nearly came out of their sockets as a result of reading the price.

"So, this is the price per year, correct?" She asked.

"No. Actually per week." Sister replied. Mrs. Nelson turned to her daughter and then placed her signature on the bottom of the paper. At this moment, Alyssa was officially doomed. She hated this feeling more than anything. She felt that she was about to have a heart attack.

"I'll pay for it the best way that I can, even if that means me getting a loan. But please help my daughter to improve. That's really what I want for her." Alyssa's mother said. Sister Imperator placed her hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry about that, she's in good hands with us." Sister reassured her. Alyssa and her mother shared one last hug with each other. This was the last embrace that they would have with one another for a long time. Potentially two years if her mother could not afford another flight to come see her. Her mother told her that she loved her as they left each other's embrace. Alyssa didn't tell her mother that she loved her back. In fact, she wanted nothing to do with her at that moment. She wondered how her mother could say that she loved her but send her to a place like this.

Once her mother had driven away, Sister Imperator's smile completely disappeared. She was now completely serious. It was almost like she had mutated right before their eyes. It scared both girls because they had no idea what to expect next.

"Alright bitches, listen up. Almost everything that I had said was complete and utter bullshit. I really could care less about your well being. I only do this program because I love my money. So if you two can keep your goddamn mouths shut for two years, then maybe your life won't be so miserable here!" She explained in a very feisty tone.

"So, this isn't a church?" Star wanted clarification. Out of all the question to ask, she asked that one.

"It is, just not a Christian church." Sister Imperator answered. Star nodded and then she tried to figure out what kind of church it really was.

"Now, you two should be escorted to your rooms. Cardinal!" Sister Imperator directed. Now the girls had their hopes up. Only because they saw how comfortable the beds were and only wanted to get at least an hour of sleep at the moment. A young looking man appeared suddenly. He was wearing all black and his light brown hair was neatly in place while the hat was able to stay on top of his head. Both of the girls thought he was sort of odd looking.

"Cardinal, this is Alyssa and Star, they are new potential sacrifices. Could you please escort these ladies to their new rooms?" Sister Imperator requested.

"Of course." Cardinal Copia answered and motioned for the two young women to follow him. Copia lead them back inside along with all of their stuff. When he noticed all of the luggage that they had, he was reminded of what needs to be done.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I need you to leave your belongings right here." He said. Both girls gave him a confused stare.

"What? Why?" Alyssa questioned.

"You're not allowed to have anything personal here. Anything that you need we'll provide for you." He explained.

"So then what's going to happen to my shit?" Star asked.

"You'll get it back when you're released." He said. Both of the girls dropped their stuff on the floor and displayed as much attitude as they could.

"You're making this shit sound like a prison." Star commented.

"Shut up and follow me." Cardinal Copia ordered and continued walking. Both of the girls followed him and now felt empty without carrying all of their belongings. He leads them down to a dark stairway. For them it was very scary. Star was wondering what the hell they needed to go into the basement for. Because that was what this place was, a basement. The further down they went, the more spearated from the sunlight they became. It took them about five total minutes to make it to the floor. It was cold and made of pure concrete. Alyssa jumped as soon as she saw the pentogram spray painted red on the floor. She didn't really know why she was so scared of it. It was only a geometric shape. But to her, there was just something so eerie about it. Star looked down as well and the symbol did not even phase her on the outside. But on the inside she was just as scared.

"So creepy." Alyssa whispered. Star nodded agreeing with her. Cardinal Copia stopped at a door on the side wall and took out an entire ring of many keys. Somehow he was able to pick out the right one to unlock the door. When the door opened, he motioned for the two of them to go inside. When they stepped in, neither of the girls were impressed. There were just two rows of twelve beds on each side. The only light source that they have is a single lightbulb in the middle of the ceiling. They both looked extremely disappointed.

"You're not going to tell me that this is our room." Alyssa protested.

"Pick a bed." Cardinal Copia said and closed the door from there. Both Alyssa and Star heard the sound of a click before the footsteps leaving the basement. That one click scared both girls to death. Alyssa immediately sprinted over and tried to turn the knob of the door. She couldn't. Neither of them could even try to break the door down. Both turned to each other with anxiety taking over the both of them.

"Shit. I hate to break it to you, but we're locked in." Alyssa revealed.

Author’s Note: wasn’t that shitty as fuck? Yeah I agree. But this is the first chapter of my first Ghost fanfic. As I said in my previous post, this is on my Wattpad but I’m going to post it on here. Enjoy regardless and I love y’all.💀❤️

[kingofthereapers]

Everything in the club seemed to be falling into place, and that was when Travis should have known something was bound to go wrong. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket a couple times before he reached into his front right pocket and pulled it out. “Bo” flashed across the screen and Travis tapped the green answer button and his ears were assaulted with noise from the other end of the line. The screeching sound of metal against metal was obvious to his ears and he held the phone up to his ear. “Bo….” His voice could barely be heard above the ruckus. “Travis, you had better get out here. It doesn’t look good for our truck….or the bikes.” The older man had volunteered himself to accompany the truck that had a few of their motorcycles in it. A group of guys had planned on visiting a bike show that was a few days ride away. Why they didn’t just ride their bikes, Travis didn’t understand, but he wasn’t heading it up so he stayed out of it. 

“Fuck.” Travis muttered, rolling his eyes and shifting to get up from the chair that he’d been lounging in behind the desk in his office. It still seemed odd for Travis to have an office, but that didn’t change the truth of the matter. Paperwork was the bane of his existence, so anything he could do to get out of it sounded fine to him, even if it was dealing with the loss of one of his trucks. “Where you at? Didn’t get far, ya idiots.” Travis added that insult on, because that was just what he did. The older man only laughed a bit, because he knew full well they were being idiots. “Maybe five miles out of town.” Bo admitted sheepishly before the older man hung up. “Can’t trust these dipshits to do anything themselves.” Travis grumbled under his breath as he left his office and the sound of tattoo guns buzzing away met his ears. His blue eyes landed on Lula near the front of the shop, cleaning up after her last client. “Gotta head out to clean up a mess. These idiots crashed the truck.” He explained with a roll of his eyes. “Didn’t even get five miles out of town.” He shook his head at his own words before he winked at Lula and was on his way to deal with the mess. 

Travis rode a fairly basic Harley Davidson, and although it wasn’t tricked out like some of the other guy’s bikes there was no doubt that Travis would win any race on damn near any type of road. The leader of The Reapers MC was rather fearless and in ways reckless to a fault. It had worked out for him the last thirty-three-years at least, and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Even though he’d been riding above the speed limit Travis had at least expected the police to be there to stick their noses in everyone else’s business, but as he pulled up to the scene of the accident there wasn’t a cop in sight. What he did hear was a loud pop and he lost control of his bike. The Harley went down onto its side and Travis did his best to dismount before the bike could crush his leg. He hadn’t been quite quick enough because the nearly thousand pound bike slammed down on his left leg. 

The president of The Reapers was left laying in the middle of the road as his bike kept going with all its momentum. “Damn it.” He growled through clenched teeth as he sat up to survey the extent of the damage to his leg. The brunette man had just been about to pull his phone from his pocket for the second time in the last ten minutes when he heard some crunching on the gravel behind him. “Bo? I fucked up my leg pretty good.” Travis groaned, pivoting just enough to see the club enforcer walking towards him with a large knife in his right hand. Now, Bo was no small, nor agile man, but he had power on his side, so it was going to be a rough fight when it came down to it between the two men. Travis shifted, pushing to turn around with his good leg until he was sitting there facing the oncoming man. His left hand was in his long beard and Travis had only an inkling of just how men in the past had felt when judgement had come down upon their heads. Bo was a terrifying man to have to face in a one on one fight, not to mention when you were at a disadvantage. 

“Worked out even better than I could have thought.” Bo admitted to the younger man with a smirk peaking through his thick beard. He comfortably spun the knife around in his hand without so much as a glance in the direction of the sharp blade and Travis shifted back some. The blade stopped and Bo pointed it straight at Travis as he spoke. “This day has been a long time coming. Your pa didn’t deserve anything you did to him, you little shit.” The younger man’s eyes narrowed at mention of the crime he’d committed some three years before. It was the only way for the club to survive in Travis’ eyes. The Reapers had been such a big part of his life for as long as his father was letting him ride motorcycles, license or not. He couldn’t see it go down in pitiful smoke. If the club were to ever die, it would be in a flaming fight and the world would hear about it. 

Travis spit on the ground between the two men and he glared up at Bo in a defying manor. “You’re not even going to deny it now, are ya?” The enforcer shook his head, spinning the blade in his hand again as Travis shuffled back until he was at least to the side of the road and there was a large rock he could use to help himself get to his feet. It was a painful process and that was probably the only reason Bo allowed it. He wanted to see Travis endure as much pain as possible. There was a trail of blood that had followed Travis from his original landing spot and it didn’t look good for the younger man. His uninjured leg held the brunt of his weight while his banged up leg just seemed to pour blood from just below the knee. His jeans were already soaked while more red fluid flowed freely down his leg and into his boot. 

While Travis was just trying to stay on his feet, Bo approached with that blade gleaming in the sunlight. Blue orbs locked on him, and didn’t have even an ounce of fear in them despite the fact that death was drawing nearer with each and every step. “Fuck you.” Travis spit at the man as he approached. “He was running the club into the ground and you knew it….” Travis winced in pain for a moment and then shook his head as Bo stood there right in front of him and even though Travis was hunched a little their eyes were nearly level. Their long time enforcer was a couple inches shorter than his young president, but height didn’t matter so much when you were starting a fight out with a pretty bad injury. Still, Travis was bold enough to think he could come out of this alive. 

The first blow came from up above, an upraised arm bringing that knife straight down for Travis’ chest. It didn’t meet its mark because the young man brought his arm up and hit the other man’s arm so the blade just glanced against his left side. It wasn’t pretty as the blood began to dribble from the small wound, but it was better than having a knife sticking out of your chest. By now the adrenaline was flowing through Travis’ body and he didn’t feel his leg quite as badly as he had before. He could even hobble around on the leg, which he did to put some more space between him and his attacker. What Travis didn’t know was that he’d dropped his phone and it had dialed Lula’s number when it had fallen. That was his saving grace at the end of it all. That woman was the reason he would live to see his 34th birthday and beyond. 

“Thomas didn’t deserve to die like that, you asshole!” Bo bellowed as he charged at the young leader. Travis was able to dodge the knife blow, but the shoulder check took him off his feet because his leg wasn’t quite as steady as he’d thought it had been. Before Travis could get back to his feet Bo was there, hovering over him, placing a foot on his bad leg and pressing. Travis grunted, but glared up at the man. He wouldn’t get a scream out of him if that was what he wanted. Travis would suffer complete agony in silence just to spite the older man. “I never liked you from the start.” Bo admitted as he eased up on Travis' leg, but that knife never moved from being pointed in his direction. 

With some effort Bo got down on his knees beside Travis and grabbed the long dark hair of the younger man to make sure he was watching and couldn’t turn his head away. “You’re just a piece of shit kid that should have been whooped from time to time.” The blade was pressed against Travis stomach lightly, but that tip was so sharp it was drawing blood in small little patterns as the knife moved around while Bo spoke. Travis stared into Bo’s eyes intently just like the man wanted, but what he wouldn’t find there was any bit of horror for what was about to happen to him. In all honesty, the way Travis had lived gave him the sense that he would die some kind of horrible death. If you live by the sword, you die by the sword. It was something Travis had always thought to be very true, so here he was, dying by the knife just like he’d killed by the knife. 

As the blade pressed into his stomach, Travis could feel the cool steel parting his skin and diving right into multiple organs. The pain was enough to make anyone black out, but Travis was too stubborn for that kind of shit. He could see some darkness around the edges of his eyes as he stared at Bo, and once again the young man spit, though, this time it was right into Bo’s face and there was a little bit of blood in it. Travis smirked a bit, the blood in his mouth highlighting his teeth as Bo twisted the blade slowly. Travis groaned and arched his back somewhat, trying to move his head, but Bo held it there. “I’m gonna let the buzzards finish you off….But I want everyone to know just who saved the world from more of your bullshit.” The older man said, standing up and leaving that knife protruding from just above his belly button. It was not a pretty sight with his leg already covered in blood and now more dark red fluid flowing from his torso. 

Travis was pretty sure this was just how he was going to die, and he was coming to terms with it after everything he’d done in his life. Who deserved a death like this more than he did? He didn’t know anyone, that was for sure. He gasped and then coughed a bit, more of that metallic taste filling his mouth as he just laid there waiting for death to take him. That was when he heard Lula’s voice nearly screaming. He was fading and he didn’t know where it was coming from, but he was glad it was the last thing he was hearing before he left this earth.

[izukurising]

Ladybug and Chat Noir Can Finally Rest

Part 1/2 

It was an exhausting battle. One that will surely go down in Paris history. The adrenaline that ran through the heroes’ veins was fading now that they all had La Farfalla surrounded. She used as much power as possible, and Nooroo wouldn’t be able to wear himself out much longer. Still, the vengeful and bitter woman’s will was strong. The last of La Farfalla’s akumas were defeated. The only thing left to be done was to take down the villain once and for all. It took a lot of planning on Marinette and Adrien’s part to gather the whole team on the day of to finish the years long battle. They let their allies know the plan beforehand. They had agreed that the next appearance of La Farfalla will be the day. Today was that day.

The duo specifically selected their best. Alya, Nino, Chloe, Kagami, Luka, and most of their trusted collège classmates are present for the biggest battle.The gamble of having everyone was simple.They will win, all in. They were all heroed up and geared to finally reclaim the Butterfly miraculous and defeat La Farfalla for good. 

The holder of the Butterfly is sprawled on the ground, knees bent underneath her. She breathes heavily. Lila Rossi makes a show of looking vulnerable as she hides her sneer behind her hair. She waits for someone to make a mistake.

“Lila.” Chat Noir’s voice warns. He speaks cautiously.

Ladybug silently watches. If she spoke, Lila would get aggressive for sure.

“I am La Farfalla,” She rasps, and her voice sounds hoarse.

Her head hangs low.

“You’ve got me…I made a mistake. I’ll give it to you, just please forgive me.” The butterfly holder weakly whispers.

“Don’t let your guard down team, lying is all she has,” Ladybug has to tell them again, despite already going over this with them.

La Farfalla grimaces at the sound of Ladybug’s voice. She didn’t hear what was said but knew Ladybug spoke. She especially hated Ladybug. She hated her so much. Angry tears pour down her face. She wanted to wish everyone who wronged her out of existence. Every single person. If only she had the earrings and ring.

“This Miraculous takes over me…I feel like I have no control. It makes me hurt people. Please help me. I don’t want to be miserable anymore. Save me from it; I can’t hold on to myself!” Lila’s voice cracks painfully.

Ladybug and Chat Noir watch each other. Their partnership as adults is unmatched. With only their eyes and a minuscule nod, they agree that it’s obviously a facade.

“La Farfalla. Give us the brooch,” Chat Noir continues.

Lila cries and finally lifts her head to showcase her tears.

“I don’t want it.Take it. Help me! I’ve been stuck in this repeating nightmare for too long. I wish I was strong enough to fight what takes over me.”

Her wails echo through the silence of the abandoned area.

Rose, who was transformed with the miraculous of the peacock, took pity on the sobbing villain. Rosewing, who helped earlier in the battle by creating an unbreakable monster to protect the heroes from one of the dangerous akumas.

“Lila, everything is going to be okay.” Rosewing’s voice sounds steady and soothing. The peacock hero steps closer, fan held closed. She cautiously reaches out to take the brooch off herself, to “help”.

Finally, Lila had an out.

Lila has no time to hide her smirk before she sticks her cane straight at Rosewing. With the one hero out of position in the circle around her, she can escape. She propels herself above her cane, leaping high.

Ladybug reacts immediately and summons her second lucky charm of the day. She can feel that this is it.

