#mannerisms that are unlike those if the men in his life and thus difficult for them to understand

[asmo-cosmetics]

sorry i'm just thinking about how hilarious it is that the arcana, a game that is meant to be set in a universe free of transphobia, somehow accidentally created a character with all the hallmarks of a trans guy with eldest daughter syndrome (lucio morgasson)

[gayregis]

Hey! I love your opinions on the books :) I’m having trouble grasping some of the characterization of the book characters, so maybe you’d understand better xD. What would you say the main characters’ flaws are?

omg i love this... ok for context these “flaws” do not necessarily equate to “qualities that are bad to have, make them bad people, and need to be fixed” but rather “qualities that are their character flaws in the narrative and contribute to the story”:

main characters, like the main 4 characters:

geralt: geralt is defined by insecurity, self-doubt, and self-loathing which stems from him being abandoned by his biological mother when he was a child and becoming a witcher, which is a reviled profession and caste and makes others shun him and dislike his company. he is also affected by being a witcher because he is morally opposed to killing, but his job is to kill, so he carries a lot of inner guilt and more self-loathing from this. this cocktail of nsecurity manifests mostly in him leaving people who care about him a lot and need his presence, and also in him shunning the company of others who want and need to be with him (leaving and shunning are different in my opinion... in leaving, he’s already been with them for some time, in shunning, they are trying to join him). examples of this are things like leaving yennefer in a shard of ice, leaving ciri in the sword of destiny, and not wanting to accept dandelion, milva, regis, and cahir’s company in baptism of fire. he basically thinks that he can only bring misfortune and death to others, so by being around them, he puts them in danger... he’s self-isolating...

yennefer: yennefer is also defined by insecurity, but to her, she herself isn’t the source of peril - others are. because she suffered such horrible child abuse and really had no one to sincerely trust and form extremely close relationships with as she aged (sorcerers and sorceresses are infamous for their cattiness ... as we see with someone like sabrina, i feel like her life on thanedd island was more like a bad high school experience rather than a good one. thus, yennefer is hesitant to truly let people into her life, because she doesn’t want to be hurt. she has “a heart of ice” - of course, not really - it can be “melted,” so to speak, but she’s “frozen” it to protect herself. she as a sorceress also experiences some antagonization (and she can’t even often find comradery in her colleagues unlike geralt who can go back to his brothers at kaer morhen), so she’s kind of stuck. i would say both geralt and yennefer also suffer from a little immaturity, especially regarding their relationship, because they’ve just simply never really had a relationship like theirs before and so it’s difficult to understand how to make it work past the honeymoon stage.

dandelion: dandelion’s flaws are that he has no flaws ... or so that he’d like to think. it’s important to separate character flaws from generally looked down upon qualities when it comes to dandelion. he’s filled with qualities that are less than desirable in a person, but are comical to the reader: he’s a glutton, he’s lecherous, he’s arrogant, he’s liable to spend all of his money on beers and new clothes than paying rent (if he had... a place he rented). as geralt says in a little sacrifice, he’s a whoreson, a cynic, a lecher, and a liar. a more neutral way to summarize dandelion is that he seeks to maximize pleasure and minimize pain, he’s a hedonist. which isn’t of course necessarily a bad thing. earthly pleasures, those of food, alcohol, sex, dancing, entertainment, music, art, literature... it’s extremely human. and to avoid violence, killing, and death is only smart when you’re not skilled in those aspects. so, his love of pleasure is not really a flaw... more of just a neutral trait. his arrogance and raptness to make fun is one main character flaw, in the sense that he’s liable to go too far when he makes jokes. he gets into trouble mainly by teasing people so much until they get aggressive and want to strangle the life out of him. he gets torque to attack him and geralt in the edge of the world for precisely this reason, and he gets the foresters in four pines before a little sacrifice to attack him and geralt for this reason, too. this is classed as arrogance because he’s so self-absorbed that he doesn’t recognize the other person fantasizing about cutting his head off. he’s impulsive as well, which gets him into trouble with things like opening the amphora of the djinn. his other character flaw is flightiness, noncommitaliality, the inability to stay grounded or loyal. he develops over the course of the series in regards to this, as every main character does in regard to their character flaws. but the other way he gets into trouble is by cheating on his partners, cucking the partners of his partners, not upholding promises (not paying bills) ... he really just does what he wants and what he wants seems to change every day (asides from singing and writing poetry). this flaw gets him into trouble with mainly the women he cheats on or the men angered by him cucking them... as with vespula in eternal flame, and the duke and duchess of toussaint...

ciri: ciri has a few character flaws which develop with her over time. the first character flaw for ciri is arrogance. she immediately demonstrates this to geralt in the sword of destiny when she states that she is a princess and that she’ll have him beheaded... she believes that she deserves the very best and that no one could take her down, and this comes into play later when she joins the rats and bonhart starts on their trail. in her time with the rats, she actually does allude to her rank as a princess when she demands a jeweled brooch off of a girl, saying that they, as the wife and daughter of a baron, have no right to deny her what she wants. the second character flaw is vengeance, which i suppose is related to her arrogance. she becomes obsessed with getting vengeance for being abandoned by not only her parents, but her morals and virtues which she had ascribed so much to. when those leave her, she seeks illogical vengeance by cutting down innocents. then, she wants vengeance for mistle and the rats, as well as the way she was treated. this vengeance isn’t wrong, but it begins to consume her. by the end of the series, she learns how to control her thirst for vengeance and she gets her retribution.

hansa members because i like analyzing them too:

milva: milva suffers from insecurities related to her circumstance - from being a peasant woman. this mainly shows itself during her talk with geralt in baptism of fire, when she is torn up about being pregnant and tells geralt that even though he had thought different, it turns out that she’s no good for anything, “a typical bloody woman.” she has a lot of issues compiled from how she was raised and treated in her society which present themselves in insecurity, which she desperately tries to make up for through showing off her great skill. she feels like she has to compensate for being a woman and for not being educated, that she has to earn her place amongst the company or others, when it’s simply not the case sometimes in which she is loved just for being herself. milva is also quick to anger and impulsive, but these are not really flaws for her, they’re more neutral in relation to her character, they don’t really hurt her or others at all throughout the books...

regis: arrogance. i know i already said arrogance for dandelion and for ciri, but regis also has arrogance, and all of their types arrogance express themselves differently. dandelion suffers from arrogance in the way that he lacks self-awareness, that others might not love him as much as he thinks they do. ciri suffers from arrogance in that she feels the universe owes her. regis suffers from arrogance in that he thinks he’s always right. regis does demonstrate modesty and humility in the books, because of course he does, he’s been working on this same character flaw for 4 centuries, so i hope he’s improved on it somewhat. but he is still affected by the same character flaw which got him killed a century ago, which is that he believes he’s right and no one can take him down. in baptism of fire, tower of the swallow, and lady of the lake, he gives geralt some pretty stupid advice on various occassions, but he’s completely assured as to his own accuracy, so that he never actually intends to lead him astray, but just doesn’t think maybe he could be wrong. he advises geralt to pass through ygsith, which, if they did so, would have been incredibly dangerous. he advises geralt to go speak to the druids, who don’t help them at all and actually hurt them instead. and he dismisses ciri’s horse tracks on the sansretour pass, thinking that they’re unremarkable. in all of these times, he was wrong, but he never entertained that idea. his arrogance also demonstrates itself during conversation as he tends to speak like “a sage instructing small children” and interrupt people before they finish asking their questions, with the answers to their questions as well as the answers to their next questions. he’s always-omniscient. which he really isn’t, because he can’t possibly be. but he adopts the manner of acting like it, and that’s a flaw because it’s dangerous. his arrogance also leads him to impulsitivity and violence, especially when combined with when he is drunk. during the assault on castle stygga, he says that he thinks he could lay waste to the entire castle. he dies due to his arrogance - he could have chosen any other way of strategy to kill vilgefortz, but he chose to immediately rush him after swiping his face with his claws in flight. he should have bewared, but he thought he could kill him immediately because he was so assured of his powers.

cahir: cahir is an idealist and loyal to the point of detriment. he believed in imperialist doctrine for a great portion of his life, or rather was persuaded into at least following what imperialist doctrine wished for him to become, to please his family and the expectations set for him. he believes that he was doing the right thing, that he would bring honor to his family, even when he was sent to do something like kidnap a little girl. even though he thought the order was strange, he wanted the honor for his family, because he is loyal to them, more than anything. his idealism and loyalty also affect him once he joins the company. the fact that geralt told him to fuck off but he followed the company from a distance anyways, for miles, demonstrates his loyalty and his propensity to follow. he was guided by his ideals of setting things right with ciri. and he was guided by these ideals, unable to recognize the dangers surrounding him, right into stygga and towards bonhart’s blade.

angouleme: angouleme is a teenager. enough said... she is impulsive, violent... she gets the least screentime of all of the hansa so her true colors didn’t really get to show themselves as she didn’t get a lot of deep character development, but from my own ideas about her, i feel that she suffers from low self esteem due to the circumstances of her birth and is prone to distractions in the form of detriments. she agrees with the practices of crime and banditry because she was never told that she could ever aspire to anything better. she’s careless, she is quick with her knife, tongue, and powder, because she struggles to focus on the situation that is her entire life. she doesn’t want to face the hand that life has dealt her, so she makes the best of it by surviving and having fun when she can. i feel like her low self esteem affects her in that she doesn’t believe others can truly want to love and protect her, so that she is always looking out for herself and doesn’t accept goodwill for its face value. 

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.9k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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For the very first time when stepping onto the Hogwarts Express, Robin felt old. The majority of students was younger than her, and it made her painfully aware of how this was the second to last time she would ever feel the happiness of returning to Hogwarts. Luckily that only did little to taint her current excitement, and she mentally patted herself on the shoulder for being at the station so early. Most of the train was still empty, and thus Robin picked a cabin that promised the least walking traffic. Gosh, she couldn't wait to be back at school… as pathetically nerdy as that was.

"Robin!!!" Cas beamed the very second she opened the sliding door, and already had Robin wrapped in a tight hug before she could say hi in return. It was only then that Robin noticed just how much she had missed a simple hug. The luxury of a comforting touch was hard to come by these days, especially since the one person whose touch she craved the most stayed at a constant distance. But hugging Cas was lovely in its own right, and no less overwhelming in the sudden affection. Robin's eyes watered in an instant, but not enough to form real tears. God, hugs were nice…

"Hey Cas." She finally said, once the girl had let her go and now took the window seat that wasn't already occupied by Robin herself. For a few minutes they chatted about the postcard Cas had sent her, and then the entire process of being hugged was repeated as Jorien joined them in their compartment. Robin didn't mind in the least, she baked in every bit of affection she got.

"Your hair has gotten so long!" Jorien remarked, addressing Robin once they had gotten comfortable in their spaces for the long ride. Soon enough, the landscape flew by outside the window, and the sun blinded Robin enough to be a bother.

"I forgot to have it cut over summer the year." She shrugged in return, crossing her legs on the seat. "Perhaps I will do it myself at some point, I'm quite good with a knife by now."

"Don't you dare!" Cas intervened immediately. "It looks amazing just like that! All lush and bouncy and messy… You really don't know a thing about what looks good on you and what doesn't, huh?"

"Thanks." Robin replied flatly and rolled her eyes, which only made Cas groan in return.

"Come on, I didn't mean it as an insult! Your style is perfectly alright; it suits you well with all that… chromatic elegant grungy-ness. But you could use some help with the implementation of that style."

"I didn't even know I had a style in the first place." Robin shrugged and wrapped a loose curl around her finger only to release it again a few seconds later. Her hair almost went down to her waist at this point indeed, but if Cas thought it looked good… oh well. She could still cut it later in the year if it started bothering her. "I just wear whatever I like, usually."

"Which is perfectly alright." Jorien added in with a pointed look at Cas. "Not everyone thinks that school is a fashion show."

"Duh…" Cas rolled her eyes with a huff, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe get Robin a little more male attention this term."

"Yeah, no, we are not having this conversation." Robin said before they could go any further into that direction. "So tell me… what did you guys do over the summer? Anything exciting?"

"What's even more interesting is what you did over the summer." Jorien smirked at Robin with just a little too much mischief in her eyes, but at least she was going along with the change of topic. "Melissa told me that she saw you in the newspaper!"

"Who's Melissa?"

"A classmate of ours." Cas sighed, finally letting go of her feigned pout. "She's become somewhat of a friend recently."

"Good!" Robin smiled, looking at the two girls sitting opposite to her with a hopefully encouraging expression. "I'm glad you're making friends other than me at last! Perhaps your peers are finally grown up enough to be real friend material."

"Don't distract from the question." Jorien cut in, and Robin sighed. She'd taught her too well. "Were you in the Daily Prophet or not?"

"I was indeed."

The two girls' eyes lit up in an instant. "Tell us all about it! What did you do, win some prize for your presumably amazing OWLs? Get arrested for thinking too fast? Cure some deadly disease?"

"Close." Robin laughed, and before she could think better of it, she pulled her locket out from under her shirt to summon up the rolled up picture she had put in there when she'd first cut it out of the newspaper. With a soft smile, she looked down at it for a moment, then handed the photograph to the two girls.

"Now that is a lovely outfit you're wearing here! But… wait a second… Is that Professor Snape standing behind you?!" Cas asked incredulously after a few seconds of staring at the picture. "Did you meet there by coincidence or something? Because in comparison to all the old men, you and him actually stand out quite a bit."

Robin bit her lip to keep from laughing. They indeed were by far the youngest in the picture; and it was close to impossible to miss them even in a group of over forty people.

"The picture was taken at a conference about potions, which we attended together this year." Robin explained, and went to store the picture back in her locket once Jorien had done her fair share of staring as well. "No coincidence about any of that. We went together on purpose."

"Boring…" Cas sighed, and leaned back in her seat. "I wouldn't dream of spending time with a teacher outside of school, nor to spend more time on potions than I have to. But I know you're crazy enough to enjoy both, so nevermind. Anyway, what else did you do during the holidays?"

"I had coffee with a friend, occasionally." Robin smiled to herself, thinking back to Friday. How they'd made the best pasta she's ever had, without any magic at all. How they'd just sat in the open window in the dark living room, listening to the rain drumming on the stone tiles of her patio while a chilly wind contrasted the warmth of the tea in her hands. How when he had left, it had been late enough to say until tomorrow.

"Uuhh…" Cas wiggled her eyebrows in the most ridiculous manner. "That kind of friend, yes? Your smile is such a tell."

"Not even close to it, Cas." Robin quirked an eyebrow at her in return, with an expression entirely humored and entirely feigned; no need to turn into a blushing mess in front of them. And except for the overall existence of such, her and Snape's Friday meetings had been painfully appropriate indeed. Still, they had a silent agreement that it would be best not to mention them to anyone. "We are not even on a hugging kind of level in our friendship, which is perfectly fine though. We talk about books a lot."

"Was it the same friend who gave you the bracelet?" Jorien inquired pointedly innocently, motioning to the three pieces of jewelry Robin still wore around her wrist every day.

"The very same. I don't have friends other than you and him."

"Why do you never talk about him if he's your only real friend? Besides us, I mean… but we're different." Cas frowned. "Will you at least tell us who he is?"

"It wouldn't help you even if I did… You don't know him at all." Robin said, thanking the English language for allowing her this equivocation.

"Is he in Slytherin too?" Jorien tried inquiring in a careful tone, with a curious expression she couldn't quite hide.

"Yes. No. Not exactly." Robin replied and rolled her eyes at herself. She should just shut the questions down immediately; this was coming dangerously close to a place in her mind she didn't want to speak of. But they would never stop asking if she shut them down now. Not like this.

"Not exactly? What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that he isn't a student at Hogwarts anymore." She said truthfully. "He graduated long before your first year even started."

"Darn it…" Cas groaned and rolled her eyes. "So that's why you never hang with him during the school year."

"Wait a second, if he graduated before we ever came to Hogwarts, how did he know that I was the right person to give you that bracelet last year?" Jorien frowned, giving Robin a highly questioning look. The girl really was too smart for her own good.

"I talked to him about you, silly!" Robin replied easily enough, as if it was the most obvious thing in existence. Always telling the truth was only difficult if one didn't practice it. "You've been my roomies for a while now, did you seriously expect me not to mention you?"

"Right… that makes sense." Jorien sighed, and her desire to question Robin disappeared along with her frown. "Anyway, what else is new?"

"Got me some new robes. Just because the school says we need black robes doesn't mean we all have to have the same boring students' robes they sell in Diagon Alley, eh? Also got dress robes for the new year's ball at last… you'll be positively surprised by those." Robin shrugged with a smirk, and now the sun finally bothered her enough to make her summon the small round sunglasses she had recently acquired out of the backpack next to her. As soon as she'd pushed them up her nose, the layer of darkness brought an immediate relief to her sore eyes. Who cares if it would get her some weird looks; not everyone could be a worshipper of the sun. "That's about it for me and my summer. What's new with you guys?"

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The best thing about being in sixth year now was that Robin only had to take the subjects she actually cared about. No more history of magic, no more astronomy, no more divination… school was way more fun without those redundant classes. With the list of courses she wished to attend already being fixed, it had been ridiculously easy to set up her schedule on the first day of classes, and the week had started off relatively smoothly.

Professor Morgan's jaw had dropped quite literally when Robin had sauntered into his classroom on the first day of defense against the dark arts class, sitting down in her usual spot and looking indifferent to him as ever. Honestly, she couldn't have cared less if he was upset that she was continuing his class. She was here to learn, and if he couldn't be professional beyond his hatred for her, then she would just have to do the same thing she'd done since first year: study for herself and ignore Morgan as much as possible.

Other than that, Robin loved the courses she was taking; N.E.W.T. level classes were a lot more demanding in their magic and assignments, but still no real challenge to Robin no matter how much she'd hoped they would be. They were fun though, and the assignments were actually enjoyable to complete most of the time.

Outside of classes, she continued working on her handbook whenever she could, adding details and new information on a daily basis, and somehow she'd also ended up adding little drawings or clippings she'd been able to get her hands on to the correlating pages. By the middle of October, Robin felt like her project had finally reached a presentable state, and while she wasn't nearly done in her own eyes, the thick journal she had used was almost completely filled up by now. It was only then, on a lovely bleak Saturday, that she finally decided it was time to show her work to Snape at long last.

Saturday meant that Robin first of all spent a good while after breakfast tutoring Cas, Jorien, and Melissa (who somehow always tagged along with the two of them now) in transfiguration. When they moved on to potions after that, a few other third years overheard that Robin was very much knowledgeable in the subject, and they reluctantly asked if they could join the class. The shy request made Robin smile to herself, and she graciously agreed to accept them as her students for the day. In the end, they needed to move to a bigger room, for Robin ended up with sixteen students of various houses who wanted to listen to her going over the last month worth of third year potions class.

So really it was only after lunch when Robin finally had the time to find Snape in his office. Just out of a spree, she actually knocked before she entered for once, then however continued on in as usual, without waiting for a reply.

"Hey…" She smiled at him while she moved over to the side table to drop her backpack on her chair. "What are you doing?"

"Inflicting terror and remorse, one idiot at a time." Snape sighed in a pointed tone, and Robin had to chuckle. It shouldn't amuse her so much that he was so annoyed with his students… but after three hours of tutoring, she was simply amused by the fact that he looked just like she felt.

"Ah, same old then." She grinned, and was just about to grab her secret project out of her backpack to proudly present it to him as a hopefully welcome distraction, when he muttered something under his breath, subconsciously, followed by a quiet sigh that was almost plaintive even. Perhaps… this wasn't a good time. Robin let her notebook drop back into her backpack and turned around to look at him instead, sitting down on the edge of the small table.

Snape was bent over some parchment on his own desk with a deep frown on his face, looking partially annoyed, mostly frustrated and entirely done with whatever it was he had to do. Robin could practically feel the stress radiating off him, and it strongly supported her decision to lay off with her plans of showing him her project for now. Presenting him with more research and books surely wasn't something that would better the situation, which in return was all Robin could currently think of doing.

"Can I do anything to help you?" She asked first of all, raising her eyebrows in a hopeful expression when he looked up at her for a few short seconds.

"Not unless you want to suffer the same slow death by utter nonsense that was forced upon me with these second year essays." He replied in an annoyed tone, frowning back down at the desk and aggressively scribbling an overly large Dreadful on the parchment in front of him. Robin found that she pitied Snape just as much as his students in that moment, and she knew that for everyone's sake, she would have to come up with something other than chocolate cake.

"Alright, come on." She said determinedly, then pushed herself off the table and brushed imaginary dust off her black jeans. "There is something way more important to do than grading second year essays right now."

"And what would that be?" He raised an eyebrow at her in return, but already dropped his quill on the desk so abruptly that little sprinkles of ink dusted over the next essay paper as well as his hand.

"Going for a walk with me." Robin grinned as she summoned a jumper out of her backpack and then moved to put it on over her henley shirt. The second one she owned now, thanks to the positive remarks she had gotten for it. "I want to show you something."

Admittedly, that something probably wouldn't impress him nearly as much as her handbook would, and Robin had never really considered showing it to him in the first place, but somehow the little sprinkles of black ink on his pale skin had convinced her that it might be worth a try. What she wanted to show him was neither related to potions nor to anything else in that regard at all, it was practically useless but for its potential to delight with its mere existence. So really, all Robin hoped for was that he wouldn't be mad at her for dragging him outside for something as pathetic as that. And still, a part of her couldn't wait for him to see it. With a grin, she motioned for him to come along as she made towards the door.

Snape didn't even try to protest as he rose to his feet to go along with her plan, keeping his eyes on her with a subtly curious frown. Meanwhile Robin wondered when exactly she had reached a point with him where she could just burst into the room and suggested something like this, and he would drop what he was doing in an instant to go with her. Alright, she would do and had done the very same for him as well, but that was different! He just could've told her to scurry off and stop distracting him from his work. But he hadn't, and that made her heart swell in the most pleasant way as she sauntered out into the hallway, where he soon followed before locking the door.

Together they made their way through some of the most desolate corridors and passageways, avoiding as many people as possible until they arrived under the blindingly white sky at last. A chilly wind, swaying trees and the smell of impending rain greeted them, wrapping around Robin's senses like a silken sliver of liquid calm. A perfect day for a walk, and an even more perfect one for what she wanted him to see.

"Lead the way then." He said as they gained a distance to the walls of the castle. "Or is there no precise destination you wish to go?"

"Not really, no." Robin chuckled in return and crossed her arms over her chest for some warmth. It wasn't freezing, but her jumper was barely warm enough. "It's a spell I want to show you."

"A spell that requires us to leave the castle?"

"You'll see, believe me. But other than that, I simply wanted to take a walk and you looked like you could use some air as well."

He returned a quiet hum in acknowledgement, perhaps agreement even, and they continued to make their way down the hill in comfortable silence. It really had been a while since they had taken a walk like this, just for fun. A while long enough for Robin to forget if they had always been walking next to each other so… closely. It was quite distracting to feel his presence next to her on a constant basis, scorching her entire right side and making her skin crawl. But then again, the mere fact that he was here with her was quite delightful on its own.

For a while they aimlessly wandered through the landscape, sometimes following the paths and sometimes straying away on purpose, through the trees that were torn between an early winter's desolate death and a late autumn's colourful beauty. When they finally found themselves on the shore of the black lake, the place that seemed to hold an inevitable gravity on Robin, the October chill was already sitting deep in her bones. But so was the calm.

"Perhaps we should return to the castle before it starts to rain." Snape remarked, but made no attempt to turn around as he stood with Robin on the waterline, overlooking the mildly crinkling but ever vast surface of the lake. A black mirror.

