#my fucked up roman empire (but i guess that's fitting)

[spotforme]

do you ever just remember that Rimmer is actually dead and that the person we put up with is actually just a mechsnism? just some fancy tecnology that mimics the real Rimmer's behaviours, the real one is dead and so is his brain. his counciousness wasn't saved anywhere, just his patterns. do you ever just think that the computer might have interperted something wrong while he was alive and that that machine's interpertation is the only thing we really see. do you ever think that all the hard light holograms might feel the weight of the bee pressing down on their organs, not enough to cause a fuss over, just enough to feel a tighness in their chest that's always there to remind that they are artificial, they have a part that doesn't belong, a little pain to make them remember they can never really be again. do you ever think that no emotion Rimmer expresses is actually felt but instead every reaction to every situation is already written on a code that the bee keeps playing, just a program repeating the pre-selected actions determined by an outside observer. or is it just me?

[thealogie]

I saw the post yesterday and this only really fits the bill of approximately 10K of romantically charged scenes with no plot whatsoever by twisting it to mean every *chapter* of a 105K work, but I wanted to recommend it anyway. I read copious amounts of fix-its for four entire months after s2 ended and this is one of my two favorites, and definitely my favorite version that uses Aziraphale’s diaries as a device. I was going to say that this or that scenes were my Roman Empire but there were too many so I guess the whole fic is. Also there is a little plot in the last two chapters but One Is Here for the Ride and the author knows this well and delivers.

So if you or anyone are down for a long fic, it’s “Dog-Eared and Illuminated”: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49488811/chapters/124900549

(Because I feel I’d be remiss not to mention my other favorite, it’s “the last test and proof,” which is my favorite insofar as Fics With Actual Plot go, but I felt shy about sending this off anon because I believe you and the author are friends lmao).

Cheers. ✌️

Ok this does actually look so good I might for once read something above 20k words. (And yes I am proudly friends with the author of this fic and it is to me the most canon/accurate of version of s3 so at least if Neil fucks it up I’ll have this)

[sarilolla]

Now I'm thinking about Pop Trolls and what happened with them... I love making it clear in my fic that what happened with the Bergens affected them, to various degrees.

Small ramble? I guess? It's not completely cohesive

In Hanahaki, they make peace with the Bergens, but most older Trolls are still anxious around them, and only Bridget and Gristle actually know where the village is and they never go in.

In Different Beat I'm at a bit of limbo, I can see them helping Bridget which would help King Gristle and it dominos into the Bergens being happy, but there won't be a positive relationship between the two species.

In Experiment Pop... well, Bergens are genuinely huge bad guys there, and there's no way the Pop Trolls would ever willingly interact with a Bergen. There's more trauma than just Trollstice, and it affects the newer generations too meaning they can't fully get away from what happened.

I have more aus that I haven't posted but Bergen relations are spotty or bad there too, so... I guess I just think they should have been affected more

So it's all different, which is the joy of aus, but something I don't like is how glossed over the trauma of Trollstice is in the movies and the series. How long were the Pop Trolls captured and eaten? The franchise doesn't give us a definitive answer, but from context clues I would say a decade or two at the bare minimum. The first movie starts with the story where it's shown the city is built around the Troll Tree. They wouldn't get such an established city in so little time, I refuse to believe that. Trollstice was so integral to them, that the adult Bergens in the beginning of the first movie seemed like they had had a Troll their entire lives. I refuse to believe the Bergens showed up between BroZone breaking up and Rosiepuff being eaten

I want to say that realistically, the Pop Trolls were captured for 80-130 years. It may seem like a lot, but it is what makes most sense to me (feel free to debate me on that and provide your own speculated timeline). The timeline just... doesn't work properly? We don't have any set points to look at, except that in the first movie the escape was 20 years ago, and between World Tour and Band Together a month has passed. This makes it so I can fuck around with the timeline as needed, but they could have given me more to work with. So the only timeline I am working with is that at the escape, the Pop Trolls had been stuck with the Bergens for nearly 130 years, the whole Music schism happened almost 200 years ago (and while they were with the Bergens there was a generation or two who didn't even know other Trolls existed), and the Strings were made around 250 years ago? But that also doesn't fully fit with how a society evolves, so might have been even longer between all of this?

Anyway... Back to the Pop Trolls and how the Bergens and Trollstice affected them

I love making jokes in my stories about how desensitized the Pop Trolls are to death and destruction of their home. I love writing other Trolls' reactions to that. It's fun and morbid at the same time. Like the other genres can be as pissy as they want about Pop's attempted takeover so many years ago, but in a cynical way, they got their karma... Other genres had places to be safe, evolve in their own time, no huge threats, but the Pop Trolls lost that, and you can't tell me that wasn't lost for a long time

I firmly believe the Pop Trolls don't have an actual cemetery, but rather a field of flowers planted in remembrance, a Memorial. Flowers planted for the ones lost, but no bodies buried with them. Just a flower representing who they were and what they meant to their loved ones (which brings in my headcanon that flowers and flower language is a big part of Pop Troll culture). It's just in the past 20 years they actually have had bodies to bury, and those are few and far between

...I had a point to this ramble, I think. I think Trollstice and Pop Troll history is my fictional roman empire, it has genuinely gone in and out of my head since the first movie. It just hits hard

[queenofyumcha]

The Witcher Netflix's Emhyr Shrine

(RANT INCOMING, NSFW)

Recently finished watching season 3 of the TWN and I took about twenty psychic damage upon seeing what looked like a statue of Emhyr. (S3E8)

one. He looks like a random philosopher. (kinda feels like the statue is mid-shrug saying 'yeah i just invaded the northern realms. what are you going to do about it?')

two. If his men/Impera Brigade have a fan club/gossip sessions, this is the club hangout

three. Uh. my brain immediately went 'hey what if his men fucked him kneeling in front of his own statue? wouldn't that be fun?'

the thought of Emhyr being fucked (desecrated because it’s a SHRINE??) at the base of his own statue is… 🤭 a desperate mess at the foot of the idealised version of him…

And so, like any fanfic writer, I fired up the episode to scour for, ah, details and -

WHAT ARE THESE TABLES, NETFLIX? ARE WE AT A CAR BOOT SALE? THIS IS WHERE THE BUDGET RAN OUT?

(it really irks me that this room looks so low budget because if you were going to imply that the white flame thing is a cult, which fine, I can get behind that for smut reasons, why would they treat their shrine this poorly? surely, it would be richly decorated? this is giving community hall with trestle tables hastily set up for a bake sale!)

no wonder this was the only shot of the whole room!!! it looks so bad!!! it really ruins the immersion!!!

they can't fuck their emperor on that, one thrust and the entire thing collapses!!! think of the health and safety regulations!

(yes, the amount of candles is also an issue but reduce the number of candles and they can have some fun with wax play. what? you're telling me the white flame is afraid of a little hot wax? surely not?

And now I can’t stop thinking about Emhyr having ritual sex in front of his shrine. His men fucking him before they depart to battle like a good luck ritual, Emhyr over sensitised, fucked nearly senseless at the base of his statue, his men kneeling to worship him 🥰🫶

maybe they’re only allowed to fuck their emperor when they win.

maybe Emhyr’s not allowed to get himself off outside of marital sex to create an heir or being fucked senseless on his own altar. (insert flimsy religious reasoning here- orgasms allowed for duty only?)

OH and the flags here look like an afterthought, nilfs, get your shit together and iron those flags!!! during pride month of all things??? why are they propped up on the walls like that? hang em properly! at least emhyr can use them to help clean up i guess, they're not getting more rumpled.

also, the half-arsed stained glass here pisses me off. you can't even see it because there's a little bit at the top of the window and that's it! but that's just me loving the aesthetics of stained glass.

(also, since stained glass in private residences was a way of showing wealth, it would have been really cool to see a depiction of the sun/emhyr/the var emreis lineage/ the empire in stained glass or as a mural!)

and yes, I was trying to get a clear shot of the guards standing behind Emhyr's throne because I'm fully accepting them as Impera Brigade guards.

I do love that Netflix gave the guards stationed near Emhyr unique fancier armour than the other guards in the palace though!

(BUT WHY DID EMHYR NOT GET OTHER OUTFIT CHANGES? HE'S ROYALTY, WHY IS HE LIVING IN PLATE ARMOUR? ALSO, why is he wearing NORMAL TROUSERS with PLATE ARMOUR?)

I did like the roman columns and architecture here though, that was a nice touch but i felt like it didn't quite fit with the rest of the nilfgaardian theme... It just feels like it doesn't belong in this city:

I just... was not a fan. reminded me of brutalist architecture (i can see why they might have been going for that but just didn't like it for nilfgaard) and of mayan temples?? giving house Harkonnen from dune

OH AND THIS THING. This goddamn carriage...

I RECOGNISE THAT THIS IS SUCH A SILLY GRIPE OKAY, such a silly gripe, but I absolutely HATED the carriage Francesca and Fringilla were in. It looked like it was decorated by an amateur drama production. The metal beads, the shoddy paintwork, it looks so CHEAP.

WHY ARE THERE NO WINDOWS? IF YOU CAN'T AFFORD GLASS, JUST MAKE IT SO THERE ARE NO WINDOWS, which would make sense safety-wise for a carriage transporting the queen of the elves and sorceress???

Mimi looked amazing as ever though. Francesca/Fringilla toxic yuri :))) I loved seeing her pop up through the season and I can't wait to see her in S4.

Anyway. All that said, I do genuinely enjoy watching TWN, I appreciate them for making Emhyr so very fuckable even though he looks nothing like what I expected, (why is he so young. and pretty. I like it but. can we take the beard off. please?) and I will be tuning in for the new season.

I'm quite excited for Liam as Geralt, rooting for him.

[rinkwrites]

Why was the Roman Army such an effective fighting force

(posting my shitty essays here because I'm deleting them from my computer but I still want them saved somewhere. Genuine and sincere apology for whatever the fuck that closing paragraph is i guess i got bored halfway through writing it?)