Her team was vital today. She’s proud of everyone. Without Rena Rouge’s illusion, the “Ladybug” La Farfalla targeted wouldn’t of distracted her and let the real Ladybug purify and release the handful of akumas. Without Viperion’s second chance, Ryuko would of disappeared to one of the powerful akumas before she destroyed them with her elemental powers.Thanks to Roi Singe, dangerous powers of akumas went wonky again and again. And of course there’s Chat Noir, who nonstop fought back to back and side to side in this battle with her.

Every single one of the heroes took down akumas left and right and weakened La Farfalla. It was all meant to come down to this. The battle was already won.

She knew they were prepared and following the plan flawlessly.

“Queen Bee, Chat, Pegasus, Tigress, NOW!”

Chat jumps to action, bouncing off his baton and soaring to closely reach La Farfalla’s distance. Pegasus sends Tigress with him in his portal to cut Lila off. Tigress rushes at her, magically fast, successfully getting La Farfalla to pause and change directions in panic. Chat lands perfectly and cataclysms her cane that lifts up to block him. Immediately after, Queen Bee swoops in and uses her readied venom. La Farfalla gets paralyzed in place. Ladybug winds her Yo-yo and wraps her arch enemy in the strings for good measure.

The few main heroes close in.

“It’s over Rossi.” Ladybug declares. There was no spite in her voice, only the assured but exhausted tone of a hero who finally won.

“Finally,” Rena Rouge adds, relieved.

All Lila can do is move her eyeballs, internally screaming in fury. She’s out of moves.

“You thought you pulled a fast one on us,” Queen Bee scoffs. She could laugh but now wasn��t the time.

“Never again,” Carapace comments.

“Lila, it’s time you got what was coming to you. You voluntarily terrorized Paris-” Chat Noir pauses and glances at the woman he’s engaged to, “-and us, for half a decade! You’ve killed, you’ve hurt, you’ve destroyed…”

In his hands are the handcuffs that were summoned by Ladybug’s first Lucky Charm.

He speaks quietly. “You deserve worse than this.”

His father was bad, but Lila was much more clever in all the chaos she created. And somehow, more malicious.

Together, he walks up with Ladybug. They attach the cuffs to her hands.

“Team!-” Ladybug addresses everyone present.

“It’s been a long time coming. Today we reclaim the butterfly miraculous and release the Kwami from evil clutches! Paris will no longer be terrorized from any miraculous, ever again!”

Chat can’t help but lovingly gaze at her while she gives the speech.

Everyone cheers loud bellows, whoops, whistles, and claps.

He notices Ladybug’s most recent Lucky Charm that lays unused in her hand.

He gestures to it.

She further inspects the small rectangle of warm fabric.

She smiles sadly.

“I know what I need this for.”

And finally, Marinette removes the Butterfly brooch from Lila’s self and carefully clutches it. Down came Lila’s costume. Out came the purple Kwami, who looks defeated. He floats towards the ground like a deflated balloon. Ladybug cups her hands to catch Nooroo, wrapping the soft cloth snugly around the being.

“It’s okay Nooroo. You’re safe now. You’ll be alright. Everything will be okay,” Marinette soothes the shaking Kwami. He blinks his eyes open, barely. Chat stays close beside Ladybug, observing Nooroo.

“Ladybug? Chat Noir? I-Is it over?” he quietly inquires.

She nods while she feels her eyes tearing up. Poor thing.

“You can rest now Nooroo. No one will hurt you anymore,” Chat whispers.

Ladybug cooed. “We’ll protect you and every single Kwami. We’ll heal you.”

She passes the snuggled Kwami to Chat.

“One more thing left to do,”

Ladybug turns to the powerless Lila. Lila stared at her wordlessly, a scowl directed towards her. Ladybug removes the handcuffs, and throws them into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The battered buildings, destroyed streets, injured civilians, in pain heroes, and damaged battlefield returned to it’s original state through the red, pink, and white swarm.

Lila swallows and lets go of the remains of her pride.

“My heroes! You’ve saved me. I’m free of that overpowering evil…I finally feel like I’m me again.” Lila sobbed. Now that she had no power, she needed to convince them it wasn’t her free will. She plans to apologize and beg.

Marinette has had it.

“You’re freaking shameless. We’re taking you to prison for terrorism, attempted murder, theft, assault, and who knows what else will be added.”

Chat held his lady’s hand in his.

“We’ll let the justice system choose your sentence. I don’t think we’ll see you out on the town in this lifetime.” he smirks.

“I-I!” Lila stutters.

“Save it!” yelled many members of the Miraculous team simultaneously.

Ladybug yanks Lila up to her feet.

“I can’t imagine the infinite life sentences you would get if everyone who’s ever died from your actions didn’t come back from every ‘Miraculous Ladybug’.”

“I-I-I swear it! Once I wore the miraculous it took over my mind. I just t-thought it was just a pretty brooch! It was like I was the bystander of a never ending nightmare. I couldn’t do anything to stop it, it was like a shadow making me an empty, evil shell of the girl I am! I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I did those things. I never wanted this.”

“Cut the crocodile tears!” one of the male heroes jeered.

“There’s a lot of proof, quite a bit, of you being in your mind. Should I mention how when we detained Hawkmoth, you stole the miraculous and said, ‘I’ll be the villain this sad incompetent man wishes he was.’ before transforming and running off?” Ladybug reminds.

“Do you recall the time period where you pursued M-“ Chat’s cut off by Lila’s frustrated scream.

“Yeah yeah, you righteous superheroes got me! But no worries. You know me. I’ll come back in no time. Unlike you, I have certain skills without a dumb little miraculous.” She spits.

“Seriously, how did we let her bamboozle us for so long?” Tigress mumbles under her breath.

Lila smirks but the twitch of her wide eyes betrays her.

“Let’s wrap this up, team. We don’t have to worry about super villains anymore.” Chat moves to collect all of the miraculous.

“Here you go milady,” He hands the many items of the miraculous to her and helps her secure them in her yoyo, to be in her bag when detransformed. Nooroo rests in Chat’s pocket, right next to the brooch.

Besides Ladybug and Chat, the heroes stand as their civilian selves. They look around each other and take in all their friends and acquaintances for the first time, in awe.

“I think I sense a relation here,” Alix comments.

Ladybug half smiles.

“Chat and I will be taking Lila now. We’re forever grateful for the help you’ve all gave us through the years.”

Everyone mutters their thanks and goodbyes.

Ladybug glances at her fiance, unsure eyes debating something. He nods his head.

“Alya, Nino, Chloe, Luka, Kagami…”

He gathers the five people.

“Ladybug and I have something we’ve decided. Meet us at Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie at closing time tomorrow evening. Come as yourselves of course. We’ll explain everything.”

“Of course,” Kagami confirms, nodding.

“Sure thing,” Luka notes.

“The Dupain-Cheng’s bakery? Won’t they mind?” Chloe wonders out loud.

“No. It’s all fine, trust me.” Ladybug assures.

“I suppose Marinette has always had close ties with the superheroes.” Alya narrows her eyes, looking only at Ladybug.

“It’s a date dudes. Now I don’t know about the rest of you but I sure could use some shut eye.”

Seven out of eight people laugh.

“Yeah. I think Chat and I will head straight home and knock out after dropping Lila off at her new residence. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Afterwards, Ladybug and Chat Noir hand off Lila to the guards at the prison.

Lila looks at them blankly. Her frantic tantrum wore off, now that this is actually happening.

“It didn’t need to be this way..” Chat speaks.

“Ugh stop already. You act just like…Them. All you goodies always want to pretend to help and do things for others, when you really just want what’s best for yourselves.”

“That’s just your take on it, Lila. We can’t change what you feel. We’ve tried to get through to you from the beginning. We gave you every chance. You threw your life away. Goodbye,” Ladybug watches the guards walk Lila away with a straight face.

Chat sighs.

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Mari.”

Ladybug wraps her arms around him.

“God, I can’t believe it’s finally over.”

“Not just yet. Last one home is a stinky cheese!”

Chat speeds away. Ladybug lets herself laugh as she chases him down.

 It was Marinette who won. Chat took it easy with the exhausted kwami settled in his pocket.

She detransformed just as Chat pounced through an unlocked window.

“Intruder!” She yells.

He laughs and embraces her.

While they hug, he calls the transformation off.

It’s comforting to feel the magic drop between them.

Tikki and Plagg help fly Nooroo to their makeshift beds.

“Marinette…I’m just so happy that everything went well. We can sleep in, take some days off, finally get on with planning our wedding in peace.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have everything planned.” Marinette boops Adrien’s nose.

“You’re right. I should’ve known better than thinking you weren’t gathering all the details in your head,” he smiles sweetly.

Marinette sighs, heart pounding over his smile that she fell in love with so long ago. Her best friend, her partner, her soulmate. It warms her to her core that everything will be okay. The look on his face confirms it for her. 

Adrien spins Marinette to face the other direction and nestles his chin on her shoulder.

They start stepping towards their room together in slow movements, hands clasped.

“In the morning, Fu will be here with the miracle box. He’ll help nurse Nooroo before our visit with Gabriel…” Marinette starts.

“..and then we’ll sleep. And then we’ll meet our friends at the bakery and tell them our decision, 7 pm,” Adrien finishes.

“Good kitty.”

“Are you still sure?” Adrien asks.

“Mhm. We deserve the break. It’s not forever.”

“We’d also be revealing our identities to them.”

“Only them. They have my trust.”

“Mine too.”

They finally make it to their bed. They notice Nooroo breathing softly in Tikki’s little bed.

“He’s sleeping.” Tikki pipes up.

“I can’t wait to get to know him. We’ll take good care of him.”

“Don’t I know it. He’ll be back to his old self in no time, especially with Tikki and I here,” Plagg comments.

“It’ll take some time Plagg. Nooroo has been through a lot,” Adrien tells his kwami.

Marinette and Adrien release each other to settle into their sides of the bed.

They snuggle up together right away.

Tikki and Plagg mean to congratulate their holders on their victory, but see that it can wait.

“I’m ready to knock out too. But first…” Plagg zooms into his cheese safe, while Tikki flies to her cookie stash.

Adrien presses his lips on Marinette’s softly and withdraws his face back, dreamily watching her. She returns a single kiss.

Right after, Marinette turns around, back facing Adrien. Still snuggled, they drifted off to sleep instantaneously.