"I still want to show you that spell." She replied easily, smiling to herself as her eyes lifted from the deep dark grey of the water to the almost blinding greyish white of the sky above them. "I merely had to wait for the right moment."

"And when would that be?" He inquired with a layer of curiosity in his tone, as a crashing thunder rippled through the bubble of serenity that surrounded them.

"Now." Robin replied with a soft smile, then she pulled her wand out of her sleeve and pointed it up at the sky. All she heard for a few seconds was her own breathing, her own heartbeat, and the faint lapping of water at the stones beneath her feet. Focus… Breathe. "Lux obscurius."

The white sky, blinding in its cold brightness. A black lightning, a bolt of utmost darkness, cutting through the white and splitting time for a broken second. Veiling the world in darkness. And then, light again, accompanied by absolute silence. The drowning out of every sound, every noise absent and gone for the duration of this negative of thunder. A heartbeat later, the wind whispered again, the water rolled over the pebbles, and Robin let out the quiet breath she had been holding. A perfect lightning of darkness, a perfect thunder of soundlessness.

"It's quite useless, is it not?" She chuckled nervously after a moment, turning to look at Snape with a small frown and a weak half smile. Damn his enigmatic expression, damn his silence; she had no idea what he thought. "I was just experimenting. Again. It really isn't anything special, it's just-..."

"It is a piece of art if I have ever seen one." He interrupted her, holding her gaze with the barest hint of sincere awe shining through the intricately woven layer of burning emotions Robin couldn't separate into graspable strings. A layer that she only now understood to be the very same as his facade of neutrality. "You should show it to someone who is capable of being moved by such delicate beauty."

"I believe I just did." She replied with a small smile, and his brows furrowed into a frown that was more defense than accusation. Robin understood that he didn't want her to know… but she wanted him to understand that she knew anyway. "You are bleeding emotions, you know… Out of invisible wounds that are unfathomable in their origin to me, but still I can feel you bleeding like you saw the crimson on your fingertips when I did."

For a moment he just stared at Robin, and she in return observed how his chest rose and fell with every breath he took. It was a calming sight, intimate and distant at once. They still stood on the shore, still tempting fate to open up the skies in an orchestration of water, sound and wind. But for the moment, time was frozen.

"You are so very receptive of some matters, and yet so very blind to others. Why, pray tell, do I fall into the former category?" He finally inquired without any spite, and Robin realized just how much she had hoped that he wouldn't just shut her out entirely. Relief drowned that spark of fear before it could root.

"Because I care to look, and you allow me to see." She replied easily, confidently almost, in the knowledge that it was true what she said.

"That's ridiculous... I most definitely do not!" He scoffed with a sullen look, but as Robin quirked an eyebrow at him in doubt, he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Fine, perhaps I do. Unintentionally, I should say. What you are supposed to see is annoyance, and occasionally anger."

"Anger is the only emotion that doesn't make you vulnerable by showing it." She shrugged, offering him another small smile that hopefully portrayed understanding rather than disregard of what he was saying. "And the more vulnerable you feel, the more anger comes pouring out of you. Always lashing out, before anyone else has the chance to hurt you first. It's only self-preservation, really. I tend to do the same."

"How do you do it?"

"What?"

"Knowing."

"As I said, I care to look." Robin's smile widened a little, and she shrugged one shoulder. "And you let me see."

"Don't get me started on what you let me see." He huffed, but there was undoubtedly a spark of humor in his voice, now made room for by the vanishing defensiveness. He didn't deny her statement, not again. "For example, I can always tell when you so desperately try to hide your wish to disagree with me in class."

Robin's lips parted as they curled into a large smile, then she had to laugh after a second of surprise. "Well, at least I try not to be an insufferable know-it-all in front of the entire class!"

"You are quite insufferable as it is, but you do know a lot indeed. Next time you want to disagree with me, humor me by trying, will you?"

"You know I'll succeed anyway."

"We should have to see about that." He quirked an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, clasping his hands behind his back just as the first raindrops ruffled the surface of the lake.

The wind picked up as well, blowing Robin's hair into her face despite the ponytail she'd put it into, but she kept on smiling even as heavy pearls of water hit her lips, her neck, her lashes, each one a beautiful reminder of how intensely and desperately alive she felt in that moment. Sometimes the world ended with a bang, sometimes with a whisper. And perhaps it was reborn the same way.

A bright flash cut through her vision, lightning followed by a deafening thunder, and hell broke loose at last. In an instant the rain doubled in speed, faster and louder and stronger and colder, but Robin only closed her eyes as she smiled up at the sky to let the rain pearl down onto her face. The water soaked through the fabric of her jumper in an instant, stinging her skin in a sodden cold, but it held nothing against the pleasure of raw passion that tided through her at the same time.

When Robin opened her eyes at last, an entire legion of dark lightnings surged through the sky in a web of black ink, hitting the world in a display of brutal fragility. Soundlessness, inevitably drowning out the rain and the wind, as loud in its silence as a crash of thunder in its noise. Then it was just the rain again, putting everything into perspective as Robin finally lowered her gaze from the skies to look at Snape.

He still seemed to be mostly dry, standing under the faint glow of his umbrella spell, and he observed Robin with an expression that, for him, looked almost sincerely happy. The sight squeezed Robin's heart in pure adoration, and she couldn't help but smile while rain dropped down from her lashes and onto her lips.

"You are insufferable." He mused with a small smirk and the most obvious teasing expression.

Robin chuckled in return, shaking her head to herself as she crossed her arms over her chest to at least keep some of her warmth. By now, she was entirely drenched. "What did I do this time?"

"For one, you showed me one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen."

"The spell?"

"Passion." He said without the slightest hint of discomfort, as if it was just another easy fact, and that one mere word set Robin's skin ablaze and her heart under electricity. Damn…

"But…" He added before long, and Robin got the impression that he finally caught on to what he had said. "You are also entirely sodden, and I have to return you to the castle somehow before you turn into an icicle. So get yourself an umbrella before I take pity on you."

"Sure, as soon as you tell me the spell to do so." Robin smiled, giving him a small shrug while she leaned her head to the side. Really, they taught spells for turning animals into drinking cups at school, but not how to conjure up an umbrella. Education… Ironic.

"Perhaps another time." He replied with a hint of a smile as he took the one remaining step to stand next to her, then he wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders at last.

Robin let herself be pulled close more than gladly, under the dry space of the umbrella and into his side. A moment later the water melted off her skin, fading from her clothes into a thin mist that was blown into the wind and disappeared altogether within a few seconds, leaving her dry enough to bask in the warmth that radiated off him. Gods, he was warm indeed… and his touch still heavenly as ever. She smiled down at the path beneath her feet then, and leaned into his side just a little bit more than she had to as they made their way back towards the castle. If he noticed at all, he made no attempt to protest.

______________________________

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[ineloqueent]

where the wildflowers grow

Gwilym Lee x Fem!Reader

synopsis: they say there lives a witch in the wildflower woods, but Gwilym has never believed the tales. until now.

warnings: use of medieval swords (no blood)

word count: 2.1k

see the moodboard here!

⭒

It’d been dark when he’d set out that morning, and though it was always dark on his mornings in the woods, this day had begun darker than usual.

He’d dressed by the flame of a single candle and sheathed his sword at his side, fastening the buckles of his boots with practiced hands, for this was routine.

Gwilym liked routine. He even liked his shifts in the Wildflower Woods, and while the other members of the royal guard drew straws to determine which unlucky bastard would be patrolling the woods that day, Gwilym always volunteered.

The woods were quiet, and an outlander might have thought that this silence was what the men feared, the dull buzz that began in one’s ears once exposed to soundlessness for an extended period of time, alone with the sound of one’s breath and the wealth of one’s thoughts, but the outlander would have been sorely mistaken.

The men did not fear silence; they feared what lived in the silence.

It was said that a witch lived in the Wildflower Woods, capable of a dark and terrible magic, magic which the king had long since outlawed, criminalised. There had been innumerable huntings and burnings when the legislation had passed, and to this day, every citizen of the kingdom could hear the cries of the men and women killed for crimes they had most likely not committed.

No exceptions had been made, and everyone deemed a witch had faced a terrible fate upon the courtyard pyre of the Castle Gaerwen.

No exceptions had been made, but one particular individual had slipped from the grasp of the king’s guard.

They called her Morgana, after the enchantress of Arthurian legend, and she was feared as equally as the woman of the legend. It was said her gaze was deadly, and that she could take any form she desired, turn water to liquid poison, revive both the dying and the already dead, and change the weather at will. No one had any power over her, for even the elements bowed to her magic, and so she had been deemed too much of a risk for the royal guard to capture.

And so, the royal guard now patrolled the Wildflower Woods morning and night, to ensure that the witch did not move to attack the good citizens of Daryn.

Gwilym had patrolled the woods for years now, and had neither seen nor heard any sign of a witch. Thus, as all logic demanded of him, he did not believe the tales. The other men called him foolish, shuddered at his naïveté, but Gwilym laughed merrily at their fears whenever he was given the chance. He did not believe the tales, and so he did not fear the woods. The woods were a solace, and in living the life that he did, with chases and fighting and travelling, it was nice to have some time to himself, in a place where the world was quiet.

His boots crunching on the gravel of the path which led out from the guards’ quarters and toward the outer wall of Castle Gaerwen, Gwilym nodded morning greetings to those arriving home from the night shift.

Women stood lined up to draw water from the wells in the courtyard, and a group of them giggled as Gwilym passed. He sighed inwardly. He did not encourage their attentions, and yet, they continued to behave in this manner whenever he was about.

Ignoring the chatter that followed him, Gwilym arrived at the outer gate.

“Morning,” he said to Mercher, his friendly acquaintance and the man whom Gwilym was to share the day’s shift with.

Mercher mumbled his own greeting, and Gwilym smiled.

“Nervous? It’s just the woods, you know.”

The other man grunted. “There’s more to those woods than you think, ffwl.”

“There is no witch in those woods, fy ffrind,” Gwilym countered good-humouredly.

“Perhaps you are right,” Mercher responded, as he tapped his fingers along the hilt of his sheathed sword, “but there are other things too.”

Gwilym raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mmh. Venomous serpents larger than fully grown horses, boars with tusks longer than your forearm, spiders which will crawl into your eyes if you close them unawares.”

Gwilym’s eyes twinkled; he was amused. “Well then, Mercher,” he clapped his companion on the back and strode forward through the opening gate, “we should get going so that these creatures can have their breakfast.”

Mercher swallowed thickly, standing rooted to the spot. With a shake of his head, he hurried to catch up to Gwilym, who was still smiling to himself.

“By rights, we shouldn’t be allowed to risk our lives like this,” said Mercher.

Gwilym laughed. “You should have been a baker instead of a soldier! Courage, fy ffrind. It will get you far in life.”

⭒

As they were only two, Gwilym and Mercher were forced to split up in their duties. Gwilym appreciated the solace, but Mercher was fearful. The former repeated his advice of courage to the latter, and the two parted ways.

A deep mist hovered betwixt the trees this morn, and so it was difficult to see very far beyond one’s own hand, but it also afforded the woods a mysterious quality, one which only fuelled Gwilym’s lust for adventure; outwardly, he was grown, but at heart, he was still a child, and longed to live the stories of pirates and highwaymen that his mother had told him when he was little.

Gwilym was still searching for his purpose in existence, and though he had yet to find it, he was sure it involved adventure, something more than this little life he presently lived.

Almost as though the world around him were aware of his longing, a rustling arose from the surrounding shrubbery.

Gwilym’s hand flew to the sword at his side, his knees bent, prepared to run.

There was silence. Not even a bird cawed in the canopy overhead, no river water rushed, no wind was heard between the trees.

Something slithered in the undergrowth.

Slithered. It was very distinct.

Hyperbolic images of terrible, scaled bodies with large mouths bearing fearsome, pointy teeth dripping venom conjured themselves in Gwilym’s mind, and his heart kicked up its rhythm.

His eyes flitted about the bushes, the endless wildflowers which carpeted the forest floor and provided the wood with its name, but he could see nothing. It was still rather dark out, and the mist did his eyes no aid.

Then, suddenly, a great, scaly body launched itself from the undergrowth, and before Gwilym could react, tore its fangs down his calf.

He gave a cry of pain, and lashed out with his sword, but the venom must have been rapidly acting, because his vision had already turned blurry.

But with, quite literally, a stroke of luck, he struck the creature, and with a violent hiss, it retreated rapidly back from whence it had come.

Gwilym was left to his solace once more, but now he was panting, and nearly doubled over in trying to lean his weight against a tree.

He shouted for Mercher, once, twice, but no response came.

He was on his own.

Feeling as though he were going blind, Gwilym staggered forward at a pace that was rather quick, fuelled by desperation. Pain lanced through his leg and up toward his heart, and he knew that one must not allow venom to circulate once in the veins, but what else was he to do? Lay himself down to die?

No, for that would be a coward’s death, and Gwilym Lee was no coward.

A light flickered in the mist, between the trees.

Perhaps he was hallucinating. It was not unlikely.

But he held onto hope, and dragged his heavy feet forward until the light grew bigger, brighter.

The light came from a window, in a cottage built of heavy stones. Gwilym imagined the craftsmanship to be excellent, but he did not know for sure. His vision was beginning to grow dark around the edges.

At last, he happened upon the door. With a heavy arm, he knocked against the wood, and collapsed, just as the door swung open.

⭒

He could smell woodsmoke, and heather and all kinds of herbs.

His eyes were heavy, as though he had not slept for days, and a dull pain throbbed in his leg. But it was nothing of the agonising pain he had felt before.

There was a sound like the clinking of metal pots and pans, and someone was humming.

With tremendous effort, Gwilym rose to his elbows, and opened his eyes.

The light was low, but there were candles aplenty, and they flickered softly, in their places about the room— in teacups and saucers, upon plates and wooden carvings, standing proudly in window sills and atop shelves.

On the shelves, there were potted plants and what appeared to be bottled herbs, labeled with names both familiar and unfamiliar to Gwilym’s vocabulary.

His eyes wandered about his peculiar surroundings, before returning to where he lay— in some sort of bed that was really more of a cot, made of linen and crowded with sheepswool blankets and a stitched duvet.

Bless the kindness of strangers, he thought, until his gaze happened upon his host.

She locked eyes with him before he could turn away, and his breath caught, because the woman before him was enchantingly beautiful, and without a doubt the witch of the tales he had not believed.

A slow smile curved over her lips. “My stare is lethal, no?” she said, a thick Welsh accent carving her English words differently from the way Gwilym spoke his.

His first instinct was to laugh, and he almost did, before he thought better of it. There was no telling what this witch was capable of, and presently, he was utterly at her mercy.

But a question had occurred to him as well, and so he asked it.

“However did you guess that my English is better than my Welsh?”

That slow smile touched her pretty lips again. “Like you say, it was a guess.”

“Damn good guess,” Gwilym said, not bothering to hide the fact that he was impressed.

She laughed, a warm sound, and he felt oddly comforted by it. “Us gwrachod do have a talent for those sorts of things.”

“So it is true, then?” he spoke carefully. “You are the witch of the Wildflower Woods.”

“I am. Morgana, if you will.”

He fixed her with an inquisitive look. “Yes, but that is not your name, is it?”

She had been standing by a stove, but now, she wiped her hands on the apron that hung over her full skirt, and walked toward him. She perched in a rocking chair positioned by the cot and leaned back into it, folding her arms.

“No one has ever asked my name before.”

Her voice was quiet, low, and surely as enchanting, as lethal, as her stare. But he detected a loneliness beneath the words.

“Well,” Gwilym said, “I am asking you now, politely, if you will give it to me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “There is much in a name, Gwilym.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, sitting up properly. “You know my name?”

She nodded. “A pretty name, no? But a bit long. I like Gwil better. Do people call you that?”

His heart felt strangely light at his name on her lips, even when it was shortened. “They do now,” he said, and thought that her eyes glittered. “And your name?”

She murmured it, and it sounded to him like the songs of old, a lilting melody with an alluring darkness humming beneath the surface.

He rolled the sound over his tongue, and felt a faint blush rise to his cheeks as he said it. Indeed, there was much in a name. An intimacy, too. Gwil did not often use the given names of his acquaintances.

“You healed my leg,” he remarked thoughtfully, shifting it from beneath the blankets.

“And purged y gwenwyn from your veins,” she added.

Her eyes were deep, and he felt himself sinking into her gaze as he met it.

He murmured, “You saved my life.”

“Ie,” she said. “That I did. A witch is not so bad, you see.”

Her smile was teasing, and he knew then that he had nothing to fear from the witch of the Wildflower Woods.

“And for that,” Gwil began, his eyes searching the room for his sword. It was resting just beside him, on the floor by the cot, and he drew it now, standing it upon its point on the stone floor and bowing his head briefly. “I am forever in your debt.”

She smiled, and Gwil feared that more than his honour was indebted to her.

His heart, for certain, was too.

[yokelish]

Rhetorical.

This is not easy-peasy-lemon-squizzy. This is difficult-fucking-difficult. 

I hate myself for the person I am because my first reaction was “that’s a drag, I don’t remember much of the manga already”. But then I remembered complex human relationships is nyom-nyom-nyom. And so fell in love with working on it more and more as I went. So here you go, @gogolparadise​

Unfortunately, I am one of those people who doesn’t blame Ango for Oda’s death. My blaming scale looks more like this: Gide, Oda, Mori, everyone else. I blame Oda for Oda’s death, mostly. And there’s no denial about who shot Odasaku in the first place. But Ango isn’t blameless. He done fuck up.

I won’t write how and when Dazai sabotaged the airbag, I am sure even he wouldn’t know it either. P L O T. The scene between Ango and Dazai unfolded differently in manga and anime. And I like manga’s version better. I rarely use Japanese respectful suffixes like “san” and “kun”, but here….it’s sorta important.

✏ Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs ✏ Characters: Dazai Osamu, Ango Sakaguchi  ✏ Word count: 2,166 ✏ Warnings: none? 

Rhetorical.

He couldn’t deny the fact that having a gun in his hand felt distantly pleasant. The power and control that came with the weight in his hand would add more pleasure to it. But the weapon was oddly light compared to his memories of handling one. It wasn’t loaded. A good decision: a smart and safe decision. If Dazai couldn’t trust himself, he could trust in the distrust people have for him. And no one would know that better than someone he once called a friend. The two loyal guard dogs wouldn’t be able to stop him if that’s what he wanted. The resting blade against his neck only sharpened that tiny thrill coursing through his veins. It was bringing up old memories of having his life on the line every other day. The sound of raining shots, the lightning bolt shine of it, the heat of the muzzle afterwards. And the lingering smell of gunpowder. Unloading the gun was the smartest decision his once-friend had ever made. Because Dazai also couldn’t deny the fact that when it was aimed at the back of Ango’s head, it felt invigorating.

“What on earth made you think…” Dazai asked calmly. “…that I had forgiven you?” He didn’t regret asking. The question didn’t need to be answered. There was no need to have a conversation about that part of history. After all, there was too much to forgive, and Dazai didn’t even start on it. But asking had to clearly state where they stand.

“I was the one who cleaned your record when you fled the Mafia. If anything, you are the one who owes me,” Ango replied, unfazed by the threat, and even sounding a little exasperated.

“Alright.” Dazai easily dropped the threat, the aim of the gun, the feeling coursing through his veins. “The gun isn’t loaded. You knew I’d do that.”

A hand was offered to collect the empty weapon. “I am glad you catch on so quickly.” The man in glasses offered a calm, collected smile, with a little amusement traced in the lines of his face. Dazai would roll his eyes at this if the man wasn’t so obviously looking. Credit given where its due, Ango wasn’t slow on the uptake — always deceitfully sharp. But Dazai didn’t appreciate proximity or eye-contact. Least of all he wanted to grow an appreciation for Ango’s quick thinking, stoic and neutral approach, and overall efficiency. He remembered the man from the past too vividly, and separating those images was harder than it should have been. Liar. Traitor.

“If we are not rekindling our old friendship,” Sakaguchi spoke again, more hesitantly this time. “…What do you want?”

How eloquent and bold it was to say that there was something to rekindle between them. When a torch goes out, you look for a fire to light it again. You don’t wet the cloth and chop up the wooden stick. And you sure do not let the torch burn to ashes. If so, there was nothing to rekindle.

With his back to Ango, Dazai allowed himself to smile. The half-masks he knew how to transform and switch seamlessly. His goals were for him to know. Ango would find out soon enough. The bandaged man shifted his smile into a childish grin. “Oooh…” He patted the roof of the car. “You government men drive fine cars, eh?”

The government man graced him with an unamused stare. A sharp look of a man who didn’t want his car touched in such manner. Pity, really, that should be the least of his worries. Government men drive fine cars, but there are many fine cars in this world.

Ex-Mafia rested his elbow on the car if only to gauge a reaction out of the man he once made a mistake to call friend. “Care to go for a drive?” Dazai didn’t regret asking. The question didn’t need to be answered.

Fine cars indeed… For what those government men got those fancy cars Dazai could only guess. “It’s your job to keep those skill-oriented crimes in check, isn’t it? You mustn’t shirk your duty like that.” He spoke leisurely, enjoying, savouring. There was something sickeningly amusing in the ease of the situation. The tension that was visibly lacking in the air. Ango’s safe driving befitting of a good citizen. The calm Dazai couldn’t help but feel. He almost felt guilty about it, too. The calm that comes with the knowledge of what’s to come. And yet, by all canons of the world, it should not be as easy as breathing.

“We have been keeping tabs on the Guild as well,” Ango finally gave a reply fitting for a government man. A limited, careful answer.

Dazai’s interest was piqued by the narrowness of such words. “You knew…and you simply let them be? Do I have that right?” He knew he did. The question didn’t need to be answered. But he didn’t regret asking, he savoured it without guilt.

“Unlike you, Dazai-kun, I believe in an honest day’s work,” Sakaguchi answered evenly, never taking his eyes off the road. “Do you even know what kind of kind of group the Guild is?”

Dazai could guess that this feeling inside him was glee. There was nothing compared to the feeling of knowing and seeing through the deceit of others even if that deceit was a delusion for one’s self. He cared little for the games the government played, he just despised them. He cared not for the power the Guild possessed, he just wanted to beat it.

“Oh my, wait a moment,” the bandaged man said. “This discussion is taking a strange turn.”

“This is politics, Dazai-kun.”

That’s an exceptionally fine carpet word for lies, deception, manipulation, power play and the like. Perhaps, it was a matter of perception, the things one believes in. If perception can stop you from seeing the world upside-down, if it can grant you the vividness of colours and appreciation for abstract, then it surely must be able to install a belief in the greater good.

“…to grant immunity to their members…”

Like Ango believing in an honest day’s work. Or Atsushi believing in his own worthlessness or that saving people will justify his existence. Like Kunikida upholding his ideals stronger than any other man alive.

“…truly, above the law…”

Perhaps, it was all about the installed moral compass within a person. The lines one draws to walk a straight path. Those constructed margins of morality that should never be crossed lest the world changes its meaning or loses it completely. Dazai’s compass had been broken for the longest time, he could admit that much. There were too many bold strokes beyond the margins: crosses, stains, incomprehensible lines made in indifference and irresponsibility.

“…they’re surveilling our little conference even now…”

But, truly, how morally superior is the government handling the bizarre world of skill-users compared to the Mafia? He couldn’t be the one to judge and tell. He couldn’t understand.

“Dazai-kun, start running away. Now.” The urgency in Ango’s voice brought him back to the oncoming reality. Whatever emotions were hidden behind the glasses, Dazai couldn’t press into his memory. The mind was too preoccupied. He pressed back into the seat — a response of his body to the upcoming and unavoidable danger. The thought of dying had never once scared him, but pain, broken bones, and the like — loathed.