Though it is long gone, the Roman army is still used today as an example of a combat force renowned for its military prowess and tactical brilliance. Its daring leaders, battles and sieges have been the subject of many plays and books throughout the last 2000 years. Without their army the Romans could never have built a long-lasting empire that encompassed the entire Mediterranean.

The Roman army’s system was started by the emperor Augustus, who made himself chief commander of the army at the time. In later years, emperors were still officially in charge, but they often appointed provincial governors or legionary commanders, or other men with lots of military experience, to lead their armies for them. The Roman Army was an amazing feat of organisation and discipline which is still celebrated today for their structure and organisation, recruitment and training, tactics, formation, and equipment.

The structure of the Roman army was good because of how organised and tightly coordinated it was. It was split into small groups with leaders, which simultaneously motivated soldiers to work together as a team, and strive to be better so they could have  leadership positions. It was divided into Legions with over 5000 men, then cohorts with 500, then century’s with 100, and finally tent groups with 8. If one person deserted, or broke a rule the whole group was punished (the word ‘decimation’ comes from a Roman punishment where if a group of people deserted, they were lined up in their ranks and one in every ten was killed, the ‘deci’ prefix comes from the Latin word for ten). This promoted organisational responsibility and, more importantly, loyalty.

The Roman army was the first professional army. All their predecessors, and more importantly, their enemies, had no organised army. Instead everyone would work their normal jobs as farmers and fishermen until a war broke out, at which point all able bodied men would fight, despite often having no training and sometimes without having even seen battle before, this meant that their opponents were often too scared of the Romans to prove to be much of a fight at all. The Roman’s had an army which organised and professional with training and active recruitment. Everyone in the army had to go through the same 4 months of training, which involved daily strength training and practice fights. Each soldier was trained till they were the same level of competence. The physical demands of training were massive. Roman soldiers were expected to march at 100 paces a minute with full armour, weapons, and provisions. They also trained with weapons and armour that were much heavier than the equipment they’d use in battle. This meant that when in battle they found it easy to use their heavy weapons as they were used to much heavier.

The reason that Rome succeeded in professionalising its army was because of the success of its government. Because roman society had a functioning government, citizenship, and taxes they were able to pay soldiers. They also offered many other benefits to persuade people to join up. Legionary soldiers were all Roman citizens and full-time professionals who signed up for 25 years of service. When they joined the army, a new recruit would first be interviewed to ensure he was a legal citizen of Rome and that he was fit and healthy. Rome didn’t want ill, weak, or sickly soldiers in their armies. Vegetius, a military leader, wrote a guideline to help choose recruits. He said a young soldier should have ‘alert eyes’ and should ‘hold his head upright.’ He also specified that the recruit should be ‘broad-chested with powerful shoulders and brawny arms.’ He said that they should employ people with long fingers to be archers.He also said ‘In choosing or rejecting recruits it is important to find out what trade they have been following. Fishermen, bird catchers, sweet-makers, weavers, and all those who do the kind of jobs that women normally do should be kept away from the army. On the other hand, smiths, carpenters, butchers and hunters of deer and wild boar are the most suitable kind of recruit.’ He made sure that people that got recruited had previously had professions that required strength, speed, and agility to make sure they would be able to complete the armies incredibly rigorous training programme. He also said, ‘The whole well-being of the Roman state depends on the kind of recruits that you choose; so choose men who are outstanding not only in body but also in mind.’ This is unsurprising as Rome is famed for their military tactics and their quick thinking and cunning leaders.

When the Romans conquered countries, they would force the conquered men to join their army. Surprisingly enough these conquered men were often very loyal and hardworking, as Rome promised that after 25 years of loyal service, they would be granted citizenship of Rome. They weren’t allowed to serve in the official legionary army, but they could fight as a part of the auxiliaries. They had the same hierarchy and positions as the legionary. The only real downside was that their pay was significantly less, and they were treated as far more expendable. Auxiliaries were frequently sent to fight in incredibly dangerous fights as Rome considered their lives to be much less valuable then the lives of the legionaries.

Romans were also the only army at the time to have a rigorous training programme. This meant that Romans were much better at using their weapons. They were also the only army of their time to work out that swords were more effective if the jabbed rather than swiped with them, as that meant much more power behind the blade. Most armies in the ancient world used similar weapons, but what gave the roman legionaries the cutting edge was the way they were trained to use their weapons. Because all of the Roman soldiers had the same training, Roman warfare didn’t rely on the skill of the individual. Roman army training made sure each all of their soldiers were fit and healthy.

Rome was particularly well-known for using their military tactics to ensure they almost never lost a battle. They also almost never entered a battle without being sure they could win. To ensure victory, generals always gave their troops a good night’s rest, a filling meal, and a motivating speech beforehand. Many speeches generals gave are still famous today.

They also had lots of different adaptable strategies. They carefully considered the lie of the land before making any battle plans. They always tried to make sure they had the high land and to have the sun and wind behind them. Having the high ground meant that arrows would travel further for them and less far for their opponents. Having the wind behind them had the same affect. Having the sun behind them also made it harder for their opponents archers to aim at them.

Having a senate organised army also meant that the whole army had the same high standard equipment. Rome’s wide reach also have them access to loads of resources and weapons. This meant that they would often have weapons that their opponents had never seen before. This meant that they had the element of surprise. One of the things the Romans did was use elephants as an intimidation tactic, for people who had never seen an elephant before it was a truly terrifying sight. They also were the only army at the time to use ballista, or canons. There massive crossbow bolts and flaming cannonballs tore their oppositions lines apart, sometimes literally.

They also were the only army at the time that had a standard armour that everyone wore. They had a strong chest plate, sturdy sandals, and helmets with thick neck guards. They also had javelins with weak ends, so that once they had been thrown, they couldn’t be thrown back as the ends would break off and stick in the ground. This javelin was called a ‘pilum’ and it was 2m (6.5ft) long with a pointed iron tip. Its sharp tip would easily tear into the flesh or shield of an enemy, and because of the brittle staff it was incredibly difficult to remove without tearing the skin, which led to some enemy soldiers bleeding to death, or dying of a serious infection. The ‘gladius’ was short stubby sword that was used for close combat. It has a double-edged blade which could cause fatal harm and pierce through most makeshift armours that their enemies used.  They also had a short dagger called a ‘pugio’. The pugio wasn’t normally used in battlefield situations, it was only used for ceremonious dress and assassinations.

The Romans are frequently used as an example of military excellence when it comes to tactics. However, many things attributed to them were stolen by them from people they fought against (this is the case with a lot of things the Romans are attributed with the creation of). They did however come up with some things, including the ‘wedge’ formation, where they would attack in a triangular formation to drive a wedge through the enemies front lines into the heart of their opponents army. Another particularly famous Roman military tactic was the tortoise shell formation, where cohorts would march with their shields above their head and around them like a tortoise shell to protect them from arrows. Rome was also one of the only armies at the time that had trained archers and cavalry, which gave them a massive advantage over their opponents.

Another thing that the Roman army was famous for was siege warfare. The Romans were the first army to use a siege tactic, where they trapped their opponents in their bases and waited for food to run out. Romans made life even harder for those under siege by throwing flaming rocks and arrows into the camps. They also sometimes made siege towers, which were massive towers of wood covered with metal that they would wheel up to the walls of enemy fortresses and use to climb over.

One particularly famous Roman siege was the siege of Masada. The Jewish people under the Romans rule were angry that the Romans were against their religion, (Rome was normally very accepting of the people they conquered religions, but only if the religions worshipped a ‘pantheon’, a group of Gods. The Romans were opposed to Judaism because it is a monotheistic religion.) and so they revolted, unfortunately the Romans had significantly better armed forces and the fight soon became a massacre. A couple hundred of jews escaped to their mountain fortress on a rock called Masada, that had been built be King Herod several centuries earlier. The Jews were able to stay there for over a year, as they had tunnels through the rocks to get more food supplies, but eventually the Romans got bored of waiting and started building a ramp up to the fortress. However when they got to the top, they found almost all of the Jews dead. They rebel Jews had decided that they would rather die than be taken prisoner by the Romans and be forced into slavery. Suicide, however, is against the law in Judaism, as your life is seen as a gift from God, and it is considered sin to end it. (While that law might sound weird nowadays, it’s the same in every single monotheistic religion around the world. And even today, in Britain and all over the rest of the world, you cannot get life insurance from the death of someone who killed themselves. This isn’t however an unjust rule, it was put in place to stop people who were massively in debt killing themselves in the hope of getting some money for their family). What historians believed happened was that the Jews drew lots to pick a group of ten people to kill them all, then the ten drew lots again to pick one of them to kill the other nine.

However we only have one historian account of what happened at Masada, and while the roman encampments, fortress and siege equipment are in excellent condition, the Romans removed any dead bodies there may have been, so we have no archaeological evidence of what happened. The historian who wrote the account based it off the last man and his families, as the last man decided not to kill himself. The historian also however wrote up several Jewish sieges as ending in the same way, and as both suicide and murder are sins in Judaism, so his accounts have to be queried. Some have suggested he wrote them up this way to make people more sympathetic towards the Jews, there is nothing more romantic than  tragic death to avoid capture. Was mass murder/suicide really this common in Jewish cultures? It seems unlikely, but as the only account we have is his, we can never know for certain. There is some evidence to prove his theory, there are tablets found at Masada believed to be the lots drawn to pick the ten men, and in a lower floor there are the skeletons of a woman and children who have clearly been killed in a fairly brutal way, but no one can know for certain what happened.

The Roman army was clearly a formidable fighting force, and its organisation and equipment were far better than all of their opponents at the time. It is therefore unsurprising that they succeeded in conquering the entire Mediterranean.