“Well that was quick,” Plagg declares, chomping down on his cheese.

~~~

Part 2 in the works.

There’s something I have to mention. Firstly, I was a fool for working with Tumblr’s draft system without a backup copy. I posted this fic a week ago, and then somehow deleted the contents excluding the title while in edit mode on my phone. I was moping about losing this for a while. I simply couldn’t rewrite from scratch, something I already had written and was satisfied with. Luckily, I got on the computer I posted it from, and the page with all the words was still stored. Keep in mind that last week, I dejectedly deleted the original post as soon as I realized the words were gone. I hurriedly copy pasted and was able to save it now! My lucky stars. The original page/post never reloaded which is why my fic was still showing on the computer from before. Now I appreciate this more than ever. I was extremely disappointed when this fic had that incident as soon as I posted it, and not one person saw said post yet. Now it lives, so I’m posting this with optimism, instead of the pessimism that usually stays. :) 

[turtle-paced]

Revisiting Chapters: The Soiled Knight, AFFC

Love what this chapter does for the plot and for the discussion of Kingsguard morality. As an introduction to the leading character of a subplot, I’m less enamoured.

The story so far…

Having been sent to Sunspear with Myrcella all the way back in ACoK, Kingsguard knight Arys Oakheart now deals with the local fallout of Joffrey’s assassination and Oberyn’s death in Tyrion’s trial by combat. There’s also the minor matter of his relationship with Arianne Martell.

Sunspear

Welp. This is our first proper trip through a Dornish city, ground-level (cf. Areo Hotah’s PoV to introduce us to Doran and the Sand Snakes), and GRRM chooses to give us this trip through the eyes of an inescapably racist and xenophobic character. Not just someone who might have internalised a few notions of cultural superiority but is still open to learning more and changing their opinions, as Dany was with the Dothraki and Jon was with the Free Folk, but someone preoccupied with and afraid of how different Dornish culture is to his own.

Arys’ position vis-a-vis Dorne is established quickly, when Arys thinks that his father would have been horrified to see Arys in Dornish clothing.

He was a man of the Reach, and the Dornish were his ancient foes, as the tapestries at Old Oak bore witness. […] Dorne was no fit plaee for any Oakheart.

Seems like someone shares those prejudices. If that’s not clear enough, there’s how he describes the action of simply walking through the streets. 

He could feel eyes upon him everywhere he went, small black Dornish eyes regarding him with thinly veiled hostility. The shopkeepers did their best to cheat him at every turn, and sometimes he wondered whether the taverners were spitting in his drinks. Once a group of ragged boys began pelting him with stones, until he drew his sword and ran them off.

There is significant feeling against the Lannister regime in Sunspear (I wonder why), and this chapter is important in establishing that that feeling lasts beyond a mob and transcends class in Sunspear. Given that Arys started the chapter by thinking about the murder of a man from King’s Landing, for being from King’s Landing, he’s not entirely wrong to be cautious. Nevertheless, half this complaint isn’t about the streets being unsafe, but that Dornish people have too-small eyes and their merchants are greedy. Later on we get “and their food is too spicy, and their men are too violent, and their women are all wanton.” So, y’know, no matter the dangers here, Arys is most definitely racist.

Arys pushes on through the streets of Sunspear, reflecting that they’re quiet in the middle of the day due to the heat. There’s activity inside, and Arys points out (reliably) that the music he can hear is different to King’s Landing music; included in Dornish music are “finger drums” playing a “spear dance.”

I mean, there’s nothing wrong with depicting a racist character as a racist character, but I do question GRRM’s decision to have the racist character set the tone for Sunspear, and to use him to introduce us properly to one of the few characters of colour who’s indisputably the protagonist in her storyline. It puts a layer between us and this character’s interiority, othering her from the start.

A Child in Danger

Arys is here to guard Myrcella, who is in need of guarding. Despite this, she’s settling into Dorne quite well. She likes Trystane. She likes all the food that Arys has such trouble with. She likes cyvasse, which is now in fashion in the Dornish court. In spite of their differences, Arys’ affection for Myrcella is clear. He worries about leaving her without his protection, even though he outlines the arrangements he’s made for her safety. 

Here we learn that Doran wants to get Myrcella out of Sunspear and to the Water Gardens, where he says she’ll be safer. Speaking of, here we get some strong hints that Doran’s not on the level with the Lannisters, in his evasive answers to Arys.

“We Dornish are a hot-blooded people, quick to anger and slow to forgive. It would gladden my heart if I could assure you that the Sand Snakes were alone in wanting war, but I will not tell you lies, ser. You have heard my smallfolk in the streets, crying out for me to call my spears. Half my lords agree with him, I fear.”

“And you, my prince?” the knight had dared to ask.

“My mother taught me long ago that only madmen fight wars they cannot win.”

Then he brings up Elia and her daughter Rhaenys, in a truly heartbreaking fashion, keeping his to-be-revealed motive for his actions firmly in view of the reader.

“Only a beast would harm a little girl.”

“My sister Elia had a little girl as well. Her name was Rhaenys. She was a princess too.”

Ouch. As the conversation continues, regarding the move, Arys realises something.

He is afraid, Arys realised then. Look, his hand is shaking. The Prince of Dorne is terrified.

Soon after that, we learn that Doran convinced Arys not to let the Lannisters of King’s Landing know that they were moving Myrcella out of Sunspear and to the Water Gardens.

It all goes over Arys’ head, but with the benefit of hindsight, we can see several things. One, Doran didn’t lie, and indeed he is as he characterised his fellow Dornishpeople, slow to forgive. He hasn’t forgiven at all. His response to Arys about agreeing with the desire for war was not a no, and with what we learn about his plans, we see that what Doran wants is to change the situation so that he can win the fight. And he’s terrified because he’s double-talking a knight of the Kingsguard and committing grand theft princess, a situation that logically produces some nerves.

Right over Arys’ head.

The comparison here between Myrcella and Rhaenys is explicitly made by Doran. He’s trying to protect Myrcella as best he is able (including, as Arianne says, from the people who would crown her queen), but again, knowing what he wants and what he plans, he’s hardly ignorant of the risks to her. 

Arianne

While we’ve seen Arianne briefly in Areo Hotah’s chapter, here we meet her properly. As we’ll discover, this chapter is a bait-and-switch, and she’s the real protagonist of this storyline.

Which is why it’s so goddamn aggravating that she’s introduced in peak exotic-erotic fashion. (She’s not the first, either; Arys passed a sex worker (“pillow girl”) dressed in ‘jewels and oil’ on his way to this assignation.) Naked except for a snake bracelet, goddamn it GRRM. While Arianne’s seduction of Arys is a plot and character point, this scene could have been written so that she stripped down, as opposed to the NAKED! that she is as soon as she’s on page, or GRRM could have given her jewelry that isn’t so linked to the ~foreignness~ of Dorne.

This is, however, a calculated seduction. Throughout the conversation we see Arianne’s efforts to get Arys to stay and listen to her pitch, changing tactics as needed. First, we see that he’s stopped responding to entreaties to forget his duty. Nor does he respond to Arianne’s ‘jealousy’ over Myrcella or any hypothetical other woman. She refuses to have any of Arys’ “I’m protecting your honour” bullshit, telling him straight out that she can tend to her own honour and her own pleasure. An appeal to his masculinity (“where is my brave young gallant?”) similarly fails. Arianne makes progress when she appeals to his love for her and downplays his breaches of duty. What gets him on the hook is chivalry.

It has to be said that Arianne pushes Arys too hard. I’ll discuss his internalised shame in more detail in a bit, but there’s a lot of it, and she doesn’t realise what’s going on in his head until it’s far too late. Her read on Arys was good enough to get him to do what she wanted, but not good enough to realise that she’d gone too far. This will turn out to be devastating to her.

In her brief discussion with Arys over history, we also see a significant weakness in Arianne’s political thinking. Much like Sansa, she relies on songs a little too much, trusting in their depiction of Lucamore the Lusty and the relationship between Aemon and Naerys, without thinking more deeply about the reasoning behind those depictions. This is particularly unfortunate given that the alleged relationship between Naerys and Aemon is one of the founding myths of the Blackfyre cause - the anti-Dornish Blackfyre cause.

While she attempts to manipulate Arys, Arianne’s frustrations with her father begin to show through.

“We are going to the Water Gardens.”

“Eventually,” she agreed, “though with my father, everything takes four times as long as it should.”

“Do you know what my father did when he learned [Arianne had slept with the Bastard of Godsgrace]?” […] “Nothing. My father is very good at doing nothing. He calls it thinking.”

Ultimately, her agenda becomes clear (though not to Arys, not until she spells it out).

“A son comes before a daughter.”

“Why? What god has made it so? I am my father’s heir. Should I give up my rights to my brothers?”

She wants Myrcella crowned. Arianne treads on some dangerous ground regarding the historical argument, since the last time a Kingsguard meddled with succession this plainly Westeros ended up with the Dance of the Dragons. Arianne gets Arys with the appeal to chivalry and honour.

“What would you have me do?”

“No more than you have sworn. Protect Myrcella with your life. Defend her…and her rights. Set a crown upon her head.”

She assures Arys that Tommen will not be totally displaced, inheriting both Storm’s End and Casterly Rock, and then she goes for the kill.

“Aegon the Dragon made the Kingsguard and its vows, but what one king does another can undo, or change. […] Myrcella would want you to be happy, and she is fond of me as well. She will give us leave to marry if we ask.”

She goes from “I can look after my own honour and my own pleasure” to this:

“Must I say it, ser? I am afraid. You call me love, yet you refuse me, when I have most desperate need of you. Is it so wrong for me to want a knight to keep me safe?”

As she continues, we see that Arianne fears for her own position, and she’s playing on Arys’ love for Myrcella as well.

“Arys, my heart, hear me for the love you say you bear me. I have never been as fearless as my cousins, for I was made with weaker seed, but Tyene and I are of an age and have been as close as sisters since we were little girls. We have no secrets between us. If she can be imprisoned, so can I, and for the same cause…this of Myrcella.”

Arys’ lack of suspicion is frankly astounding. Earlier in the chapter he was thinking that Arianne’s the sort of woman who despises weakness, and he accepts this change in demeanour quite easily. Arianne goes on to explain that her father has only offered her old men in marriage (never commanding her to take them, but Arianne’s right about the offers), never made her part of the machinery to take care of Dorne’s administration in his absence, and only ever left her to entertain guests.

And then she tells us of a letter she found in her father’s study.

“My father told Quentyn that he must do all that his maester and his master-at-arms required of him, because ‘one day you will sit where I sit and rule all Dorne, and a ruler must be strong of mind and body.’”

She’s taken the initiative and discovered that Quentyn is across the Narrow Sea, and that the Golden Company (who never break their contracts) have broken their contract. Arianne also points out to us that the Golden Company want to go home to Westeros. Having convinced Arys that she really is under threat, she gets his cooperation by appealing to her need for a knight to fight for both her and Myrcella.

“So your two princesses share a common cause, ser…and they share a knight who claims to love them both, but will not fight for them.”

And if the reader’s not suspicious of Arianne’s motives yet, they certainly should be when, after hearing Arys’ pledge of undying devotion, she says, “but first…”

White Cloaks

As Arys walks through the city to his tryst, he thinks on his role as Kingsguard. First he hits us with his reliance on the literal white cloak. He feels naked without it, as he tells us. Then we get the first hints that Arys is having an affair.

I am a Kingsguard still, even uncloaked. She must respect that. I must make her understand. He should never have allowed himself to be drawn into this, but the singer said that love can make a fool of any man.

We men are so weak. Our bodies betray even the noblest of us. He thought of King Baelor the Blessed, who would fast to the point of fainting to tame the lusts that shamed him. Must he do the same?

The next hint of his affair comes in a flashback of a conversation he had with Doran, when Arys has to try not to blush at a mention of Arianne.

But as the Baelor line and the chapter title have already shown us, this is not a healthy relationship. Arys is drowning in shame.

I could die now, happy, he thought, and for a dozen heartbeats at least he was at peace.

He did not die.

His desire was deep and boundless as the sea, but when the tide receded, the rocks of shame and guilt thrust up as sharp as ever.

This is a worrying passage, to say the least. It starts with “oh, damn, I’m not actually dead” and continues through a metaphor that stares down a cliff to the rocks below. After they’re done, he can’t bring himself to accept the post-coital care Arianne offers him in the form of a drink, a comforting touch, or balm for his scratches.

When Arys finally reaches his destination, the room where Arianne told him to meet her, it’s something like thirty seconds before he and Arianne start having sex. Ah, the virtue of self-control! Afterwards, they discuss his honour. Arys, as mentioned above, is deeply distressed by his actions. We get a decent amount of history re: Kingsguard sexual relationships. Arys knows that two of his sworn brothers aren’t keeping their vows. He mentions the historical case of Terrence Toyne, who slept with Aegon IV’s mistress Bethany Bracken, which, ah, didn’t end well. Arianne counters with the comedic song of Lucamore the Lusty; Arys points out that when Lucamore was castrated and sent to the Wall, it was the sixteen children he’d illicitly fathered who suffered the most. Arianne brings up the Dragonknight, alleged lover of Queen Naerys Targaryen; Arys refuses to believe those allegations.

Finally, however, Arianne brings up something Arys didn’t know: Prince Lewyn Martell, of Aerys II’s Kingsguard, and generally agreed to have been an exemplary knight, had a paramour.

That tale Ser Arys had not heard. It shocked him. Terrence Toyne’s treason and the deceits of Ser Lucamore the Lusty were recorded in the White Book, but there was no hint of a woman on Prince Lewyn’s page.

While Arys is in shock, Arianne follows it up with some devastating, and accurate, criticism.

“My uncle always said it was the sword in a man’s hand that determined his worth, not the one between his legs,” she went on, “so spare me all your pious talk of soiled cloaks. It is not our love that has dishonoured you, it is the monsters you have served and the brutes you’ve called your brothers.”

That cut too close to the bone. “Robert was no monster.”

Unfortunately, not only is there the fact that Arianne points out (”Robert climbed onto the throne over the corpses of children”), but earlier in the chapter, we got this little aside.

He prayed Myrcella would find more joy in her Dornish boy than her mother had with her storm lord.

This looks an awful lot to me like Arys is aware of at least some of the domestic issues between Robert and Cersei. How could he not be? Even if he never knew the full extent of the violence (which, given that Cersei hid it from even Jaime, I think is likely), he definitely knew that this was an abusive marriage. Just a reminder to the reader what the Kingsguard stand outside the door for, and a contrast to a young Jaime Lannister. Arianne is not wrong. It gets worse as Arys thinks on Joffrey.

It still shamed Arys to remember all the times he’d struck that poor Stark girl at the boy’s command.

All the times. More than once. Enough that he can’t put a number to it. And the shame and guilt that’s consuming Arys is over sleeping with a consenting partner?

This is the major point regarding duty, shame, and Arys’ faults. Arys has done a lot worse than sleep with Arianne. His weakness is a lot worse than not being able to keep it in his pants - though not saying no when he should does figure into his disgrace.

Chapter Function

A lot, like, a lot, of plot stuff. This chapter gives us the outlines of each Martell’s plot going forwards. Arianne’s the most visible of the three, outlining the Queenmaker plot - crown Myrcella queen to confirm Arianne in her position. There’s also the setup for Quentyn in ADWD, because he is across the Narrow Sea in secret. Only it has nothing to do with the Golden Company, another ADWD-related plot point. Their motivations and actions are introduced here. And finally, Doran. Between his conversation with Arys, the details of Arianne’s education and occupation in Sunspear, and the letter Arianne found, we see the seeds of his plot to take down the Lannisters.

This chapter sets up Arys’ character, but as mentioned before, it’s a bait and switch. While we’ve initially got some character conflict here, Arianne vs Myrcella, love vs duty, the action of the chapter is for Arianne to dictate a resolution to that conflict. Underlying it all is Arys’ guilt, which does not get resolved in this chapter, despite the fact it’s pretty overwhelming when Arys gets any length of internal monologue. That guilt is going to kill him.

This leaves us with the establishment of Arianne’s character. Arys gets glimpses of her strength, but still falls hook, line and sinker to her pretended vulnerability. Though Arys shows a greater knowledge of Kingsguard history in this chapter, and Arianne does not think critically in some ways, she’s still clearly the brains of the operation here. We see some of her capabilities, but what we don’t get are her genuine emotions. Yet.

Miscellany

As the first line of the chapter tells us, Dorne is unseasonably cool for autumn at this point.

Arianne, as we find out in the description of her naked body, is not a slender woman - she’s got big boobs, curvy hips, and a rounded stomach.

When Arys thinks she is tearing me apart, does anyone else think that’s an intentional shout-out to The Room?

Clothing Porn

Arys wears layered linen robes, an outer robe with turquoise stripes and rows of golden suns, and an orange inner robe.

Food Porn

Grilled snake with sauce made with venom (maybe - this is Arys we’re talking, I don’t trust him to give us reliable info on Dornish cuisine), dragon peppers (no clue what type of peppers they are nor what type of heat they provide), and mustard seed.

Next Three Chapters

Reek III, ADWD - Jaime VI, AFFC - Sansa VI, ASoS

[alsoyouremischievous]

Sides Carry On

Summary: Roman Prince will do anything to protect the life he’s found through magic. This includes enduring lectures from his best friends Logan and Patton, overcoming his evil roommate Virgil, working for the Mage, and defeating the Insidious Humdrum. His life seems to be set out for him - but things can never be easy, can they?