“Run, and tell your agents that danger will find them soon —” It didn’t matter what the answer was. There was no need for it.

If there were indeed parallel worlds — an infinite number of possibilities of the current one — then it could be different. In another world, perhaps, it could be different. They could have never met and, thus, never had their past shared. Two perfect strangers to each other — two parallels never meeting. In a different world where the events unfolded differently, where they still met, became friends and met in a bar with, preferably, a similar menu. In a world where he didn’t die, they could remain forever as they were back then. Dazai would feed them his terrible tofu and talks about suicide. They could eat and drink together while sharing nonsensical stories. There would be no guilt or regret. But that would have to be a different world.

In this world, Sakaguchi Ango, a government agent, successfully infiltrated Port Mafia and then Mimic. In this world, Sakaguchi survived in the Mafia and climbed the ranks. In this world, he had successfully pretended to be a friend to Dazai Osamu, youngest Executive in history, and Sakunosuke Oda, the lowest of the ranks. He done so not out of necessity but because he could. In this world, Sakunosuke Oda was dead, killed in confrontation with Mimic. Ango’s betrayal of the Mafia didn’t matter in the least. After all, Dazai had done so too: even he wasn’t such a hypocrite. In this world what mattered was the death of a man who didn’t get to write his novel. In this world, Dazai Osamu wasn’t a better man to forgive. In this world, ex-Mafia held grudges despite knowing the regret of another.

If he were in a different world and was a different human being, he would understand the necessity for the flowers when visiting a hospital. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t really understand it. Nonetheless, he had done it. A man who believes in honest day’s work deserved that much, at least.

“Why, hello there, Ango!” Dazai’s chirpy voice carried through the ward. “How are you doing?” With a bouquet and a basket of consumable goods as visiting protocol dictates. And a bright friendly smile, of course. “Well, you look lovely,” Dazai lied effortlessly, seamlessly. He had done so not out of necessity but because he could. “I have a fine story for you!”

It was in the very same bar where the three of them met that he witnessed it: regret. Sakaguchi Ango, a government agent who infiltrated Port Mafia and climbed the ranks, expressed regret. Perhaps, that alone was the thing that steadied the Executive’s hand. That, and Odasaku’s presence. Unfortunately, there was no more Odasaku to steady the bandaged Executive’s hand. Only the words of a friend now gone to guide this ex-mafioso.

It was much later that Dazai truly saw the guilt behind the round glasses. It’s much easier to recognize guilt in others when experienced. He couldn’t tell if it was cleverly hidden from others or if Ango had hid from himself.

“Thirty-five count murderer?” the bedbound man asked, unsurprised. Dazai was a visitor but he sure wasn’t a good one after eating from the basket. According to him, that’s what he planned. According to everyone else who could be in the room to pass judgement: selfish, inconsiderate, and even mocking. He didn’t do it out of necessity but because he could.

“Murder is murder,” Sakaguchi stated simply. Dazai remained a patient listener despite how easy it would be to probe at wounds unhealed, to uncap the bottled regret, to stir their shared but erased past. He knew full well what murder was. So did Ango. But the thing about murder and death is that it often was accompanied with guilt. And guilt was a disobedient spirit: it didn’t follow you because you murdered, it followed because it could. For all that Ango did, for all the lies and treacherous moves, Dazai knew one thing for sure: in the moment it mattered most he had nothing to offer Odasaku to cling to. In that vital moment all he could offer were pitiful words that wouldn’t even convince a child. If he had to live with the guilt of it, he would.

“…if you seek other help…I’d be glad to do that.”

“Is that so?” Dazai asked, getting up from the chair. That was all he needed to hear. The task was accomplished. “Well, I’ll be back.”

“Dazai-kun.”

That stalled him at the doorway.

“I am accepting your offer of treatment in exchange for support. So just tell me one more thing.” Sakaguchi Ango was deceptively sharp as ever and just as calm. “When we were struck by that mystery vehicle, the airbag on my side alone failed to inflate. Would you happen to know the reason?”

Just as Ango doesn’t put his regret and guilt out on display, Dazai, too, had trick to hide his darkness. If guilt was a disobedient spirit, then darkness was a parasite set on self-destruction.

Oh, he hoped to make his once-friend regret the question. For it would be easy to hide the smile with his back to Ango. It would be equally as easy to switch one smile for another. But there was no need for that. Whatever it was he hid, the other would soon find out. Dazai allowed himself to smile with sincere darkness of his mind and offer it to the man who betrayed him. There was no need for an answer.

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Two

Summary: The young prince meets a servant girl called Nouke. The two become best friends, spending many days in the West Garden. As Ahkmenrah grows older, he learns that he must sacrifice his time with his friend to learn the lessons his father has to teach him. Responsibilities shift and Ahk and Nouke’s friendship is tested.

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Word Count: 5939   

Warnings: none      

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A/N: I’m so SO glad y’all are enjoying this so far! Thanks a million for the likes, the reblogs, the comments and the gif responses! They make me smile!! 🥰 Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

In the westernmost part of the palace was a garden, small in comparison to the grand courtyards were the king and queen hosted festivals throughout the year, but lusher and inherently more magical by far. On every side, the green paradise was surrounded by sturdy walls of sand-colored stone, apart from the open corridor that led back into the palace. The majority of those protective walls sat hidden by abundant foliage; lilies and shrubs and trees that fostered the illusion of no barriers at all.

At the center of the garden was a fountain with wide ledges perfect to sit and marvel at the prisms that danced across the surface of the water where lily pads floated. The air was always fragrant. Jasmine and lotus bloomed in abundance; their sweet perfume coupled with the fresh air created a welcomed reprieve from the scent of torch fire and papyrus that permeated the palace corridors. Beds of grass grew between the footstones and pathways while large palm trees sprung from the earth; their fanned leaves offering shade for the hottest afternoons. Within those walls, amid the green and vibrant blossoms, Shepseheret watched each of her children grow and play for many years.

That glittering, private oasis- nestled in a palace of gold, was Ahkmenrah’s favorite place in the world. Fore in that garden everything was soft and whimsical unlike the stone walls he called home. And in the shining green gem of a garden, the young prince met Anuksamun.

She was his age, with long wavy hair and skin a tone or two darker than his own. Her eyes were brown, but they sparkled like amber in the sunlight--not that Ahkmenrah paid much attention to such things at the age of six. It wasn't for many years that those flakes of gold would make his heart flutter.

Anuksamun was the daughter of Maketaten: the queen’s maidservant and dear friend. Her father, Ramentukah was a soldier in the pharaoh’s army. The three of them lived humbly in the palace with many of the other servants--happy for the shelter the king and queen provided in return for their service and loyalty. It never occurred to Ahkmenrah that he was (as some would claim) better than his friend; all he knew was that she loved the West Garden just as much as he did.

Every evening, Ahkmenrah would gleefully follow his mother and baby sister to the garden, excited to see his friend. The queen and her maidservant would lounge in one of the patches of grass or on the edge of the fountain watching their children play; ducking in and out of the foliage or splashing in the cool waters of the central pool when the desert heat was significantly stifling.

Ahkmenrah never felt like a prince when he was chasing after his friend, giggling as the fresh air swept through his curls as he ran. She only ever called him “Ahk”; never once did she speak of him with the title of “my prince” like so many others. He loved that shortened version of his name. Every time she called for him; it made him smile, and in return, he called her Nouke--a name that found her smiling back at him just as widely.

While the sun was high overhead, Ahkmenrah was with his father, learning what it meant to rule a vast empire. Those mornings and afternoons never lent the same joy he found in the evenings with Nouke in the garden. Nevertheless, the prince cherished the teachings his father gifted unto him. He felt a sense of pride when he stood at his father’s side during civil meetings in the throne room and council meetings. Every aspect was enthralling for his young mind.

The older Ahkmenrah grew, the more he understood and admired the way his father ruled. Merenkahre was firm when he had to be but often kind when the circumstances could warrant gentleness. The respect he bestowed upon his subjects and advisors never went unreciprocated, and Ahkmenrah noted it all; filing it away safely in his mind, so he could remember in the future. He yearned to show the same devotion and compassion to the people of Egypt when it was his turn to wear the crown. The prince learned quickly and eagerly.

No matter how old he grew, or how long his lessons would take, Ahkmenrah would always return to the West Garden. The moment his father’s teaching would come to a close, the prince would thank him for his wisdom and guidance then run through the halls until he was encompassed in the magic of the lush green, and reunited with his favorite person in all the palace.

Since meeting Nouke, Ahkmenrah always missed her. Her spirit matched his own: that unwavering need for adventure. Nouke was warm like the sun but always changing like the moon; she constantly kept him guessing, and it thrilled him. Every game was her idea, and Ahkmenrah never failed to follow her lead- whatever it may be. The whole of his childhood was written within the limits of that garden, and when he was with Nouke, he wasn’t a prince of Egypt--shackled from birth to his duty. He was just Ahk; no more, no less.

For six years that was the routine Ahkmenrah was used to: days with his father and evenings with his friend. However, as they got older, a piece of him came to realize that before long, their adventures in the serenity of the garden would come to an end. By the time he was twelve, most of his lessons ate into the hours the prince was used to spending with Nouke. It made him sad to think of her alone in their garden with no one to keep her company, but a large part of him understood how important it was to learn his father’s trade. He could only hope that she understood too.

It was exceptionally hot the afternoon Ahkmenrah followed his father out of the palace and into the training yards located on the grounds. He’d often heard his brother speak of the open field where the pharaoh’s soldiers trained along with the Medjay. It was a new sight and Ahkmenrah’s hunger for adventure lent him attentive eyes. Men and boys, most around his age, were practicing with all manners of weapons; spears, bows, and the khopesh. Ahkmenrah watched them all, wondering why his father had brought him to such a place.

“Three times a week, we will be meeting here so that you may learn to defend yourself,” his father noted as though he had heard his son’s thoughts.

Merenkahre stopped a good distance away from the other sparing soldiers and turned to face his son. Kamuzu stood at his side, holding the same stoic expression that Ahkmenrah could never really make heads or tails of. The Medjay deftly removed the khopesh from its place on his hip and offered it wordlessly to the prince. Ahkmenrah’s brows furrowed and he blinked at the curved blade apprehensively, confused as to how this lesson applied to being king.

“Take it,” his father encouraged, easily drawing his own matching weapon. “Test its weight.”

Ahkmenrah bit his lip, eyeing the khopesh wearily a moment more before obeying. A gasp escaped his lungs in mild shock when the heavy weapon fell from his hands, and into the dirt--it was much heavier than he had thought. Quickly, he retrieved the blade and held it with a firm, two-handed grip, looking sheepishly back to his father. The ghost of a smile played around Merenkahre’s lips, which put Ahkmenrah more at ease.

“Test its weight,” he said again, slowly gliding his own blade through the air with one hand.

Ahkmenrah mimicked the movements as best he could; the weapons cumbersome weight almost too difficult for him to manage properly.

“Very good,” Merenkahre grinned.

“Am I going to learn everything as Kahmunrah has?” Ahkmenrah asked, suddenly more interested to learn.

His older brother only liked weapons and fighting; he found no beauty in gardens or shared the young princes' sense of adventure. Thus, Ahkmenrah knew; Kah never wanted to be the big brother he wanted. But if he learned to fight, maybe he would like him more--the prince hoped so anyway.

A slight frown tinted the pharaoh’s expression, but he quickly hid it. “To a degree, I will teach you bow and spear and khopesh until you are comfortable enough with each.”

“Oh,” Ahk said, slightly disappointed. Kah only liked people who were as skilled as he was. “Okay.”

Ahkmenrah followed his father’s guidance, swinging the blade how he was instructed in repetitive motions, each one faster than the last until the weapon no longer felt so clumsy in his hands.

It was weeks before he was truly at ease with any kind of weapon in his hand. Still, he knew he would never harbor the same joy his brother seemed to when it came to such things.

“Am I going to learn how to strategize war next?” Ahkmenrah asked idly after a long day in the training yard.

His muscles ached as he walked back to the palace alongside his father and Kamuzu. Merenkahre didn’t answer right away, taking his time to think as his features grew pensive, causing Ahkmenrah to wonder what it was about his question that warranted such careful study.

“Your Consul of Montu will be responsible for such dealings,” Merenkahre decided, finally. “You must trust his word, should a time ever come that you need such knowledge."

That made sense, but Ahkmenrah pressed anyway, “but didn’t you know how to--”

“I learned because my father needed men to fight in wars he wanted no part of,” Meren explained sternly. “Do you plan to seek out war during your reign?”

Ahkmenrah shook his head, folding under his father’s unusually intense gaze, “No.”

“Then what you have learned will suffice,” the pharaoh’s expression lightened as they neared the palace. “We are done for today. Your mother tells me you are missing a friend of yours--go.”

Ahkmenrah’s face lit up, all previous thought of war and fighting long behind him. He quickly thanked his father and took off running.

The sun had only begun to sink into the distant horizon when Ahkmenrah made it to his favorite garden. He'd only stopped on his journey long enough to scrounge up a snack that he could share. As a servant, Nouke and her family were given small rations and often went hungry--a thought the prince hated. It only took her offhandedly mentioning she’d gone without one day for Ahkmenrah to make a habit of bringing something from his own, abundant supply. She had refused the first time, too proud it seemed to want his help; it was only when he offered to share that Nouke would accept his offerings. He would purposely eat slower, letting her take as much as she needed, and he would smile; happy to have helped his friend.

Nouke sat on the edge of the shallow pool; her dark hair pulled into a loose braid- the slightly darker tan pigment of her skin glowing in Ra’ s golden rays. Her face was turned away, eyes fixated on the lily pad she glided over the water's surface in absent motions. Even from a distance, and without the benefit of seeing her face, Ahkmenrah could tell a sadness had taken root in her. Something even the magic of their treasured garden could not properly deter. How long had it been since he had seen her? Days? Weeks? Much too long.

Her somber aura shifted however when Nouke caught sight of him with an idle glance. A gasp sounded on a quick inhale when her eyes met his--the lily pad forgotten. All of the gloom that had been constricting her spirit no longer bound her. She dazzled him with a smile that matched the sparkle in her eyes, and when she ran to greet him, she did so on fumbling feet, excitement quickening her gait to nearly a fault. Catching the blunder painted a grin onto the prince's lips as his pace hastened too, eager to be near her.

“Ahk!” Nouke’s honey-sweet tone was like a song to his ears after weeks of nothing but his father’s gruff voice in his head. 

The sound alone was enough to pull his smile tighter and prompt his heart to beat more fervently (for whatever reason). Unceremoniously, she threw her arms around his shoulders, enveloping him with a friendly embrace, with sufficient force to almost send Ahkmenrah stumbling backward.

“I thought maybe you’d forgotten me.”

“Never,” he assured her, returning her hug with just as much warmth.

She was smiling even brighter than before when they pulled apart, her eyes meeting his gladly.

“Sorry I’ve been away so long,” Ahk said, brandishing a peace offering: a linen-wrapped bundle of fresh dates and figs to share.

She glanced at the proffered fruit, then back to him with silent rejoice before tugging him by the arm across the garden to one of the shady patches of grass. She gave his arm another yank, tugging him down to sit beside her.  The cool patch of grass was a welcome contrast to the hours he spent under the sun in the training yard. He sat with his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands relishing in the soft textures and the company of his friend. Nouke waited patiently for him to pass her a portion of the food he had brought--like usual--and together they ate in content silence.

“I missed you,” Nouke said suddenly, in a rather sheepish tone that was unbefitting of her usual ebullient demeanor.

When the prince chanced to meet her gaze, he found she had spoken more to her food than to him, still, he smiled. He was so used to her exuberance, but he liked this timorous side of her as well.

“I missed you too,” Ahk said, sliding her the last two dates.

He could have eaten them easily, having worked up an apatite swinging a blade around the better part of an afternoon, but he had the luxury of ample meals whenever he called for one, unlike her.

The shy exterior melted into the lively attitude he was accustomed to, which had always lent a fullness inside of him that he couldn’t quite place. Nouke was the only person he knew to incite such a feeling.

“What is it your father’s been teaching you?” she asked, noshing on the last piece of fruit.

A tiny frown worked onto Ahk’s features, the shift in the curve of his mouth enough to elicit a slight ache in the muscles of his face. Nouke had always been curious about his lessons, and usually, he was happy to tell her the wisdom his father offered. However, after so much time away, Ahk didn’t want to discuss topics that had been pounded into his brain since he was six.

Ahkmenrah pulled absently at the green blades, and bit his bottom lip as he shrugged, “A lot of the same……just more.”

He sighed and when he caught her thin frown, he mustered a smile for her benefit, not wanting to burden her with his own troubles. It wasn’t right for him to complain, especially to her.

“He has been teaching me how to fight like Kahmunrah.”

“Oh?” she frowned, more out of wariness than sadness, but only briefly. “That must be fun. Is your brother helping?”

Ahk shook his head, “No.”

When he told his big brother that he was learning to fight, Ahkmenrah hoped it would spark some sort of kinship between them--a shared interest. Even a hint of intrigue would have been something. Instead, Kah had scoffed and pushed him out of his way. He didn’t understand why his brother treated him so.

“Sometimes I wish my father would make Kahmunrah pharaoh instead of me.”

Nouke glanced at him, surprise pressing a furrow onto her brow, “Why?”

Ahk shrugged, “I don’t want to spend my whole life in a palace. Kah isn’t going to be pharaoh, and he has traveled and seen so many places. I want to see them too.”

Nouke grew quiet, and he watched her thoughts manifest in waves of her pensive expressions, until a smile steadily unfurled across her features. Ahk smiled too, a reflex reaction to seeing her face light up with restored spirit.

“I think I know a way you can have a little adventure,” she told him before he could ask what had prompted her grin.

When she didn’t impart more of an explanation, intrigue contorted the prince’s face, his question written in the hook of his brow. Without a word, she tugged him off the cushion of grass and to his feet; he barely had time to find his footing before she was yanking him deeper into the garden. Ahkmenrah knew better than to ask where it was she was taking him; he followed her lead and reveled in the surge of thrill the mystery brought.

Nouke led him to the westernmost edges of the garden, skillfully cutting through the dense foliage that hid the towering wall until they were in the small space between the green brush and sand-colored stones. She stood for a moment, her hand still gripping his as she studied the bricks carefully.

“Nouke?” the prince asked, his eyes bouncing between her and the wall, then back to her.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she surrendered his grasp and began pushing gently on individual stones, causing Ahk’s confusion to grow. He was about to ask her again when one of the bricks fell loose to the other side with a quiet thud.

“Found it!” Nouke beamed proudly.

Ahk’s mouth hung agape in awe, blinking as she pushed more of the bricks free until the breach was large enough to crawl through.

“How…?” 

“I had a lot of time to explore when you stopped visiting,” she explained with a shrug.

Ahk frowned, “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Now are you gonna follow me on an adventure or stay in these walls?”

She was already climbing through the opening with ease as she spoke. The prince bit his lip as he smiled and nodded. His heart was pounding and his whole body tingled with excitement; of course, he was going to follow his friend on an adventure--he would follow her anywhere.

“Kamuzu!” Ahk shouted, knowing it would be better to have someone to watch out for them than not.

“No,” Nouke frowned, gazing at him with concern from the other side of the wall.

“It’s okay, he won’t tell anyone where we go. He'll just protect us,” he promised with a grin and deftly climbed through.

The sensation of hot sand beneath his feet for the first time was one the prince would never forget; it’s soft but coarse texture so alien but grand. Hundreds of tiny grains shifted and moved heedlessly around his toes--free--like he suddenly was. Ahk had only ever known the packed dirt of the training yard and the hard stone corridors of the palace. Sand was new, and it pulled a tight smile onto his lips.

Directly on the other side of the garden wall was a stretch of rural landscape that grew more arid the further west he looked beyond the Nile. All of it open and dotted with sparse, dried foliage: land that had yet to be peppered with stone structures. Along the banks of the mighty river green sprouted creating a striking contrast to the surrounding dry sands. It was like stepping from one magical garden into another, but this one had no walls.

Something ethereal washed over Ahkmenrah as he took in the grandeur of it all; the sights and smells and the horizon stretching out endlessly with nothing to keep him from running to where the sun was sinking into it. Everything he knew was encased in stone walls. It would have been so easy to venture into that vast countryside, but that sense of duty, that had been all but bred into him, kept him where he stood--yearning.

Nouke was already strolling along the riverbank, free of the yoke of responsibility. He was envious, to a degree, but not enough to hinder the joy he felt seeing her so uninhibited wading in the waters of the Nile. His feet sank into the sands as he stood watching her, finding the grains growing colder the deeper he rooted. Ahk wanted to follow her; he found himself glancing over his shoulder to the hole he had crawled out of.

Kamuzu managed to fit through and placed himself at the prince’s side, wearing the same stoical expression he always did.

“My father wouldn’t approve of me being outside the walls like this,” Ahk mused.

Kamuzu’s austere features softened, and one side of his mouth quirked into a slight smile, “Then we simply won’t tell him.”

With a nodding gesture, the Medjay encouraged the prince to join his friend. It was enough permission to chase away the invisible tether keeping his feet from moving, and with a flash of white teeth, Ahkmenrah grinned and ran to catch up with Nouke.

“Come feel the water, Ahk!” Nouke said, pulling him into the steadily flowing current of the Nile.

The water was up to their knees, and the cool rush around his legs was akin to the sand under his feet. The undeniable essence of life flowed around him, invigorating his senses and tingled every nerve in his body. The stagnant water in the pool of his garden would never compare to the constantly moving surge of the Nile. Ahk paid no attention to how wet his fine linen garments became; he wanted to stand there forever, feet buried in the soft river bed, water flowing freely around him as the sun warmed his shoulders. Nouke, however, took his hand and pulled him along with the current. The further from the palace they strode the less weight Ahkmenrah felt on his shoulders. There, he was just Ahk, and that was enough for him.

That stretch of bank along the mighty river became their second favorite place to venture. Many evenings that followed, Nouke and Ahk would tuck themselves away in their new oasis, a secret hideaway that allowed the masks of their reality to fall, letting them each be more and less than who they were meant to be.

*** 

Like the ever-changing waters of the Nile and the shifting desert's sand, the passage of time reshaped even the closest of paths. Responsibilities grew more significant as they grew older; placing a very irrefutable wedge between Ahkmenrah and his friend from the garden. Though they oft fought it.

At thirteen, Nouke was no longer simply a child of a maidservant, but a servant herself. She was expected to see to many chores at any hour, keeping her from the garden of her youth. As for the prince, his time of wistful adventure ran out too; Ahkmenrah was rarely out of his father’s sight. Merenkahre’s lessons shifted into actions. The pharaoh had taken to surrendering his seat on the throne or at the council, allowing the prince a taste of the future that awaited him.

The first time his father sprung such a notion onto his shoulders, Ahkmenrah was sure his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Every eye was on him, bearing down with a scrutiny that made his throat dry, and his palms sweat. He knew it was a test, one that he had been studying for most of his life. However, despite the years of shadowing his father’s every move, hearing his every command and testament, Ahkmenrah felt entirely out of his element. All his lessons were lost somewhere in the haze of his mind, and he desperately scrambled to recall what he had stored away. The only comfort was his father at his side.

Meren stood, mostly in silence, watching, lending quiet guidance, and solidarity. Even so, Ahkmenrah spent his first time as a ruler, with a white-knuckled grip to the armrest’s of the throne to keep his hands from shaking. That first time was the hardest. In the tests that followed, however, Ahkmenrah's confidence built more and more until he could present himself with the same regality of his father.