[humanmorph]

palisade 22. kind of a mess of notes about that haunted moon

NOTES

"Mosaic Gyratory"

gravity changes ("like the wind changes direction", uneasy/sickening feeling. I only just realized this makes sense re: Austin talking about the tides rising when the Chimera's Lantern did [????] last time to help people fight off the Divine Principality. that is how those work)

murals of divines (immediately thought of the divine fleet. i just don't know how it fits if at all???. i guess the question would be divine fleet from when? from when (partial) palisade & co left?)

animal components in the structure (next to ceramic etc. there's also normal stuff): bone, vast insect shells (the insect shells made me think of signet&belgard immediately but its not like they have the. whats the word. theyre not the only ones that can be buglike or have buglike stuff.)

teeth beasts. teeth instead of muscle or flesh. teeth… (hm. hm. hm. yeah i dont know. hm. btw when i read 'description of teeth' in the content warnings i was a bit puzzled by it but then i went aahhhh i see when these things showed up.)

blue-ish glow / white-orange glow (2 different glows in different directions = different sources? Also i only remember austin describing the orange glow when talking about Chimera's Lantern weirdness, but not the blue one. Possible the blue is new/related to Nideo being there now?)

THOUGHTS re: mural of divines

i was trying to find something twilight mirage and specifically signet related but i keep just reading bits of transcripts and going man tm was so fucking good huh

anyways i found it and i thought of…. the crypt of the order from signets playbook. now. in retrospect im actually fairly sure it just came to mind because sylvi earlier in the ep mentioned the roman saints as a reference for coris new mech + the divine fleet connection i made (it's the murals. in my head that's just. it has Got to be related.) = crypt of dead excerpts & their things (the scene I'm talking about in TM18 is honestly one that makes me really sad about signet. man. signet). I don't know...

WHAT'S UP WITH THIS THEN

it cant just be A Divine. that's not it. But the way... it's talked about Sounds so. Divine Influence. does it not?

"It’s often about letting people determine the best versions of themselves. People are— the warriors of the moon are kind of described as having their natural capabilities enhanced. There’s a lot of verbiage that combines expression, like the idea of self expression and becoming a version of yourself that you want to be, with a sort of epic heroism."

"It gave them— the way that it’s written about here, the way that Crystal Palace saw it was that these are people who were raised with the light of justice and were raised as defenders against an empire vast in the future. They were trying to— they’re people who were trying to prune something that would take over, that would grow over the galaxy." (PAL15: Upon Our Grace Pt.2) (Honestly interesting to bring that up there as a metaphor, since we have… you know, it's not a field it's a garden (TM), and now in PALISADE: "I think one of the new Gur Sevraq’s most famous sermons is about how the galaxy in general, and Palisade specifically, isn't meant to be a jungle, or an overgrown field, it's meant to be a garden, you know? It's well-groomed, it's supposed to be maintained. You're supposed to attend to the world." (PAL01: Into The World Pt. 1) that just as an aside though. i noticed it and wanted to note it.)

oh my god the divine cycle timeline is so fucked i cannot make sense of it once i try to think about details i just cant.hell on earth 6 wiki pages and 9 transcripts open. i keep getting shit confused "Everything that has happened before will happen again." i fucking know right sorry i was trying to find Divine Fleet info from PRE-twilight mirage. and ended up just looking up the partial palisade stuff, which, they left when under attack from the NEH. ok. I just don't know... at what point did Palisade "die"... When did the Divines turn into Afflictions (they HAVE NEH names, so... after or during a time when the NEH was attacking Palisade? does this make sense?)? I'm lost. I got lost. Why am I asking myself this again. OH RIGHT

post by swallowtailed i just saw bc i looked up chimeras lantern on here talked about the moon being part of the planet (there's quite a big part missing up with that cauldron). I guess in my mind... a big part of the planet being blown(?) off or otherwise removed somehow COULD very well be related to a divine turned living planet dying. right? post also mentioned it being a tomb for his excerpt which funnily enough lines up with my crypt thought from earlier. and it IS a question on what happened to those god i just wanna know whats up with the afflictions!!!! not what this post is about though so im stopping.

it's all just so. i think it's in an episode without transcript yet and i don't feel like hunting for it but when austin implied that whatever is happening with the moon is as or more important for the world as. the WORLD BLOWING UP? its haunting me

[youneedasoultraveller]

Is the popular headcanon that Nicky was illiterate, stupid and barbaric fitting in the stereotypes about Southern Europeans / Mediterraneans ? I’m guessing it’s from the American part of the fandom that’s choosing to not respectfully write Nicky since he is white while being virulent towards anybody that doesn’t perfected and accurately write Joe because he is MENA.

Hello!

Mind you, I am neither a psychologist, a sociologist nor a historian, so of course be aware these are my own views on the whole drama.

But to answer your question, yes, I personally think so. It definitely comes from the American side, but I have seen Northern Europeans do that too, often just parroting the same type of discourse that Anglos whip out every other day.

There is an abysmal ignorance of Medieval history – even more so when it concerns countries that are not England: there is this common misconception that Europe in the Middle Ages was this cultural backwater full of semi-barbaric people that stems unfortunately not only from trying to (correctly) reframe colonialist approaches to the historiographies of non-European populations (that is, showing the Golden Age of Islamic culture, for instance, as opposed to what were indeed less culturally advanced neighbours), but also from distortions operated by European themselves from the Renaissance onwards, culminating in the 18th century Enlightenment philosophes categorising the Middle Ages as the Dark Ages.

Now this approach has been time and time again proven to be a made-up myth. I will not go into detail to disprove each and every single one misconception about the Medieval era because entire books have been written, but just to give you an example: there was no such a thing as a ius primae noctis/droit du seigneur; people were aware that the Earth was not flat (emperors, kings, saints, etc, they were depicted holding a globe in their hands); people were taking care of their hygiene, either through the Roman baths, or natural springs, or private tubs that the wealthier strata of the population (and especially the aristocracy) owned. The Church was not super happy about them not because it wanted people to remain dirty, but because often these baths were for both men and women, and it was not that in favour of them showing off their bodies to one another. Which, you know, we also don’t do now unless you go to nudist spas. It was only during the Black Death in the 14th century that baths were slowly abandoned because they became a place of contagion, and they went into disuse (or better, they changed purpose and became something like bordellos). And, lastly, there was certainly a big chunk of the population that was illiterate, but certainly it was not the clergy, which was THE erudite class of the time. It was in monasteries and abbeys that knowledge was passed and preserved (as well as lost unfortunately often, such as the case for the largest part of classical literature).

So what does this mean? According to canon, Nicolò was an ex priest who fought in the First Crusade. This arguably means that at the very least he was a cadet son of a minor noble family (or a wealthy merchant one) who was part of the clergy. As such, historically he could have been neither illiterate nor a dirty garbage cat in his daily life.

Let’s then talk geography. Southern Europe (and France) was far, far more advanced than the North at the time and Italy remained the cultural powerhouse of the continent until the mid-17th century. Al Andalus in the Iberian Peninsula, the Italian States,  the Byzantine Empire (which called itself simply Roman Empire, whose population defined itself as Roman and cultural heirs of the Latin and Greek civilisations): these places have nothing to do with popular depictions of Medieval Europe that you mainly see from the Anglos. Like @lucyclairedelune rightfully pointed out: not everyone was England during the plague.

Also the Middle Ages lasted one thousand years. As a historical age, it’s way longer than anything we had after that. So of course habits varied, there was a clear collapse right after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, but then things develop, you know?

Anyway, back to the point in question. Everything I whipped up is not arcane knowledge: it’s simply having studied history at school and spending a few hours reading scientific articles on the internet which are not “random post written by random Anglo on Tumblr who can hardly find Genoa on a map”.

Nicolò stems from that culture. The most advanced area in Europe, possibly a high social class, certainly educated, from Genoa, THE maritime superpower of the age (with…Venice). It makes absolutely no sense that he would not be able to speak anything past Ligurian: certainly Latin (the ecclesiastical one), maybe the koine Greek spoken in Constantinople, or Sabir, or even the several Arabic languages from the Med basin stretching from al Andalus to the Levant. Because Genoa was a port, and people travel, bring languages with them, use languages to barter.

And now I am back to your question. Does this obstinacy in writing him as an illiterate beast (basically) feed into stereotypes of Mediterranean people (either from the northern or the southern shore)? It does.

It is a typically Anglo-Germanic perspective that of describing Southern (Catholic) Europeans are hot-headed, illiterate bumpinks mindlessly driven by blind anger, lusts and passions, as opposed to the rational, law-abiding smart Northern Protestants. You see it on media. I see it in my own personal life, as a Southern Italian living in Northern Europe for 10 years.

Does it sound familiar? Yes, it’s the same harmful stereotype of Yusuf as the Angry Brown Man. But done to Nicolò as the Angry Italian Man (not to mention the fact that, depending on the time of day and the daily agenda of the Anglo SJW Tumblrite, Italians can be considered either white or non-white).

Now, the times where Nicolò is shown as feral are basically when he is fighting (either in a bloody war or against Merrick’s men) or when Yusuf is in danger. Because, guess what, the man he loves is being hurt. What a fucking surprise.

Nicolò is simply being reduced to a one dimensional stereotype of the dirty dumb angry Italian, and people are simply doing this because they do not seem to accept the fact that both he and Yusuf are two wonderfully complex, flawed, fully-fledged multidimensional characters.

So I am mainly concentrating on Nicolò here because as an Italian I feel more entitled to speak about the way I see the Anglo fandom treating him and using stereotypes on him that have been consistently applied to us by the Protestant Northerners. I keep adding the religious aspect because, although I am an atheist who got debaptised from the Catholic Church, a big part of the historical treatment towards Southern has to do with religion and the contempt towards Catholic rituals and traditions (considered, once again, a sign of cultural backwardness by the enlightened North).

I do not want to impose my view of Yusuf because there are wonderful Tumblr users from MENA countries who have already written wonderful metas of the way Yusuf is being depicted by non-MENA people (in particular Americans), especially (again) @lucyclairedelune and @nizarnizarblr.

However, I just want to underline that, by only ever writing Yusuf as essentially a monodimensional character without a single flaw, this takes away Yusuf’s canon multidimensionality, the right he has to feel both positive but also negative feelings (he was hurt and angry at Booker’s betrayal, allegedly his best friend, AND HE HAD EVERY RIGHT TO BE – and I say this as a Booker fan as well).