AO3 Link

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 

Chapter Six

Roman

The door creaks open in the morning far too early for my taste. The bed is colder than it has any right to be which means that Logan got up and left at his usual ungodly hour. He’s probably back to pester me into joining him. “Go away,” I moan into my pillow, fully expecting to be reprimanded anyway. Logan has a special way of causing me to forget entirely that I ever missed him at all.

A throat clears.

I finally lift my head to see that it absolutely isn’t Logan. The Mage is standing near to the door, a quirk in his grin suggesting he finds the whole situation entertaining. His eyes aren’t quite as light as the rest of his demeanor though - and they never really are.

“Oh!” I flail, getting myself upright. “Sir, I’m so sorry.”

“No use apologizing Roman, I’m sure you just didn’t hear me knocking.”

“No, um… Should I get dressed?”

“Don’t bother,” He says, strutting across the room to the window. He takes care to avoid coming close to Virgil’s bed. Even he’s afraid of vampires. Of course, The Mage would use a much more palatable word like ‘cautious’ or ‘prudent’- never afraid.

“I wasn’t available to welcome you back yesterday, my apologies,” he says. “I trust your journey was fine?”

I leverage myself out from under the covers to sit with my legs over the side of the bed. I may be in my pajamas but I can still act like I have my dignity. “Yes,” I say, “although, fine might not be the best word. My taxi driver was a goblin.”

He sighs. “Another one?” he turns to face me again, clasping his hands behind his back. “They’re relentless. Alone, I imagine.”

There’s no question in his tone but I confirm anyway. “Yes, sir.”

He gives a jerk of his head, “They aren’t smart enough to consider pairing up. What spell did you use?”

Oh. I bite my lip. “I used my blade, sir.”

“Hmm.”

“And Into thin air to clean it up,” I rush to add.

His expression flickers, not really pleased but placated at least. “Splendid, Roman.” He looks me over, scrutinizing my pajamas and my bare feet.

He meets my eyes again, his stare hard. “And this summer? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“I would’ve reported anything to you, sir.” Because I could contact him. If I really needed to, but only then. I have his number (and I know how to send a bird).

He gives a nod and then turns his gaze from me to focus on the window again as though he’s already managed to suss out everything he needs to observe about me. The light coming in catches his hair nicely and for a moment he appears all the more like a swashbuckler.

His uniform is… interesting. His leggings are an emerald canvas disappearing into tall leather boots and his tunic which has all sorts of pockets and straps. His sword hangs from his side, entirely visible unlike mine.

Professor Bunce, Logan’s mum, told us that previous mages wore ceremonial outfits consisting of a cowl and cape whereas other headmasters wore robes. The Mage created his own uniform, I guess. She calls it a costume.

I’m pretty sure that Professor Bunce detests the Mage almost as much as his actual enemies do. Logan’s dad is a quiet fellow, so the only times I’ve heard him speak were when his mum started on a tangent against the Mage. His voice is always soft and soothing when he say’s “Now, Mitali…” which is when she’ll take a deep breath and say ��“I’m sorry Roman, I know you’re his foster son.”

He isn’t my foster father though, not in the real way. He’s never put himself forward in that way. As my family. I’m treated more like an ally of his and I have been since the start. At eleven years old he’d sat me down in his office and told me every detail. The Insidious Humdrum, the missing magic, the holes in the atmosphere like dead spots. All while I was still trying to comprehend the existence of magic at all, he was telling me that there was something out there devouring it. And he told me I was the only one who could help.

“You are far too young to hear this, Roman. However, the Insidious Humdrum is a threat that doesn’t wait for maturity. He’s powerful and pervasive. Our resistance to him is futile.

“The fight is a necessary one nonetheless. We want to protect you, Roman, and I vow to do so with my life. But it is vital you learn, as soon as possible, how to keep yourself safe.

“He is our greatest threat. You are our greatest hope.”

I didn’t ask any questions that day. I was in shock. All I wanted was for the Mage to do something cool again, like when he’d opened a window with just his words.

The first year was spent convincing myself it wasn’t real, the next convincing myself that it was.

It was only after I’d been attacked by ogres, shattered a circle of standing stones, and grown five inches that I asked the important question.

Why me?

Why did it have to be me to fight the Humdrum?

I’ve received a litany of answers over the years. I was chosen. I was prophesied. The Humdrum won’t leave me alone.

None of which are actual answers. Trust Logan to be the only one who can give me a workable reason. He’s the one who told me, “Because you are capable, Roman, and someone must.”

The Mage is still staring intently out the window. I consider briefly offering him a seat but I’m honestly fairly sure that standing is his default state.

I clear my throat. “Sir?”

“Roman.”

He seems put out today.

“Did we find the Insidious Humdrum?” I ask despite my hesitation.

He shakes his head and crosses his arms, his movements sharp and quick. “There have been no new developments. In fact, I have had to attend to more pressing concerns as of late.”

My jaw drops.

“Concerns more important than the Insidious Humdrum?” I ask, incredulity drenching my words.

He doesn’t even blink. “Not more important, Roman, just needing more immediate attention. The old families are testing me. Financial support is ceasing and the Pitches are paying certain members to stay away from Coven meetings. Not to mention the multitude of skirmishes that have been popping up.”

Skirmishes? I haven’t heard anything about this before. “Sir?” I press.

“They’ll do anything to test me, Roman. Anything to chip away at my control so that they can work their way into power. Ruining everything I’ve accomplished as they go”

“And they really think that they’re capable of handling the Insidious Humdrum on their own?”

“They’re not thinking of the end game, simply the moves directly in front of them. Right now it isn’t their problem and so they don’t care.”

“Well forget the idiots then! If the Humdrum wins there won’t even be anything to fight over. He should be the one we’re focused on.” I say.

“And so we shall. At the right time,” He says, peering at me sternly. “When we’ve the knowledge to win. Until then my major concern is you.”

He pauses.

“Roman. I’ve talked it through with some trusted members of the Coven. So far, our attempts to keep you safe have failed. In spite of how well protected we are here the Humdrum seems to do the most damage to you when you are within Watford grounds. Like last June, when you were taken away with no one the wiser.”

I flush at this. He’s talking about himself and the protections on the castle but I’m the one who’s a failure. I’m meant to defeat the Humdrum but during my first direct confrontation with him the most I could manage was running away. Without Logan, I may have even failed at that.

The Mage continues, slowly. “We’ve decided that you would be safer somewhere other than Watford.”

That’s... “Sir?”

“A place has already been set up for you and an adequate tutor has been contacted. Of course, I can’t tell you the details but we’re leaving soon so you’ll get to see for yourself.”

Everything in me grinds to a halt. That or the world around me starts going too fast.

“You’re asking me to leave Watford?”

He bristles. “Yes. You needn’t pack too much, just your boots and your cloak. Anything you don’t want to lose.”

“Sir.” I pause, reeling. “I can’t leave Watford. Classes start this week.”

He sighs, “Roman, you aren’t a kid anymore. There’s nothing left for you to learn here anyway.”

He could be right, I’m a terrible student. This year won’t make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. And yet… “I can’t leave. It’s my last year at Watford.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Mage’s eyes narrow so harshly.

“It’s impossible,” I try again. I’m trying to think of reasons, an argument. All I come up with is no. I won’t leave. My whole life is Watford, the times I’m not here don’t even feel like living. Next year that will have to change but not yet. Not yet. “No. I can’t leave.”

“Roman,” His voice is sharp enough to cut. “Don’t pretend this is a suggestion. Your life is under threat. Considering the entire World of Mages is counting on you that is not something I’m willing to compromise.”

His last point feels like one I could argue. Virgil doesn’t count on me for anything, nor do any of the house of Pitch.

I try to swallow but my throat is too dry. My head whips back and forth.

The Mage scowls at me like I’m a tantrum throwing child. “You must realize Roman, that the Humdrum only attacks when you are here. At Watford.”

“Have you just realized this now?” I blurt out, tagging on a belated “Sir.”

“What has gotten into you?” he shouts, now looming over me. “You’ve never questioned me like this before.”

“Well, you’ve never asked me to leave before!” I shout back.

His face shutters. “When we are at war we all make sacrifices.”

“We’ve been at war as long as I’ve been coming to Watford. War doesn’t mean life just stops.”

“Doesn’t it?” he spits. He’s finally lost his temper. I’m all too aware of his hand which is resting on the hilt of his sword. “Where is my normal life, Roman? Do you see my wife and children anywhere? Have you ever known me to take holidays? No. I've focused entirely on the battle ahead. We don’t have the luxury of shirking our responsibilities because we’re bored with them.”

I jerk at the insinuation. “I’m not bored,” I mutter.

“Speak. Up.”

I lift my chin and meet his eyes. “I’m not bored, sir.”

His teeth grind for a moment. “Get dressed and start packing.”

I’m rooted to the spot. “No.”

It’s not happening. I’ve just arrived. I suffered through this summer because of the promise of Watford at the end but this was the worst one yet. I’ve nothing left in me. I don’t have what it takes to leave again right now. I wouldn’t survive it. And what about Logan and Patton?

I’m shaking my head again but the Mage’s gasp makes me look to him. Or look as best I can through the red haze that’s now between us.

Fuck. Fuck.

He staggers back, his wand out. “Roman, Stay cool!”

I grab for my own wand, chanting any spell that might work but it only draws my magic more to the surface, the redness thickening. I slam my eyes shut and think about disappearing like the taxi car and the fence and the road. Try and empty my brain out so there’s nothing to fuel my broken magic. I collapse back onto the bed, distantly noting my wand clattering to the floor.

When the world swims back into view the Mage is leaning over me, his hand pressed to my forehead. I smell smoke and realize the sheets must be charred.

“Sorry,” I slur, “M’sorry. I didn’t-”

“Of course not,” he says quickly. He’s still afraid though.

“Please, please don’t make me go,” I beg.

The Mage is looking straight through me right now with his piercing gaze. I can see his mind turning and I can see the moment he gives in.

“I’ll see what can be done, perhaps work out some more time…”

He focuses on me again. “Roman, we aren’t concerned for your safety alone, you must know.”

He’s still leaning over me. Only smoke is between us and I struggle to breathe.

He finally stands again, stepping away. “Do you need to see the nurse?”

“No, sir.”

The Mage whirls out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

I wince and then check to be sure the sheets aren’t actively burning before falling quickly back into a dead sleep.

Linda

And the fog is so thick.

[regulusarcblack]

ANNUAL WRITING SELF-EVALUATION

*All answers should be about works published in 2017.

steph @twoghostsacoustic tagged me so let’s fucking go fuckos

1. List of works published this year:

let’s be honest here and admit that steph was the one to write M&W all by her damn self HAHAHAHAH it’s our baby but i’m like the cool father who only pops by every weekend to fuck up the kid’s personality and all the hard work is steph’s own doing (same applies to love is on the radio)

anyway moving on

i’ve written everything i’ve ever tried in my life this goddamn year so congrats 2017 you played yourself

first: PWPs Butterflies (or as i like to call it, harry and louis going solo again) Blue and Green (don’t judge me) Ambrosia (seriously pls don’t judge me) Through the Wire (actually nevermind if you’re judging me it’s your problem lmao) Ruby Woo (yes it’s harry wearing lipstick)

Then i tried~~ to be a serious writer and my babies were born

You can’t blame gravity (for falling in love) aka larcel au

High-five of your love aka girl larry 

Harry’s Journal to Self Discovery aka girl larry that will probs be published soon?? and hopefully my xmas crack fic as well???

then i got two wips that were written this year and published on the amnesty week cuz i will never finish it let’s be real lmao

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

honestly? butterflies cuz it was the first one i published on ao3 lmao cuz everything i write i despise

except u#28 i love that shit to pieces but it’s still wip and i love it cuz it’s noir and superhero-y and yeah

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

every single one of them lmao i hate my writing BUT i think blue and green cuz it was the first one????????????????? and it really does suck lmao

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

“Shouldn’t you have quit by now?”

“The watch out?” He smirked. “Or the fags?”

He didn’t need to look at Liam to know he was rolling his eyes.

“You know they’re not good for you.”

“Jeez, dad, no need for a lecture right now.” Louis inhaled again, just in spite, wishing he could blow it out to write words on the wind like a magician of sorts. Instead, he amused himself by imagining his deformed cloud of smoke wrote a giant ‘Fuck off, Payno’ before dispersing on the wind. “They help me concentrate. Besides, they keep me warm.”

Liam tsked behind him. Sometimes he took himself too seriously. Louis wondered what it was like to still be like this. Wholesome. Unwavering. Faithful.

“Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

Louis sighed, crushing the butt of the cigarette against the wall and then throwing it away, the wind picking it up. The best part about sitting so up high was watching the wind carry everything away in a second, almost an endless fall of an acrobat, suspended on air, far away from the ground.

“Yeah.”

He let the wind take his voice away as well. Let it be swept away. Liam would know better than to keep the questioning anyway.

They stood in silence, surrounded by echoes of street life and the falling night.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

uhhhhhhhhh i love @gaycousinlarry‘s girl direction work so i’m still weak she read and commented on mine haha then @finck-you-freeky and @smellofsunshine both read my pretentious wip and highlighted some nice passages and i loved it and someone commented on my larcel saying they’ve reread it many times and i still don’t know how to answer it cuz i’m so flattered???????????? 

but above all i’ll always remember @runontheroadbeforeidance‘s comment for butterflies cuz she was the first person outside of my little group of friends to read my work and comment it and she said it felt like a slow hazy summerday which was EXACTLY what i wanted to pass and i still hold this close to my heart tbh haha

honestly i’m just grateful for everyone who ever read it and if they liked or commented on it i’ll love them forever haha

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

every goddamn time. i struggle a fucking lot to write lmao

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

i’m still not over all that spitting marcel did. why the fuck, mate? also u#28 everyone is always surprising me haha

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

i actually begin to write so there’s that haha

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

i hope i write smth i’m actually proud of and think it’s actually good haha @ u#28 u ma only hope

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

ughhhh my beta @britpickerhl my test runners @broccoliwasdone @finck-you-freeky @rosegoldhl will have a honour mention and all but will have to excuse me cuz right now it’s @twoghostsacoustic time

no seriously y’all don’t understand i literally only started to write because of steph HAHAHAHAHA it’s more than the fact she’s my friend my beta my cheerleader and my padner in this hellhole, she literally is the reason i even realized i could try my hand at this shit. so if yall wanna blame someone, it’s her

we have our drs and whatnot but in the end tamo junto 

so yeah steph through and through

(also dj imma choose fireproof to play then since steph wrote OVER AGAIN for me and whatnot)

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

i too fisted someone this year

lmao jk but it does appear all the fucking time, especially the pop culture/music mentions and when they’re particularly dumb

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

watch porn, it helps

but seriously: don’t give a shit what others might think about your work, about popularity or whatever the fuck. just write it for you and if someone wants to read it with you fuck yea they winning but this baby is yours and yours alone so don’t mind about being a hype or if it’s good or not. what matters is that u wrote it so kudos to you for your effort

also, never forget fandoms love to love bs so sometimes..... things that are famous...... are worse........

and just embrace your weirdness and go for your own brand and do you

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

oooooh boy yes 

i got a marcel exchange to do that i wanna write asap (tbh i have to lmao)

the i got a star trek au for @hrrytomlinson that god only knows how i’ll fit in between my other shit sorry kiddo i’m postponing that due date already haha

then i got a gift for @twoghostsacoustic that she has no idea what it’s about

then i got ruby woo part 2, the storyteller, u#28, my abo and my beatles au that are all fics that i’m dying to write

and fuck knows what else is in store lmao

also i’d love to write for other fandoms

and to like maybe take writing serious for once lmaooooooooo

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read

honestly i lowkey tagged a lot of people while writing this haha so i’ve rigged the game and am tagging them but lemme see @rosegoldhl wassup binch @smellofsunshine to inspire you to write more haha and @threeandsixseconds @fireawaynjh @vanillabeanniall 

honestly what are rules i got new ones and i count them ayyy

[everlastingbalm]

Why I Still Think Caryl Is Coming, Despite Potential Troubling Spoilers For Some:

If some of you don’t know, Daryl and Carol were seen filming together, along with Tara and Morgan. Rick and Father Gabriel were filming, too, but at The Sanctuary. Rick was wearing a white band and so was Daryl, however, Carol was wearing a red band, along with the other people from The Kingdom.  For some people, this means that Carol is living at The Kingdom (very plausible) and that Caryl’s chances are lower, whereas C@rzekiel’s are higher (I disagree). And I will explain why.

NR had clearly stated that Carol means more to Daryl than ANYTHING. He cares about her more than anything else, and we saw that. We’ve always seen that but 7x10 made it extremely obvious.  Scott Gimple had said that Daryl didn’t necessarily want to leave her in 7x10 but he allows her her solitude, even though that’s not what he wants for her or for him. He’d like to have her back.

If Carol does live at The Kingdom, I highly doubt that Daryl won’t follow her. He JUST got her back. If she leaves, again, to go live somewhere else, I do believe that Daryl will follow.  Daryl has been less and less under Rick’s thumb and has made decisions even in spite of Rick’s advice, showing that Daryl was starting to take more initiative (not to become a leader, just in his own life). This is good. 