After a month of afternoons seeing to civil matters and addressing the council like a king, Ahkmenrah had never been more comfortable with the path the gods had laid before him. However, despite the comfort he felt, the notion of being pharaoh--and not just playing at it--had not yet taken hold. In his mind, he still had much to learn, but when his father summoned him to an early council meeting to discuss how much he'd learned in such a short amount of time; Ahkmenrah knew, his time as ruler was fast approaching.

That particular council meeting began like any other. Merenkahre sat at his normal seat at the head of the table while Ahkmenrah sat attentively next to his brother a few seats away. Most of the talk was the usual chatter: matters that ranged from trivial to pressing. Each warranted equal amounts of discussion regardless of how frivolous--a lesson Ahk learned early much to his childish frustration. When all other affairs had been seen to properly, Merenkahre stood, causing a hush to befall the room.

“My friends, there is but one matter remaining that I wish to discuss,” the pharaoh’s line of sight moved to his youngest son, and Ahk shifted, suddenly nervous. “I have been blessed in my time as pharaoh, and it is my wish that the same will be for the pharaoh who follows me.”

Merenkahre smiled proudly upon Ahkmenrah and gestured for the other men to follow his gaze. “As you are all aware, it was my intention to crown Ahkmenrah during his fifteenth year. But, during these past few weeks, he has shown wisdom beyond his years, and aptitude that far surpassed mine at his age.”

Ahkmenrah’s stomach twisted into a knot, and his heart was beating rapidly. Still, the prince held onto his composure, listening to his father, while sneaking side glances to Kahmunrah--seeing his indifferent expression meld into a disapproving sneer.

“Thus, I feel it is time, that I step aside and let Ahkmenrah take his place among Egypt's mighty pharaohs.” Merenkahre finished, holding his prideful simper.

A commotion broke out within the chamber as advisors sang praise to the pharaoh’s wisdom, all but one. Kahmunrah alone slouched into his chair, pouting, while the room congratulated the younger prince on his accomplishment. A lump grew in the back of Ahkmenrah’s throat; a cumulation of nerves, excitement, and a little guilt. No one had told Kahmunrah that he was never going to wear the crown, he figured it out on his own. And the bitterness it caused him had never been more palpable than in that moment.

Ahk swallowed that psychological clod in his throat before it grew large enough to choke him, and let his focus fall inward. A part of him considered forfeiting the crown with the demand that it be given to Kah so Ahkmenrah could spend his days exploring with Nouke. However, Ahkmenrah had endured years of teachings, and he wasn’t about to let his father’s teachings be for not. He didn’t want to let his father down, or his people. The prince wanted to be king, just not so soon.

“I’m not entirely sure he is prepared to rule, father,” Kahmunrah noted with an insouciant shrug.

Merenkahre shot his eldest son a vehement glare.

Kah raised his open palms as a sign of surrender, “I assure you; my reasoning does not come from my own desire to rule--”

“Then where?” Meren demanded.

“Your youngest son may possess the mind of a great ruler, but how can he rule the country if he does not know the country?”

The pharaoh’s intense leer waned as he considered Kah’s words thoroughly.

“I have seen much of this land,” Kah boasted. “The pyramids, where the Nile bleeds into the sea--I understand Egypt and her people. Ahkmenrah understands little more than the palace walls.”

The pensive expression on the pharaoh’s face melded back into a heavy suspicious leer.

“Are you suggesting that I crown you because you have seen all of these things?”

Kah’s jaw clenched as frustration strained his features, obviously upset his father gauged him with such mistrust. Nevertheless, Kahmunrah kept his tone even when he spoke his reply.

“My travels hardly give me merit to rule, father. I am simply suggesting the boy may appreciate the land and the people more if he sees them for himself.”

“Your son makes a fair point, my king,” one of the advisors noted.

“Yes,” another agreed. 

“And had you not seen much of the land and your people by the time you came to rule as well, father?” Kah added.

The pharaoh grew quiet again, rubbing his chin as he pondered. Ahk, however, sat, without finding words to speak, not entirely sure what was going to happen. It was rare Kah offered a suggestion that did not somehow benefit himself--Meren and Ahkmenrah knew that, which made the entire notion somewhat suspicious.

“And I suppose you want me to leave you in command while I am away with your brother?" Merenkahre tested, eyes growing narrow again.

Kah’s lips pressed into a firm line, his irritation becoming more difficult for him to stifle.

“You are the pharaoh, father. You will put into command whoever you think worthy,” his caustic tone matched his glance as he looked to Ahkmenrah and back to the pharaoh. “Just as you have always done.”

Ahk let his focus fall to the wood grain of the table in front of him, sinking lower in his chair, feeling Kah’s cold leer like daggers piercing his skin. He hated feeling guilty for something that was not completely his fault.

“Very well,” Merenkahre said finally. “I will think on this matter for a day, but it is likely the young prince, and I will soon be charting a course along the Nile.”

As the council adjourned, the apprehension that had been gnawing and tightening the knots in Ahkmenrah’s stomach slowly began to shift into something akin to excitement. Several of the advisors lingered, speaking to his father and brother about potential places to venture, but the prince didn’t stick around to learn where it was he and his father may be going. He liked the surprise.

It was early in the day, and he was sure there were to be more lessons awaiting him, but Ahkmenrah excused himself without a word, wanting nothing more at that moment then to share the good news with his best friend.

He went to their garden first in search of Nouke, but apart from the colorful birds, flitting throughout the greenery, it was empty. Curiosity pulled him deeper into the garden however, when his eyes scanned the furthest line of foliage, knowing the secret passage hidden behind the bushes. But, all the stones were as they should be; she was somewhere in the palace, and while a frown threatened to curl his lips downward, Akh would not let his excitement be hindered.

The prince wandered the grounds the better part of an hour before he found her among a group of maidservants, hanging washed linens to dry in the sunny courtyard. Immediately, Ahk's heart fluttered and beat faster and his smile spread across his face with tingling fervor. A chorus of surprised gasps echoed as he cut through the gathered women without ceremony. Some dropped to their knees while others bowed their heads respectfully, and all of them greeted him with a hushed “my, prince.” Nouke, however, beamed; giving him no such formal greeting. When Ahk took her hand, another gasp filled the open air of the courtyard, and the prince almost rolled his eyes at the drama of it all. Nouke didn’t ask when he whisked her away from her chores on hurried feet, she just laughed and held on to his hand like she would follow him wherever he wanted to take her.

Ahkmenrah was out of breath when he finally sat them down on the edge of the fountain in their garden. Nouke eyed him with amused confusion, waiting for his explanation with a soft smile painted on her lips.

“I have…to tell you…something…fantastic,” Ahk husked out between labored breaths.

Her dark eyes lit up, teaming with inquiry and that spirit he so admired. He took another moment or two to settle his breathing before he spoke.

“My father is going to take me on a trip to see the cities and landmarks of Egypt!” he was only vaguely aware of how fast he was talking; his excitement made it difficult for him not to. “It was Kah’s idea--he said a king should know his people. My father is going to make his ruling tomorrow and well…if he decides we are going; I'm going to ask that you come too.”

When he’d finished, Nouke’s excitement did not match his own, and that was enough to impede the joy he felt. She wasn’t even truly looking at him; her spirit dulled as she drew into her own thoughts.

“Nouke?” he asked gently, trying desperately to read her doleful aura.

She shook her head as her entire frame wilted, “I can’t go with you.”

Ahkmenrah’s face fell, and he met her sad eyes in silent question.

“I wish I could, Ahk. But I’m a servant. You're a prince. Your father would never allow someone like me to go with you.”

She was right. Servants were not companions to princes. Nouke to him, however, was so much more than a servant, she was his friend; she always would be no matter her station. His father would not understand that though, and the notion yanked ravenously on his heartstrings. All at once, the idea of adventuring lost its luster if he couldn’t share those experiences with her; and for a second time, he considered giving up the crown.

“I look forward to the stories you’ll bring back,” she said casting him a smile he knew was for his benefit and nothing more. “Promise you will tell me everything as soon as you return.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, sadness in his tone, “I promise.”

It fell quiet in the garden for a long time, the only sound coming from the rustling leaves caught in the desert breeze and the songbirds that played among them. Ahk’s eyes followed their sound, envying the freedom their wings granted them; with a few flaps, they could soar miles away.

“I have to get back to work,” Nouke murmured, sounding as though she didn’t want to leave him.

She gave him another rueful smile, and he did his best to match it.

“My father is probably looking for me,” he said, also not wanting to leave.

Before he turned to say his good-bye, Nouke pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Pink tinted her features and she smiled again, that time not quite as sad.

“Have fun on your adventure, Ahk.”

The prince watched her go, his fingers caressing the spot where she had so brazenly kissed him, feeling utterly torn. Ahkmenrah yearned to see Egypt’s centuries-old monuments and cultures, but part of him wished to stay in the palace forever where Nouke was. Surely a pharaoh who could do as he pleased could remain friends with a servant. The aching knot in his stomach, however, told him such a notion was not going to be so easy.

Next Chapter-> Chapter Three: Across the Sands

[bubblyani]

Good Year

(Alfie Solomons x Reader)

An Alfie Solomons One Shot

Genre: Fluff

Authors Note: What a wonderful way to end 2019...and begin 2020 with an Alfie fic! Missed writing for him so much. Loved writing this to the point I might consider continuing this story. Hope you all feel the same. Enjoy! Happy New Year! 🥳

The fingertips left your scalp the moment you heard clock strike at midnight. Looking up from several heavy bound books, your neck suddenly felt a crease of pain as it was in the same position for what seemed like forever. And suddenly, you were back in reality.

Your family surely must have been enjoying to the fullest. Why wouldn’t they be? When they were out on a lovely holiday, away from any trace of London. Regret hung on one side of your conscious, but Determination seemed heavier on the other, making sure you’re hell bent on getting some much needed, important reading done in peace. Thus, you were homebound, awake at midnight. 

But wait! Midnight? You gasped. It was midnight, already?

Your body ached to step outside, and soak in the society that was poured into the streets. There was never a year where you missed it ; The spectacle that was brought forth by this occasion. With a quick shot of rum that promised warmth, you grabbed your shawl. And wrapping  it around, you stepped outside.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The year, it had finally come to an end. Time flew by in such a flash, it seemed unfathomable.

Out with the old, in with the new. You certainly did not want to start the dawned new year merely surrounded by books and sheer loneliness. 

You were a simple woman, your demands were not high. Just a few steps outside seemed enough for you. Especially when the spectacle existed, everywhere you laid eyes on.

The street may have not been comparable to fancy hotels or night clubs, but you witnessed the excitement , and you witnessed the joy only new year could bring. And it was from the ones you’ve known all your life. People singing “Auld Lang Syne” in the distance, made it impossible for you not to hum along. 

Until a loud firecracker, bursted inches close by, making you jump and shriek in response.

Clutching your chest, you finally recovered your breath, only to discover  the culprits to be a group of younger men, who amused themselves with fire crackers, tossing them around mindlessly. Laughing and possibly  intoxicated.

“OI! WHAT YOU BLOODY THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

A voice, deep, booming and masculine, echoed from the distance. A voice that managed to stop their laughter, forcing them to halt on their tracks.

A voice that sent unexpected tremors through your soul.

“Lads...easy now” you breathed, extending your hand.

These boys, they were not strangers. So you didn’t hesitate to step up.

“You wouldn’t want to stir up the crowd by being reckless now, would you?” your tone may have been stern, yet you maintained the tone of alliance. And to your relief, they appeared guilty.

“Sorry Y/N...” With a sudden shyness, they scattered off, realizing their fault. Shaking your head, you watched them disappear.

“You alright, miss?”

You turned to your right. It was that voice from earlier, finally taking form of a man. The voice sounded gentler as a matter of fact.

“I’m fine...really-“ you replied.With very little light outside, it seemed quite difficult, to fully make out the appearance of the man. Even still, you could tell he was protective. Standing far enough, he kept you comfortable. “Fucking careless twats ...in front of a lady” He growled, which surprisingly made you smile. “No...It’s quite alright. I know them” you replied with assurance. The way his head moved, you could tell his eyes scanned you from top to bottom. But in a genuinely curious manner. There was no hint of vulgarity.

“Yeah I could tell. You seem to hold your own ...” he said, with an impressed  tone. To which you chuckled embarrassingly.

“Well...there are young...” you replied, “and if I can’t...then...it would be quite concerning...” you said, “But thank you...anyways”you added, smiling at him.

“For what? You managed it yourself just fine, innit?” The black coat certainly made him look majestic. At least that was what you were able make out.

He was right. For what indeed?

He may have been a stranger, but his presence brought comfort. But how on earth were you to convey that?

“Maybe I did....” you began, “But still, I appreciate the effort...Oh!...”

The sound of fireworks steered your attention to the sky in an instant, reminding you of the true purpose of stepping outside. And the winter chill certainly managed to worm it’s way into that reminder as well. 

“Beautiful ...” You breathed. The multiple colors of light reflected in your eyes as you stared at them in wonder.

“Alfie...”

A hushed voice that sounded younger emerged nearby. With a quick, secretive glance you saw a young lad  standing next to the man, “...shouldn’t we-?”

The lad quickly quietened the moment the man shot him a look. It all happened so quickly. And it was all quite amusing. They could have just left. They had every right to. Strangers they were merely, just passing by. But the fact you managed to share silence with them, made you happy. And the fact they stayed, made you even more happy.

“Shana Tova!”

You finally heard the man utter.  Confused, you looked at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s Hebrew, love...” he said, in his gruff voice “...for ‘Good Year’”

Taking a step towards you, he finally stood under a lamppost, fully revealing his face.

His knowledge of the Hebrew language was self explanatory, once you saw him clearer. With his attire, hat and beard, his Jewish roots were given away easily. His face, you realized, looked quite distinctive. Handsome too, in fact.

“Oh....” you said, your mind preoccupied with what you just witnessed, “I see...” You breathed.

Shana Tova

Contrary to his gruff nature, the way he said it, it sounded sincere. But most of all , the warmth it made you feel seemed incomparable.

It may have not been daytime. But the light sufficed for you to remember those eyes. It also sufficed for you, to remember that face. 

To remember his effect on you. “Right!”

You were freed from your trance as the man cleared his throat, “Ahem!..we better be going then....Ollie!” As you watched the two men pass you by, you were speechless. You were surprised how a stranger leaving could make your heart heavy by a little. But, it was indeed a new year. And there was one thing you could do. 

“Wait!...”

The two men turned upon your calling. Taking a breath, you smiled.

“Shana Tova” You said gently, relieved how it rolled out of your low so easily. And given the younger man, Ollie’s pleased expression, you have done a good job. But his response was not what you longed for.

“Happy New Year!” Alfie, the man greeted back.

Unlike his assistant, he seemed to be more in control of his emotions. Yet it made you smile, “now...” he continued, “Go home quick! It’s fuckin’ freezing out!”

With a nod, you watched the two men disappear, blending in to the nearby  crowd, before you walked back home.

The rum really did warm you up. But the rum was simply weak the moment he showed. Nothing seemed to warm you enough the way he said those words:

Shana Tova

Good Year. It was definitely what you hope to have.

——————————————————

Tagged: @starlightmornings​ @rogerfxckingtaylor​ @daydreamerinadazedworld​ @courtney-thevixeniris​

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[sorneth]

Interview: Sorneth Caduceus

► Name ➔ He grinned. “Ser Sorneth Caduceus, Bard of renown, and teller of stories. ...Also a knight of Ishgard now apparently” he offered with a side ward slant of his eyes “bit of a funny tale that one.” ► Are you single ➔ He chuckled warmly, as a smile formed that not only curved along his lips but brought a fond narrowing of his eyes. “Not in the slightest. I’m the husband of Maxia Caduceus, and happily so. While we do have our problems sometimes, that’s simply the way of it. A relationship is like a garden, you tend it together, and you enjoy both the good times, and weather the bad side by side.” ► Are you happy ➔ He offered a nod. “Most of the time. I have many, many things around me that bring a smile to my face, and a warmth to my heart. While occasionally my mind does get the better of me, I’m fortunate that I can often find pleasant company to help ease me back into my usual, jovial self.” ► Are you angry? ➔ The bard falls silent for a moment, a frown pulling across his lips as the fingers of a gloved hand curl inwards towards his palm briefly. “Overall?” his tone flows gently upon smooth silver “No, I’m content and at peace. It’s merely specific subjects that are likely to light a fire in my blood. But they rarely if ever surface in normal conversation.” ► Are your parents still married ➔ This brought the man’s head to tilt, before giving a brief huff of a chuckle. “I don’t even know my parents, but I imagine they still are. Divorce is not an option where I come from, I’m... pretty sure the marriages are pre-arranged as well. Aids in the selective breeding.”

(Cut for Length)

EIGHT FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ The bard’s eyes closed gently... “A place far more ancient then you can fathom. My people have been around since the star was torn into fourteen pieces. Isolated and kept safe in a homeland so deep beneath the surface of our world, that not even the veins of corrupted aether from the fragments of Dalamund’s fall could reach or affect it. I -am- from the Shroud, just way more vertically down then most forest-born.” ► Hair Color ➔ He grinned, as a hand lifted to pinch one of his bangs within his fingertips. “Naturally this silver, even the white highlights mixed in.” ► Eye Color ➔ His head tilted, offering a better view of his eyes as the moon-white iris’ seemed to glow against the dark grey backdrop. “Moon white, I was told this is the result of those born beneath a Full Moon, on the Winter Solstice. The night influenced me, and thus my eyes reflect my connection to the sunless sea. It’s a rare trait among my people, near to the point of prophecy.” He shrugged “If there is one about me, I don’t know it. I simply am who I am.” ► Birthday ➔ He frowned gently.. “Aside from having been born on the Winter Solstice? Well, that’s if the stories of my eyes are true. Honestly I... actually have no idea. I use the solstice to track my years, when it passes, I consider myself a year older.” ► Mood ➔ He grinned again, this time with one that even narrowed his eyes with mirth. “Playful, flirtatious, good humored, affectionate, creative, modest, honest, loyal, kind, generous. Depends on the day, depends on the time, depends on the company. But generally I’m told that I can be quite a darling, and that I’m pleasant to be around, and easy to get along with.” His smile softened to one of nearly being bashful as he lowered his head and scratched at his cheek. “I just try and give people a reason to smile, there’s enough in the world to feel horrible about. Bard’s are meant to lift people up, after all.” ►Gender ➔ He offered a rich, deep laugh as his arms flowed out from his sides with upturned palms. “Male, obviously. Though... if you want to open up my pants just to make sure, your welcome to...” he offered a wink. “I’m like a museum, can look as much as you want - just don’t touch anything.” ► Summer or winter ➔ “Winter” he stated without a breath of hesitation “I hate the heat, and enjoy the snow, cold, and peacefulness that comes with the season. While game can be a bit more difficult to hunt, I still prefer it over the thick of summer any day.”  ► Morning or afternoon ➔ His smile sweetened. “Morning, very early morning just after midnight. That’s usually when my day usually begins, and I can still drink in the starlit skies as I go about my training routines. It’s quiet, tranquil, few people bother me, and I can lose myself to the routines as if they were meditation.” He sighed out blissfully... “It also lets me finish, come back to the house, and start on breakfast right as my beloved starts rolling themselves out of bed.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ His smile grew fond, eyes closing to a gentle, reflective half lid as a soft sigh of contentment parted his lips. “I am fully, and without a doubt in my heart.” The words flowed with a steeled resolve, and an embers warmth as his hand lifted to run the pad of his thumb along the wedding band on his finger. “He is my guiding stars, my strength, my resolve, my present and future. My beloved has claimed me utterly, mind, heart, and soul. Even when were apart, my thoughts drift to him effortlessly, my muse behind everything that I do.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ The bard’s head tilted, only to tilt again in the other direction before his shoulder’s bobbed in a gentle shrug. “Yes and No. I believe that for some, those who have lived before, there is the chance for a re-kindled connection upon first crossing paths with the one who loved you before. A recognition of their soul, just as they recognize yours in kind. But that.. is merely remembrance.” He lifted a hand to tap two fingers over his heart. “Love, is something you fall into all over again - even with such a destined lover. You grow to know them as they are in this life, finding a fondness for them all over from the beginning. A connection is at first sight, love... grows after.” ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ The frown that flowed over the man’s lips was near a sneered grimace. “...The Ishgardians, their ‘inquisitors’ in fact. They arrested my last lover for writing ‘unhalonic’ texts and distributing his fiction to the general public.” He sighed out softly... “They held him for a long time, over a year, and by the time he was released... I had already left Ishgard and had resumed my way of life long before. If they had not, I likely would have stayed, likely continued to grow what we had between us. ...We were close.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ The bard’s head was swift to shake. “No. Never. It’s why I’m always as clear in my communication as I am, honest, genuine, sincere. Unlike most bards, I don’t desire to eat hearts where I go and leave them shattered within my wake. I... have far too much respect for people to do that.”  ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ The bard grinned, and merely lifted up his hand to show the Ishgardian Steel wedding band shaped like a dragon that circled his ring finger like an Oroboros. “...Does this answer your question?” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ He chuckled warmly as a wolfish grin settled over his features. “Of course! My hand’s can’t keep themselves off of my beloved, for one. For two, my friends are used to that being simply how I greet them.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ He offered a sharp, loud, huff of a laugh. “I wish, if only for the experience...” he smirked “If I have one, their so secret even I don’t know about them.” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ The bard winced, before offering a soft frown as his eyes closed with a side ward flick of his gaze. “...Many times. To spare others pain, hardship, complications, or torment I have had to walk away when I’d rather I not have to on many occasions. It’s how I’ve managed to avoid breaking the hearts of others, my own takes the blow on their behalf, many I imagine aren't even aware of it.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ The bard huffed out his breath with a shake of his head... “Come now, you can’t possibly make me choose between those?” he arched a brow, only to frown when the question was indeed serious. “Stars, for me you can’t have one without the other. I don’t have sex with people, just to have sex with people. I have to be fond of them to some degree, otherwise it’s just using another person for your own pleasure, which is something I can’t stomach.” His shoulder’s shrugged “When I’m in love? My love is both emotional and physical. If I can’t explore my beloveds likes, dislikes, passions, and build a dynamic with them. If I can’t set my blood on fire and show them how I feel in the most intimate manner known to mortal kind. What then, separates our bond from just having a very deep, platonic friendship?” His head shook, and a palm lifted with a shake as well. “Not for me, my beloved better accept that I’ll be an outright horn dog for them, and realize that it’s because of the fact I love them so much.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ He grinned. “Tea, without contest. Specially when sweetened with honey, or fruit juice mixed in with it.’ ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Dogs” the wight didn’t even hesitate, though after a moment of thought he did quirk a brow. “..Unless you mean cat men and women, in that case I’ll heavily consider changing my opinion.”  ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ The bard smirked a smile, fond and sweet. “Few best friends. As a bard acquaintances and regular connections are helpful, and do well to ease the quiet and loneliness at times. But they are infrequent, and prone to falling out of contact on that individuals whim. Such is why I prefer a few close, stable, consistent people in which to invest myself and a bond with.” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Romantic Night In” the words came with a sharp, swift fondness as a smile curled into place along his lips. Even his hands lifted, flowing as he continued... “A candlelit bath, incense scenting the air, two glasses of blush wine laced with just a small hint of clove oil to spark the desire. Worshiping your beloveds skin with the fond caress of fingertips, and the reverent kiss of lips. Exploring them, making their breath catch within their throat, and their heart quicken. A romantic sensuality...” ► Day or night ➔ “Night” he said plainly and with a swiftness. “The Sunless sea is the home of the celestials, my deities. To be beneath it is to be as if within a church, and thus I do most if not all of my activities of import beneath a starlit sky. Cloaked in their blessed shadows, and illuminated by moonlight. To have something of importance happen in the suns light is to welcome ruin to it. Or so my people have long believed.”

FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Not yet, though I think my beloved’s senses are slowly becoming keener to my methods. For now however, they seem to only notice my absence after a few hours have passed, and I’ve yet to be caught in the act.” The bard then reached up a hand, and promptly knocked on the wooden part of the wall behind him.  ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Unfortunately...” the sigh that left his lips was a heavy one as his eyes rolled. “Take it as advice, or wisdom. But do not get drunk within the forgotten knight and then attempt to navigate the pillars of Ishgard while intoxicated. It does not end well for you, or the unfortunate parties having to tend to you afterwards.” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “To want for something unobtainable, is simply an excuse to use it as motivation towards a means to obtain it. But when that want is for a person?” he sighed softly... “That is a pain not so easily twisted into optimism. Nor does acceptance come easy, or quickly.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ The bard offered a chuckle. “I have, and succeeded. That is all I will offer on the matter, as I would very much desire to keep it that way.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ The bard’s hand lifted, before pointing two fingers to his moon-white orbs. “Eyes” he stated firmly “For some, a smile has become impossible to form as they’ve long forgotten how over the duration of their suffering. But if you look into their eyes, you can see even in the depths of their pain, their fighting against the inner demons, the shimmer of warmth that tells of the difference you’ve just made. No matter how brief.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔ He grinned. “Shorter, there is a lot I can do romantically with someone smaller then me. From sweeping them off their feet, to curling up around them in bed. Besides, it’s hard to find people taller then me, and of those that do - generally were more for sparring outside of the bedroom then in one.” ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “Intelligence” he offered swiftness and a smile. “A pretty face is pleasant, but a sharp mind is what I thrive on most. The trading of sass, wit, sarcasm, humor, and being able to collaborate with another over my creative ideas are things I cherish.” He then offered a rich, deep laugh. “I often say, the fastest way to get me to fall in love with you, is to roast me so well that I’m left with the only option of laying in the grave you made me dig for myself without even realizing it.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ The bard offers a firm nod. “Relationship. While hook-ups are fun, for a while, they loose their luster easily enough and leave the heart wanting more. Thus, is why I invest my time into my relationships with others, be they romantic or platonic. It’s these meaningful connections, nurturing them, growing them, developing them, that bring me the most fulfillment.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ The bard offered a thick, sarcastic laugh. “I was separated from my parents as soon as I was old enough to pick up a wooden sword, as is custom. The only brothers I’ve ever known, are my fellow hunters and we... Well, we get along like brothers. If were not drinking together, were fighting one another either to settle an argument, or out of sheer pleasure and enjoyment. So I shall leave that up to your interpretation.” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ His head shook gently. “No. While some who hear my story, and are privy to the more guarded details, may surely think so. I never once considered myself of having been subjected to a ‘tragic backstory’. My life is what it is, and had to be what it was, for me to become what I have.” He shrugged. “My life is what it needed to be, to be what it is, and will become.” ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ His head shook again. “No, never. I’ve been loyal to the end, and left home only when there was no one else there to linger around for.” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ His shoulder’s bobbed with a deep, rich chuckle. “I was... voluntarily exiled” he stated slowly, and with keen purpose. “When we become hunters, we are condemned to live out the rest of our lives on the surface, fulfilling our duties until the day the Monsters we hunt succeed in killing us.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Stars no!” the answer came swiftly, and with a turn of the bard’s head in worry. “I have so few of them, and new ones don’t just grow on bushes in the middle of the forest. I’m an honest person, if I have a problem with someone, I tell them so. Now... if that results in me being punched in the face for it or not, is another matter.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ The bard’s head shook lightly. “I have two good friends, the rest are... barely more then acquaintances. While I would desire more, that is not up to me but rather others to decide if they wish to get to know me or not. But I can see how a white eyes, silver haired, silver tongued Wight can be intimidating.” ► Who is your best friend ➔ “Honestly?” he sighed softly, and his head sank into his hand with a rubbing of his fingertips against his temples. “...My horse. I tell them everything I do when not with them, and they witness everything I do when within their company.” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ “My horse, for reasons previously stated..” 

Tagged by: @umbralich​

Tagging: All of my followers who have not done this yet, and desire to. It was quite fun, even though it took over four hours to do.

[theuncannytruthteller]

THE UNFORGETTABLE NIGERIAN: WEALTH, WEALTH EVERYWHERE

Alhaji Alhassan Dantata (1877 - August 17, 1955) was a Nigerian businessman who was the wealthiest man in West Africa at the time of his death.

HERITAGE

Dantata's father was Abdullahi, a man from the village of Danshayi, near Kano. Dantata was born in Bebeji in 1877, one of several children of Abdullahi and his wife, both of whom were traders and caravan leaders.

Bebeji was on the Kano to Gonja (now in northern Ghana) and Kano to Lagos routes. The people of Bebeji, at least those from the Zango (campsite) were great traders. Bebeji was considered a miniature Kano. There was a saying which went “If Kano has 10 kolas, Bebeji has 20 halves" or in Hausa: "Birni tana da goro goma, ke Bebeji kina da bari 20".

The town attracted many people of different backgrounds in the 19th century, such as the Yorubas, Nupes, Agalawas, etc. It was controlled by the Sarki (chief) of Bebeji who was responsible for the protection of Kano from attack from the southwest.

Alhassan was born into an Agalawa trading family. His father Madugu Abdullahi was a wealthy trader and caravan leader while his mother was also a trader of importance in her own right enjoying the title of Maduga-Amarya. Abdullahi, in his turn, was a son of another prosperous merchant, Baba Talatin. It was he who brought the family from Katsina, probably at the beginning of the nineteenth century, following the death of his father, Ali.

Abdullahi already had a reputation of some wealth from his ventures with his father and therefore inherited his father’s position as a recognized and respected Madugu. Like his father, he preferred the Nupe and Gonja routes. He specialized in the exchange of Kano dyed cloth, cattle, slaves and so on for the kola of the Akan forest. Surprisingly, he had added cowries brought to the coast by European traders to the items he carried back to Kano.

BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE

Abdullahi continued to operate from Madobi until 1877 when having just set out for a journey to Gonja, his wife delivered in the Zango (campsite) of Bebeji. The child was a boy and after the usual seven days, he was named Alhassan. Abdullahi purchased a house in the town and left his nursing wife and child to await his return from Gonja. On his return, he decided to abandon Madobi and moved to Bebeji. Some say that the house that contains his tomb is still held by the family. The date of his death is unknown, but it was probably about 1885 when Alhassan was between seven and eight years of age. By then he had brothers and sisters – Shuaibu, Malam Jaji, Malam Bala, Malam Sidi and others.

The children were too young to succeed to their father’s position and to manage his considerable wealth. They all received their portion according to Islamic law. Maduga Amarya was known to be such a forceful character that nobody in the Zango would take her to wife. She therefore decided to leave the children in Bebeji, in the care of an old slave woman, while she moved to Accra where she became one of the wealthier Hausa traders.

The slave was known as "Tata" from which circumstance young Alhassan became known as Alhassan Dantata because of her role as his ‘mother’ (" Dantata" means "son of Tata”).

Alhassan was sent to a Qur'anic school (madrasah) in Bebeji and as his share of his father’s wealth (as so often happens), seemed to have vanished, he had to support himself. The life of the almajiri (Qur’anic student) is difficult, as he has to find food and clothing for himself and also for his malam (teacher) and at the same time read. Some simply beg while others seek paid work. Alhassan worked and even succeeded at the insistence of Tata in saving. His asusu, “money box” (a pottery vessel) purchased by Tata and set in the wall of the house can still be seen.

When he was about 15 years of age, Alhassan joined a Gonja bound caravan to see his mother. He purchased some items from Bebeji, sold half of them on the way and the rest in Accra. When he saw his mother, he was very delighted hoping she would allow him to live without doing any work since she was one of the wealthier local traders. After only a rest of one day, she took him to another malam and asked him to stay there until he was ready to return to Kano and he worked harder in Accra than he did in Bebeji. After the usual reading of the Qur’an, Alhassan Dantata had to go and beg for food for his malam, and himself. When he worked for money on Thursdays and Fridays, Alhassan Dantata would not be allowed to spend the money for himself alone, his malam always took the lion’s share (this is normal in Hausa society). After the visit, his mother sent him back to Bebeji where he continued his studies. Even though now a teenager, Tata continued to insist that he must save something everyday.

When he was still a teenager, great upheavals occurred in the Kano Emirate. This included the Kano Civil War (1893-1894) and the British invasion of the emirate (1903). During the Kano Civil war, Alhassan and his brothers were captured and sold as slaves, but they were able to buy back their freedom and return to Bebeji shortly afterwards.

Alhassan remained in Bebeji until matters had settled down and the roads were secure, only then did he set out for Accra, by way of Ibadan and Lagos (Ikko) and then by sea to Accra and then to Kumasi, Sekondi and back to Lagos. Alhassan was one of the pioneers of this route. For several years, he carried his kola by sea, using steamers; to Lagos where he usually sold it to Kano bound merchants. By this time, he was relatively wealthy.

In 1906, he began broadening his interests by trading in beads, necklaces, European cloth, etc. His mother, who had never remarried, died in Accra around 1908 and he thereafter generally restricted his operations to Lagos and Kano, although he continued to visit Accra.

CAREER

Thus far in his career, with most of his fellow long distance traders, he continued to live in one of the towns some distance from Kano City, only visiting the Birni for business purposes. Before Alhassan settled in Kano permanently, he visited Kano City only occasionally to either purchase or sell his wares. He did not own a house there, but was satisfied with the accommodation given to him by his patoma (land lord.). It was during the time of the first British appointed Emir of Kano; Abbas (1903-1919) that Alhassan decided to establish a home in Kano. He purchased his first house in the Sarari area (an extension of Koki). At that time there were no houses from the house of Baban Jaki (at the end of Koki) up to Kofar Mazugal. In fact the area was called Sarari because it was empty and nobody wanted that land. Alhassan built his first house on that land and was able thereafter to extend it freely.

In 1912, when the Europeans started to show an interest in the export of groundnut, they contacted the already established Kano merchants through the Emir, Abbas and their chief agent, Adamu Jakada. Some established merchants of Kano like Umaru Sharubutu, Maikano Agogo and others were approached and accepted the offer.

Later in 1918, Alhassan was approached by the Niger Company to help purchase groundnuts for them. He was already familiar with the manner by which people made fortunes by buying cocoa for Europeans in the Gold Coast. He responded and participated in the enterprise with enthusiasm, he had several advantages over other Kano business men: he could speak some English because of his contact with the people on the coast, thus he could negotiate more directly with the European traders for better prices. He also had accumulated a large capital and unlike other established Kano merchants, had only a small family to maintain, as he was still a relatively young man.

Alhassan had excellent financial management, was frugal and unostentatious. He knew some accounting and with the help of Alhaji Garba Maisikeli, his financial controller for 38 years, every kobo was accounted for every day. Not only that, Alhassan was hard working and always around to provide personal supervision of his workers. As soon as he entered the groundnut purchasing business, he came to dominate the field. In fact by 1922 he became the wealthiest businessman in Kano. Umaru Sharubutu and Maikano Agogo were relegated to the second and the third positions respectively.

When the British Bank of West Africa was opened in Kano in 1929, he became the first Kano businessman to utilize a bank account when he deposited twenty camel loads of silver coins. Shortly before his death, he pointed to sixty “groundnut pyramids” in Kano and said, “These are all mine”.

Alhassan became the chief produce buyer especially of groundnuts for the Niger Company (later U.A.C). It is said that he used to purchase about half of all the nuts purchased by U.A.C in northern Nigeria. Because of this, he applied for a license to purchase and export groundnuts in 1940 just like the U.A.C. However, because of the great depression and the war situation, it was not granted. Even Saul Raccah lost his license to export and import about this time because he did not belong to the Association of West African Merchants. In 1953-4 he became a licensed buying agent (L.B.A) that is, a buyer who sells direct to the marketing board instead of to another firm.

However, Alhassan had many business connections both in Nigeria and in other West African countries, particularly the Gold Coast. He dealt, not only in groundnuts, but also in other merchandise. He traded in cattle, kola, cloth, beads, precious stones, grains, rope and other things. His role in the purchase of kola nuts from forest areas of Nigeria for sale in the North was so great, that eventually whole “kola trains” from the Western Region were filled with his nuts alone.

When Alhassan finally settled in Kano, he maintained agents, mainly his relations, in other places. For instance Alhaji Bala, his brother, was sent to Lagos. Alhassan employed people, mainly Igbo, Yoruba and the indigenous Hausa people, as wage earners. They worked as clerks, drivers, and labourers. Some of his employees, especially the Hausas, stayed in his house. He was responsible for their marriage expenses. They did not pay rent and in fact, were regarded as members of his extended family. He sometimes provided official houses to some of his workers.

TEMPERAMENT AND CHARACTER

People’s opinion of Alhassan Dantata differed. To some people, he was a mutumin kirki (complete gentleman) who was highly disciplined and made money through hard work and honesty. He always served as an enemy to, or a breaker of hoarding. For instance, he would purchase items, especially grains, during the harvest time, when it was abundant at low prices. He would wait until the rainy season, (July or August) when there was limited supply in the markets or when grain merchants started to inflate prices.

He then moved to fill the markets with his surplus grains and asked a price lower than the current price in the markets by between 50 – 70%. In this way, he forced down prices. His anti- hoarding activities did not stop at grains and other consumer goods, but even to such items as faifai, igiya, babarma (Mat), dyed cloth, shuni, potash, and so on. However on the other hand, according to information collected in Koki, Dala, Qul-qul, Madabo, Yan Maruci e.t.c, Alhassan was viewed as a mugun mutum (wicked person). This was because some people expressed the view that Dantata undercut their prices simply to cripple his fellow merchants.

BUSINESS INTERESTS

He founded, with other merchants (attajirai), the Kano Citizens’ Trading Company, for industrial undertakings. In 1949, he contributed property valued at ₤10,200 (ten thousand, two hundred pounds) to the proposed Kano citizens trading company for the establishment of the first indigenous textile mill in Northern Nigeria. Near the end of his life he was appointed a director of the Railway Corporation.

In 1917, he started to acquire urban land in the non- European trading site (Syrian quarters) when he acquired two plots at an annual fee of ₤20. All his houses were occupied by his own people; relations, sons, servants, workers and so on. He never built a hotel for whatever purpose in his life and advised his children to do like wise. His numerous large warehouses in and around Kano metropolis were not for rent, rather he kept his own wares in them.

RELATIONSHIP WITH WOMEN

Because of his Islamic beliefs, Alhassan never transacted business with a woman of whatever age. His wife, Hajiya Umma Zaria, (mother of Aminu) was his chief agent among the women folk. The women did not have to visit her house. She established agents all over Kano city and visited them in turn. When she visited her agents, it was the duty of the agents to ask what the women in the ward wanted. Amina Umma Zaria would then leave the items for them. All her agents were old married women and she warned her agents to desist from conducting business with newly wedded girls. Umma Zaria dealt in the smallest household items, which would cost 2.5 d to sophisticated jewels worth thousands of pounds.

WAY OF LIFE, FOOD AND HEALTH

Though Alhassan became the wealthiest man in the British West African colonies, he lived a simple life. He fed on the same foodstuffs as any other individual, such as tuwon dawa da furar gero. He dressed simply in a white gown, a pair of white trousers (da itori), and underwear (yar ciki), a pair of ordinary local sandals, and sewn white cap, white turban and occasionally a malfa (local hat). He was said never to own more than three sets of personal clothing at a time. He never stayed inside his house all day and was always out doing something. He moved about among his workers joking with them, encouraging and occasionally giving a helping hand. He ate his meal outside and always with his senior workers like Garba Maisikeli and Alhaji Mustapha Adakawa.

Alhassan met fully established wealthy Kano merchants when he moved to Kano from the Kauye, like Maikano Agogo, Umaru Sharubutu, Salga and so on. He lived with them peacefully and always respected them. He avoided clashes with other influential people in Kano. He hated court litigation. He was in court only once, but before the final judgment the case was settled outside a Lagos court (it was a ₤10,000 civil suit instituted by one Haruna against him). He lived peacefully with the local authorities. Whenever he offended the authorities he would go quietly to solve the problems with the official concerned.

Alhassan enjoyed good health and was never totally indisposed throughout his active life. However, occasionally he might develop malaria fever and whenever he was sick, he would go to the clinic for treatment. Because of his simple eating habits, ordinary Hausa food two or three times a day and his always active mode of life, he never developed obesity. He remained slim and strong throughout his life. Alhassan had no physical defects and enjoyed good eye sight.

Alhassan was a devout Muslim. He was one of the first northerners to visit Mecca via England by mail boat in the early 1920s. He loved reading the Qur’an and Hadith. He had a personal mosque in his house and established a qur’anic school for his children. He maintained a full time Islamic scholar called Alhaji Abubakar (father of Malam Lawan Kalarawi, a renowned Kano public preacher).

He paid zakkat annually according to Islamic injunction and gave alms to the poor every Friday. He belonged to the Qadiriyya brotherhood.

Soon after the First World War he went on the pilgrimage to Mecca, via Britain, where he was presented to King George V.

EDUCATION INTERESTS

Alhassan Dantata respected people with qur’anic and other branches of Islamic learning, and helped them occasionally. He established a qur’anic school for his children and other people of the neighbourhood. He insisted that all his children must be well educated in the Islamic way. He appreciated also, functional western education, just enough to transact business (some arithmetic, simple accounting, Hausa reading and writing and spoken English).

Alhassan backed the establishment of a western style school in the Dala area for Hausas (i.e. non-Fulani) traders’ children in the 1930’s. The existence of a school in Bebeji (the only non-district headquarters in Kano to have one in the 1930’s) was probably due to his influence, although he could neither read nor write English. Alhassan could write beautiful Ajami, but could not speak or write Arabic, although he could read the Qur’an and other religious books with ease (this is very common in Hausa society). Most of the qur’anic reciter's could read very well, but could not understand Arabic. Alhassan Dantata knew some arithmetic-addition and subtraction and could use a ready reckoner. He also encouraged his children to learn enough western education to transact business, the need of his time. He established his own Arabic and English school in 1944, Dantata Arabic and English school.

POLITICS

He never became a politician in the true sense of the term. However, because of his enormous wealth, he was always very close to the government. He had to be in both the colonial government’s good books and maintain a position very close to the emirs of Kano. He was nominated to represent commoners in the reformed local administration of Kano and in 1950 was made a councillor in the emir’s council- the first non- royal individual to have a seat at the council. Other members of the council then were: Madakin Kano, Alhaji Muhammadu Inuwa, Walin Kano, Malam Abubakar Tsangaya, Sarkin Shanu, Alhaji Muhammadu Sani, Wazirin Kano Alhaji Abubakar, Makaman Kano Alhaji Bello Alhaji Usman Gwarzo, and the leader Alhaji Abdulllahi Bayero. Alhassan therefore was a member of the highest governing body of Kano in his time. He was also appointed to mediate between NEPU and NPC in Kano in 1954 together with Mallam Nasiru Kabara and other members. He joined no political party, but it is clear that he sympathised with the NPC.

DEATH AND LEGACY

In 1955, Alhassan fell ill and because of the seriousness of the illness, he summoned his chief financial controller, Garba Maisikeli and his children. He told them that his days were approaching their end and advised them to live together. He was particularly concerned about the company he had established (Alhassan Dantata & Sons). He asked them not to allow the company to collapse. He implored them to continue to marry within the family as much as possible. He urged them to avoid clashes with other wealthy Kano merchants. They should take care of their relatives, especially the poor among them. Three days later, he passed away in his sleep on Wednesday, 17th August, 1955 at 78. He was buried the same day in his house in Sarari ward, Kano. At the time of his death in August 1955, he was the wealthiest man of any race in West Africa.

It was and is rare for business organizations to survive the death of their founders in Hausa society. Hausa tradition is full of stories of former successful business families who later lost everything. In Kano city alone names like: Kundila of Makwarari, the wealthiest man at the end of nineteenth century, Maikano Agogo of Koki Ward, Umaru Sharubutu also of Koki Ward, Baban Jaji, Abdu Sarki of Zaitawa Ward, Madugu Indo of Adakawa, and others too numerous to mention here, were some of them.

Only Alhassan of Kano was likely to leave able heirs to continue his business in a grand way. The reason for this was that his heirs were interested in keeping the family name going and the employment of modern methods of book keeping, the only local merchant to do so at that time. Alhassan Dantata’s entire estate was subdivided according to Islamic law among the eighteen children who survived him. Alhassan’s descendants include Dr Aminu Dantata (son), Sanusi Dantata (son), Abdulkadir Sanusi Dantata (grandson), Dr Mariya Sanusi Dangote (granddaughter), Alhaji Aliko Dangote (great-grandson), Alhaji Tajudeen Aminu Dantata (great-grandson) and Alhaji Sayyu Dantata (great-great grandson). #HistoryVilleTHE UNFORGETTABLE NIGERIAN: WEALTH, WEALTH EVERYWHERE

Alhaji Alhassan Dantata (1877 - August 17, 1955) was a Nigerian businessman who was the wealthiest man in West Africa at the time of his death.

HERITAGE

Dantata's father was Abdullahi, a man from the village of Danshayi, near Kano. Dantata was born in Bebeji in 1877, one of several children of Abdullahi and his wife, both of whom were traders and caravan leaders.

Bebeji was on the Kano to Gonja (now in northern Ghana) and Kano to Lagos routes. The people of Bebeji, at least those from the Zango (campsite) were great traders. Bebeji was considered a miniature Kano. There was a saying which went “If Kano has 10 kolas, Bebeji has 20 halves" or in Hausa: "Birni tana da goro goma, ke Bebeji kina da bari 20".

The town attracted many people of different backgrounds in the 19th century, such as the Yorubas, Nupes, Agalawas, etc. It was controlled by the Sarki (chief) of Bebeji who was responsible for the protection of Kano from attack from the southwest.

Alhassan was born into an Agalawa trading family. His father Madugu Abdullahi was a wealthy trader and caravan leader while his mother was also a trader of importance in her own right enjoying the title of Maduga-Amarya. Abdullahi, in his turn, was a son of another prosperous merchant, Baba Talatin. It was he who brought the family from Katsina, probably at the beginning of the nineteenth century, following the death of his father, Ali.

Abdullahi already had a reputation of some wealth from his ventures with his father and therefore inherited his father’s position as a recognized and respected Madugu. Like his father, he preferred the Nupe and Gonja routes. He specialized in the exchange of Kano dyed cloth, cattle, slaves and so on for the kola of the Akan forest. Surprisingly, he had added cowries brought to the coast by European traders to the items he carried back to Kano.

BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE

Abdullahi continued to operate from Madobi until 1877 when having just set out for a journey to Gonja, his wife delivered in the Zango (campsite) of Bebeji. The child was a boy and after the usual seven days, he was named Alhassan. Abdullahi purchased a house in the town and left his nursing wife and child to await his return from Gonja. On his return, he decided to abandon Madobi and moved to Bebeji. Some say that the house that contains his tomb is still held by the family. The date of his death is unknown, but it was probably about 1885 when Alhassan was between seven and eight years of age. By then he had brothers and sisters – Shuaibu, Malam Jaji, Malam Bala, Malam Sidi and others.

The children were too young to succeed to their father’s position and to manage his considerable wealth. They all received their portion according to Islamic law. Maduga Amarya was known to be such a forceful character that nobody in the Zango would take her to wife. She therefore decided to leave the children in Bebeji, in the care of an old slave woman, while she moved to Accra where she became one of the wealthier Hausa traders.