I have not been the first to say these things, it is nothing revolutionary, and it exactly complements what the MENA tumblr users in the TOG fandom have also been trying to say. Both of us as own voices people who finally have the chance to have two characters that are fully formed and honest representations of our own cultures, without stereotypes or Anglogermanic distortions.

And the frustration mounting among all of us comes from the fact that the Anglos are, once again, not listening to us, even telling us we are wrong about our own cultures (see what has happened to Lucy and Nazir).

What is even more frustrating is that everything in this cursed fandom – unless it was in the film or comics – is just a bloody headcanon. But these people are imposing their HCs as if it were the Word of God, and attacking others – including own voices MENA and Italians – for daring to think otherwise.

I honestly don’t expect this post will make any difference because this is just a small reflection of what Americans do in real life on grander scale, which is thinking they are the centre of the world and ignoring that the rest of the world even exists regardless of their own opinions on it.

But still, sorry for the length, hope I answered your question.

[defilerwyrm]

⭐️ Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

FIC SPOILERS AHEAD!

Bei Mir Bist Du Schön on AO3

He opened his mouth to thank Essek but what came out instead was, “Deine Augen sind wunderschön.”

Essek stared at him, perfectly neutral save for the subtle rise of stark white eyebrows. “I don’t speak Zemnian,” he said, flashing his customary, placid little smile.

This is early Essek, well before c2e097, so this is a fully calculated move. That stare is him running simulations in his head, as it were, weighing his options, and he finally decides that he can learn more about Caleb if the guy thinks he doesn’t understand these little asides.

And boy did he ever just learn something juicy.

The second time, he was feeling petulant. Essek was normally a very patient and talented teacher, but there came a time when they butted heads over the best way to work a spell: Essek’s experience and Caleb’s contradicted each other, and neither was willing to admit that he was wrong because they weren’t. Caleb couldn’t have said why they were getting spirited over it. It was unlike them to lock horns this way, and the condescension chafed fiercely.

To my understanding, Wildemount never—at least post-Calamity—had a continent-spanning culture like the Roman Empire that would standardize learning across regions, and the Empire and Dynasty have utterly lacked in cultural exchange pretty much throughout their histories; so I reason that their approach to magic must be very damn different right down to the fundamentals. But, I also reason, magic is like math, in that there’s more than one way to come to a given conclusion—so the same spell cast by an Imperial mage might use different theory and somatic/verbal components with the same results.

I love fic that plays homage to cultural differences, so I figured that there must surely come a point where Caleb and Essek quibble about how to do a thing, with the crux being that they’re both right.

In a fit of pique, he muttered, “Du hast Glück, dass du abartig schön bist, denn du bist so ein Arsch.”

Essek’s head whipped up so fast that, for a moment, Caleb thought maybe he understood after all—but Essek just squinted at him without recognition and said, “I beg your pardon?”

Essek’s poker face is doing triple duty here because Caleb just said he’s hot af but also a dick, and this isn’t a sentiment Essek hasn’t heard before, but it hasn’t really gotten under his skin like it does this time.

Caleb passed a hand over his face and scratched at the beard he desperately needed to shave off. “Nothing,” he lied, “just annoyed with myself. This should be a moment of discovery, now that we know this can go either way. A door has unlocked and we’re both pulling it shut. Can we start again?”

The slip, and Essek’s reaction to it, made Caleb realize that they were both being dillweeds about the whole thing and it wasn’t going to move them forward at all.

It was—of course, of fucking course the intonation mattered. “A tonal shift,” he breathed. He took Essek by the lapels of his robe and shook him gently, and blurted out, “Ich könnte dein Gehirn küssen und dann deinen Mund.”

“What the hell is going on,” Nott squeaked at the same time as Essek chuckled almost nervously, “Caleb, I don’t—”

Hot boi damn near let the cat out of the bag right here. It’s certainly not that he specifically did not want to be smooched at all, but more that 1) Nott was RIGHT THERE so it would be mortifying, 2) he’s still very D: about physical contact and this point, and 3) he’s still very privately going “fuck fuck fuck WHY a HUMAN” about his own attraction to Caleb. There is very much a part of him that Wants That, but the rest of him is just not coping with it at all just yet.

The following morning, though, all he could think about was Dein Bett wäre besser and Essek’s careful fingers touching his face.

Both of them are fully mortified with themselves. They’re ridiculous. I see Caleb heading back to the Xhorhaus with shoulders bunched up, brow furrowed, and wide eyes glued to his own feet as his brain screams “DEIN BETT WÄRE BESSER” at him, mockingly, over and over. Slipping up and confessing your attraction to your crush is relatably horrifying (gods, I’ve been there, it’s awful) and Caleb is predisposed to beat himself up to begin with. Add in the rest of the party making a big deal over the fact that he spent the night over at Essek’s towers and you’ve got an abject storm in that little ginger head of his.

It did not help matters that no matter how much he insisted that nothing happened, the Mighty Nein were dead set on believing that he’d slept with his mentor, and they spent the next three days teasing him about it, none of them aware that he was simultaneously tormenting himself.

Okay so I try to be good and not talk shit about my own work these days, but that sentence just landed in a belly flop for me. I’m not sure it actually gets across what I’d meant, which was that Caleb was beating himself up for a different reason than what they all thought.

In the midst of a messy ambush by three of the wolf-cat eye-beasts, one of them managed to get the drop on Caleb, and it pinned him, screaming, to the ground. Its claws dug fiery punctures into either side of his chest. He thrashed, trying to get both hands up to cast, but it would be too late—his reflexes weren’t good enough. His body had never been nearly as sharp as his mind, and he was about to pay the price in the form of massive, dagger-like fangs lunging towards his throat. He screamed again, chest nearly frozen with fear, when—

Adventurers are generally made of tough stock, but I really wanted to dig into the POV of someone who’s being attacked by a terrifying cerature intent on ripping them apart. “You take 12 piercing damage and are knocked prone” is mechanical and dry; I wanted to show the full in-character implications of those mechanics.

Another fic that represents game mechanics narratively to absolutely stunning affect is Hard Mouth by road_rhythm, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I wrote Bei Mir before Hard Mouth started posting but had it been the other way around, it 100% would have been an inspiration in that regard.

He could not help but murmur, “Götter, ich bins so verschossen in dich.”

Fun fact: I got myself the book Talking Dirty German specifically for writing Caleb dialogue, and it really came in handy here. This idiom is from that book, as did abartig schön. The literal translation is “Gods, I am so shot into you,” which coming to think of it sounds a wee bit dirty but is figuratively very sappy.

Speaking of sappy….

“Das Gefühl ist Gegenseitig,” came the warm and sleepy reply.

Part of this is Essek being barely-conscious, but the bulk of it is this—and this is basically giving away the whole way the fic progresses: pretending not to know Zemnian began as a manipulation tactic to get intel, then became a game of “Let’s see how long it takes you to figure this out, smart boy” as their bond grew and Essek stopped deliberately trying to throw Caleb off, and finally when they were a couple he figured it would be cruel and pointless to keep up the ruse, especially since he’d been growing to appreciate pet names in their mother tongues.

Caleb took a deep breath, set his tea aside, and launched himself at Essek, who yelped, laughing, and danced out of his grasp. Essek led him on a merry chase around the kitchen and held out as long as he could before crying mercy at Caleb’s vicious tickling.

You know, I probably shouldn’t point this out in case my readers hadn’t cottoned onto it yet either, but it wasn’t until like a week after publishing this that I stopped and thought, “WTF happened to Essek’s teacup? Did he take the time to set it down? Did it get dropped and shatter? Did he show off and levitate it?? Did he bring it with him and get tea all over the place and himself?!” Smh…. Choose your own explanation, I guess, lmao.

The rolls were a little burnt that morning, but Caleb had no regrets.

Part of me feels like this is kind of a weak ending, but I justify it to myself by remembering how hard Caleb regretted his slip-ups over the course of the fic. He spends a good bit of copy beating himself up over them, so ultimately I think it fits, even if it kinda lacks punch.

[breitzbachbea]

📒💖

Emi, I'm kissing you on the mouth right now, you're so sexy. In general but also for taking the bait.

Put “📓” or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I’ll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven’t written but daydream about.

The Constantinople AU

This AU is from 2017 and came about because I watched a TED-ED video about Constantinople's walls, relistened to the Aladdin soundtrack and because I had earlier talked with a friend about how I had not really seen people make a genie a woman. I came back years later to explain it to my friend Jonah and add new stuff and this year I showed it to @amber-isnt-a-precious-stone to add even more things. It's one of my favourite AUs for sure.

Dramatis Personae:

- Herakles Karpuzi (APH Greece) as Son of the Roman emperor and heir to the throne - Sadık Adnan (APH Turkey) as Soldier in the Ottoman army and Imposter Prince - Dilan Taş (Human OC) as Jinn and Sadık's unsuccessful wingwoman - Athanasios Karpuzi (Human OC) as the Roman emperor and serial skirtchaser - Salvatore Vento (Human OC) as Advisor to the emperor and Fuckface McBadDad - Michele Vento (APH Sicily) as Herakles' childhood friend

The Happenings™:

- It's set in Constantinople in an alternate Universe, close to ours. It’s the late High Middle Age/Early Late Middle Age (depending on how you want to periodize. I am working with how the German Middle Ages are divided, which is arguably a very bad method for classifying Byzantine. But this is my silly Hetalia AU, not my term paper). Around 1300, I’d say.

- Athansios Karpuzi is the current Roman Emperor, which makes Herakles the heir to the throne. Athanasios is desperately trying to wed his son off to any available suitors to form new alliances, but two things keep getting into the way: 1. Herakles is thoroughly uninterested in playing along with Athanasios’ plans. He’s not a chess piece on his father’s board if he's got anything to say about it. 2. Salvatore Vento is Athanasios’ closest consultant and protests any marriage for whatever reason he can find. For the sole reason that he has been eyeing the throne for himself the entire time and wants to marry his own son, Michele, to Herakles.