In 7x10, Daryl did not spend his time trying to get Ez3kiel to fight or stare him into submission, as Rick suggested. He wasn’t around him at all. Instead, he talked to Morgan about Carol, he went off on a mission with Richard until he realized Richard was planning on setting Carol up for murder, Daryl ends up beating Richard and leaves to go find Carol.  Meanwhile, Carol opens the door to Ez3kiel and his people, looking annoyed (as she always has when answering the door to someone who wasn’t Daryl) and made it aware that she only opened the door because they tripped her wires. They eventually leave, she goes back inside and ONLY THEN, do we see her reading a romance novel (that the show CREATED) called Denim Dreams. A few seconds later, Daryl knocks, she’s already annoyed, opens the door ready to shoot off attitude, UNTIL she realizes that it’s Daryl (conveniently all dressed up in denim, same as Carol herself) She immediately tears up, becomes breathless and reaches him in for a hug. Daryl’s almost in tears and his voice breaks when he asks ‘’ Why’d you go? ‘’. Later, hours have passed clearly, because we went from them reuniting on the porch in broad daylight, to them being inside while it’s pitch black dark outside. She says that she couldn’t lose Daryl. She cries. She asks if anything happened back AT HOME (Alexandria). Daryl lies for her. Daryl does this to protect her inside and out. He’s the first and only person who manages to make her smile and laugh in this episode, for the first time, in a long time.   She feeds Daryl and as Daryl is eating, she’s staring at him lovingly. When Daryl walks out the door and away, Carol looks kind of disappointed and sad. When Daryl turns around, she puts her hands in her pockets, looking nervous and he turns around and goes back to hug her.  Carol hugs him, she puts her hands in Daryl’s hair, almost pulling him closer, nuzzles him and we can clearly hear her breathing him in. When he leaves, she struggles, She almost goes after him either to leave with him or to ask him to stay a bit longer. She decides to stay back. 

None of this was for nothing. There was a reason for all of this and even if it was just to throw Caryl’ers a bone because they don’t want to lose us, they could have done so in a much, much different way that didn’t have such romantic vibes. They wouldn’t have gone through all the effort of creating a whole romance novel. 

You don’t do that when you’re just trying to throw people a bone. In 7x13, the One Way sign Carol had was pointing backwards the whole entire time that she was heading toward The Kingdom.  In that same episode, when Morgan tells her what happened, her head turns toward where Daryl was sitting in 7x10.

In 7x16, we didn’t get a Caryl scene, as we all knew, but if you want to fish for something, at Sasha’s funeral, Carol was standing beside Daryl. She had The Kingdom armor off, while everyone else from The Kingdom had it on, still.

This isn’t even mentioning everything. As far as signs go, we’ve been given signs of a Caryl romance for a while now. Even if Season 6 had set things back a little. Even in Season 6, when Daryl finds Carol at The Sanctuary, their reunion is paralleled exactly to Glenn and Maggie’s.

There have been parallels of Caryl with other romantic canon couples as well, Glenn and Maggie, R!chonne, even Sherry and Dwight.

So, no, Caryl’s ship has not sailed. It isn’t hopless. These spoilers don’t mean anything bad for Caryl. In fact, it’s good that they were filming together at all, plus, not to mention, there was yet ANOTHER One Way sign, happening to point at Daryl. HE is her one way. Maybe not Alexandria, but him. Melissa had confirmed that in 7x13, the One Way was pointing backwards but she couldn’t elaborate on why. Why couldn’t she? Because it’d be a spoiler. I firmly believe that Daryl is her ‘’ one way ‘’. I firmly believe that Carol loves Daryl because we have been shown that, the same way we’ve been shown that Daryl loves Carol.

Colored bands don’t mean anything, especially after everything.

If she is living at The Kingdom now, there’s no reason to think that Daryl wouldn’t follow her. We don’t know what tomorrow’s filming spoilers will be. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We still have 15 more episodes left to go. 15, guys. A bunch can happen in 15 episodes. We got more in 7x10 than we’ve ever had in favor of Caryl.  There is nobody else for Daryl. The only one he loves, trusts and cares about more than anything is Carol. The only one SHE trusts, loves and cares about more than anything is Daryl and the show has SHOWN US THAT. That does not leave any room for someone else.  If Carol and Ez3kiel do become canon, is Ez3kiel going to be so cool with Carol meaning more to Daryl than anything? Is he going to be cool with Carol looking at Daryl adoringly? Is he going to be cool with her nuzzling and breathing in another man?  Would she do that while in a relationship? No, likely not, but the only person they have shown her doing that with, getting that close is only Daryl. They didn’t just show that for it to be a one time thing while they intended on making C@rzekiel, the less popular ship, canon.  Not to mention, everyone knows how popular Caryl is. 82% of fans want Daryl and Carol together, whereas 17% wanted Carol with The King. They’ve had more polls since then, but still, Caryl ALWAYS wins.                                            Not to mention, the media rants and raves about Caryl.  Caryl has been mentioned in other shows.  Caryl is extremely popular and very requested and desired and they know this. AMC knows this.  They have already lost views, why would they risk losing more views and more money? Why would they choose to spit in the face of all Caryl’ers after teasing us and promoting Caryl to us, only to have the less popular ship C@rzekiel happen? Carol already had a midship, with Tobin, during her time of struggle. That part of her life is over. I suggest that we wait. I suggest that we try not to read into the filming spoilers too much right now, in terms of Caryl or C@rzekiel because we don’t know what’s going to happen. We don’t have proof that she’s actually living there. It is a strong possibility but we also don’t know whether or not Daryl will follow her. Once we know, then we can start to theorize.  Caryl weren’t showing up in filming until just today. They were fairly MIA before so that means that we also don’t know what else has already happened. Perhaps they didn’t film anything together before today, and perhaps they had filmed something inside that we couldn’t see.  Fact is, WE DON’T KNOW MUCH. This is still so early.  I am still so optimistic about Caryl. The signs are there. There’s a lot more but I’m not in the mood to write more of a novel but I will keep posting regularly. Caryl is real and Caryl is coming. We can’t always expect a nice, smooth ride. There will be bumps along the way.   But stay strong. Just remember everything we have received in favor of Caryl. It definitely, majorly outweighs C@rzekiel.

Just wait. The best is coming.

[gazingupatthemoon]

What is Infinite (1/?)

Found here at ff.net or A03

Summary: It was meant to be just the two of them. But immorality comes with it's own surprises, and Aleksander must bow to the whims of his stubborn wife. Even if it means becoming a father.(Aleksander and Alina, after years and years, are the rulers of Ravka and have a son and daughter. Angst is sure to follow)

Rating: M

Notes: Because I am weak for stories of Alina getting pregnant and bolting afraid of Aleksander's response. But eventually she comes back, and everyone has to deal with being a big immortal and sometimes happy family.For context, this follows canon to a degree. Essentially the book events happen but Alina eventually discovers that her powers and immortality did not actually leave her and Aleksander (Rule of Wolves Spoiler!) gets free of that tree. For reasons. My story is not about those reasons.Brief mention of sexy games where one participant "pretends" to not want it (but they do. its consensual).

*~*~*~*~*~*

A little girl, 5 years old with smudges of chocolate on her cheeks, runs around the throne room of the palace as if she owns the place.

But he’s first in line to it, and yet watching the little sprite giggle and dance without a care in the world surrounded by walls of gold and glamour, he feels like a peasant. A equally foolish thought as neither of them will ever probably sit on that throne.

Guilt instantly floods Adrik at where his thoughts wandered. He loves his little sister, he truly does, but sometimes he can’t help but feel…inadequate, in comparison.

Especially when their father gazes at her with such utter adoration on his usually stoic face.

Aleksander (the Darkling Adrik muses when his thoughts are as particularly sour as they are now) is lounging on his throne in a rare show of casualness. His back is slumped, legs out stretched and crossed at the ankles, and his head perched atop a closed fist. And he’s smiling. The damn bastard is smiling.

It is hard to not smile at Mila, Adrik can’t fault his father that. But that the older man does it so openly and constantly is what has him on edge. Because Adrik knows, oh how he knows, his father has never once looked at him like that.

“You’re making the room dark,” a soft knowing voice says behind him.

On cue, Adrik’s shoulders slump and the shadows he hadn’t realized creeping up the walls vanish to nothing. He flushes slightly at the lapse of control as his mother affectionately bumps his shoulder. Well, at least tries to. One of the many gifts he inherited from his father was his height, so Alina manages to really just touch a little above his elbow.

“One of those days?” She asks all knowingly. He notices her lips curve into a smile as she gazes upon Mila who suddenly collapses onto Aleksander’s knees to animatedly tell him some story. He instantly picks her up to bring her onto his lap, where she continues to babble on and on.

Adrik shuffles on his feet, not really wanting to get into this conversation. He’s had it enough times with his mother to know it never leaves him feeling any better.

“Adrik…”

“Please,” He instantly cuts off, and looks at her imploring. The share the same brown eyes, one of the very few things Alina had passed onto him, and perhaps one of the top things Aleksander can’t stand about him. For her knows his father loves his mother more than anything in this world (Mila probably being a very close second), so to look upon Adrik and see the same eyes of the woman he loves, well, Aleksander has gotten very creative finding other places to point his gaze.

“It’s complicated.”

“I’ve heard the story, thank you.”

“But you just have to understand-”

“Mom,” Adrik sighs with exasperation, already backing up toward the grand doors. They had been left open but an impatient Mila (quite desperate to see her father and tell him about her day), so it had been easy for Adrik to had slid in and silently observe them after his own lessons. Though he is sure his father, master of shadows, was well aware who else occupied the room with them. While Aleksander didn’t give his son much affection, he didn’t care if he watched him bestow it on another. “I have to go.”

He didn’t. All that waited him was his empty and messy room, piles of books he was constantly devouring, and the daily decision whether to join the rest of his family for dinner later tonight.

Alina’s eyes, his eyes, shined with a recognizable sadness Adrik couldn’t bear to face. Because it wasn’t his fault he and his father had this relationship. It wasn’t. It was Aleksander’s, the Darkling’s, so if she wanted to guilt anyone then she best turn her gaze to behind her.

Alina continued to frown as her son disappeared from the throne room, and even as she turned to face the rest of her family. Mila had yet to notice her but the moment Adrik disappeared, Aleksander’s gaze instantly cut to her. Alina let him see the pain on her face, the consequences of the pained relationship he continued to foster between him and their son.

And as usual, Aleksander only responded to her with his cruel combination of indifference and resentment.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This is the story of the Darkling and Sun Summoner. Or at least, as history knows it, the first Darkling and Sun Summoner, and now the current Darkling and Sun Summoner.

Long ago, very, very long ago, the Darkling was a villain who wanted to hurt the world with the now gone Fold. The Sun Summoner was a heroine, rising up from seemingly nowhere and banishing both the wicked Fold and even more wicked Darkling.

But she gave her life to do it, and so these two powerful figures became nothing but names in history books. Well, one became a Saint, and eventually so did the other, but those are stories that some believe and others do not. And like all religious figures, people began to forget they were real people once too, and those saints became just names in prayers and scripture.

So, years pass.

Then Ravka, which had enjoyed such a time of peace and prosperity, was once again challenged by their neighbors. Countries who had once been their allies, now greedy again with want of power and land.

It starts in the South, with villages and towns burned to the ground and the people murdered with no prisoners taken. The North get shit a week later, with even more viciousness. Ravka is taken by surprise of these attacks, scrambles to protect both their borders, and it leaves them had it done once so long ago, weak and vulnerable.

But then in the South, after two months of this miserable fighting, an army is attacked with a light so blinding, the enemy soldiers fall to their knees screaming from their loss of sight. Their eyes were burnt to crisps, blood pouring down their cheeks.

The next day, in the North, an enemy army is swallowed whole by a cloud of darkness. No one knows what happened to them, but their screams of agony were enough to have no one venture to find out.

So, the light from the South and the darkness from the North began to fix the gaps the Ravkan army could not handle, till eventually, they met in the middle.

And the world learned a new Sun Summoner and Darkling had been born.

They win the wars for Ravka, and then they are rewarded with the thrones of Ravka. And once again, Ravka knows peace.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I don’t wish to speak about it,” Aleksander says to his reflection in the mirror. But he is actually addressing Alina, now sitting on their bed and lounging on their obscene amount of pillows. At Alina’s request, of course, as Aleksander could do with just the one.

“This can’t go on forever,” She shoots right back.

“Actually,” Now he turns, and shoots her a look he knows will grate her nerves. “It could go on forever.”

Because they were immortal, as was their children. The four of them, forever and ever.

“Aleksander,” Alina growls, in fact a bit more angry then he expected. “Maybe you misunderstood. I can’t have this go on forever.”

Aleksander bites back his own anger, knowing going head to head to his wife would lead nowhere good. “You’re as much to blame for this as I am.”

“Pompous ass!” She spits and darts up from her position on the pillows. She even grabs one to throw at his head. Aleksander casually dodges it with a tired sigh. “Everything I did, I did because of you! I was scared for Adrik’s life!”

“So you acted rashly, as usual, and followed the first immature thought that popped into your head!”

Instead of a pillow, a ball of light now shoots at his head. It takes a bit more maneuvering to dodge this, but after years living with his wife, Aleksander manages it.

“You saw him as threat,” Alina continues, scrambling off the bed to get on her feet. “A threat to your empire. A threat to us.”

Aleksander meets her in the middle of their bedroom, now not giving a damn if his anger spools out in vicious dark shadows swallowing the room. “It was meant to be you and me. Just you and me. And you went and had a child. You had no idea what could have happened, what he could have become-”

A sardonic laugh bit past her bared teeth. “As if I made a child by myself!”

Aleksander scoffs and moves past her, roughly untying his robe to get ready for bed. As if a peaceful sleep was even in the cards tonight.

“How can you act this way? Say these things when we have Mila? When you love Mila!”

“Don’t,” Aleksander warns, the room now nearly drenched in complete darkness. “Don’t bring her into this.”

“She’s just as much in this as Adrik is!” And with Alina’s scream comes her burst of light, banishing all of his shadows.

The room is now back to its natural hue, though the two Summoners within it are anything but back to normal.

“I kept him from you, yes. But not out of spite or whatever malicious thought you had in your head,” Alina begins, a poor attempt at calm with her teeth are still bared and her chest ispounding up and down. “It was because I was afraid. I wanted you both, and I didn’t know how to do it. So, I ran, and I stayed away, until I was sure that you understood how much he means to me.”

Aleksander deflates slightly at her words, but only slightly.

“And Sasha, you just don’t seem to realize. Without Adrik, you would have never known you could love Mila. Without Adrik, we wouldn’t have this family right now.” Alina takes a small step towards him, raising her hands. “Please, stop punishing him for something I did. Stop punishing him for shattering the image you’ve had in your head for centuries. Please.”

Oh, his wife, ever the proponent for peace. But how could he ever deny her anything? After all that laid between them, the years of pain and hate, they were now here. Together, married, and against all odds in love. Against all odds, with children. Aleksander was always aware that Adrik’s biggest sin towards him was being the first. The first to ever truly come between him and his Sun Summoner. The tracker has been the biggest nuisance, even the prince, and then the rest of their band of traitor Grishas. But they had never been true threats, not when he knew they would fall victim to time just as the rest of the world would. Just never him and Alina. Never them. But then came Adrik. And now Mila.

He supposes Alina is right, in a way (he would never concede she was ever wholly correct lest it go to her ego). Without Adrik, he wouldn’t have been so open to the idea Mila. Like her brother before her, she hadn’t been planned. But seeing how Adrik proved to be more of irritation than an actual threat (again, something he would never admit, and only recognized after Adrik’s second year living in the palace. He had been 17 then), Aleksander allowed himself to be curious over the prospect of another child.

And Mila had been something to behold. She still is.

And, apparently, Alina will no longer live in this delusion that Adrik didn’t pave the way to this new love Aleksander never fathomed he’d ever have.

Reaching forward, Aleksander takes his wife’s outstretched hands and brings her body against his own. Always so small in his arms, always so perfect. Meant to be. He supposes her suffering has gone on long enough. And how long before Mila’s innocence would wear off and she’d notice the bitterness between her father and brother?

It’s not as if he truly hates Adrik. No, only few people have had that curse upon them. Resentment, most of the time, and indifference when he was feeling indulgent. He’s noticed the boy’s worth and the similarities between he and his parents (They are both now the only shadow masters in the world).

“Fine,” He says into the crown of Alina’s head. He places a soft kiss there, and feels the small blessing in his arm exhale with relief. “Fine.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Adrink senses his father’s presence instantly, only a couple feet away at behind him.

He’s not sure if it’s because they’re related, or both shadow summoners, or because of the Morozova blood and magic flowing within them. He’s content to hate all three equally.