The slave was known as "Tata" from which circumstance young Alhassan became known as Alhassan Dantata because of her role as his ‘mother’ (" Dantata" means "son of Tata”).

Alhassan was sent to a Qur'anic school (madrasah) in Bebeji and as his share of his father’s wealth (as so often happens), seemed to have vanished, he had to support himself. The life of the almajiri (Qur’anic student) is difficult, as he has to find food and clothing for himself and also for his malam (teacher) and at the same time read. Some simply beg while others seek paid work. Alhassan worked and even succeeded at the insistence of Tata in saving. His asusu, “money box” (a pottery vessel) purchased by Tata and set in the wall of the house can still be seen.

When he was about 15 years of age, Alhassan joined a Gonja bound caravan to see his mother. He purchased some items from Bebeji, sold half of them on the way and the rest in Accra. When he saw his mother, he was very delighted hoping she would allow him to live without doing any work since she was one of the wealthier local traders. After only a rest of one day, she took him to another malam and asked him to stay there until he was ready to return to Kano and he worked harder in Accra than he did in Bebeji. After the usual reading of the Qur’an, Alhassan Dantata had to go and beg for food for his malam, and himself. When he worked for money on Thursdays and Fridays, Alhassan Dantata would not be allowed to spend the money for himself alone, his malam always took the lion’s share (this is normal in Hausa society). After the visit, his mother sent him back to Bebeji where he continued his studies. Even though now a teenager, Tata continued to insist that he must save something everyday.

When he was still a teenager, great upheavals occurred in the Kano Emirate. This included the Kano Civil War (1893-1894) and the British invasion of the emirate (1903). During the Kano Civil war, Alhassan and his brothers were captured and sold as slaves, but they were able to buy back their freedom and return to Bebeji shortly afterwards.

Alhassan remained in Bebeji until matters had settled down and the roads were secure, only then did he set out for Accra, by way of Ibadan and Lagos (Ikko) and then by sea to Accra and then to Kumasi, Sekondi and back to Lagos. Alhassan was one of the pioneers of this route. For several years, he carried his kola by sea, using steamers; to Lagos where he usually sold it to Kano bound merchants. By this time, he was relatively wealthy.

In 1906, he began broadening his interests by trading in beads, necklaces, European cloth, etc. His mother, who had never remarried, died in Accra around 1908 and he thereafter generally restricted his operations to Lagos and Kano, although he continued to visit Accra.

CAREER

Thus far in his career, with most of his fellow long distance traders, he continued to live in one of the towns some distance from Kano City, only visiting the Birni for business purposes. Before Alhassan settled in Kano permanently, he visited Kano City only occasionally to either purchase or sell his wares. He did not own a house there, but was satisfied with the accommodation given to him by his patoma (land lord.). It was during the time of the first British appointed Emir of Kano; Abbas (1903-1919) that Alhassan decided to establish a home in Kano. He purchased his first house in the Sarari area (an extension of Koki). At that time there were no houses from the house of Baban Jaki (at the end of Koki) up to Kofar Mazugal. In fact the area was called Sarari because it was empty and nobody wanted that land. Alhassan built his first house on that land and was able thereafter to extend it freely.

In 1912, when the Europeans started to show an interest in the export of groundnut, they contacted the already established Kano merchants through the Emir, Abbas and their chief agent, Adamu Jakada. Some established merchants of Kano like Umaru Sharubutu, Maikano Agogo and others were approached and accepted the offer.

Later in 1918, Alhassan was approached by the Niger Company to help purchase groundnuts for them. He was already familiar with the manner by which people made fortunes by buying cocoa for Europeans in the Gold Coast. He responded and participated in the enterprise with enthusiasm, he had several advantages over other Kano business men: he could speak some English because of his contact with the people on the coast, thus he could negotiate more directly with the European traders for better prices. He also had accumulated a large capital and unlike other established Kano merchants, had only a small family to maintain, as he was still a relatively young man.

Alhassan had excellent financial management, was frugal and unostentatious. He knew some accounting and with the help of Alhaji Garba Maisikeli, his financial controller for 38 years, every kobo was accounted for every day. Not only that, Alhassan was hard working and always around to provide personal supervision of his workers. As soon as he entered the groundnut purchasing business, he came to dominate the field. In fact by 1922 he became the wealthiest businessman in Kano. Umaru Sharubutu and Maikano Agogo were relegated to the second and the third positions respectively.

When the British Bank of West Africa was opened in Kano in 1929, he became the first Kano businessman to utilize a bank account when he deposited twenty camel loads of silver coins. Shortly before his death, he pointed to sixty “groundnut pyramids” in Kano and said, “These are all mine”.

Alhassan became the chief produce buyer especially of groundnuts for the Niger Company (later U.A.C). It is said that he used to purchase about half of all the nuts purchased by U.A.C in northern Nigeria. Because of this, he applied for a license to purchase and export groundnuts in 1940 just like the U.A.C. However, because of the great depression and the war situation, it was not granted. Even Saul Raccah lost his license to export and import about this time because he did not belong to the Association of West African Merchants. In 1953-4 he became a licensed buying agent (L.B.A) that is, a buyer who sells direct to the marketing board instead of to another firm.

However, Alhassan had many business connections both in Nigeria and in other West African countries, particularly the Gold Coast. He dealt, not only in groundnuts, but also in other merchandise. He traded in cattle, kola, cloth, beads, precious stones, grains, rope and other things. His role in the purchase of kola nuts from forest areas of Nigeria for sale in the North was so great, that eventually whole “kola trains” from the Western Region were filled with his nuts alone.

When Alhassan finally settled in Kano, he maintained agents, mainly his relations, in other places. For instance Alhaji Bala, his brother, was sent to Lagos. Alhassan employed people, mainly Igbo, Yoruba and the indigenous Hausa people, as wage earners. They worked as clerks, drivers, and labourers. Some of his employees, especially the Hausas, stayed in his house. He was responsible for their marriage expenses. They did not pay rent and in fact, were regarded as members of his extended family. He sometimes provided official houses to some of his workers.

TEMPERAMENT AND CHARACTER

People’s opinion of Alhassan Dantata differed. To some people, he was a mutumin kirki (complete gentleman) who was highly disciplined and made money through hard work and honesty. He always served as an enemy to, or a breaker of hoarding. For instance, he would purchase items, especially grains, during the harvest time, when it was abundant at low prices. He would wait until the rainy season, (July or August) when there was limited supply in the markets or when grain merchants started to inflate prices.

He then moved to fill the markets with his surplus grains and asked a price lower than the current price in the markets by between 50 – 70%. In this way, he forced down prices. His anti- hoarding activities did not stop at grains and other consumer goods, but even to such items as faifai, igiya, babarma (Mat), dyed cloth, shuni, potash, and so on. However on the other hand, according to information collected in Koki, Dala, Qul-qul, Madabo, Yan Maruci e.t.c, Alhassan was viewed as a mugun mutum (wicked person). This was because some people expressed the view that Dantata undercut their prices simply to cripple his fellow merchants.

BUSINESS INTERESTS

He founded, with other merchants (attajirai), the Kano Citizens’ Trading Company, for industrial undertakings. In 1949, he contributed property valued at ₤10,200 (ten thousand, two hundred pounds) to the proposed Kano citizens trading company for the establishment of the first indigenous textile mill in Northern Nigeria. Near the end of his life he was appointed a director of the Railway Corporation.

In 1917, he started to acquire urban land in the non- European trading site (Syrian quarters) when he acquired two plots at an annual fee of ₤20. All his houses were occupied by his own people; relations, sons, servants, workers and so on. He never built a hotel for whatever purpose in his life and advised his children to do like wise. His numerous large warehouses in and around Kano metropolis were not for rent, rather he kept his own wares in them.

RELATIONSHIP WITH WOMEN

Because of his Islamic beliefs, Alhassan never transacted business with a woman of whatever age. His wife, Hajiya Umma Zaria, (mother of Aminu) was his chief agent among the women folk. The women did not have to visit her house. She established agents all over Kano city and visited them in turn. When she visited her agents, it was the duty of the agents to ask what the women in the ward wanted. Amina Umma Zaria would then leave the items for them. All her agents were old married women and she warned her agents to desist from conducting business with newly wedded girls. Umma Zaria dealt in the smallest household items, which would cost 2.5 d to sophisticated jewels worth thousands of pounds.

WAY OF LIFE, FOOD AND HEALTH

Though Alhassan became the wealthiest man in the British West African colonies, he lived a simple life. He fed on the same foodstuffs as any other individual, such as tuwon dawa da furar gero. He dressed simply in a white gown, a pair of white trousers (da itori), and underwear (yar ciki), a pair of ordinary local sandals, and sewn white cap, white turban and occasionally a malfa (local hat). He was said never to own more than three sets of personal clothing at a time. He never stayed inside his house all day and was always out doing something. He moved about among his workers joking with them, encouraging and occasionally giving a helping hand. He ate his meal outside and always with his senior workers like Garba Maisikeli and Alhaji Mustapha Adakawa.

Alhassan met fully established wealthy Kano merchants when he moved to Kano from the Kauye, like Maikano Agogo, Umaru Sharubutu, Salga and so on. He lived with them peacefully and always respected them. He avoided clashes with other influential people in Kano. He hated court litigation. He was in court only once, but before the final judgment the case was settled outside a Lagos court (it was a ₤10,000 civil suit instituted by one Haruna against him). He lived peacefully with the local authorities. Whenever he offended the authorities he would go quietly to solve the problems with the official concerned.

Alhassan enjoyed good health and was never totally indisposed throughout his active life. However, occasionally he might develop malaria fever and whenever he was sick, he would go to the clinic for treatment. Because of his simple eating habits, ordinary Hausa food two or three times a day and his always active mode of life, he never developed obesity. He remained slim and strong throughout his life. Alhassan had no physical defects and enjoyed good eye sight.

Alhassan was a devout Muslim. He was one of the first northerners to visit Mecca via England by mail boat in the early 1920s. He loved reading the Qur’an and Hadith. He had a personal mosque in his house and established a qur’anic school for his children. He maintained a full time Islamic scholar called Alhaji Abubakar (father of Malam Lawan Kalarawi, a renowned Kano public preacher).

He paid zakkat annually according to Islamic injunction and gave alms to the poor every Friday. He belonged to the Qadiriyya brotherhood.

Soon after the First World War he went on the pilgrimage to Mecca, via Britain, where he was presented to King George V.

EDUCATION INTERESTS

Alhassan Dantata respected people with qur’anic and other branches of Islamic learning, and helped them occasionally. He established a qur’anic school for his children and other people of the neighbourhood. He insisted that all his children must be well educated in the Islamic way. He appreciated also, functional western education, just enough to transact business (some arithmetic, simple accounting, Hausa reading and writing and spoken English).

Alhassan backed the establishment of a western style school in the Dala area for Hausas (i.e. non-Fulani) traders’ children in the 1930’s. The existence of a school in Bebeji (the only non-district headquarters in Kano to have one in the 1930’s) was probably due to his influence, although he could neither read nor write English. Alhassan could write beautiful Ajami, but could not speak or write Arabic, although he could read the Qur’an and other religious books with ease (this is very common in Hausa society). Most of the qur’anic reciter's could read very well, but could not understand Arabic. Alhassan Dantata knew some arithmetic-addition and subtraction and could use a ready reckoner. He also encouraged his children to learn enough western education to transact business, the need of his time. He established his own Arabic and English school in 1944, Dantata Arabic and English school.

POLITICS

He never became a politician in the true sense of the term. However, because of his enormous wealth, he was always very close to the government. He had to be in both the colonial government’s good books and maintain a position very close to the emirs of Kano. He was nominated to represent commoners in the reformed local administration of Kano and in 1950 was made a councillor in the emir’s council- the first non- royal individual to have a seat at the council. Other members of the council then were: Madakin Kano, Alhaji Muhammadu Inuwa, Walin Kano, Malam Abubakar Tsangaya, Sarkin Shanu, Alhaji Muhammadu Sani, Wazirin Kano Alhaji Abubakar, Makaman Kano Alhaji Bello Alhaji Usman Gwarzo, and the leader Alhaji Abdulllahi Bayero. Alhassan therefore was a member of the highest governing body of Kano in his time. He was also appointed to mediate between NEPU and NPC in Kano in 1954 together with Mallam Nasiru Kabara and other members. He joined no political party, but it is clear that he sympathised with the NPC.

DEATH AND LEGACY

In 1955, Alhassan fell ill and because of the seriousness of the illness, he summoned his chief financial controller, Garba Maisikeli and his children. He told them that his days were approaching their end and advised them to live together. He was particularly concerned about the company he had established (Alhassan Dantata & Sons). He asked them not to allow the company to collapse. He implored them to continue to marry within the family as much as possible. He urged them to avoid clashes with other wealthy Kano merchants. They should take care of their relatives, especially the poor among them. Three days later, he passed away in his sleep on Wednesday, 17th August, 1955 at 78. He was buried the same day in his house in Sarari ward, Kano. At the time of his death in August 1955, he was the wealthiest man of any race in West Africa.

It was and is rare for business organizations to survive the death of their founders in Hausa society. Hausa tradition is full of stories of former successful business families who later lost everything. In Kano city alone names like: Kundila of Makwarari, the wealthiest man at the end of nineteenth century, Maikano Agogo of Koki Ward, Umaru Sharubutu also of Koki Ward, Baban Jaji, Abdu Sarki of Zaitawa Ward, Madugu Indo of Adakawa, and others too numerous to mention here, were some of them.

Only Alhassan of Kano was likely to leave able heirs to continue his business in a grand way. The reason for this was that his heirs were interested in keeping the family name going and the employment of modern methods of book keeping, the only local merchant to do so at that time. Alhassan Dantata’s entire estate was subdivided according to Islamic law among the eighteen children who survived him. Alhassan’s descendants include Dr Aminu Dantata (son), Sanusi Dantata (son), Abdulkadir Sanusi Dantata (grandson), Dr Mariya Sanusi Dangote (granddaughter), Alhaji Aliko Dangote (great-grandson), Alhaji Tajudeen Aminu Dantata (great-grandson) and Alhaji Sayyu Dantata (great-great grandson).

[colorofmymindposts]

The Deviance of Two English Gentlemen Chapter Seven

Chapter Title: Comme Amis, Madame? 

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie films)/Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan Rating: Teen and Up Status: Incomplete Word Count: 1727 for this chapter, 9444 for the entire work thus far Summary: Set post Game of Shadows. When Sherlock Holmes is given a case by none other than Mrs. Watson, he has no idea that he cannot fix the unsolvable for the couple. Intimate truths are exposed in the process, leaving all three irrevocably changed. Tags: Case Fic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Secrets, Bickering Notes: The entire work can be read here on ao3. You can also read chapter one here and chapter two here, chapter three here, chapter four here and chapter five here and chapter six here. 

Story:

It was in a truly spinning, colored daze that Holmes managed to stumble up the stairs to his rooms, not once turning back to the door from where Watson had just departed. If he stole one glance, he thought he might run out into the street after the man, raving like a lunatic. It was better that he review the facts before jumping to conclusions at any rate.

Although, even solely as a detective, he could not wrap his head around what had transpired. Watson had kissed him. It was a gesture totally unexpected, at least at this point, when their more...amorous relationship had drawn its abrupt conclusion several years ago.

Of course, it could have been meant platonically. It was, after all, just on the cheek, a kiss much more innocent than previous ones they’d shared. The French were known to exchange kisses comme amis. Or perhaps Watson was just attempting to finally recognize their past together, just enough to acknowledge it, and could therefore move forward in his marriage.

Why would that be necessary, however? Surely after all this time, the old boy had gotten over Holmes. In fact, Holmes would have thought that all of Watson’s romantic feelings expired when he had packed up all things without a word to Holmes, rented out another flat, and had a girl on his arm within a month of leaving. If Watson had ever felt anything for him at all.

Those words...those parting words troubled his mind still. He turned them over, the three sentences, as though they were separate pages in a book. They danced in front of his eyes, and he burned them into his memory before they flared and faded in favor of another distraction. As if another distraction could successfully steer him away from Watson.

I’ve behaved remarkably badly.

Forgive me.  

And thank you.

None of the parts added up to a cohesive whole, ultimately. Behaved badly to whom? Forgive Watson for what? Thank Holmes for what deed? The whole matter was quite puzzling, and Holmes was beginning to ascertain that Watson either had no idea what he himself meant when he imparted those words or intentionally belied Holmes into investigating them so he would not think too much over the...child conundrum.

Holmes growled in frustration at it all. Never had a case provided such obstacles in his typical methodology. The personal element involved made it all very difficult to process, categorize in his normal way. With Watson by his side, Holmes had never experienced such clarity in his work, having finally found the pathway to the solutions through all the noise and clutter of the rest of the world. Now that Watson was not at his side but at the centre of this case, it was becoming harder to distinguish fact versus theory.

It was more difficult than ever; any time Holmes tried to think, his fingers traced the ghost-like touch of Watson’s lips to his cheek in awe and wonder, a feeling he had locked away in the deep recesses of his mind.

When they had been lovers, Watson had always been gentle. His doctor’s training had controlled how his hands caressed, his abundant care and precision had been merely a luxurious extension of his bedside manner whenever Holmes had hit the ring too hard. Though he doubted that Watson called his patients “ungrateful bastards” as he sewed them back together. It was equally unlikely that he ever finished the job with an impassioned kiss on the lips and a plea to act more carefully. Perhaps if Holmes had followed through on that advice, he would never have awoken to a half-empty bed as he had for the last three years.

In those years of Watson’s absence, Irene had been particularly special. At first, Holmes had admired nothing more than her brilliant mind, able to keep up with his own, a rarity in a person of any sex. Eventually, even he had found he could appreciate her beauty for what it was: flawless. She had been flippant as the change of the tide, however; and though her antics were amusing, she would gladly leave Holmes penniless and beaten to a pulp if it ensured her own safety. In spite of this, Holmes had been willing to try something with Irene, something more real when he had finally accepted that Watson had deserted him, when she had died.

And here he was now. Alone. And more bewildered than ever.

Without warning, the door to the flat opened. Holmes scrambled up from his bed, where he had lain for hours if not days, and rushed to greet the man he’d been waiting for in great anticipation.

“Watson!” he cried out upon entering the parlor.

He halted where he stood on the bearskin rug when he realized he had mistaken the identity of his guest.

“I must say Mr. Holmes, I am amazed as ever by your deductive powers,” Mrs. Watson remarked a touch snidely, though not enough to seem outright rude. “Despite all of what John writes, he can never do your talents justice.”  

“Yes, well he struggles with the quantitative details. Your husband is quite...the romantic—with his words,” Holmes replied, his voice slightly shrinking at the end. He coughed deliberately to compensate.

“I know he is. And I know you hadn’t been expecting to see me again quite so soon,” Mrs. Watson attested. “Truly neither had I. But I must speak with you about my husband.”

Holmes’ heart plunged into his stomach. Did she know? Had Watson confided his illicit action to his wife out of guilt? Oh Providence above, this could be the undoing of both of them alike.

“...must you?”

“It is not easy for me to say this, as I have been married to my John for some time now,” she began.

Holmes’ breath caught in his chest and could not escape. But the woman, surprisingly, looked at him pleadingly instead of in disgust.

She calmly continued, “But you have known John for nearly twenty years and I only for three. I can tell he has told you of our troubles, maybe more so than he has told me. I must ask for your advice on how to proceed.”

While she was more collected than her previous visit, the desperation was still very much present. The pads of her fingers were dry with the turning of pages, books, perhaps old letters as well, easily deduced from the tired lingering redness in her eyes that even she could not conceal. Gladstone had clearly seen it fit to comfort her if his hairs clinging to the hem of her dress were any indication.

He wandered over to his desk, not looking at her now, and rifled through some papers aimlessly in search of a more interesting task to occupy him.

“Mrs. Watson, I shall make this brief then for both our sakes. I advise you to speak with your husband,” he laid out rather plainly, proceeding to pop a macadamia nut from the bowl on the desk in his mouth. “These are delicious. Would you like one?”

“No, I have no appetite at present,” she replied with little disguise of her distaste.

He smirked rougely at the thought of his next barb. “Perhaps you should consult a doctor in that case.”

“You are trying to irritate me, draw me away. Did John tell you to do that?”

“Watson has tried to instruct me to do many things, and he has yet to be successful in any of his attempts,” he countered dismissively.

Damn the woman was persistent. He almost wished that Watson hadn’t told him anything of the matter.

“For your information, I have tried to talk to my husband all in vain. Last night, he chose his bed in favor of discussing anything with me. In every other instance, he has either been with you or in town,” said Mrs. Watson, her frustration and confusion evident in her speech. “I...it’s almost like he is suffering one of those black moods of yours that he described to me.”

“Hmph! Watson suffering a black mood! I would truly be worried if we ever saw that day,” he said through a mouthful of macadamia nuts.

Holmes crossed the room, going to face Mrs. Watson for the first time in this conversation. He stood right in front of her, leaving very little personal space between the two of them. Her eyes bulged somewhat in anxiety, and he purposefully tilted his head to one side to illustrate a more disturbing picture for the woman.

“I was hoping to be left alone to organize my thoughts, but I see that this...issue shall not leave my life unless I clarify it for you.”

“I would like nothing more than to leave you alone, Mr. Holmes,” she retorted, which almost made him laugh.

He turned from her, starting to pace toward the window overlooking Baker Street.

“Your husband, Mrs. Watson, suffers from an affliction that many men possess. He belongs to a crowd of men who desire the companionship of a woman but not her product, the thrill of a romance without its baggage. He is atypical in that he genuinely cares for you unlike most with those desires, but he cannot deviate from what he wants or rather what he does not want,” he explained. He swiveled back to address her. “Have I made myself clear?”

The woman’s face in that moment was astonishingly unreadable. Then she bit her lower lip, and he knew instantly he had struck a nerve.

“Do you consider yourself to be one of those men?” She asked, voice quavering.

“Not in the slightest. I do not desire the company of anyone.”  

“Except for John,” Mrs. Watson rebutted, contemplative in her gaze. “And have you any other friends besides him?”

“I have found no other worthy as him, no. I dare say I never shall,” he answered honestly. “I feel we are drifting slightly from your initial point of inquiry.”

“No, no Mr. Holmes, you have provided me with more than enough answers to go off of,” she replied, bitterness very obviously sinking into her tone. She stormed out of his rooms without so much as a half-hearted farewell as though he had deeply offended her.

At the very least this time she hadn’t thrown a glass of wine in his face.

[generallynerdy]

Our Little Secret Part 12 (Merlin & Child!Reader, Mordred X Reader)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11

Summary: (Y/N) recalls the dreaded events of the last few days, from which she returned to Camelot alone, despite having left with Mordred.

Key: (Y/N) - your name

Warnings: mind control, injuries, violence, death, blood, cliffhangers, the whole shebang

Word Count: 1,835

Note: i couldn’t justify mordred leaving of his own account very well without giving up (Y/N)’s secret and i have a better plan for that so??? have some mind control i guess,,,this ending is faster than i wanted it but whatcha gonna do aLSO CLIFFHANGER AGAIN AHAHAHAHAHA

    “(Y/N),” said a gentle voice.

    The young woman remained still, her eyes just as unmoving as she was. Those crowded in the room watched her with curiosity, though they stayed a good distance away from her chair. They had been dining in the hall when she arrived, beaten and bruised, completely abandoned in the forest without her horse or her companion, Mordred, who had left with her days ago.

    “I need you to tell me what happened,” the gentle voice spoke. It was Arthur, kneeling in front of her to meet her eyes. “Tell me everything.”

    (Y/N) inhaled shakily. “It– we– I don’t know. I don’t know. It happened so fast.”