- Like in my Hetalia AU "Like Father Like Son", Salvatore and Athanasios trust each other as far as they can throw one another. There is no genuine trust here at all, no sympathy, really, they just stick together because they know the other is useful. Have some assorted banter as result of this:

Salvatore: "Immortal what a name! What a title to bear! Although immoral would have fit you much better." [Athanasios’ etymology is “immortal”]

S: "Maybe you wouldn't have to struggle to find a suitable bride for your son if you stopped dragging every young woman within and from outside Constantinople to bed." Athanasios: "He's into guys too, problem solved." S: "Oh, yeah, me dumbass thought you needed stop whoring around, how silly of me."

A: "If he is into anything at all. But if I have another child, they might keep this empire going." S: "No legitimation to the lineage's claim to power like a gay loner and a bastard child." A: "Ah yes, I hired the man whose wife ran away with his son so he could berate me about family life. How I value your opinion, Salvatore." S: "She didn't run away." A: "No, she just hides and sends you people until she can get her divorce. I'm very inclined to give it to her."

S: "They're childhood friends! They'd make a great couple!" A: "All I can hear is what a great emperor you'd make, ruling on my corpse."

- So. Herakles is staunchly resisting any marriage to anyone and minding his business one day, walking along the great walls of Constantinople. He stops to look out into the surrounding area and suddenly, hears a noise. Confused, he looks down and sees someone scaling the wall. Sadık looks up and sees the most beautiful man he has ever seen … spotting him trying to get into the city.

- Sadık is part of the Ottoman Turks, who’re conquering the area around Constantinople these days. He’s some nobody in the army and thought he’d give it a shot and get into the city by himself to earn some fame (and money).

- Herakles is seriously impressed Sadık managed to actually almost scale the famously impenetrable walls of the city. Not impressed enough to actually let him in. So these two banter a bit, Sadık now distracted by this hunk in front of his nose. Herakles correctly assesses that he’s a Turk and says of himself that he’s the emperor’s son. Sadık: “Hey, hot stuff, if that’s true and it’s so impressive, why don’t you let me in as a reward?” Herakles: “Yes, of course. And then I’ll open the gates for the rest of your people, so that you can just walk in and take the city. What impossible thing do you want to happen next, a kiss on the mouth?” Sadık: “What’s so impossible about that?”

- Either way, Herakles threatens to sick the guards on him, which leads to a “Oh no you wouldn’t” - Herakles grins and definitely would, so Sadık has to retreat. (#Don’tSickTheGuardsOnMyAssYou’reSoSexyAhaha).

- He goes back to camp, having gained nothing but a crush. He gets in real trouble for rummaging around the booty, where he finds an oil lamp and WOULDN’T YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. Dilan, a Jinn, pops out and Sadık uses his first wish to get out of trouble. Once that is done and the two have a moment of peace, he's thinking about what to do next and his mind circles back to Herakles.

- Dilan: "Ah yes, they always want something with love ... so who struck you and what's the problem?" Sadık: "Well ... I don't really know if it's true but he said he was the son of the emperor. He certainly looked the part! And I didn't really want to wait for him to call the guards to confirm it." Dilan: "Wait ... so you want to get with the son of the Roman emperor?" Sadık: "If that handsome little shit didn't lie to me, then yes." Dilan: "Isn't that a little out of your ballpark?" Sadık: "What, is it out of yours? Can't help me in that case, magic lady?" Dilan: "Psht, don't make me laugh! I can make the impossible happen, just tell me what you need." Sadık: "I dunno ... I guess getting inside the city?" Dilan: "That's it? That's all you need? That's less than a no-brainer -" Sadık: "Oh yeah, if it's so easy then, save that second wish for later. I got past one of the walls already once, I'll figure that out without your magic." Dilan: "Alright, alright ... and what about the wooing of your sweetheart?" Sadık: "That we'll see to once we're there ..."

- Dilan and Sadık chitchat while they make it to Constantinople. Dilan spends some time in the lamp, because walking is boring, but she does tell him that she's pretty sick of being in there. So that's where Sadık learns about her wishing to be free. Dilan in turn learns that Sadık doesn't have such a rosy life either (especially because now he can't return to the army, after he basically deserted).

- So they get to Constantinople and decide to actually factcheck if they got the right guy - and if yes, some general information about the emperor's son. Luckily enough, a friendly trader/tradesman tells them a bit about the city and the imperial family. Dilan: "So, did you by any chance ever see the emperor's son?" Trader: "Oh, well, that's an odd question, isn't it? But since you don't seem to be from here, I can understand the curiosity. Well, let me think ... You often see him only from afar ... during a triumph where he had accompanied his father during the campaign I got to see him up close. What a regal figure there at the head of the troops!" Sadık is too lost in the vision of his crush all decked out in military gear on a horse. And then taking all that gear off and being a regal figure while he fucks Sadık into the sheets … Dilan: "Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda, we need something more concrete. Height, hairstyle, haircolour, what does the dude look like?" The trader/tradesman is a little baffled but does provide a description that lines up with who Sadık saw. So with that information, they start to wonder how to woo a future emperor.

- Luckily, now that the trader/tradesman thinks they're here for imperial gossip, he actually mentions the fact that Emperor Athanasios hopes for his son to follow his footsteps and is currently looking for a suitable match, so that Herakles can be of political use even while he's still in charge. So Dilan and Sadık get an idea how to get into the city and Herakles heart. Or his pants. Milestones are still up for negotiation.

- After the grand entrance happened, where Herakles definitely took offense at either "Heard your prince was a sight lovely to see" or "Heard your prince was hot, where is he?" because either question was accompanied by Sadık's flirty looks, Athanasios actually lets Sadık and Dilan into the palace. There he and Salvatore discuss the entire thing, aka if whoever Sadık pretends to be is a good match.

- While they talk political stuff and snark, because of course Salvatore is against it, Sadık continues to feel very smug in his new princely identity and makes flirty eyes at Herakles. Herakles is just like "ugh" and much more happily plays with his cats. Which tbh sounds like they're 16 or something, but they're not that much younger than in canon (I think they'd be 22 and 24 here).

- Hijinks ensue. Herakles tells his dad that he’s a Turkish soldier that tried to sneak into the city and Athanasios doesn’t believe him, thinking Herakles is now lying badly to not get married. Dilan and Sadık are developing a friendship that is best described as hoes being bros.

- Dilan: "Look, you like cats. Cats are furry. Hairy, if you will. You know who else is hairy? Sadık. He's juuust as hairy as a cat - shhhht, I'm wingmanning for you and it's working great, you can thank me later."

- At first, Dilan mostly employs her magic for some silly little things with Sadık to woo Herakles. It doesn't work very well. Herakles: "I know it's magic, that's not impressing me - Okay, it is kinda cool, but you're still a dick." Dilan: "But a dick with a cool sidekick, come ON! What else do you want me to do to make the nerd viable?!" Sadık: "You call that wingmanning?!"

- Once Dilan realizes dickbags Athanasios and Salvatore are, she also uses little magic tricks to continously make their lives worse. Ironically, this may be what finally endears her and Sadık to Herakles. (If you haven't noticed, he doesn't like his father very much and Athanasios doesn't care for him aside from being a political pawn).

- At one point, Michele shows up at court! Herakles is overjoyed to see his childhood friend, which he hadn’t seen in years! Sadık is absolutely not, because it looks like just when he and Herakles almost had something, this twat shows up and steals the show!

- Dilan: "Well, I can't make him not love this dude, but I could beat the dude up." Sadık: " ... keep that in mind."

- However, when Dilan goes to investigate what Michele is doing here (and wingwomanning again), this ensues: Dilan: "Hey brah, what's up, why so blue looking? Is it because your boo just told you you ain't his number one anymore?" Michele: "I, eh ... no ... May I ask who you are?" Dilan: "Just one of the servants of the insanely charming and powerful - and hairy - Prince who's here to marry the Prince. Yep, he's sooo gonna marry that guy." Dilan: "There was a whole musical number about it, you should have seen it, I was on top of my game." Michele: "Sure heard about it, you stirred up trouble here. Hope it helps ... I'm not saying that Herakles should marry someone his dad set in front of him, but it'd be nice if he found someone at last. He told me he was very lonely the last years ... I don't want to leave him behind just as lonely again." Dilan: "Yeah, it'd be - Leave him behind?"

- Dilan: "Good news! His loverboy is not here to stay! He wants to go to the west, he's just here because of his terrible dad!" Sadık: "Oh, that's good! Wait ... isn't his father that asshole of an advisor?" Dilan: "Yeah. Why." Sadık: "The guy who wanted to marry his son to Herakles since apparently forever?" Dilan: "Yeah, but his son is not going to marry him." Sadık: "I smell a trap 10 miles against the wind."

- There is no trap however. Herakles realizes that the crush on Michele is nothing but a childhood crush and has to be left in the past … and that he wants to move forward with Sadık. When he wants a conversation one-on-one, Dilan wants to make it a one-on-two, but Herakles asks her if she doesn’t want to keep Michele company in the gardens, it’s not gonna take long, an hour or two at most. Then she can also fetch Michele when they’re done, so that Herakles can say goodbye before he leaves for Sicily.

- Dilan thinks about it, finds it’s not a trap (and if it was, nothing she and her fists couldn’t solve) and goes in the garden. There she talks with Michele and makes the mistake to either show off her magic powers, tell Michele of TurGre’s meetugly (#Don’tSickTheGuardsOnMyAssYou’reSoSexyAhaha) or to be like: “Hey, do you wanna know a cool secret? Sadık isn’t a Prince, all of this is my doing. Pretty cool, eh?”

- Unfortunately, they’re not alone. Salvatore was searching for Michele in the gardens, to get his “fucking rotten brat of a son” to play along after all instead of disappearing once again. So he overhears this. Salvatore: "Oh, so Prince Sadık is not a Prince? That's a funny joke indeed and I'll laugh my ass off the hardest in the end."

- So just when Herakles and Sadık had time to talk about their feelings and confess and, also, you know, make out and fumble for good measure, they get interrupted. Literally when Herakles was finally stripped down to his tunic and Sadık slid his hand underneath it.