But it is unusual for the Darkling to grace his presence in Adrik’s class. Other Grisha classes, sure, it’s almost the norm he will appear at least once every two weeks. But Adrik’s students had to suffer because of who their teacher was, and Adrik was never rver sure if they resented him for that.

There is another 15 minutes left of class but when the Darkling makes it apparent he’s not leaving, Adrik can’t bear to be under his watch anymore. He’s used to being ignored, not the attention of his focus, and he feels he is wholly uncomfortable with this new sensation.

“Okay, that’s it for today,” Adrik announces tersely, clipping the book in his hands shut. They’re in the gardens today, something he likes to take advantage for class whenever the weather is nice. He teaches history, much to his mother’s delight. He never knew what Aleksander made of it as he never gave his opinion. Only a nod of the head that he acknowledged his choice in career. Adirk had always found the subject interesting seeing how his view on history had changed his whole life.

Normal farm boy to the son of a Sun Summoner, then to the actual original Sun Summoner turned Saint, which meant also being the child of the Dark Heretic. Now the present rulers of Ravka. It’s a lot.

“Read Chapter 5 for homework and write 5 political reasons Frejda targeted Ravka. And non Grisha related reasons, please.”

The class groans at that but quickly gather their things and scatter, happy for the early dismissal.

Adrik unnecessarily gathers his books and bag at a slow pace, still feeling the eyes of his father piercing his back the whole while. Of course he wouldn’t approach him first. No, Adrik would have to be the one to engage in this odd occurrence.

“Did you need something?” Adrik asks, swiftly turning around. He tenses as if preparing for a fight, and lets him aim stick to the dark boots Aleksander is wearing.

It’s a moment before the Darkling answers, and when he does it’s with the usual smooth unconcerned tone he takes with everyone else. “Not particularly.”

Adrik jerks his head in a nod. “Alright then, I have to go meet-”

“Walk with me.”

It’s not a request.

So Adrik follows after his father, feeling foolishly like a petulant child.

They go deeper into the gardens, devoid of any other humans. There are only flowers and insects to occupy the silence stretching between father and son, one that becomes louder and louder the more far away they get from the Little Palace.

Adrik hasn’t been afraid of violence from his father in a long time. Not since Alina told him the truth of who they were. Not since she gave him the reason that for the first 15 years of his life why they had to stay away from their true home and the man that created him.

But now, alone and so far away from everything else, Adrik feels the ghost of that fear whisper up his spine.

“Why non Grisha related?”

Adrik snaps out of his reverie and sees his father has stopped a few feet away from a stream. The older man claps his hands behind his back and stares out at the scenery, waiting for an answer.

“I-what?”

“The assignment you gave the class. You said non Grisha related reasons.”

“Well, because, there was more to it than that-”

“Yes, but even those reasons were born from the hatred they have of our kind.”

“Not all of Ravka is Grisha. They weren’t targeting a group of people but a whole country-” Adrik stops himself short. What is going on right now? He’s arguing history-with his father? Had this morning really been nothing but a dream he has yet to wake from?

Aleksander glances at him, clearly expecting him to finish his thought.

“What is this?” Adrik asks instead, feeling even more on edge.

“What is what?”

Alina often complained of her husband’s conversational tactics. Hedging, beating around the bush, double meanings, and making you reveal more of your thoughts than his own. “This,” Adrik growls. He is not in the mood for such games. “This walk and conversation. What is it you want?”

Aleksander again slips his gaze forward, and lets out what might be considered a sigh. “I am merely asking about your teaching methods-”

“You have never cared about them before,” Adrik interrupts. “Never cared about anything in regards to me before.”

“I know enough.” A careful decision to use the word “know” instead of “care”.

Adrik scoffs, ignoring anything that sentence might mean.

“You enjoy the gardens,” Aleksander continues unperturbed. “Not just for class, but whenever you have free time and the weather is amiable enough. You enjoy an unusual amount of vegetables with your meals, which I’m sure your mother was ecstatic about growing up. Your colleagues respect you but haven’t broached having more familiar relationships. And you have never said no to anything your mother and sister have ever asked of you.”

The silence between them shifts furiously quick into something much heavier than before. It’s not making Adrik’s muscles tense but his lungs burn, as if a wave of sudden and unexpected confusion is filling him up and making him drown into such deep depths he didn’t even know existed. Because his father knows things about them. Rattles them off with ease as if he is listing his duties for the day.

They’ve been living in the same space for years now, of course Aleksander must have known things about him. That’s it. Simple observation, nothing more or less. It couldn’t be anything more. He’s sure his mother had maybe even forced the information into his head.

Aleksander turns to him fully, not a father regarding a son, but a King regarding a subject. Or perhaps Adrik doesn’t know enough to tell the difference. “You hold back with your summoning. You’re not anywhere near what you’re capable of.”

Now that offense cuts through Adrik’s maddening confusion. “Excuse me?”

“I would know, obviously.” The smug bastard smirks and waves at the air as if swatting a bug, but really his is just conjuring a fleeting shadow.

Yes, they both share the gift for shadows while Mila followed in Alina’s footsteps with light. Another thing Adrik feels all too guilty about being resentful towards his little sister. Once, a long time ago, he thought that because he and Aleksander shared this gift it would soften the older man towards him. That hope had been dashed within a day.

“I’m perfectly fine summoning, thank you very much.”

“Your mother taught you. And I’m sure she did a fantastic job with it but at the end of the day she is a Sun Summoner, not a Shadow one.”

“She has used your power.” Adirk jabs.

Aleksander does not take the bait. “She has. But borrowing something from time to time is not the same as owning it. As growing up with it and learning to master it.”

This is quite enough for Adrik. He still hasn’t figured out why his father sought him out, or engaged with this growingly ridiculous conversation. He still doesn’t know what the Darkling wants. “Look, this is-I need to go.”

“We will train,” Aleksander declares, all King now. “Everyday, after your lessons are complete.”

“W-What?” Adrik sputters, all the more confused at every word his father is saying. But this? Planning actual time to spend with him? Alone?

Perhaps he truly has decided to kill him.

And now the Darkling does something truly, utterly impossible. Perhaps Adrik had already been Cut on the walk to the stream when he hadn’t been looking, and is dead in some afterlife now. The Darkling, his father, smiles at him. Perfect white teeth, lips curling with amusement.

“You do remind me of her,” He says with this smile, ruefully Adrik can’t help but notice. As if it hurts to admit this truth, that him costs him to say it aloud. “Stubborn. Easily flustered.”

Saints above, he’s blushing. “My mother is not easily flustered. Nor am I.”

“Perhaps she isn’t now, but before…when we first met,” Aleksander trails off and doesn’t continue. It’s seems he has already revealed too much of himself and isn’t willing to go further. He straightens his kefta. “Perhaps this can be a first meeting between us then.”

“But it’s not,” Adrik huffs pointedly. “And whatever you’re trying to do-did she put you up to this? Look, don’t force yourself on me. I don’t want your pity or false attention-”

Aleksander shakes his head. “I give nothing I don’t want to give. And though Alina would like to think she does, she doesn’t command me.”

Both men let that lie fall pitifully to the ground between them.

With a pointed cough, Aleskander slides past Adrik. “Tomorrow we start.”

“You don’t command me,” Adrik spits at the back of his black kefta. Now this, is not so much a lie. And quite a dangerous thing to say to the King, the Darkling, himself. Adrik almost regrets it…almost.

And the heaviness of the comment indeed has Aleksander stop, and turn to look at his son. “We will live for eternity. Your mother and I. You and Malina. If you wish to live that life at odds with me, then so be it. If you wish to foster this chasm in our family, that is your choice. Time is one thing I’ve never run out of, Adrik. Reject me today, in a month, in a year, in ten, in a hundred. There will always be more and more to come. You decide what you want to do with all that before you.”

Then he walks away.

Adrik is furious, confused, and as usual, alone.

And damn the man to hell, all Adrik can focus on is that is the first time he has ever heard his father say his name.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You put him up to it,” Adrik accuses, pulling on his kefta. Blue. He never had any inclination to request a black one, as his parents wear, nor did either of them offer it (both having different reasons of course). But his mother only wears it on formal occasions where nobles will be present, blue when she it a day that requires no royal obligations, and her signature golden and white one when she really wants to be seen and make a statement.

Mila dons a blue one due to her age, but tells absolutely anyone when she has the chance she can’t wait to have a black one just like Papa.

Alina, sitting at Adrik’s desk and leafing absently through one of his books, shrugs. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“I never suggested what he was to do with you, just that this cold war between you two needed to end.”

Adrik smooths his kefta down, knowing there is no dust or wrinkles on it, but feeling the need to anyway. “Guilty enough.”

“Guilty?” Mila echoes from Adrik’s bed. She’s on her back, messing up the quilts he had folded neatly this morning (one of the few things he likes kept in his room), and twirling two balls of light between her hands. Six years old and she already looks like a pro. Adrik doesn’t remember being so skilled with his shadows at that age. He remembers being afraid, mostly, and confused as to why he had the same curse of the horrid man they called the Black Heretic and Darkling.

“It’s when someone proves you did something.” Alina supplies. “Proves?” Mila continues to echoes.

Alina sends her daughter a bemused smile. “Remember when you ate all the cookies and said Adrik did it?”

Mila grows quiet at that, her balls of light flickering out, but she gives out a huff of confirmation.

“So, we went to Adrik’s room, but the cookie jar wasn’t there. Where was it moya solnishka?”

Mila just huffs again, crossing her arms across her chest and starring resolutely at the ceiling.

Adrik grins and bounds over to her, tickling her sides without mercy. “Where was it myshka? Hm? Tell me!”

A burst of giggles and indignation tumbles out of the small girl’s lips, but she’s smiling and squirming playfully under her brother’s hands. She good naturedly flashes some light at him, not enough to hurt, but Adrik just as quickly douses them with him much more powerful shadows. It is a game the two of them often enjoyed playing with each other.

“Mine!” Mila squeals when a Adrik directs a shadow to crawl between her exposed toes. “The cookie jar was in my room!”

Alina laughs as Adrik finally pulls away, patting her head with a wink.

“That’s what prove means, devachka maja,” A voice vibrates from the doorway. “When we found the cookie jar, we proved you ate the cookies, and not Adrik.”

It can’t be helped, Adrik flinches at the sound of his father’s voice. For more reason than one. Hearing his name on his lips again, the fact that Aleksander is physically in his room, or that the whole family is together and the usual tension isn’t there.

It’s a lot.

He straightens instinctively when he faces Aleksander, who is leaning against the fram of the door with a soft smile on his face. His grey eyes move from Alina, to Mila, and when they finally land on Adrik they take on a more keen glint. “You’re late.”

“I’m not!” Adrik blurts, but glances at the clock because he’s actually not sure. His last lesson ended only 15 minutes ago when he came here to get ready, exactly when his mother and sister barged in with Alina intent on knowing everything Aleksander had in store for him today. As if Adrik even knew himself.

The clock shows a minute is left until 4 pm, which, technically, isn’t late. But by the time Adrik would have made it to the gardens he supposes another two or three minutes would have passed. His father was a very punctual man. But if he was going to be late, surely the Darkling was as well since he was standing here with them all now.

Not that it would matter if Adrik pointed it out.

Aleksander seemed to read this exact thought in his mind for his grin turned wolfish.

Kind grin or not, the unexpected sight still makes his stomach squirm.

“Sasha,” Alina warns. She rises to her feet and sweeps over to him, reaching up to place a kiss to his cheek. “Be nice. Come now, Mila, we’ll have some lessons today as well!”

Mila bounces up with an excited squeal and hits the floor so hard every adult in the room flinches. But the structure of children apparently is that of steel for she doesn’t lose a beat and bounds after her mother. Of course, she tackles her father’s knees first, giving him a brutish hug of goodbye.

Aleksander smooths back her hair in return, and just before she releases him, she throws her unruly hair over her shoulder to look at Adrik.

“Adrik, I think Papa is trying to prove he loves you.”

Everyone in the room freezes. Alina is in the hallway but twirls around so quickly her hair looks like it almost hurt whipping her face. Aleksander’s whole posture has turned to stone, and he refuses to look away from the top of Mila’s head. Even Adrik doesn’t know what to do or where to look so he stands there, gapping like an idiot.

Mila doesn’t notice what she’s done at all, and looks up to Aleksander for some validation. “Right, Papa? Proves! Did I use the word right?”

Aleksander’s mouth opens a fraction, then closes. There is noticeable bob of his throat but then he returns to himself, smiling and again smoothing Mila’s hair back. The King of Ravka does not get caught off guard by a six year old. “Yes, love, you used it right.”

The little, innocent thing lets out a sound of pleasure and then detaches herself from Aleksander’s legs, running out of the room towards her mother. Alina is as pleased as a cat with a mouse in her claws, but wisely chooses not to disturb the moment more with any comment of her own. She’s lets her expression do it all, and silently guides her daughter away from sight.

Adrik is sure he doesn’t know how to move anymore.

The decision to dutifully ignore the moment comes from Aleksander who turns on his heel and simply orders “Come” over his shoulder.

Adrik near stumbles after him, trying to regain control of his senses. It meant nothing, he tells himself. Mila had learned a new word and had tested it out. Technically, yes, she had used the word properly. Her father couldn’t simply tell her otherwise and confuse the poor thing. But that didn’t mean the truth behind the statement was right. Aleksander had confirmed her vocabulary use, not observational skills.

That’s all it was. All it could truly be.

Right?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On most night, the royal family takes their dinner alone.

In her first life at the Little Palace, Alina had been used to eating with the other Grisha. The Darkling, of course, never bothered gracing them with their presence. And years and years later, now in this life, when she and Aleksander reunited and the distance between them, both physically and emotionally, didn’t seem so small anymore, she found herself in the little palace again.

This time not as the first Sun Summoner or eventual Sankta Alina, but the Queen of Ravka. She hadn’t wanted the title, she never did, but Ravka had grown lazy and greedy with the years of peace they had been given. They had ignored the murmurs of threat from their once enemies, grew naïve that the old alliances would stay strong.

Alina couldn’t stay quiet and hidden anymore when her country began to bleed.

Her immortality and return of powers had been a shock to her. It was the immortality, first, when Mal began to age and she didn’t. They both knew the truth when her hair never greyed, and her skin never sagged. They both cried silently, not needing to express the words of grief that they wouldn’t grow old together, and Alina would have to face the rest of eternity alone.

And when Mal finally did pass, Alina let out such a scream of agony that light exploded from her once again.

She didn’t think it had anything to do with Aleksander. She believed that maybe, once again, she had just pushed everything deep inside of her in a desperate plea for a normal life.

Alina never suspected her connection to Aleksander had anything to do it.

After freeing him from his cage of the tree, he had once again left the world, his form disappearing into a form of shadow and smoke. And that was that, apparently. No one had wanted to question it further.

But only a day after attacking Ravka’s enemy with her light, the news of the North being protected by shadow’s reached her ears.

It could only be one person.

So they reunited, with a common interest this time. Not only that, but Alina had been so tired and alone. So tired of being alone. She didn’t forgive him for the past, but she realized what he had been trying to tell her since the truth came out between them. They were infinite. Only them. And if one was alone, they so was the other.

Alina couldn’t bear it anymore.

Aleksander, of course, still had sights on the throne. And with the state Ravka was in, it would be easy for him to take this time. No bloodshed of his own people, no betrayal. He would be hailed a hero. But, of course, he also still wanted her by his side. Alina often wondered what he would choose if given the ultimatum. Of course, in their first life together, he had made that decision very plain. But Alina could see it in him now too. The weariness. The fear of being alone that mirrored her own.

There was also the undeniable connection, attraction, feelings, that Alina always tried to ignore. But it was there none the less. Perhaps she didn’t want to be alone, and neither did he, but there was also the fact that Aleskander wanted Alina and Alina wanted Aleksander.

So this time, together, they saved Ravka (Alina’s desire) and then ruled it (Aleksander’s).

A simple lie of being descendants of the first Sun and Shadow Summoners.

So, so simple.

After this life began, now not only Grisha but royalty, both Alina and Aleksander took dinner with the nobility, which included Grisha as well.

Then Adrik happened.

Then she was gone for 15 years, until she deemed Aleksander manageable enough to come back to.

Thus began family dinners.

It was a feeble attempt, Alina had to admit, to get father and son to bond. Also a condition she refused to budge on for her return to the Palace. Honestly, she didn’t think it would be so hard. Truly. She understood Aleksander’s (albeit foolish) thoughts but her husband was also a smart man. Surely he would learn to care for the child he had fathered.

Well, as she said, foolish.

But then Mila came and family dinners became more tolerable. Even pleasant on some nights. Father and son grew into routine with each other, ignoring the other’s presence unless conversation was necessary. Alina filled the gaps, and soon enough Mila.

But tonight’s dinner was a whole new world.

Because Aleksander was finally trying and Adrik was, well, suspicious but not outright rejecting the prospect.

Alina couldn’t hope for more.

“So how was training?” She says it causally enough as to not pressure the two men in her life, both as nervous as does in the forest ready to jump at the snap of any branch when it came to talking about their feelings.