    “Just take a deep breath,” he said. “Start from the beginning.”

    “We– Mordred and I– were hunting a troop of Saxons that was terrorizing the outlying villages; burning crops, killing men. It took nearly three days, but we found them and took care of the lot of them, so we began the journey home. We were a day’s ride from the citadel when we made camp for the night,” she told them.

    Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. “Were you attacked that far into the border?”

    “No,” (Y/N) said, finally looking up at him. Her voice cracked. “That’s just it– there was no attack.”

    “What do you mean?” Leon, who was also nearby, asked her cautiously.

    She grasped one arm with the opposite hand, almost shaking in her chair. “Something– something happened to Mordred. He woke the next morning convinced you, Arthur, had killed someone important to him.”

    “What?” Arthur glanced between the council members, then back to her. “Who?”

    “Kara. She was, uh, a druid girl. They grew up together, but he hadn’t seen her in years,” (Y/N) stuttered. “He was practically screaming, furious with you over a crime you hadn’t committed. I tried to ask him when and how he thought this happened, but he wouldn’t stop talking about how you would pay for it.”

    “And where did he go?”

    She shook her head. “I don’t know. He took the only horse we had and rode off. That’s why it took me so long to get here.” She looked up at him. “Arthur, you have to believe that wasn’t Mordred. I don’t know where he even heard the tale. He was not himself.”

    “I believe you,” he said, putting a hand to her shoulder. “Do you have any idea where he went?”

    (Y/N) froze and looked away from him. “Nowhere good, sire,” she muttered.

    “Where?”

    “He said something about finding Morgana.”

    In the following weeks, the war against Morgana became far more intense. Reports of a dark-haired sorcerer at her side came swarming in and they only made (Y/N) fight harder, for she knew her Mordred was not there willingly.

    When Arthur made the decision to ride out and meet Morgana’s forces at Camlann, (Y/N) readied herself for the fight of her life.

    Those last weeks had been difficult, searching for Mordred and avoiding Merlin with all her might. She was so focused upon her work that the others grew concerned for her, more so when they planned to ride out. They knew she would stop at nothing to save Mordred and, while they did not blame her, they worried it would get her killed.

    Waiting in the camp the day before they thought the battle would begin, (Y/N) suddenly regretted not saying goodbye to Merlin. Perhaps he was a stubborn bastard that had driven Mordred and herself away to the point where they could die this day and have never spoken to him again, but he was important to her nonetheless. His worries had been for Arthur and (Y/N) when it came to accepting Mordred and he could not be blamed for his protective nature. The mistakes he made while being protective, yes, but something told the young woman that he was already feeling the repercussions of them.

    (Y/N) and her four favourite knights in the world, Leon, Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine, gathered by the fire for what felt like their last meal. Spot laid loyally at her feet. He was probably too old for this kind of thing, but she felt he would chase her all the way from Camelot if he wasn’t brought along in the first place.

    When she was done eating, the young woman cleared her throat. “Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you all to know that I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me and I’m blessed with the opportunity to fight alongside you.”

    Leon, her oldest friend of all of them, looked up with sad eyes. She spoke as if she planned to die and that in itself killed him. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that the same could be said to you.”

    That night, when the attack began early, (Y/N) stood beside Leon. They stood together during Arthur’s speech and during the initial charge. They shared one last glance before racing into the battlefield together.

    It was a battle unlike any other she had fought. Besides the brutal nature of it, it seemed she was constantly outnumbered, surrounded by up to five men at a time.

She unabashedly used her magic whenever she needed, feeling that this was the final battle, no matter the outcome. If Morgana died, Arthur would likely allow magic more freely in his kingdom. If (Y/N) died, then there was no reason for her to worry about them knowing her secret from the afterlife. If Mordred were to die that day, then she would, too, whether by the enemy’s hand or her own.

It came to be, after the initial attack and Merlin’s appearance, though in disguise, that (Y/N) found herself in a quiet, narrow space.

She was fighting off two men and spotted Arthur in her peripheral vision. He was being approached by a dark-haired figure, but did not see him. Luckily for the king, she shouted his name, which gained his attention and allowed him to defend himself from her lover’s attack.

Soon, she was distracted by her own duel with the two Saxons, focused more on defense until she could turn the tide her way.

However, she failed to see the third attacker creeping up behind her.

Kill Arthur. Kill Arthur. Kill him. Kara. Avenge Kara. Kill him.

Mordred was in a dark room, sobbing and clawing at stone walls that had no door. The ends of his fingers never stopped bleeding and his nails were worn to the point of uselessness. No matter the amount of screaming and shouting and begging he produced, no one came to rescue him. He was stuck in a prison of his concoction, his own invention.

He knew Arthur had done nothing to wrong him, yet he couldn’t convince his mind otherwise. It was as if all logic had been shoved aside and his emotions were ruling him, using a false story to drive him to kill his king.

The young man could see himself go to attack Arthur. He could feel the sword in his hands, the wind upon his face, but he had no control over it. However much he moved his hands to try and drop the sword, they stayed stone still. The only thing that seemed to reflect his true mindset was the fact that tears fell from his eyes.

Please, he whispered, knowing Morgana was listening. Don’t make me do this.

As soon as the thought left his head, Arthur seemed to realise that the young man was crying, not to mention that his eyes were a sickly green.

“I don’t want to do this, Mordred,” he huffed, blocking another swipe of his sword. “You have to fight it. You have to fight her.”

Mordred wished that the king’s words inspired him to give more effort, but they did the exact opposite. He had tried already. He had tried so many times before, yet he was still trapped in his own head.

That was when he saw her.

    (Y/N) was across the way, fighting off two Saxons. The sight of her filled him with such hope that for a second, just a second, his eyes moved of his own accord.

    (Y/N), came the thought. That’s (Y/N). I love her.

    But then he saw the third Saxon, who was sneaking up behind her, battle axe raised. She didn’t notice him, which filled Mordred with a sense of dread.

The thought of (Y/N)’s in danger wasn’t even fully in his head before he felt his hands loosen, dropping his sword onto the ground. He didn’t dare take another second to look at Arthur’s expression before he was racing across the field. When he arrived, he almost shoved (Y/N) out of the way, but was mindful of the other two Saxons at her front, before standing in between her and the Saxon.

The axe was bearing down on him before anyone even realised he was there. It cut him from his left shoulder to his right hip and he collapsed onto the ground without a sound.

(Y/N) had heard the shink of the axe against his skin and turned, killing the Saxon with a stab to the stomach. It was then that she saw Mordred’s bright eyes, turning back to his own rather than the green they would be under Morgana’s spell, staring up at her with a sort of deadness.

“NO!”

Across the battlefields of Camlann, Morgana and Merlin stood apart. They battled grievously, using all manner of magic they could before they turned to physical weapons. Morgana had been a great swordswoman in her time and she had lost none of her skill.

However, when she heard a cry from far off and her connection to Mordred was severed, she lost her focus. She turned her head violently, searching for the young man in the distance.

“Mordred,” she whispered.

Another word had not left her lips before a sword was driven through her midriff. The witch gasped at the sudden pain, looking down at the weapon then back to its bearer. She searched Merlin’s face for remorse, but found none, resigning her to her fate.

Thus, Morgana Pendragon collapsed, life fading from her eyes in an instant.

It wasn’t until she was gone that Merlin sighed, his eyebrows furrowed. Even his ageing spell could not disguise the pain he had felt at killing his old friend.

She hadn’t been the fair and just Lady Morgana in a long time, but she had always held some sort of remnant of her past, at least to Merlin. He could not help but think of the old days whenever he had seen her. Those days were gone forever now.

Merlin’s head snapped up when he heard (Y/N)’s scream, his heart dropping. The loss of Morgana was inevitable, as he had long resolved, but to lose (Y/N) now would be the death of him.

Merlin Tags: @pearlll09

Part 13

Masterlist

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 12: THE HARD-BOILED HEAVIES

There are some villains I like. And there are some villains I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a mini-series of mine, in which I’ll be going into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the villains in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. Keep in mind that these are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, we’ll be covering the rotund oppression squad of Sonic Mania, and celebrated improv artists among the Badnik community: the Hard-Boiled Heavies.

The Gist: Sonic the Hedgehog and Miles "Tails" Prower were heading to Angel Island in pursuit of a mysterious new jewel that their nemesis, Dr. Eggman, was on the hunt for. Unfortunately for them, a squad of Egg Robos had already beaten them to the punch, because literally everyone in the Sonic universe is faster than Sonic. Upon being unearthed, the jewel in question - the Phantom Ruby - wasted no time in working its magic, and with its unexplained distortion efforts, it sent Sonic and Tails (and Knuckles) to Green Hill.

Also, it gave the Egg Robos more than a few nifty accessories.

The king was on his own with finding the tip of his scepter though.

Thus began a new adventure that proved to the non-believers that this franchise can in fact work beautifully when the characters have gameplay mechanics in common with each other and aren't going around picking up guns and turning into werehogs. Sonic was on a mission to get to the bottom of the Phantom Ruby shenanigans, but his upgraded opposition, dubbed the Hard-Boiled Heavies, did whatever they could to stop the hedgehog's pulse, which largely involved making use of old Badniks in refreshing and exciting new ways... much like themselves.

This is a more compelling take on Arthurian legend than the entirety of Black Knight.

All the while, Eggman carried on using the Phantom Ruby to his heart's content to make things even more difficult for our heroes, like teleporting them away as often as a Kirby final boss, and giving Metal Sonic a brand new Final Smash. Eggman planned to use the Titanic Monarch, a giant robot that made the monsters in Shadow of the Colossus look vertically challenged by comparison, to achieve his lifelong dream of taking over the world. Complications arose however, when the leader of the Heavies decided he wanted the Phantom Ruby for himself. Sadly for him, this was not an Adventure Era title, meaning Eggman actually fought back, and on equal terms at that. Sonic, with his super form, was forced to take on Eggman and the King at the same time.

In a stunning revelation, Sonic defeated them both. But not before the Phantom Ruby itself teleported the hedgehog away one last time, to a different time completely, where he would experience a different journey altogether... Then he came back, did the whole thing all over again, and now he's cracking a cold one with the boys (and King, for some reason).

Fucking 4Kids censors at it again.

The Designs: The Heavies are still Egg Robos at their core, so they share the same general body structure. Don't assume that makes them indistinguishable however, for they've been given a lot of bells and whistles that play to each of their thematic motifs, right up to their weapons of choice.

Heavy Gunner is a robo-bobby:

"You're nicked, hedgehog... But before you're sent to the chair, are there any pencils you'd like me to sharpen for you?"

Heavy Shinobi is a stealthy ninja, despite being neon green:

He speaks entirely in fortune cookies.

Heavy Magician is always dressed to impress:

These guys certainly do make me feel like magic.

Heavy Rider is a rough n' tough knight of the round table... if that table was Eggman's:

She dances when'ere she's able.

And the top dog, Heavy King, is suitably imposing without trying too hard and looking accidentally hilarious in the process, unlike certain other villains in this very series:

Why did he watermark his chest hair?

His Majesty also gained a second form during his final battle, which sacrificed his legs for size, power, and high quality Tee Lopes rips.

And a chimney for his head.

These designs already go far to give the Heavies their own sense of individual character. As you'll soon notice however, that's only half of it...

The Personalities: You can laugh all you want, but these Egg Robos in a game with no dialogue whatsoever managed to show vastly more personality than many of the villains in this franchise WITH dialogue. Look at this shit right here, and tell me they don't immediately ooze charm like it's nothing.

Pictured: Love at first sight.

And this extends to your confrontations with each of them. Gunner is crafty, and willing to sacrifice his own men to cover his ass, but the panicked look on his face when things go south for him is very relatable.

"Wait... I'm in a Sonic game...? ...For Sonic fans...? ...Oh god..."

Meanwhile, Shinobi puts up a cool and suave front, and never hesitates to go in for the kill, but he's not above playing around for the sake of his own cockiness.

Magician is a bubbly showoff, always popping up to mess with the heroes at a moment's notice. But she's also rather affable, and well-mannered to her mortal enemies.

Almost makes up for the Strangelove hands.

And Rider is perpetually in the midst of a cocaine rush, as her thirst for thrill and fun never sleeps. Yet she appears to have great affection for her pet Motobug, Jimmy.

Finally, King is a no-nonsense frowny face with a Sean Connery accent who is sick of his fellow Heavies' shit, who can nonetheless back himself up as the group's undisputed leader.

They may be fairly straightforward, but through the subtleties of their animations, there's a lot of life put into these guys, and their characters don't start and finish with their default trait like so many before them. You don't need to be Shakespeare in a Sonic game. You just need to be memorable and entertaining while fulfilling your role. And the Heavies do that with considerable ease.

The Execution: This might come as a surprise to you, but I love the shit out of the Heavies.

How can you hate this???

You have to understand that an overwhelming number of villains in this franchise not named Eggman have not only ranged from mediocre to terrible, they've also had a tendency of feeling the same as each other. When it's not a giant monster with little backstory of genuine interest, it's a guy dressed in all black who does evil for evil's sake. And that's without adding the recolours and their penchant for gaining disproportionate fandoms simply for being recolours.

Why is it, then, that a group who are all based on the same robot succeed where those villains fail?

Well, I'd argue there's a few elements at work there. The obvious one is that they're simply better implemented, and they leave an impression through their boss encounters and animations rather than whether or not they played tonsil hockey with Shadow or Amy in a fanfic. Another factor is that unlike other villains, they were never hyped up to be the Raddest, Baddest, Greatest Enemy of All Time for Sonic, and thus they didn't run the risk of not being able to live up to that claim. They were allowed to simply exist and do their own thing, as one addition to help compliment an overall package.

You could also argue that their status as a group works in their favor too, as it helps to make each of their traits pop out that little bit more. And they're honestly really clever with their strategies, like how Magician transforms into forgotten characters to spice things up, or how Shinobi's shurikens aren't actually shurikens, but rather Asterons, one of the most notorious enemies in the series. And need I mention Rider using a goddamn Motobug like it's a steed? These characters could have been very throwaway, but there's a surprising level of thought put into how each of them work, and giving them a characteristic spin that works to Sonic's tastes, and considering this is the same franchise that gave us a bad guy named Black Doom, I'd say it's worth noting.

"...Please explain why Boobie Bots Weekly is in my search history."

So yes, in this world where Dooms and Mephiles's's's's's's have been running rampant, the Hard-Boiled Heavies share their creator's honor of making a name for themselves. And as much as I have a fondness for the Deadly Six in spite of their issues (Zazz and Zor are still hilarious, fight me), I will agree without argument that the Heavies are a much better execution of the quirky boss group format on the overall side of things. And I swear to GodJesus and the Bear, if they never make a single appearance past their debut, I will be a very sad panda. If they can give Silver and his tiresome schtick countless second chances (and failing to make it interesting every single time), they can sure as hell give these juggernauts another go.

But until then, at least we still have Mania. Now if you'll excuse me, Shinobi's about to teleport behind me. Hope it's nothing personal.

Crusher Gives the Hard-Boiled Heavies a: Thumbs Up!

[a-queer-seminarian]

“The Origins of the Disabled Body: Disability in Ancient Mesopotamia” by Neal H. Walls, 2007

Anyone who has appreciated commentary on Shanidar I, a blind Neanderthal who lived a long life and was loved by his community, or posts like this one about the place of persons with cognitive/developmental disabilities like autism throughout history, will likely find what Walls says about Ancient Mesopotamia worth reading as well! Thus I took the time to type out a significant portion of his essay (available in full in the book This Abled Body) -- enjoy!

As I study disability in the Hebrew Bible (aka the “Old Testament”), this essay by Walls has offered me insight into the world “behind the text” -- into ancient Mesopotamian cultures. It’s cool to see how Mesopotamian cultures viewed what we today call disability and how it compares to views in the Hebrew Bible.

Is a disabled person “imperfect/incomplete,” and is disability a sign of God’s disfavor or punishment, as the Bible’s Priestly (P) and Deuteronomist (D) texts claim (e.g. Leviticus 21:17-23, Deuteronomy 28:28-29)? Or is disability part of God-created, God-intended human diversity, as the Yahwist (J) source claims (e.g. Exodus 4:11)? What did the cultures of neighboring peoples have to say on the subject? It turns out that like the “competing voices” within the Bible, there were several attitudes towards disability at play in ancient Mesopotamia.

Walls approaches the question of disability in ancient Mesopotamia using a community model of disability: “in which disability is defined or measured by one’s capacity to fulfill socially prescribed tasks or functions rather than by medical or physical criteria” (p. 15) He continues,

“Disability, whether physical or cognitive, is thus a relative and socially constructed category that rests upon a particular society’s expectations. For example, while the loss of a hand could lead to ‘the impairment of major life functions’ (as the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 characterizes a disability) for an ancient singer, it would perhaps not qualify as a professional ‘disability’ in Mesopotamian ideology. Indeed, a Sumerian proverb compares a ‘scribe without a hand’ to a ‘singer without a voice’ as examples of people unable to perform their professional duties. ... As Martha Lynn Edwards (1997) points out in her studies of disability in ancient Greece, information about disabled people in the ancient Near East is often difficult to uncover precisely because they were integrated into society in productive ways. Conversely, those individuals who [had] truly debilitating conditions were unlikely to appear in the public or literary records. ...Hector Avalos concludes, ‘Mesopotamia exhibits a long tradition in which individuals households, not a state institution or the temple, bore direct responsibility for the long-term care of the ill’ (1995).”

Walls continues to describe how the temple system did play a role in the lives of disabled persons, who -- if their families did not have the resources to support them -- could find jobs there “in household tasks such as milling and weaving” (p. 16).

He notes that there is evidence of infanticide in the event of newborns displaying certain disabilities or diseases, involving a belief that such babies were bad omens and might endanger the family/society (pp. 21-22); but  evidence also exists that some disabled babies were given extensive care and lived into childhood and even adulthood (p. 23). Moreover, while chronic illnesses like leprosy and disabilities like epilepsy were often seen as divine punishment and could get one expelled from cities (as well as disqualified from the priesthood) (pp. 25-26), persons with many other disabilities were integrated into society -- and often in ways that went beyond “menial tasks”! Many disabled persons were “given advanced technical skills...or powerful positions at court...and high social status” (p. 19).

Walls takes a look at Sumerian creation myth to learn more about what these cultures thought about how disability came about and how disabled persons should be treated:

Creating the Disabled Body: Enki and Ninmah

“Ancient Mesopotamian myths of creation describe humanity as laborers who were created to serve the gods and relieve them of their labors. ...In the first tablet of the Old Babylonian myth of Atrahasis, the gods call upon ‘the midwife of the gods, wise Mami,’ to form humans: Create a human being [lullû] that he may bear the yoke, Let him bear the yoke, the task of Enlil, Let man [awīlum] assume the drudgery of the gods. Mami creates mortals with the aid of her consort, Enki (also called Ea), from divine flesh, blood, and spittle, as well as clay. Humans are a hardy and fertile stock, built for manual labor as the expendable servants of the deities. ... Since humans were created to be laborers, it is not surprising that the only Mesopotamian anthropogony to include disabled humans does so within the context of assigning them productive work within society. Older than the Akkadian myths of Atrahasis and Enuma Elish, the Sumerian myth of Enki and Ninmah [read it in full here] describes the creation of humanity in a playful tale that also explains the origin of normal and abnormal human forms. The first half of the myth narrates the traditional creation of humans as laborers and the assignment of their fate in service of the gods. ...The latter half of the text...describes the divine banquet at which the deities are celebrating their success in establishing a life of leisure for themselves within the new cosmic order. After much celebration, the inebriated goddess Ninmah boasts, ‘Man’s body can be either good or bad and whether I make a fate good or bad depends on my will.’ Jacobsen (1987) describes Ninmah as a ‘goddess of gestation and birth, the numinous power of the uterus to expand, shape, and mature the embryo,’ who determines a human’s fate by the manner in which she shapes them in the womb. Enki claims that he can counterbalance any form that Ninmah creates, and the contest begins. The first man fashioned from clay by Ninmah ‘could not bend his outstretched weak hands,’ and Enki appoints him as ‘a servant to the king.’ The second man is blind, and Enki decrees his fate, ‘allotting to him the musical arts.’ ...The third man is ‘one with both feet broken, one with paralyzed feet,’ whom Enki sets as a silversmith. A variant text describes the third being as a ‘moron’ or ‘idiot,’ who also serves as a courtier, according to Jacobsen (1987). The Sumerian terminology is imprecise, so this word may refer to a deaf person rather than one with a cognitive disability. ... The fifth person in Ninmah’s challenge to Enki is a ‘woman who could not give birth,’ whom Enki places either in service of the queen or as a weaver in the Women’s House. ... The sixth human created in the Sumerian myth of Enki and Ninmah is ‘one with neither a penis nor a vagina on its body,’ to whom Enki assigns the role of a eunuch from Nippur ‘to stand before the king.’ ...The reference may denote men who become eunuchs through castration as well as those born without external sexual organs. ... In each of these six cases Enki provides a social position and productive economic role for Ninmah’s purposefully malformed children. ... The Sumerian myth of Enki and Ninmah is clear in its rhetorical attempt to incorporate people with a range of disabilities into the larger social structure. The Sumerian text recognizes the non-normative medical condition of these persons, but it does not categorize them as ‘disabled’ or unemployable. Rather than naming ‘disability’ as a means to exclude some persons from city life,...each becomes a functioning member within the social organization, and many are given technical skills and high social status consistent with their abilities.” (pp. 16-19)

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Depths Below: Epilogue, Part 1

[ OOC Disclaimer ]  | Over the last year HoTN has put together this story ‘In Depths Below’ it began with Lazarius being taken from Kun-Lai Summit, and the chase to get him back from the Hunters hired by Magister Dawnseeker was unveiled.  Every member eliminated a certain threat, the Order banded together to orchestrate the take down,  and accomplished their mission they’d set out to do.  The events here are what happened during.  This is Lazarius’ side, where he was; and what he’d done.  And just how he and a certain new savior became bonded.  Id like to give a tremendous thanks to @zandalaridruidofgonk for the help in putting this together and making it happen.   And thank you to everyone who has offered support and kind words over the last year.  Without further delay, the conclusion of our 2nd fictional collaboration.  In Depths Below. |

[ L.K ]   "We're going down! Somebody get that rotor back on line. . .brace for impact!"

Less than 48 hours after Lazarius’ was collected in Kun-Lai. . .

" The left engine is failing!"

Smoke and debris rose from the engines of the massive warship that hovered over the Great Sea. It was not Alliance owned, nor was it property of the Horde; no this modge-podge experimental airship was a salvaged bit of both.

It was scrapped together from the remains of so many that were lost during the Broken Shore and the multitude of other battles that took place around the area. It was well crafted, brilliant operated, and manned by one of the finest crews that money could buy. It was also part of a private militia that was renowned for their prowess when it came to successful captures and bounties.

These men were deadly, they were talented and above all else they were thorough in their work. One thing they had not counted on though was the mysterious bit of activity brewing in the waters just Southeast of Zandalar.

Whatever seemed to take hold of the skies and waters that evening as they were passing through to make a B-line straight for the Eastern Kingdoms, more than likely was not natural in any way shape or form.

Swells of water that were nearly ten, twelve. . .possibly even fifteen meters high. Winds that were pushing and gusting at hurricane velocities well into the highest of kilometers. And above all else, the lightening that was striking several times per minute, rain that was blinding, heavy and torrential, and the walnut sized hale, was proving to be a horrible bane on this flight they attempted to make.

Lazarius was chained in the lowest part of the hull. His arms were still bound by metallic gauntlets which formed around his hands like two cannon ball sized mittens. They were locked and sealed and attached to bracers which were adhered to his wrists in a prison shackle adornment. That was now retrofitted to a pair of sleeves which stretched upward to his elbows.  They wanted this powerful void aberration to be well contained.