- Athanasios: "This is gonna be the last wall you breached, you little rat." Herakles: "Dad! Stop it!" Athanasios: "This man nearly ruined our dynasty. Arrest him." Salvatore: "Arrest the man indeed. Go and get the ex-emperor." Athanasios: "Ex-Prince. It's not the right time for your snark." Salvatore: "I'm not talking about that small fish. Guards - arrest this careless idiot who nearly ruined our city by letting a scammer into its walls! Clearly the emperor's been in on this and can't be trusted!" Athanasios: "You've lost your mind." Salvatore: "You've lost yours and it's actually the thing you'll miss the least when syphilis is going to eat away the last of your rotten brain in the dungeons. So get him! And that ottoman faker, too, just get the trash out of here."

- The scene ends rather dramatically, because I love the thought of Michele and Dilan rushing to their help, but they get held back. Dilan maybe gets restrained by some anti-magic stuff. And Dilan begs Sadık to use his last wish to help him. To solve this problem. But Sadık refuses, because he promised to use it to set her free. So Dilan is just livid and upset, distraught, yelling at him to let her do something while he gets taken to the dungeons.

- So now Salvatore’s in charge and setting his plans into motion. PR is of course the first thing that needs to be done, so there’s a speech to Constantinople’s masses: "But, as you know, I respect and regard the royal family, the entire dynasty, more than any of you! So I am not going to assume power, it'd be a crime against God himself who granted us this emperor, if I had removed him for anything but his unstable condition and his tragic mistake of almost letting his lineage being tainted! Not to mention that this would have been the end of our beloved empire, our city, suddenly overrun and ruled by those barbarians! No, of course I'll give my power to the true heir who was merely a victim to his father's incompetence. To prove I really mean it, I'm even going to give up my son to the Prince, to forever bind my loyality to the throne!"

- Michele: "I hold no more respect for you as father as I did when we left. I'm not going to play along your perverted plan." Salvatore: "Well Michele, if you don't respect me as father, then maybe you'll respect me as the Roman Emperor!"

- Meanwhile, in the dungeons, Athanasios and Sadık have some great chitchat. Sadık: "Guess that's some quality father and son in law bonding time, eh?” S:“Though I'm pretty sure your son would rather call me daddy than you." A: "Once this entire drama is over, I'll have you decapitated. Or just kick you back to your people and let them handle this." S: "Ah, but when I came here as a fake prince, your arms and gates were wide open. Should've listened to your son when he told you so."

- Here’s also some Salvatore content: Athanasios: "And now you strut around in my clothes. I'm surprised they even fit you fatass!" Salvatore: "Oh, the entire imprisonment is really getting to you, ain't it, emperor tightlips? Ah, I meant - ex-emperor tight lips. Now you've sunk low enough to insult me with such details. Is it because you have nothing else left now that you're off your high horse?" Salvatore: "I thought so. At least you're enough of a sound mind to not threaten me with 'once I get out of here' hot air. Because we both know you're not getting out of here in a lifetime anymore. And yes, I’m wearing your rags, since I’ve got no time to waste.” Salvatore to Sadık: "Actually, it's sad that you aren't going to be there to watch it. Although, I think a public execution would just spice the entire wedding festivities up, if I think about it."

- Ah yes. The wedding. Herakles: "You look great today, my love. Like a polished jewel." Michele: "Thanks. I'd never seen a man more handsome than you though. Truly, a prince with all his qualities seen right away." Both: -sigh- Ft. Dilan, who’s just watching the kids sadly and is trying to reassure them she got this, she’s gonna find a way, it’ll be fine!!!

- Herakles and Michele wonder why Sadık didn't use that wish. To which Dilan replies he said he'd free her with it, but she didn't believe he'd actually uphold that promise. And he shouldn't have because now she's useless and he's in trouble. (And Hera only falls more in love with Sadık, because being a good person is HELLA swoony.)

- Dilan also tries to cheer them up and I believe she can still do small magic tricks, she just can't get out of whatever shackles/confinement she is in. So when she isn't despairing or raging, she tries to cheer Herakles and Michele up with some silly little tricks. She shapeshifts into their fathers to make fun of them. Which leads them to an idea ...

- I have no idea what it is though. I only know that the grand final and resolution involves shapeshifting. If anyone who's better at plots wants to give me ideas, please do.

- However they manage to stop Salvatore's machinations, this is what follows: Salvatore gets thrown into the dungeons. Herakles decides to not let his father out and instead take the crown himself. He becomes emperor and marries Sadık. Sadık uses his last wish to set Dilan free. Michele goes to travel to Sicily, promising he’ll write letters to them and come visit some day (Dilan promises the same).

- The end of Salvatore and Athanasios rotting in jail together is SO satisfying to me, bc now that they are useless to each other, there is nothing left to do but be a pain in each other’s ass. They hate each other and they DESERVE EACH OTHER.

Sequel Bait:

- Before we get to the sequel bait, let me give you some prequel bait for a change. Here's a little "what if one of the many suitable matches for Herakles had been one of the Beilschmidt brothers" scenario. Plus free medieval history lesson:

- Now for the actual sequel: Three years come and go. Herakles and Sadık settle in their new rules as emperor and ... emperor's husband. (I don't know if Byzantine empresses were "put into office" in the same way the Emperor was. If someone is more knowledgeable about this than me, correct me).

- Their marriage is going swell, however both struggle in their new official roles. Herakles faces all the administrative problems and tough decisionmaking that comes with being a ruler, while Sadık struggles to be accepted by the people of Constantinople. Where Herakles tends to take care of the court, Sadık tries his hand at being a military leader.

- One morning, Sadık wakes up with Herakles in the room. Which should not be surprising, if it wasn't for the fact that Herakles had left the city yesterday. He's oddly nonchalant about it when Sadık asks him and also ... weirdly chipper? Eager? Kitschy in his flirting? He's at first flattered, but soon very confused by everything and wonders if either he hit his head real hard in his sleep or if Herakles fell off his horse when he tried to make it out of the city.

- Turns out none of it, because after some more eyelash fluttering, his "husband" goes POOF! and turns out to be Dilan, who's on the floor laughing. "You should have seen your stupid face! Really! Wait, I'll show you!"

- After Dilan is done shapeshifting into Sadık, absolutely overacting his reaction and argueing with him about it, they finally get to catch up. Turns out that Dilan was bored by travelling around the world and wanted to check in on her old buddy.

- She couldn't have chosen a more opportune time to do so. Once Herakles returns, he ... at first has a weird reunion with his husband. Sadık is kind of wary around him and starts to list his attitude and general personality traits/ticks as proof for ... something. Takes a while for Herakles to get the news that Dilan is back, too.

- Herakles is very relieved to hear that! He wanted to confide something in Sadık, because after he had returned to the city, someone had taken him aside. Natasa Simonides, an old and trusted courtly advisor, needed help. Recently, her husband Ibrahim disappeared and she's worried.

- Natasa also told Herakles a secret: Ibrahim is a Jinn, which is why his disappearance worries her even more. Herakles informs Sadık and asks Dilan if she knows anything, but she sadly hasn't heard anything either. - Before she can zip off and see if she can find Ibrahim, Herakles asks another favour of her - to educate Natasa's twins, Timothea Farah and Omar Veniam instead. Natasa thinks they may be able to find their father, but they don't know they're half-Jinn, so they'd need some guidance. Dilan happily agrees to be their teacher!

- My only more in-depth infos on Jinn and their children with humans comes from this Monstrum video by PBS Storied. I don't think Thea & Omar would need to be taught by anyone to be seers and how to be in communication with non-human spheres, but it makes for a better story.

- So Dilan is off to teach the kids while Sadık volunteers to go and search for Ibrahim. Herakles resumes his imperial role in the city.

- It's not really fun and as the people become more and more agitated with the status quo, more and more people "remember" that the old emperor is still around. Enough people are going "What's that kid knowing anyways?! All those highfangled ideas and useless reforms, for what?" that a select few decide to stage a coup by releasing Athanasios from the dungeons.

- Now, I still haven't decided if Salvatore also gets let out. The problem is that I really would begrudge him his freedom ... but I also begrudge Athanasios his freedom! It doesn't feel fair that one bastard gets to walk free and the other doesn't!

- Out in the field, Sadık isn't having much more luck. No Jinn in sight and the trouble he has with a few of the men that accompany him keeps him thinking about the acceptance problems again. He really wishes at one point that Herakles wasn't emperor at all. You can imagine how terrible he feels for these thoughts when news of the coup catches up to them. Be careful what you wish for and all that jazz. On top of that, he gets into trouble as well - betrayed by some of the men he had taken along. He gets stuck in some place like a cave or an abandoned house he was investigating ...

- Sadık finds a large sealed bottle and thinks 'Well, what's the worst that could happen?' He is greeted by a GIANT cloud of smoke instead of anything edible/drinkable. By the time the cloud is human-shaped, he already has a giant grin on his face. Sadık: "Hah! I have a sixth sense for this kind of stuff!" Jinn: "Greetings, mor-" Sadık: "Yeah, yeah, quick question, is your name Ibrahim? Or do you know one of your kind called Ibrahim who's been passing through recently?" Jinn: "My name is Ibrahim - " Sadık: "Great! You know a Greek lady called Natasa? I take that look as a yes. Okay, so first wish is to get us out of here, second wish we'll see, third is like freeing you from the whole servitude bit - You do the three wishes thing, right? Anyways, your wife and kids are wishing for dad to come home, so get us out of here, you'll get explanations on the way back."

- In the meantime, Dilan and her protégés, along with Natasa and Herakles, have been trying to figure out how to solve the problem at court. It doesn't help that the news of Sadık's troubles also reached them (I know the speed of spreading information may be historically hella inaccurate, but I need it for the drama). So Dilan is torn between helping her best bud and helping the rest at court. The Greeks cook up a plan and assure her that she should go and help Sadık, they've got this.