It was funny actually. Adrik believed Aleksander resented him all the more because he saw so much of herself in him, when Alina couldn’t help but see so much Aleksander in him. Loveable idiots.

At the question, Adrik aggressively shovels more potatoes in his mouth while Aleksander shoots her an unamused look.

“Did you do good bratishka?” Mila asks with a mouthful of pork.

“Mila, chew and swallow,” Aleskander admonishes.

She does as told without fuss, still starring at Adrik waiting for an answer.

Blushing, Adrik mumbles, “It was fine” while poking at the steamed vegetables on his plate.

This doesn’t seem to appease the little princess. She looks to Aleksander all business like and asks with evident impatience, “Did he do good, Papa?”

“Fine,” He replies, which is essentially the same thing Adrik said, so obviously Mila is reaching her limit.

“I did very good today, didn’t I Mama?” She does not wait for Aline to answer. “Because today I was able to make a light as big as me. I’ve never done that before, right Mama? So, what did you do Adrik? Did you make a shadow as big as you?”

Alina snorts into her drink.

The red beneath Adrik’s skin deepens. “Ah-no, I didn’t do that. I-wait, I can do that, Mila. That’s not-that’s not special-”

“Alright than what did. You. Do?”

“Mila,” Aleksander admonishes for the second time in one sitting. And in Adrik’s defense no less. Both his children pause to gape at him. Mila may not totally understand what lies between the two of them, but she knows her Papa enough that he has never done something like this to her before.

“The Cut,” Adrik blurts out if only to rush over the awkwardness of the moment. “I learned the Cut.”

Alina furrows her brow. “But you do know the Cut. I taught you.”

“You taught him a variation of it, lyubov moya.” The pleasured teasing behind the words are not meant to be subtle. Now Aleksander looks all too smug, taking a long drag of his drink. “Albeit a very good one, but not quite what it could be.”

She gapes at him. “Excuse me? Do I need to demonstrate my Cut for you right here and now? I thought you’d be well acquainted with it by now.”

“Love,” Aleksander reaches across the table, grasping her now curled fist. “Your Cut could tear down palaces and mountains, we all know this. But yours is of light, ours is of dark. The same, generally, but not completely. It is no offense to your power or teaching.”

Alekasander’s soothing tone, the swipe of his thumb across her knuckles, and of course the logic of his words sooths Alina’s disgruntlement. Though Adrik could make a list of things wrong with his father that would take yards of parchment to write, his ability to sooth his mother would not be on it. Granted, he could just as equally ignite her fire, but the fact still stood.

Adirk doubted his father ever had love for him, but it was always painfully obvious that Alina was Alexander’s whole world.

Perhaps now, though, that world included Mila. Maybe, with enough time, even him.

Oh-what a foolish thought. Mila’s childishness was getting to him.

Bringing them all back to the present, Mila asked before biting a chunk of bread, “So you’re better at the cut now, bratishka?”

“I-yes. It is better.” There was no point in denying it. He hadn’t even realized how weak his Cut was until his father showed him. Adrik did damage, which he thought was enough. But there was quite a difference between damage and destruction.

Adrik’s cut sliced into a boulder, making a gash deep enough to stick your fingers into. But Aleksander’s cut the whole thing in half, with such precision that if you blinked you would miss the attack altogether.

Of course, Adrik had always been aware his mother’s Cut was more powerful than his. But he always just assumed it was because Alina was older and, to put it bluntly, stronger than he. It made sense. It had never occurred to him, and apparently his mother, that it was because she didn’t know how to truly call forth the darkness to bleed power into his hands and create a weapon that ensured death.

“Your mother,” Aleksander had told him earlier that day as Adrik gathered shadow after shadow to strengthen his Cut. “Thrives on light. Hope. Goodness. The dark does not survive on such things. It is weakened by them. Sense the shadows around you. Fear. Anger. The thoughts and feelings of the world that stick to corners and hide from others. Bay them to be at your command. Show them they need not hide as they are as strong and as powerful as everything else around them. Make them yours.”

The words had scared Adrik. They touched something deep inside him he did not understand. But he listened to his father’s teaching, focused on feelings he was all too familiar with, and created a Cut that didn’t quite go through a whole boulder but certainly ran deeper than his original one. A Cut, he awed while starring at his hands, that felt entirely different from the one his mother had taught him.

As Adrik recalled all this silently in his seat at the table, his confusion and fear over the incident must have showed on his face. For when looked up, Alina was staring intensely at him. There was a look in her eyes he didn’t recognize. At least, it was a look she had never given him. It was concern but mixed with a layer of suspicion that had a wave of irrational guilt pour down Adrik’s body. He avoided her gaze, not entirely sure why, and focused back on his food.

There were no more questions of their training for the rest of the meal.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aleksander’s hand is sliding up and down her back, applying enough pressure to not be considered idle or all that innocent.

“You’ve been quiet since dinner,” He observes, his voice thick with either sleep or something else. The way he stops to toy with the hem of the upper part of her nightgown hints at the latter.

She remains leaning forward, hunched over her upright knee to rub some cream onto her lower calve and ankle. She does not answer his words nor the not so subtle touches.

“Alina.”

Still she remains silent, rubbing into her skin.

His relents his touch. “If you’re going to be like this, I can go to my own room.”

A petty threat, one that they have both have used against each other from time to time. They share a bedroom, for all intents and purposes, and the largest one in the palace at that. The King of Ravka would have no less (though the Queen certainly did not care). But they are both hot headed, stubborn fools, and when living with a person for all eternity, not every night will always be pleasant. So, each have claimed individual bedrooms in the castle, nothing that would disturb or throw out anyone else, but just places they can retreat to when they need to be alone. Or when their better half is being an insufferable pain.

In Alina’s opinion, she is most certainly always the better half.

So Aleksander make’s his threat, stops his barely begun seduction, but doesn’t move from the bed.

Alina smirks into the skin of her knee. The ball is still in her court.

“Alina,” He tries again, now growling with reprimand.

“I am not Mila. Do not scold me like a child.”

“When you act this way-”

“You always say this. I understand you’re older, dedushka, but certainly at this point I have earned enough years to not be a child in your eyes.”

She gasps as her back is roughly pulled down onto the bed and Aleksander is suddenly on top of her, his hands pinning her arms against the mattress and one of his knees pushing up between her legs.

Alina gasps again when his knee connects with her core, and grows embarrassingly wet embarrassingly quick as he rubs.

Aleksander’s grey eyes grow positively black as he gazes hungrily down the length of her body. “You are certainly not a child in my eyes, love.”

Her nightgown is a bit flimsy tonight, Alina can’t deny it, but she did it to punish Aleksander, not seduce him. Because the conversation she wants to have-needs to have-with him has to have her with the upper hand, not the other way around. So far, it’s going spectacularly terrible.

Aleksander leans down to suck a wet kiss to the juncture of her neck. Alina tries to wiggle away but then his teeth begin to scrape at her skin. “No, stop.”

“You don’t want me to stop,” He whispers against her ear, then sucks the lobe into his mouth.

Pleasure unfurls all the way down to her toes, and she can’t help but grind into his knee. She had forgone an undergarment tonight as well, another foolish choice coming to haunt her. There is nothing but skin against skin down there, and the growing evidence of her arousal.

“Aleksander,” She tries again. It’s a weak protest even to her own ears.

“Is this the game we are playing tonight, solnishka? That I’m the big bad villain come to force himself upon the oh so innocent maiden?”

A game they have played before, and one Alina likes far more than she cares to admit.

“Or is it you’re the pious Sankta, unable to give her maidenhood to the dark demon but can’t help but want it so bad.”

That elicits a fresh gush of pleasure onto his knee.

Aleksander groans and practically devours her mouth with his. Alina is at a loss now. She forgets the conversation they needed to have. Forgets the fear that had taken route in her mind when she saw Adri’s face at dinner. Forgets everything and anything but the man atop her and the need for more screaming in her blood.

“Sankta,” Aleksander breathes against her lips as he pulls away.

“Worship me,” She answers just as breathlessly, falling easily into the role that her husband-her demon-has offered her. “Get on your knees and worship me.”

“Then I can have you?” He bargains, releasing one arm to roughly cup her breast. His thumb circles around her nipple through the silk of her gown, steadily applying pressure. “Then I can ruin you? Fuck you until there is nothing holy about you? Fuck you until you’re mine? Fuck you until you know nothing in this world but me?”

Their games always have an element of reality to them. Their own insecurities, their raw and ever present desperate needs, demand to be appeased, no matter what the situation.

“Yes,” Alina near screams. She ruts against his knee, arches into his hand. Weeps with the need to come undone. Honestly, Alina would be embarrassed if she had any sense at the moment. These touches were innocent compared to other things Aleksander has done to her. “Give it to me, and I’ll give you everything.”

“Everything?” Aleksander continues to taunt. Oh, he is truly playing into this demon role tonight. But he releases her other arm and backs up, lower down the bed, down her body.

Alina is already pulling up her night gown, exposing her sex to him. She raises her hips up in invitation, vigorously nodding her head.

Aleksander lowers his head down to her cunt, and blows lightly. It makes Alina whine, but he does nothing else. “Tell me, Sankta. I need to hear your words. I will not touch your body till you permit me to do so.”

She already had, she thinks petulantly. But pointing that out will not get her what she wants. “Fuck me with your mouth,” Alina demands, again tilting up her hips. “Give me release.”

Aleksander grins as if he were the devil himself. “As my Sankta wishes.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, they are both naked and draped over each with little energy left in their bodies. They fucked more than they slept, so any hopes of a productive morning, even a productive day, seem close to impossible.

That’s okay. Being the King and Queen gives you these reprieves once in a while.

What will never give them a reprieve, though, is their responsibility of being parents.

The bedroom door bursts open to a wailing Mila and a frantic looking Adrik chasing after her.

Adrik, at least, stops dead in his tracks when he sees his parents. Specifically, his mother’s bare back as she lays face down against his father’s exposed chest. Mila doesn’t have the sense, yet, to realize the position they are in. So, she barrels into the bed, throwing herself against Alina’s back and clutching onto it for dear life.

“Mila!” Aleskander exclaims, both in shock and admonishment. Honestly, he’s not sure what to do considering his own state of undress, so he holds his wife tight to his body, less any inappropriate parts of himself get exposed to his children.

Alina also clutches tightly to her husband for the same reason. Perhaps, had it just been Mila in the room, she would have rolled over quickly to grab something to cover herself. Aleksander could have done the same quick maneuver.

But Adrik is here so that’s not really an option right now.

“Mama he hurt Adrik!” Mila cries into her mother’s back.

It’s then, as the shock minimizes only just slightly, that both parents notice the thin stream of blood slinking out of their son’s nose.

“Who?” Aleksander demands immediately.

Is it because Adrik is his son and he’s hurt? No, it is too early for that, Aleksander decides resolutely. No, it’s because someone dared touch his son, the Darkling’s blood, and that someone dared touch the prince of Ravka. It’s an offense on many fronts.

Aleksander, an expert at reading people’s expressions, can see Adrik doesn’t believe his question comes from genuine concern either. His son, in fact, looks positively annoyed that he questioned the situation at all. “It’s nothing,” Adrik states with a finality that borders on Aleksander’s own talent at ending conversations.

Alina shifts uncomfortably between the bodies of her husband and sobbing daughter. “Something clearly happened,” She manages to strangle out, still trying to figure the best way out of her predicament.

Mila suddenly stops her wailing, though the sniffles can’t be contained, and raises her head to look her father dead in the eye. “It was Dimitri, Papa. Punish him.”

She sounds like a truly ruthless princess there.

“Mila,” Adrik warns.

Aleksander answers his daughter’s steely glare with his own terrifying one. One that no one, but perhaps Alina, knows not to barter with. “Mila, off your mother. Now.”

His daughter gives a glower that may be a combination of both her parents, but she does as she’s told and slides off the bed. She stomps over to her brother, embracing his legs as her height will only allow. “I wish I was a healer and could help you,” She mumbles into his pants.

Adrik smiles down at her and cradles the back of her head, whispering a soft, “Thank you.” And, without her notice, angles them away from the sight of their naked parents.

Alina and Aleksander move quick, grabbing whatever clothes are close and available.

Clothed within moments, they are both standing and are now ready to face to their children.

“What happened?” Alina asks, not as the sympathetic mother but as a clearly pissed off one.

“Really,” Adrik beings, turning back toward them. “It’s nothing. Mila is overreacting. We’ll go, it’s early. Um, you both can-ah, eat breakfast or, whatever it is you both do…this early. We’ll go-”

“No!” Mila shouts and stomps her foot on the ground. “He made you bleed.”

“Tell me Mila,” Aleksander commands softly. Mila is too young to notice the difference between this and a question. Too young that his gentle tone tricks her all too easily.

Alina shoots him a look of warning, while Adrik looks resigned. Her son is wary of his father’s manipulations but at least aware. Not Mila, not yet. Alina doesn’t want Mila to follow down her footsteps, to be a preening fool for the love and attention of the man that is Aleskander Morozova. She’s told him as much as well and though he tries, his old immortal self and his ways is hard to shake. Understandable, but doesn’t make her any less angry. Especially when it comes to their young daughter.

“I was hungry,” Mila begins with one large sniff. “And you and Papa were still sleeping. So, I went down to the kitchens.”

“Mila,” Adrik says. His breathing is labored.

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay, I ran. But I was very hungry. And I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Really, I didn’t. But when I opened the door it hit a lady cook and it made her drop a whole bunch of flour onto the floor.” She pauses here, her guilt over the situation making her quiet rather than verbally express any apologies. “I said I would help clean. Really, I did. But-”

“But I followed her,” Adrik interrupts. He’s trembling, white in the face. “Saw her running down the hall. We both offered to help clean. Dimitri misinterpreted the situation is all. There’s really nothing more-”

“Doesn’t explain your bloody nose,” Aleksander says coolly. He looks at his son, excepting nothing more but the truth with his unrelenting gaze.

Adrik grows small but also rebellious under his gaze. He doesn’t need his father to fight his battles. If he said it was nothing, if it was done, that should be it. He sure as hell knows Aleksadner’s not concerned about his well-being. It’s their image, is all. The Darkling’s family. The King’s family. Nothing more.

“Dimitri thought I did it on purpose!” Mila growls out. As much as a six year old can growl. “He doesn’t like me. So he thinks I hurt the lady cook on purpose. I would never do that, Mama and Papa! Promise I wouldn’t! So he grabbed my arm, and it hurt, so Adrik pushed him and then-”

Dimitri is a heartrender, one of Aleksadner’s close inner group of soldiers. Just as Ivan had been so many years ago. The new Ivan, Alina had huffed so often. Just as grumpy and cold, and vicious when need be. And, apparently, just as distasteful of Sun Summoners.

“A misunderstanding, as I said,” Adrik once again interrupts. “Mila, time to go. Mama and…Papa, need to get ready for the day.” He’s never said that word. Ever. Even to Mila, he’s always said father. As formal and detached as possible. But right now, he just wants the conversation over and done with. To be out of this room, Mila with him. To forget everything that has happened this morning thus far.

He needs to foregt.

Mila huffs and crosses her arms across her chest. She looks like a furious little doll in her puffy nightdress. Amusing and adorable under any other circumstances. Her hair is in a messy braid ruined by her sleep. Hair as black as her father, eyes as grey as well. She looks much more like Aleksander than Alina. But perhaps she’ll inherit their mother’s petite height, as he gained their father’s tall one. Always an interesting game to compare who got what. And right now, as she stands stubbornly still in the middle of their parent’s bedroom, Adrik isn’t sure who she is taking after.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Adrik tries again. “Go to your room and we can eat in your bed. Toast, berries, eggs, and maybe I’ll sneak in some cookies. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll even read you a story.”

Both Alina and Aleksander watch as their fiery daughter sizzles at her brother’s words. It’s a feat even for Aleksander to accomplish. There is still sense of retribution in her eyes, but breakfast in bed with her brother and a promise of a story is apparently too good an opportunity to pass up. “Will you make the shadows play on the wall with the story?” She asks, trying to act as if she isn’t too interested.

“Promise,” Adrik says very seriously.

So, Mila nods her head and leaves the room, still huffing and clutching her arms to her chest. What a princess she will be. Even a Queen, if her parents ever decide to step down. Adrik goes to follow her but is stopped when a shadow slams the door shut.

He tenses at the display of power, his own rising instinctively in defense.

“No need for that,” Aleksander states. “Though a very appropriate response.”

Alina looks troubled at both their reactions.

The King clasps his hands behind his back. Not too threating in his night clothes, but it’s the man beneath them that is the true threat. “Now what truly happened? No beating around the bush, please.”

Adrik clenches his hands into fists, and can’t help but sense every shadow in the room he can all to his defense. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to banish them and the memory of this morning. But all there is to feel is how out of control of these situations he is. Just as he had in the hallway with Dimitri. Just as he had when that man dared try to touch his sister again-

“Adrik!” Alina hisses.