He was not in any discomfort but it would prevent him from channeling any type of power. It would prevent him from achieving any type of aggressive state. But above all else, this void creature was unlike any that most had seen. The man was not to be trusted, and these Bounty Hunters would assure their benefactor that they would bring this quarry in... alive.

So he sat, in the hull of the massive vessel. His arms were chained to the sides of the wooden walls but not in a way that they would go limp or lose feeling. Just left there so that he could not escape. When the airship began to sway back and forth; Lazarius had no idea that he would soon be faced with a very difficult decision to make.

There was panic and fear rushing through these hardened men. These same men that just several days ago, were forcing him onto the airship, threatening his life and the life of his protege'. These same men that came prepared to murder any who stood in their way. They were going down. And they were now the ones fearful and hopeless.

"Kash'ebahl!"

The voice of a man that the Inquisitor knew all too well came calling down the stairs. It was the Captain, once on board he had identified himself as simply ‘Jas’.  He was the leader of the band of mercenaries that had started this entire nightmare. He was the same thieving dog that put a pistol to his head and threatened to blow Zoei's brains clean out of her skull if he didn't corporate.

"*Kash'ebahl we're going down. . . Both engines were hit and we need to get you top-side before this entire airship splits in half. . .on your feet!"

Lazarius knew that everything leading up to this point was a path that he had tried to prevent since this cursed war began. First losing his estate, then having his funding frozen and accounts locked due to the political backlash and outcry of Teldrassil. And now these filthy Magisters. He had hoped to get them before they got him, but this was not the case.

And thus, here he was. Chained to the hull of an airship with his magics nullified and his pride in shambles. Regardless, he rose as he was instructed to do. No sense fighting it now, he wasn't exactly going to get out of this with a pair of metal balls covering his hands. What was he going to do, the only logical option beside cooperation was to drown?

The captain had already unlocked the cell that Lazarius was being kept in. And slowly made his way toward the Inquisitor to make good on his promise. They were getting out of there. The shackles that bound Lazarius to the hull were undone, and in a rather calm fashion, the imprisoned elf would begin to feed the chain through his cuffs to free himself by wobbling the heavy iron mittens the best he could.

!-!-!-!-CRASH-!-!-!-!

  At that same moment another gust of gale force winds and a lightening strike would hit to final engine on the left side. They were fully going down toward the water now.  Spiraling in a corkscrew fashion as the only remaining engines on the right would do as they were functioned to do. There was just no getting away from this.

Jas had lost his footing and in a dramatic fashion, back peddled and slipped on the food pan that was provided for the elf; it was never even touched. He went crashing to the floor and Lazarius took this opportunity to his full advantage.

He rushed on top of the man who was currently face down. With the chain still fed through the cuffs on his arms, the wristlets would be crossed and tightened; pulling that chain around the neck of the man who had no way of fighting back.

Lazarius pinned him to the ground by sitting on his spine and he rocked back and forth with as much strength as he could in his exhausted desperate state. He pulled with every ounce of might he could muster. The sound of someone crushing two stones in their palms could be heard as the iron chain links smashed against the flesh of the mans neck and began to collapse his airway from the pressure.

It was a gruesome sight, and an even more heinous sound as he gurgled and gasped for whatever air he could. In one final pull, Lazarius gave a huge thrust with his arms as he pulled backward, nearly bending the mans head back to touch his spine. It killed him, not only the breaking crack of whatever bone he shattered in the mans neck, but the windpipe; it was completely shattered.  

The dark eyed Inquisitor settled there for a moment; there would not be a great deal of time to waste on catching his breath and relaxing, but he was drained.  The ordeal had left him hungry, tired and in pain.  It had been exhausting and thusly; this small bit of solace surrounded by the chaotic screams and frightening wrath of nature itself was frankly comforting.  He was alone, but topside the entire world was crumbling.  He smiled.

It was touch and go now. The airship was rocking back and forth, gallons and gallons of water shot down from the upper deck into the hull from the torrent of rain, and those hailstones crushed nearly anything they hit if you were unlucky enough to be exposed. But now Lazarius had no choice. There were no parachutes and there were no escape copters.

He just ran for the upper levels as fast as he could, and when he got to the middle deck it seemed the gods had finally had enough of his antics. A lightening strike suddenly broke through the stairwell that Lazarius was rushing up to get to the main upper deck. The wooden hull breached and shattered, it would cause a vacuum in the stairwell. Lazarius was ripped from his standing position directly through the newly created hole.

He was sent flying from the ship. His body twisting and turning in every manner of ways. But luckily for him, it was nearly about the time of the impact against the ocean. Having been ripped from the vessel not only played a part in saving his life, But threw him far enough away that he would not be sucked down by the pressure of the sinking ship. He was at the mercy of the elements now. And for the next several exhausting minutes, he would be tossed and thrown around in the water. Grabbing driftwood, gathering anything that could float. Just doing anything he could to survive.

But those damned anchors.  Every quarter he’d gotten, and every ounce of success he’d had would be squandered by the chained balls on the ends of his hands.  Like iron mittens; his salvation would slip through his metallic finger tips.

There was a moment of fear that suddenly became more and more eminent the longer he was thrown around in the water.  Lazarius; did not know how to swim.  He was only staying afloat due to the water churning beneath him and thrusting powerful jets upward to send him airborne briefly.  But they would soon end just as quickly as his trip. The vessel was down below the surface and the gurgling bubbles that it had been gasping all but settled.

His black eyes widened the last time he felt the cold, damp air touch them.  A much like the airship he’d been previously clinging to for his salvation; would slowly begin to sink deeper and deeper down into depths below. 

His final gasp of air was pushing the buoyant airbags in his chest inflated, but eventually he would have to expel them.  And when he did, they would be replaced with a heavy surge of salty cold water.  His limp arms tightened as the silence from the madness above grew more and more peaceful.  He could no longer hear the screams, the storm surge or the rumbling of the thunderous clouds.  Just a gurgling silence that wrapped him like a heavy woolen blanket.  His venomous eyes closed tightly, then weakened, then simply lay shut; and the fervent resistance he once had to his ultimate demise would suddenly cease.

The storm had passed. . . .

[ J ]    Jursol sat atop a tree branch as she slowly began to doze off for a nap. As her eyes grew heavy she heard some commotion in the distance. A few animals were fighting over something that had drifted ashore. Leaping down from the branch Jursol blew her Death Whistle to frighten then creatures away. The shrill sound made the animals scatter in a hurry. As they ran off she saw the figure of a man who seemed barely alive among some wreckage of a ship.

His body damaged from being tossed around and left at the mercy of the elements.

“Dis ones still alive?” She said as she poked at the body.

“Strange looking one dis one is.” Carefully she moved some of the clothes to see the extent of the damage.

“Oh dis not be good....but how are you even alive? Most would be dead if dis happen to dem.” Something about this man had her interest peaked at the moment. He should not have survived the elements here, let alone the wildlife.

Grabbing a few pungent herbs from a pouch Jursol started to pass them under the mans nose, in hopes this would wake him. Her curiosity as to his survival was all that kept her from leaving the strange man to die.

[ L.K ]    There was a pause given due to the fact that he was underwater for a period of time that was probably longer than the elf should have been. His lungs were no doubt sopping wet and filled to the brim with volatile and viscous membrane of sea water and saliva. He had spent several hours at sea tossing and turning and being thrown around like a piece of drift wood, which was exactly what he had managed to cling to during his escape.  Until of course, like anything else; the sea claimed him.  

The mysterious troll would notice that he was suffering from multiple wounds on his face and neck. No doubt bruised from a beating or two, but fresh. What she would also now see due to the fact that what little clothing he did have remaining was scarce were his markings. His entire shirt was missing, torn and thrown to sea during the escape. His trousers were cut and frayed but still mostly in tact, and well he was missing shoes all together.

Lazarius was covered in a helix pattern from his neck line down to his wrists and well below his belt. It would look like a pattern of multiple hexagons all patterned across. On top of that she could see words of Shathyari carved and now scarred across his arms and abdomen. Runic symbols of some odd witchcraft augmentations making were also burned into his shoulders and wrists and stomach.

Since he was laying on his back she could see a scar that ran from the center of his clavicle all the way down to his navel where someone had apparently opened his entire chest up. And the very last noticeable marking was the mark of his order. The house of Kashebahl and the Nine. It was branded to his shoulder.

[ J ]    Jursol raised a brow as her eyes scanned over more of the elf’s body. Oddly enough she sniffed him a bit as her nose curled up in disgust. Despite this she felt an urge to do something, a strange pull on her conscience perhaps. Taking a moment to look closer at his markings she did not fully recognize them, his scars telling her he was no stranger to trouble or battle.

[ L.K ]     The moment she swept the herbs beneath his nose his eyes burst to life and he was struggling to react. Paralyzed though from the neck down he really couldn’t do anything but to help lure his body back into submission. His pale flesh was more than a side effect from being indoors, she would note he was almost pure white, sickly even. And on any area there was no ink or markings she could see the black substance that pumped through his veins, causing a spiderweb effect around his eyes and lips where the veins were closer to the surface.

He had regurgitated a lung full and no doubt stomach full of sea water, mixed with the black blood of his own body.  The only real way he’d stayed alive this long was probably the parasite within him.  Otherwise a normal man would have drown and never had a chance.

And as he peered around with those shark like black eyes, she could tell this was not an elf by any standard.

“I will suffer your insubordination no lib...longer...I am the...I am high ... the high...I am the quiznizitor...”.

And suddenly he passed back out and flopped nearly onto her feet as he fell to his left into the sand, unconscious for now. Another belly full of water would be spilled from his stained mouth, but he had grown silent.

[ J ]    The black veins she knew well, his sudden outburst of life to her herbs left her indifferent, she simply watched him pass back out.

“Oh now dis changes things.”

After looking the elf over and getting a good glimpse at any and all injuries visible, she made a fast plan as to what to do. He was breathing but weak, very weak.

“We gonna have to move you carefully.” She said as she looked around for some driftwood and vines to use.

Lucky for her there were plenty of pieces around to use. Grabbing as much as she could carry she moved back to the elf and set them down. Taking wood and vines to make a board to move him with, before picking him up and placing him onto the makeshift gurney. She tied him to it with vines tightly enough he would not fall off.

With a sharp whistle she called her raptor friend who was near by. The trees moved as some flying animals flew up and out of the trees of the jungle, with a very hyper raptor chasing some before seeing Jursol. The white feathered raptor bound over to her side as it judged her arm.

“Yes my friend he is in need of our help.” Her voice calm as she held out a small bit of vine to it. “Take dis end and help me move him.” The raptor sniffed the man before taking the vine in its mouth. Slowly the two lifted him up and started for the jungles.

It was not long before they arrived at where she stayed. A small house made from bamboo, leaves, stones, and other things around the jungles she had access to. The smell of fresh and drying herbs filled the air even outside the house. Once they made it to the door, the two took the man inside on the wooden makeshift gurney.

Carefully Jursol untied the elf and put him onto a bed. Her clawed hands removing what’s left of his cloths, as the raptor brought over a bowl filled with clean water. Her hands worked fast to clean and dress his wounds. Before putting cloth over his injuries, she had smeared a herbal mix over the wounds themselves.

Once he was cleaned and wounds dressed she grabbed a fur blanket to cover him with. A clean robe was near by to give him when he awoke.

“Now I be needing to make dat concoction to help his healing.”

She said moving to a table full of herbs and other things. A small baby raptor ran around the small place, and now and then checked the elf who was on the bed.

To be Continued in. . . “In Depths Below: Epilogue, Part 2″

[pass-the-bechdel]

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend season three full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

100% (thirteen of thirteen).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

41.16%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Seven, so just over half. Three of those are 50%+.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-four. Thirteen who appeared in more than one episode, five who appeared in at least half the episodes, and two who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirty-nine. Eighteen who appeared in more than one episode, seven who appeared in at least half the episodes, and one who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Not nearly as good as you might expect or hope. As with previous seasons, the show’s most impressive content is not the feminist stuff at all, and on the feminist front it feels sometimes as if the show spends more time denouncing different aspects of the feminist movement as ‘the wrong kind of feminism’ than it does declaring and upholding the aspects it does approve. I tend to feel that it spends time talking the talk on women’s issues, but doesn’t often get up to walk the walk (average rating of 3).

General Season Quality:

Easily better than the previous two seasons, despite a deflated ending. It takes a much more focused approach to its storytelling in the beginning of the season, in a manner which briskly becomes refreshingly confronting and leads in to a powerful middle. Unfortunately, it never sustains quality for very long, and overall the show still suffers for being too easily distracted. It’s not infuriating, but it can be frustrating.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Ok, let me explain something about myself first, something I’ve mentioned in other (non-Crazy Ex) posts which have gone live long before this one will, but for anyone who missed it in any of those other places, here it is: I am, right now, pregnant. In fact, I am pregnant with a child conceived non-traditionally with a gay friend of mine, and as such, Darryl’s non-traditional quest for biological parenthood in this season struck a very personal chord (though, unlike Darryl, I used the phone-a-friend option as my first choice, not a fallback. Would recommend, if it’s ever relevant to your life). I bring all of this up because I can categorically declare that there are certain plot threads that you absolutely will NOT have the same reaction to if you don’t have that very personal chord being struck, and even moreso if that chord is relevant to your life right now, rather than being something that you’ve experienced in the past but has since slipped from the forefront of your attention. Thus, when I talked about feeling like the emphasis was in all the wrong places for Darryl’s part of the narrative, and expressed irritation with Heather’s pregnancy and birth? I sure ain’t mad about it for no reason. I am extremely, extremely aware of what those processes are actually like right the heck now.

I’m not going to linger on all the details, but I am particularly annoyed at the writers for dropping the ball on the pregnancy/birth part, specifically because it’s something which is so often badly dramatised in tv and film already, and the writers not only know that, they openly reference it as if they’re somehow doing better. The same way that medical professionals sometimes find it too frustrating to watch hospital dramas because of all their inaccuracies, or someone in law enforcement might cringe their way through all the egregious breaches in procedure in a cop show, there’s always a significant risk that anything depicted in fiction will make you want to tear your hair out over the way the plot warps or disregards reality that is pertinent to your life, either through a lack of proper research or understanding of the subject matter, or a conscious choice to prioritise desired storytelling beats/developments over actual logic and realism. Suffice to say there are a LOT of concessions Crazy Ex-Girlfriend asked me to make to their storytelling with this little subplot, some of which most people who have never been pregnant wouldn’t notice, and yes, some of which I would probably dismiss if I were not in the midst of the reality right now. I’m someone who has been present at actual births before and has been raised with an above-average understanding of what’s involved, so I’m used to gritting my teeth and hoping to just not be too annoyed by the way pregnancy and birth is typically depicted on screen. The fact that I am currently immersed in the reality of preparing to give birth makes me less forgiving of fictional contrivances, yes, but in the case of this show’s approach, it’s also more than that: it’s the fact that this show actively promotes itself as a feminist text. And if you’re gonna do that, and criticise the way other things (”written by men!”) depict labour, but then you also choose not to include any education/empowerment of your pregnant character, rattle off a variety of (uneducated, disempowered) cliches anyway, and then handwave it all with ‘nevermind, she just got an epidural!’ as if that ‘solves’ the difficulties of birth (and post-birth recovery, for that matter), frankly that’s just...a really unimpressive failure of feminist storytelling. Congratulations, you neglected the subject completely, at the same time as actively claiming your intent to do better than all that written-by-men schlock out there! What a tiresome charade this turned out to be.

Setting that aside though (difficult for me, as I am...very preoccupied with it), there was actually a good lot of things to like about this season, even if I do still feel that I ultimately have more criticisms than I do praise. Having Rebecca actually reach crisis point in the form of a suicide attempt, and consequently getting a diagnosis for her mental disorder and finally being able to move forward in learning to live a balanced life with BPD? Frankly, it’s not a move that I anticipated, and if you’d asked me where I thought Rebecca’s mental health plot was heading, I probably would have just shrugged it off as an unfocused thread where the ultimate goal was just ‘figure out how to be happy on your own terms instead of defining happiness through someone else’ (which is solid advice, but generalised advice, not something that would require the show to commit to a genuine mental illness). Acknowledging that Rebecca’s behaviour comes from a more distinct source than just the nebulous idea of being ‘crazy’ is a vitally important development, and it ushered in some of the best storytelling the show has offered thus far, at least when the plot maintained steady focus and made an effort to be responsible and mature in its exploration of the issue. As ever, there were still times when the show used Rebecca’s mental state for comic relief in a manner which made me uncomfortable, and times when I couldn’t interpret the intentions of the narrative - I have come to the conclusion that this show and I are on completely different wavelengths, which makes us a bad match, regardless of any elements which I do appreciate. 

On the subject of things I appreciate, I’m going to discuss the true character highlight of the show, someone I wanted to talk about after last season, not realising that if I held off until this review instead, he was gonna wind up so terribly underused in the meantime that it’s almost weird that he’s still technically part of the main cast at this point: Josh Chan. Josh Chan is...kinda the most believable part of this show, both in the bumbling good-natured balance of the character himself, and in other character’s feelings about him. Being able to buy the idea that someone would give up their whole life as they knew it to chase after this guy is kinda important to selling the concept of the show from the outset, and honestly, Josh Chan is the only time I’ve ever seen a central male love interest for whom the hype seemed to make sense. Is he perfect? Not by a long shot, but that’s fine because ‘perfection’ is as conditional as it is unattainable. The problem with male love interests, often, is that they’re written by heterosexual men who treat the character as some kind of masculine wish-fulfillment, a combination of ‘guy I wish I could be’ and ‘guy I think women should want (me)’. Josh Chan is a great example of a love interest written by women for women: he displays positive masculine-coded traits (protective, physically capable), while rejecting negative, toxic-masculine elements (aggression, possessiveness), and he embraces key ‘feminine’ traits (non-threatening, kind, soft, emotionally expressive, family-oriented), while his flaws are unobtrusive and potentially even endearing (the main one is that he’s quite stupid, which is something a lot of straight women will happily admit to liking (at least in theory), and other traits such as Josh’s childish streak can be a source of joy under some circumstances, as well as being something Josh mostly keeps a hold on so that it doesn’t become a burden to his partners). Also, it would be remiss of me to neglect to mention how refreshing and meaningful it is to have an Asian male love interest. I really enjoy not being bored to death by Josh Chan, and I am annoyed at how little of him we got this season while we wasted time with that generic slice of white bread, Nathaniel. Bring back the Chan plots, season four. Do it for me.

[ethereal-darkling]

✨ | Headcanons: Sexualities/Attraction | ✨

Theo: Homosexual/Androsexual; if Theo likes you, he makes it very clear, showering you with compliments, admiring your physique, and consciously touching you to feel closer to you. He initiates relationships on a physical/ sexual level first and will be difficult to establish an emotional attraction with. So if you aren’t into friends w/ benefits or being physically affectionate in public, he may not be the best fit. Theo tends to like aggressive/standoffish guys with tough demeanors and with lots of muscles, with a hint of a softer side to them. For him they’re fun to tease. And he also likes cute guys with kind and friendly personalities, but who also have a side to them that’s negative in some way— whether that is being easily angered, or having a side to them that enjoys inflicting pain on others who’ve wronged them.

Some turn offs for him would be men who swing to far on either end of that spectrum. So that would be men who are too good-natured and seemingly can do no wrong, or mean-spirited, evil men who have little to no redeeming qualities. He likes people that have some moral ambiguity to them, and finds others who are too good or bad to be boring.

Nathaniel: Curious. Nathaniel is Theo’s opposite in the sense that he isn’t as interested in actively searching for intimate relations. He is mostly ignorant to most of mortal customs and practices and may be open to experiencing sexual acts solely out of curiosity about what it would feel like. Though similar to Theo, he has a leaning towards being more attracted to those with more masculine traits; he has a predisposition towards other strong fighters.

Isaac: Homosexual; the wraith immediately has a certain level of dislike towards everyone around him, so establishing a relationship with him is easier said than done. But he does have a weakness in men who are ridiculously attractive and have a level of charisma that’s enough to bypass Isaac’s aggression. Charm will usually get under his defenses and make him flustered.

Asher: Bisexual; Usually the Djinn doesn’t value romantic relationships as much as he values friendship and companionship with others. To be his lover, you have to be his friend first. His interest in men manifests itself in Asher’s rabid obsession with wrestling and secretly loves the close contact with other muscled men coupled with the thrill of battle and being in pain.

Odd: Homosexual; Odd has always been attracted to guys since he was born, but tends to not get to explore dating as much due to the relentless bullying and subsequent hiding he has to go through at school. He didn’t become more sexually active until he had sex with one of his bullies to avoid a confrontation. Ever since then, he has a tendency every now and then to do sexual favors for other guys, usually with certain members of the Wolfpack on the football team.

Cole: Pansexual; the wealthy vampire has had numerous relationships over the course of his lifespan and thus has experience with partners of different sexual and gender identities. So it’s not uncommon for him to have both life-term relationships and numerous short-term sexual partners that he goes back to every now and then.

Alexander: Asexual; Much like Asher, he values friendship and companionship rather than any romantic relationships. But unlike him, Alexander has zero interest in romance or sexual relationships— mainly having to do with his body being entirely made out of straw, and thus not ideal for any kind of sexual intercourse.

Honor: Bisexual; despite his stern and stiff demeanor, the older Warlock always has been a hopeless romantic at heart. But he has taken a vow of celibacy for much of his life and will thus be difficult to seduce or have a relationship with if someone doesn’t have the patience for that. However, due to there being only the 4 of the Warlocks left in their estate, and the other Warlocks openly engaging in relationships with other people in the monster realm, Honor is growing increasingly agitated about it.

Passion: Homosexual; Along with Theo, he’s a very sexually active character, flirting with and talking to other guys on a regular basis. Like his namesake, it’s all about passion, about pursuing after your dreams and desires with tireless determination. Being with Passion is ALWAYS intense; he pushes people in a way that makes them more sexually and emotionally fulfilled than they could ever dream of. But despite the fun he has, there’s always seems to be something missing, like maybe he wouldn’t mind being the one pursued for once. Of being the object of someone else’s affection instead of always being the chaser, of being loved as much as he genuinely loves others.

Freedom: Pansexual; as an easygoing and open minded kind of guy, Freedom has no specific preference about who he chooses to love. He thrives off of experiencing new things and going on personal journeys, especially with someone he can share them with.

Clarity: Homosexual; In Clarity’s eyes, a man is a luxury, not a necessity. And as someone who has a taste for the finer things in life, Clarity treats most men as desserts and nothing more. As of right now, Clarity is in a phase in his life where he is only concerned about having a fun and fulfilling sex life to offset the daily pressures of being the Warlock’s last Supreme. He has sexy, gorgeous men ready and lined up for every day of the week, each with their own way of giving the Supreme pleasure. But don’t worry, Clarity will always consider scheduling new eligible bachelors if you manage to impress him ;)

Eureka: Bisexual; the harpy has high expectations for her partners and will not tolerate anyone wasting her time or not being fully present in the relationship. Eureka will entertain any man or woman as long as they treat her with respect and honesty and adds something positive to her busy life in some way. In addition, she’s known to actively pursue gorgeous women if they catch her eye.

Chloe: Asexual; the idea of performing sex physically repulses her, imagine allowing some lower lifeform defile her body in such a manner...! Absolutely not! And due to her massive ego and delusional behavior, it makes it difficult for her to genuinely fall in love or maintain romantic relationships. She mainly experiences aesthetic attraction to an individual if she finds them to be beautiful, cute, handsome, etc.