- The plan is to get Athanasios to do something incredibly stupid that would immediately turn the people against him. They exploit the fact that Athanasios likes to listen to words that fall from pretty lady's mouths. So Timothea flatters her eyelashes and promises to tell him something of a vision she had ... that the divine has something to tell him through her. (Don't worry for her, she may have to endure his fingers under her chin, which is infuriating and nauseous enough, but no more skin contact than this). Thea gets backed by her brother to lend it more credibility once Athanasios considers with his head and not his dick.

- And we can all appreciate that Dilan has been sent away, otherwise the scene would have been like this: Thea: "The spirits are talking to me about you ... " Dilan: "Mhm, mhm, indeed, I can hear them to. They're saying that you're a bitch!"

- Dilan in the meantime reaches Sadık, Ibrahim and those of his troop that haven't betrayed and abandoned him as soon as they heard of the coup. A little happy reunion before she immediately fills them in on what's happening.

- They come up with a plan themselves to finally get rid of Athanasios and the Simonides and Herakles have begun to sweat a little back home, because Athanasios mistake of listening to the twins' advice has bought them time, but not really solved the problem yet. Which is when Dilan and Ibrahim sweep in, concocting an illusion powerful enough to wrap up everyone in Constantinople and make Athanasios seem like the literal devil. Some mass-hallucination miracle bullshit, truly, to assert that he doesn't deserve the throne.

- Maybe for good measure, Athanasios disappears after the illusion is over. Dilan and Ibrahim have no idea where he went, they say with a smile.

- Another grand finale! The four lovers are reunited, Thea and Omar are overjoyed to have their dad back and he is overjoyed to have his kids back. When Dilan tells the Simonides twins that they did a great job, she's a good teacher after all haha!, Ibrahim and Natasa invite her to stay. Dilan says that they don't need her, surely, now that Ibrahim can teach them, but Ibrahim says he could use some help. Herakles also encourages her, saying that he'd love to have her at court - and Sadık also bullies her into staying. "What do you wanna do, see the world again? Didn't do much for your peanut brain the first time around, maybe hit the books together with Hera so that you'll be a passable teacher some day."

- Dilan and Omar also have evolved a crush on one another during this entire mess. That's what I'll leave you with - all well that ends well.

Also hey you! Thanks for reading all of this! Here's a little bonus content if you made it this far!

A wonderful fanart of Michele and Salvatore by my beloved friend C0FFINATED over on twitter!

Here's an amazing commission of the Greeks and Turks by @captkirkland ! I'm not sure if I'm allowed to repost the pictures myself on tumblr & you shoud reblog it from him anyways. Show him and his amazing art some love! From left to right it's Timothea, Herakles, Omar, then Dilan, Sadık and Havva (who's not featured in this AU, rip. Things would have worked to well with their brainpower).

Thanks for reading this! Hope you have a wonderful day!

[smol-and-grumpy]

Golden Cage - Chapter.11

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but — — is Dean really who he says he is?

Chapter Warnings: Teasing, violence, angst

WC: 5607

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Y/N’s in Dean’s bedroom, getting herself ready while Dean talks on the phone. It rang after he came out of the shower and he walked into the living room. She doesn’t know if it’s to give her privacy or if he doesn’t want her to hear. Either way, she doesn’t have time to dwell on it because she has to get herself ready for a meeting. The first outing that she’s allowed to have in the name of the family. 

Her clothes are all laid out on the bed and while she applies moisturizer to her body. She puts the outfits together in her mind, thinking about what would suit her best, what would be the best outfit that’ll show that she means it. An outfit that shows that she’s a woman who can keep up with the men. Nothing too revealing, she guesses, but something fierce enough to make them gasp. Her mind’s setting on the pencil leather skirt, now she just has to see what blouse would fit best with her skirt and the shoes she’s packed.

Dean’s still talking outside and she hears that he’s trying to keep his voice down. She slips into her panties. The fabric of the little garment rubs a little too hard against her sensitive clit. She thinks about ditching them later, wonders if it would matter. Nobody will know if she’s wearing panties or not, right? Also, there’s chafing from Dean’s scruff that doesn’t support the argument of her having to wear panties. She’s sensitive all over, feels like her nipples are raw from his sucking, too. God, that man will definitely be the death of her, but it’s not like she minds. 

Everything is super sensitive now because they did it again in the shower. Dean’s shower is not as spacious as the shower at her home, but they made it fit and he fucked her standing up against the wall, pressing her back into the tiles and hooked one arm below her knees, lifting her leg up while he rubbed at her clit.

Blood rushes to her head again when she thinks about it. 

So now, she’s standing here, and debates between two blouses. One’s white with long flowing arms and the other one’s red, sleeveless, with a bow around her neck. 

She can’t possibly make up her mind because she likes them both, so she decides to ask Dean. He knows exactly where they are going, he would know what would fit, wouldn’t he? 

Still in only her panties, she clutches the blouses to her chest to hide that little modesty she still possesses, even though she knows that Dean’s seen it all already anyway, and he probably likes her best without any clothes on at all. Knows it, because he had stated it a couple of times, and it always makes her flustered all over.

Dean’s standing at the dining table and her cheeks get hot again thinking about what they’ve done on there. He’s not dressed either, a towel hanging dangerously low around his hips, making him look absolutely delicious with damp ruffled up hair. The scars on his body have a certain edge to them, but the freckles round the edges up. He’s devine and that’s not really fair. He has no business being so perfect.

Biting on her bottom lip, she approaches him, but he’s not paying her attention. He’s looking down to the hand that fidgets around the back of a chair. It’s as if he’s a little nervous, a little on edge.

“Hey,” She hisses and Dean frowns, but still he doesn’t look.

“Dean!” She tries again and he only holds a forefinger up at her to shush her while he concentrates on listening to the conversation. He still doesn’t look up at her. It’s as if he tries to avoid her at any cost.

Rolling her eyes, she tries to think of a way to get his attention, grinning when she gets a flash of an idea. 

Y/N drops the blouses to the floor and shows him her boobs, “Hey!” She hisses again, louder, while she squeezes them together and jiggles them around. 

Well, she gets his attention now, but he’s looking less than amused. Dean frowns, and waves at her to stop. 

Then she hears it. 

“Yes, sir, goodbye.”

Fuck.

He’s talking to her dad. 

And she just flashed him.

Dean hangs up and sets the phone onto the table and exhales deeply before he rubs a hand over his face.

He turns to her after and speaks. His voice is loud and he sounds annoyed, “Jesus fucking Christ, princess!”

Oh, so now she’s back to being princess. She guesses that when he’s upset with her, she’s forever going to be princess to him.

“You can’t just show me your tits when I talk to your father! Fuck, now every time I talk to him I’ll see them in my mind!” He growls low.

She’s smirking and tries not to laugh because honestly, that is a little funny?

Dean begs to differ though, because he strolls closer. One hand goes below her chin, fingers cupping it and turns it upwards to meet his eyes while his other hand cups around one of her tits, palms kneading, fingers pinching at her nipple, she squirms.

“What is it that couldn’t possibly wait until I’m finished with a call?”

“I don’t know what to wear,” She mumbles and Dean groans out in frustration before he bends down to kiss her. 

“You know,” He says when he parts, his hands leaving her completely to pick up her blouses from the floor, “One day, you’re going to kill me with your bratty behavior.”

She grins as he hands the blouse to her, “You like it, though?”

At least she hopes he does. Like, he knew what he had gotten himself into when it all started, so he really can’t blame her for acting the way she does.

He rolls his eyes briefly, but it’s all fake because he’s grinning now when he bends down to peck her lips, “Love it.” 

Smiling, she holds up the blouses and lifts her eyebrows. 

“White.” He nods toward the white blouse, “Although I would love to see the red on you, but I think white would suit better tonight. Makes you look more like someone to take seriously and not some eye candy hanging off someone’s arm.”

“Thanks,” She says and thinks that’s what she likes about Dean. He says things like it is, doesn’t sugarcoat it and he’s not just babbling to shut her up. 

“Go get dressed before I can’t hold myself back from taking you all over again.” He smacks her ass on his way to the bathroom.

“Who said I would mind that?” Y/N calls after him and Dean chuckles.

  She almost threw him off his balance with her jiggly tits. It’s not really fair. And really, he hopes that her tits won’t be the first thing that comes to his mind when he sees Azazel’s caller ID.

The boss had informed him that Benny would be at the meeting too and that rubs him the wrong way. What’s so fucking important for Benny to be there anyway? Azazel made it clear that Benny’s not allowed to interfere with Dean’s business, but Dean will only believe it when he sees it. 

He’s gnawing on his bottom lip as they drive towards Atlantic City. 

It’s a two hour drive and they made it halfway when she turned in her seat. The leather underneath her ass makes a loud sound. That’s right, she’s wearing leather. He almost choked on his own drool when he saw it. 

Dean gets weak for leather. Especially for her in leather. The skirts so tight it accentuates her round ass. He couldn’t help but spank down on it a couple of times while they walked down the stairs from his apartment. Every time she would stop and stare at him with a rolling of her eyes and every time, Dean would giggle like an idiot. 

It’s good between them. They’re relaxed. He likes that. Would like to keep it that way, but he knows that it’s just only the start of a hardship he might have to go through. She might have to go through. 

After they laid in his bed for a while, with her in his arms, he stroked her back, with neither of them speaking. Sometimes there’s just nothing to say and he liked that the most. The comfortable silence. There were no sorry excuses, no thoughts of having made a mistake, no small talk just to get over the awkwardness of the situation after the lust has worn out. And that was the moment that he thought about the future for the first time. That he could just grab her and run away. Nobody would know, nobody would find them. It would be good, he just knows it. It’s only — Dean doesn’t know if she would want it. If she was even ready to leave everything behind, and the last thing he wants to be is selfish. But yeah, maybe he would do it all for her, leave everything behind and screw up the Bureau for a woman. Which is really a stupid thing to do, but it would probably be worth it. 

They drive past a big advertisement for Roman Empire. It’s the biggest and apparently the best casino in Atlantic City. Of course, it is. The Roman’s wouldn’t settle for second best.