Adrik’s eyes flash open to see the bedroom has been bathed in darkness. An all-consuming, suffocating one, not just simply blocking out the light of the morning but one that is creeping towards the human occupants of the room to ensnare them in its thrall as well. To devour them. His mother. His father. Him. Adrik calls them back immediately, left feeling horrified at unconsciously using them to begin with. At how out of control they had become by his order.

“Mama?” He whispers, not knowing what he had just unleashed. He has never lost control like that. Ever. There is nothing but fear now for Adrik to feel. Nothing but misery and-

Alina all but slams her body against his, enveloping him in a warm comforting embrace.

“Moy syn,” She murmurs into his shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Adrik suddenly wants to cry, even his father is there to witness a few feet away. He feels like he’s done something awful-terrible-and opened the door to something that can’t be closed. But no, it didn’t just happen now. It happened before. With Dimitri. In that hallway with no one but his sister to witness. Oh Saints, his poor sister. No wonder she was sobbing. No wonder she was so afraid-

“Why?” Alina whispers. She is trembling just as hard as him. “What did you do, love?”

Adrik gasps. He was talking out loud. His conscious, so maddened, bled out into his voice. Saints. His mother hasn’t relented her hold on him, but his father hasn’t moved an inch. He’s looking at him with….Saints, Adrik just doesn’t know. He thought himself quite skilled at knowing his father’s expressions pretty well but this? He has no idea. Curiosity? Repulsion? Disgust? Pride? It’s all mixed, all unsure. It makes Adrik feel even worse.

“Tell us Adrik,” Aleksander prompts. Command, not question. He’s not Mila. He won’t be fooled. He won’t answer if he doesn’t want to. He won’t.

His mother, who knows him best in this world, who is the one he will always love most, senses his hesitation. “Please, love,” She begs. The Sun Summoner, Sankta Alina, is begging. It’s enough to make him bow down to his knees and ask for forgiveness. Perhaps he is more like his father than he cares to admit. How could he ever deny this woman anything? “He touched Mila,” Adrik begins tersely. As his lips move he realizes he’s crying. Saints. “Grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the kitchen.”

Shadows, again, begin to crawl up the walls of the room. Adrik isn’t entirely sure they are his. Aleksadner isn’t entirely sure either.

“It was…a misunderstanding. It was. But, Saints, he’s always been an ass, hasn’t he? He’s never been kind to me and certainly not to Mila. Thinks she’s a little entitled brat. That we both are, being the children of-” He stops there, but looks at the King, providing all the answer needed.

The room is still growing darker, and Alina is doing nothing to stop it. Perhaps she’s numbed her light. Perhaps she’s event tapped into the bond between she and Aleksander, summoning her rage into her own personal shadows.

Aleksander takes a step towards them. “Go on.”

“He threw her to the ground,” Adrik continues. The scene takes shape in his head, and he’s there again. Seeing this man, this outsider, offend a person he loves. His family. “Maybe he thought it wouldn’t hurt. But she’s a child. What the hell did he think was going to happen?” Rage overcomes his misery in the blink of an eye. Adrik no longer is afraid of himself, and his decisions. He feels suddenly…calm. So eerily and utterly calm. “What did he think?” Adrik muses, to himself or his parents, he doesn’t know. His voice, though, is no longer trembling. “That he, a grown man, could just push a child around like that? That he could manhandle her like that? His princess? My sister?”

Aleksander is close now. Oh, so close. Alina hasn’t moved, her cries continuing to wet Adrik’s shoulder. But her son’s attention is solely on his father now. Watching his response to his words. His…acceptance of them.

“I…I didn’t think. I just felt. Like you told me. The anger and-and fear. Everything that shouldn’t be hidden, that should be in the light, that should be so powerful.”

Alina pulls away now, not sure who it is she’s holding onto so dearly anymore. This is not her son. This is not Adrik. This man…these words….they are…

Now, Aleksander is at her back. His heat pouring into her body. But it’s not she he reaches out to. No, it’s not, and instantly it makes her feel as cold as ice. “You did as you should have,” the Darkling says into the room of black. No sun, no life, no love. Just black and shadow and never ending despair. “No one should ever, and will never, touch our family.”

Alina stares helplessly at her son’s face as he looks straight at Aleksander. Under any other circumstance, she would have reveled in this. That finally-finally-the two men she loves most in this life have formed a bond between each other. But not like this. Saints, never like this.

“I didn’t mean to,” Adrik admits, and now he looks down at his mother, some shame finally entering his gaze. “Truly I didn’t. It’s just…Saints, Mama. The look on his face, if you only just saw it! I know he would have hit her if he thought he could get away with it. I know he would have.”

Alina doesn’t know what to say. She wants to tell her child, her love, her first born, that it will be okay. More than anything in this world, she does. But within a day, a night, life have shifted. So much that she doesn’t know what to do or how to handle it. She wanted Adrik and Aleksadner to get close. Of course, she did. But not like this. Never like this. This-this monstrosity of a situation-is what she wanted to address last night. But then she had been so weak, so foolish, and so stupidly, fucking unforgivably horney.

It’s moments like these she remembers why a part of her will always hate Aleksander. Why an a part of her will always hate herself.

“Adrik,” Aleksander says into the dark.

Alina could banish these shadows if she wished. With only a simple thought in her mind and touch of her hands. End this madness before it festered any more. She could. She should. And yet…yet she looks at her son, hoping he would make the decision for himself. She raised him for fifteen years without Aleksander. Without his influence, darkness, or greed. Could he not see what was right and good himself? Couldn’t he make this all so important decision without her influence?

“Adrik,” Aleksander says once more. “Did you kill him?”

Alina knows the answer right away, before Adrik has a chance to respond with his body or words.

“Yes,” Her son whispers. “I did. I Cut him. I Cut him when I saw Mila cowering on the floor and his hands raised to harm her.”

Maybe Dimitri had been aiming to slow her heart and calm her nerves. Keep her fury at bay. Any other reason that didn’t involve unnecessarily harming her. Maybe. But Adrik hadn’t bothered to think that way. He saw a threat, and he acted.

“And your bloody nose?” Aleksander was relentless tonight. Determined to have every detail, apparently. Every little scrap of story to this tragedy. But…but-no, no that isn’t it. Alina sucks in a breath. This is a game. His game. This is not for information, this is not him prodding to understand the situation. This is his way to…sway Adrik. Oh. Oh Saints. Alina realizes it much too late. So foolishly so late. She always wanted to believe in the prospect of light in her husband’s heart. That he would one day love his son. And maybe he would. One day. Saints knows it took him time to fall in love with her, and realize that was more important than what she could gain him. But Adrik had yet to reach that stage and Aleksander was still the foolishly, selfish immortal he was.

Aleksander relented to her wishes to connect with Adrik, but of course he found a way to do it to his benefit. Mila already loved her father and Adrik did not. Adrik, the only other Shadow Summoner in the world. Alina believed herself to always be Aleksander’s equal but perhaps, Saints, perhaps she and he had been wrong about that.

“He tried to defend himself,” Adrik says quietly. “He attacked me. Stopped my heart from beating. But I was stronger. Everything I was feeling was so much stronger. I couldn’t breathe but I knew without a doubt that I would slice this man in half. Just as you taught me.” Adrik breaks down again, this time falling to his knees and pushing his face into his mother’s stomach. “Mama, I killed him. I Cut him in half but when he fell to the ground, his face kept moving. Spit and words kept coming out of his mouth. I-I didn’t move quick enough. I tried to fix it-”

Then the true killing blow of the conversation comes.

Maybe Aleksander knew, from the beginning, how this tale was going to end. How he did, Alina could would never know. But her husband has always had the uncanny talent of foresight, which she has only resented him for, and never admired. For when Adrik finishes his tale, Aleksander doesn’t flinch once. Not once.

“I went to Mila, to help her. I didn’t look behind me. I didn’t want to see what I did,” Adrik closes his eyes. His hands reach out for something that isn’t there. “But she saw. She…saw what I had done. Saw that the man I had killed wasn’t quite dead yet. She didn’t understand. How could she?” Adrik shutters. And then, Alina watches almost in a daze, as Aleksander’s hand wraps around the base of their son’s head, and cradles him. Alina can’t move, for so many reasons.

Adrik closes his eyes and beyond all reason, leans into his father’s embrace. “She saw a half corpse, clinging onto life, look at her brother with hatred. He wasn’t a threat. Any normal adult would have known that. But she’s a child. She doesn’t…doesn’t realize…” Adrik sucks in a breath, “She Cut him. A half body. An already dead man. Sliced his head clear from his chest. She doesn’t even know how to do that but she did. And-and she just-just thought nothing of it. She ran in here crying about me. That I was the victim in this whole situation. I’m not sure she knows what she’s done. Or she does and doesn’t care? Saints, all she cares about now is breakfast. Mama, I don’t know. I don’t know and I’m so sorry and-” Adrik truly shutters here. A violent tremble that rocks his whole body. Alina can’t bear to see what he’ll do next, so she closes her eyes. To him. To all of it.

“Papa, help me. Help us.”

The statement bears a weight so heavy, that all three of them don’t know what to truly do with it.

“Aleksander,” Alina sobs, far beyond her pride and caring.

“I will take care of it,” Her husband says, without any fear or hesitation. “I will take care of it.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It is the next day.

Nothing is the same. And yet, everything is.

No one questions Dimitri’s absence. There are no whispers of a cook hit in the face by a door pushed by the princess the next day. There is nothing but normalcy.

Mila, for her part, doesn’t acknowledge what she’s done. No one is sure what to make of this. Adrik is miserable, of course, and Alina and Aleksander beyond cautious. Perhaps, in the small girl’s head, she vanquished an evil man. Perhaps. And maybe when she grows old and her brain matures, this will all come back to haunt them and her. No one knows.

But Adrik. Oh, poor Adrik.

He keeps to his room. Barely teaches his classes. He’s killed a man for the first time, and then bares the weight of his sister adding on to the evil deed. Bares the weight of his sister not knowing what she’s truly done.

Adrik is a ghost now.

“This is your fault,” Alina says one morning as Aleskander is dressing himself for the day.

He pauses briefly, at the second button of his kefta, before resuming. “Elaborate?”

“You taught him about darkness. About hate. My Adrik would never kill a man. Not before he was taught by you.”

She doesn’t care if her words hurt. That it creates a split between them. A rupture between their family had already happened. She’s just note sure who is on what side now.

“He is a Shadow Summoner. He must know these things.”

“You made him a killer!” Alina growls.

“And our daughter? You’re the only one to have taught her, is she my fault as well?”

Tears pool in Alina’s eyes. “No, that’s not-she didn’t know what she was doing-”

“Our children are killers, with or without each other’s influence,” Aleksander states as a matter of fact. He moves forward and grips her by the arms. “You had Adrik your whole life, and I had Mila. They still both chose to kill that man.”

“You taught Adrik to hate!” Alina protests, outwardly crying now. She grips her husband’s wrists, and lets sun pour from her veins and sear his skin. Aleksander doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He takes the pain, the burn, everything Alina will give him. He deserves it. All of it. She’s right. Perhaps he’s not all to blame, but some of it rests on his shoulders. His children may have been innocent babes had they never met him.

“When you taught him the Cut,” Alina continues, uncaring of anything else. “You taught him things I never would. Of darkness and anger-”

“That is what the dark is!” Aleksander explodes, breaking his cold demeanor. “This is what you always failed to accept! Always denied to know! The dark is part of me. Part of us. And now, our children. Alina, if there was ever a moment that you had to put your insufferable need to be a savior aside, now would be it. You are always so quick to forget how close to being a good man I could be, and how close to being a monster you are.”

“Aleksander-”

“This is immortality, Alina. We are not good or bad, dark or evil. We just are. You ran away with Adrik because you thought I could not handle it. But look at yourself now. He has chosen a path in life and now you can not handle it. Mila has done the same. It was meant to just be you and I but you chose to have more.” Aleksander calms now. “We chose to have more. Now we must accept the consequences of our actions. Whatever they may be.”

Alina growls like a feral beast.

“Oh, my love,” Aleskander purrs. “The best has yet to come.”

[pjmendez]

Black Don’t Crack (2017)

My name is Paul. I’m thirty-five, and currently quite tired. I’m a writer. I write on all kinds of subjects, from football to class to race to food. I refuse to do anything else. But mostly I’m concerned about whether I’ve gone out and left the grill on.

I’d love to be like Virginia Woolf, and have money and a room of my own. Or rather, Marcel Proust, and have money and a big bed in a soundproofed room, with a housekeeper to leave me alone otherwise but bring me tea and toast at the trill of a bell when I’m hungry but too preoccupied writing to get it myself. The danger, when I’m writing, is that I don’t eat, because I’m always in the middle of a thought and my abdominal grumblings are simply an annoying interruption. If only someone had invented a machine I could wear as a helmet that would read my thoughts and enter them into a system as text so that I could edit with one hand and eat with the other, my life would be perfect. Humans have got to where they are, relative to other species, based almost entirely on their talent for problem-solving. They struggled to shift things, so they invented the wheel. Eating raw meat must’ve jarred their stomachs, so they invented fire. The wheel became a car; the fire became a grill.

Tea and toast. I don’t want for much. I get branded a diva, mostly by white people in clubs who look for me to start vogueing my limbs out like a mantis as soon as the house beat drops, so that they can stand next to me and copy, but really, nothing could be further from the truth. I come from humble beginnings. My father is a waste man, spending most of my childhood delivering skipfuls of trash to the local landfill. Even my mother, much as she loved him, much as he provided for her and for us all, used to tease him with that spiteful West Indian epithet, especially on hot and/or moist days when he’d come home from work stinking of sweat and chemical detritus, walking on two-inch-thick platforms of solid mud. She was wrong to join his hecklers, even if she was just joking. If he was that kind of waste man, he wouldn’t have stayed with her. He’d have jumped off like so many other men did their newly-pregnant girlfriends.

I didn’t know anything about any of that when I was growing up. I didn’t even realise until I was much older that the term “waste man” was used in the pejorative. Such are the subtle hands that sculpt you as you grow, and you realise, too late, that the unsightlier marks and creases are ultimately the product of your own ignorance. I can’t see myself unless I look in the mirror, and when I do, all I see is Paul Mendez, another day older. I don’t see black history. I don’t see servility. I don’t see the jobs that rich/white people pay poor/black people to do that they feel are beneath them. I do, however, see my father’s face in mine. All through my childhood, the people who knew us would constantly remark how I was the spitting image of him, and how, when I was fourteen, I looked exactly like he did at that age, how it was frightening that I was basically his “reincarnation”, they’d say, snatching furtive glances around to make sure none of the elders were hearing them speak heretically, even as my father, hoping one day to become an elder himself, stood just metres away, engaged in another conversation, probably about me, very much alive.

Sometimes I try to remember what my father looked like when he was thirty-five and use that hazy, idealised image as a yardstick to determine how time might have weathered me. Most people are shocked when I tell them my age. They think I look ridiculously young, especially when I’m clean-shaven. Sometimes I have to get my ID out as proof. I know I shouldn’t feel like I have to do that but people think I’m lying otherwise, screaming out for attention, opening up all kinds of fleurs du mal in their minds about me – why would I age myself so startlingly? Using which formula did I land upon such an undesirable number as thirty-five? What kind of mentally-ill black person am I? So I show them my ID and they look up at me with their eyes wide and their mouths open and look back down at my ID, sometimes even snatching it out of my hand, and I can actually hear the incremental clicks of the cogs in their brains calculating the math across the hinge of two millennia; finally, just about satisfied I’m telling the truth – notwithstanding the clear possibility that I’m an Afro-immigrant-stroke-refugee with stolen papers who’d paid outright for elocution lessons in order to become so breezily British-passing – they look up at me in disbelief, and with learned raised eyebrows and dramatic side-necks, dismissively recite those same six words: well, you know. Black don’t crack!

I used to take them as a compliment – I’m proud of the way I look – but eventually, I realised that black don’t crack is simply a meme, a button, a disengagement calculated to deny me, as an individual, my right to be acclaimed for my own traits, because, first of all, at least to my eyes, I look younger than a lot of black people of lesser age. Not only that; by dismissing my youthfulness as an easily-explained function of blackness, those people are, as per usual, forcing me to judge myself by their standards. Any book on Darwinian evolution, such as those I myself rushed to the nearest library to seek out upon hearing my inherited beliefs about creation completely trashed – stop! my heart! – by an older white man who seemed terribly sure of himself, will depict a hirsute primate, almost on all fours, miraculously, over hundreds of thousands of years, blossoming into a refined, upright, yoga-trained white man whose culture and beauty standards speak for us all, and to whom we are all thus compared and subject. A thirty-five year-old man should look, at their best, the way a thirty-five year-old European man should look – grown, manly, grave, preoccupied, dignified, strong. To be anything less is to have failed; to be more is to be the subject of snide jealousy, tempered by the realisation that while black skin wins when it comes to physical ageing, serious white men have demonstrably won at everything else. This is the sort of realisation, compounded upon each and every new complacent microagression, that indeed does crack black, but from the inside.