“We’re going to meet the Roman’s?” She asks curiously, and Dean can hear it in her tone of voice that she’s not really keen on meeting them. 

“Yeah, they have some proposals.”

“They’re dicks.” She mumbles under her breath.

Dean has to chuckle at that, because she’s not wrong. The Roman’s are the number one mob family in Atlantic City. They are the equivalent to the Lehne’s. They own every casino, hell, they even own New Jersey. Their wealth is immense. 

He cocks an eyebrow at her, “You’ve met them?” 

“Yeah, at gatherings where Dad allowed me to attend. Dick is a real big dick. I heard he moved to California, set up his own thing there. His father is a sleazeball.”

“I know,” Dean reaches over, takes her hand in his, “Just, don’t let your emotions overrule your head, okay? We’re there to make deals.”

“Ugh,” She groans with an eye roll.

“That’s the spirit,” He smirks and takes her hand, places it to his lips to kiss it quickly. 

She sighs, “What if he touches me?” 

“Who?”

“Zachariah, Dick. Both of them.”

Frowning, Dean looks over to her, “Have they done that before?”

“Yeah,”

Dean’s grip tightens around her hand. Jesus, he feels like punching something all of a sudden. 

His voice is deep, and he growls a little when he speaks again, “Does your father know that they have touched you inappropriately?” 

“He was right there.” 

Fucking Christ, now he really wants to shoot someone. His heart absolutely aches for what she had to go through growing up in this family. Growing up in a world reigned by men. It’s not a great environment for a girl to grow up.

“I’ll put them in their place if they do,” Dean says. It’s the only thing he can say, really. He can’t erase the past, but he can make sure that he’s here in the present.

“What if you aren’t there?”

Dean catches a glimpse of her little pout when the street light illuminates up the inside of the car.

“I’ll always be beside you.” He assures her, because yeah, after finding out that piece of information, he doesn’t really have the urge to leave her unattended at all.

“Promise?” 

He places another kiss on the back of her hand, “Promise.”

 *

 They arrive and Dean gets out of the car, walks around to open up the passenger side for her, and holds out a hand to help her out. 

“You know they have valet parking, right?” She asks before she takes his hand.

Dean shrugs, “I feel better knowing where my car is and can reach it at all times.”

She only frowns a little as she gets out.

“Remember, no weapons.” He says as she’s standing before him.

She waves her clutch around, “Duh, how can I fit that into my clutch?”

“Y/N,” Dean looks at her sternly. She thinks he’s joking but really, he’s not. It’s the rule. No fucking weapons when they come in peace. The Lehni’s have the same rule and it’s only fair that they play by the Roman’s rule, even though Dean hates the rule himself. He looks at her again, cocks one eyebrow because she’s still looking at him like she’s innocent. Dean hates that look because she’s not. She’s not innocent when she grins up at him while she licks at his asshole, she’s not innocent when she moans for him to fuck her harder. No, she’s not and he shouldn’t get weak, “Put your gun back. Now.”

Rolling her eyes back dramatically, she lets out a loud sigh. Dean has to hold back a chuckle. He watches her lift up her leather skirt, watches her take out her gun from her holster, and turns around to put it into the glove compartment of his car. 

“How did you know?” She whines when she turns back to him, bracing her arms across her chest and fucking pouts. 

“I’m just good like that,” He grins cockily before he weaves an arm around her waist to help steady her in her heels as he guides her towards the entrance of the casino.

 *

 They are led into the back of the casino, where there’s a strip club. Dean has since taken his arms from around her waist because it’s back to acting like they aren’t more than what they are. It pains him a little. Irritates him a whole lot. And from the way her body’s drawn to him, leaving him no space, he can see that she’s not entirely happy about it either. 

He leans closer, nose brushing against her temple, “Just this, okay? I’m right here.” 

She seems to nod. Dean can’t really see it because she’s following the employee who’s walking ahead and he waits a couple of seconds, walking a safe distance after her. 

The door to the strip club opens and loud music spills out of it. The room is dark, neon lights everywhere. It’s a tad over the top, he thinks. A little cheap, like who the hell uses neon lights nowadays anyway? It makes him feel like he’s in a dingy strip club and not a high-end one. 

Dean seems to be the only one who thinks it’s tacky because the club is packed. There are girls dancing on stage, girls grinding on men’s lap and he notices Y/N stalling by the door. She doesn’t look comfortable at all. 

He reaches out, touches her arm, “I’m going first,” He whispers, “Follow me,” 

She does, follows him and catches up to him pretty quickly. They are walking beside each other now and she takes glances left and right while they still follow the employee around. 

“You've been to a strip club before?” She asks underneath her breath. 

“Yeah,” He chuckles.

“Huh,” 

“Not lately, though.” Dean tries to talk himself out of his mistake, but he knows that he’ll probably get an earful when they’re alone. 

“Huh,”

She crosses her arms over her chest while they walk and he thinks it’s adorable how she’s jealous. It makes him a little proud to know that he’s not the only one feeling the things he does. 

The employee leads them along across the club, and there were a couple of girls who gave him the eye, some of them make themselves known by bumping into him. Dean tries his best not to look. Tries to fucking stay focused and walk on because he’s here to do his job and well, maybe it’s also because he doesn’t want to upset her. It’s not like he’s interested anyway. Not when the girl he actually wants sitting on his lap is her. 

Y/N only rolls her eyes as she sees him trailing along, and Dean smirks, which earned him another eye roll. He thinks it’s cute. She’d deny. 

They were led onto the second floor where there was a group of chairs sitting around a table. They spot Benny and his two right-hand men Ed and Nick. Nick has risen up in his ranks, as Dean can see. What Dean didn’t account for was to see Azazel sitting with them, his two bodyguards standing behind him. Women in skimpy bikinis are serving them drinks and there’s one sitting on Nick’s lap. 

“You didn’t tell me they’d all be here,” Y/N whispers through her gritted teeth, loud enough for him to hear.

“I didn’t know about your dad, okay?” 

“But you knew about Benny?” 

“Yeah, from the phone call which you flashed me your fucking tits.” Dean hisses while they walk over slowly, so they can have this exchange of words. 

They both try to smirk while not letting people see that they are talking to each other.

“Oh, please,” She chuckles, “You love them.”

“I’d love them more if I wasn’t associating them with your dad,” He says and nods at the waitress who just walked past him. 

“I wish you would have told me at least about Benny.”

“Why? Would that have changed your mind?” 

“No, but I would have worn fucking panties.”

Dean stops mid-stride and she looks back at him with a grin. He watches her walk up to her people, greeting them and taking a seat next to her father. 

He wished that she would have kept that fucking detail to herself, though. Now he won’t be able to think of anything else than her sitting there with nothing underneath her fucking leather skirt. And she’s probably still dripping his cum while she looks her father straight in his eyes. 

This is pure torture and he’s been tested, he knows. 

This fucking girl.

  Y/N greets her dad with a kiss to his cheek and sits down, only nodding to the other men around. 

“I think you should leave,” She says to the girl in Nick’s lap, even before Dean sits down and the stripper looks at her in bewilderment. She smiles politely, “You heard me.” 

“I’ll tell her to leave whenever I want,” Nick snarls.

“And I’m telling her to leave now. It’s not a fucking party, Nick. We’re here for business.” She says firmly, stands by her point that nobody should listen in. They can’t be careful enough with possible snitches around. 

Dean sits down next to her, rights his suit jacket and nods towards Nick, “You heard the lady, man. Ditch the stripper,”

Nick gasps and looks over to Benny for some back up but Benny ignores him completely. Reluctantly, he pushes the stripper away and the girl stands up and struts away angrily. 

“Since when does she call the shots around here— Ow!” Nick yelps out and everyone knows that Benny kicked him under the table. 

God, her dad really works with an immature bunch of men, doesn’t he? 

Her dad leans towards her, whispering in her ear and she tunes out all the other ramblings she hears from Nick, “You’re doing good. It’s a whole new side I see. I like it. Did Dean explain to you and teach you what tonight’s all about?” 

“Yes, he did.” She tries to not think about other things he taught her about, the things that make her whimper in pleasure.

“Good,” Her dad nods.

Five minutes passed until a big bulky bodyguard walks in and calls for them. Zachariah is ready to meet. 

They have been led through another door where they step into an elevator. The eight of them, plus the bodyguard, stand close, chest to chest and she’s glad Nick and his filthy hands were far away from her, glad that it’s Dean who’s next to her, not so glad that her dad is on her other side of her. 

Y/N feels something warm between her legs, feels Dean’s cum trickling out thickly, has to squint her eyes and frowns a little. Of course Dean notices, looking down at her and raises his eyebrows. She doesn’t say anything, can’t possibly talk when everyone can hear her.

When they arrive, everyone scrambles to get out of the confined space pretty quickly, but Dean stays.

He looks down with worried eyes, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” She says, “Your cum dripped out. I might need some tissues.” 

“Jesus,” Dean mutters under his breath and shakes his head as he steps out of the elevator.

She can’t help but grin as she catches up with the lot. 

  Goddamnit, he’s really being tested right now. How can he sit still and concentrate when he knows she fucking leaks him while sitting next to her fucking father? 

She’s going to be the death of him, Dean just knows it. 

They arrive at a heavy door, which is held up by two other big bulky men and they step in, where Zachariah is already waiting, sitting at a big round table with his son. The table only fits six, so Azazel takes a seat, beckons for his daughter and Dean. Benny takes a seat too and Dean still hasn’t figured out why the hell the dude’s here.

“Do the two losers need to be here?” Zachariah asks into the round, pointing his chin towards Ed and Nick and all eyes are on Benny. 

“Uh, no, they don’t.” The man says and Dean has to hold himself back not to speak that Benny too, doesn’t have any business to be here. 

“Then they should leave. Go to the club. My treat.” Zachariah says with a sleazy grin. 

Y/N was right when she said that he’s a sleazeball. Dean has to smirk a little thinking back on how she said it. 

The two men’s faces light up and they immediately disappear, muttering something about a lapdance while Benny shakes his head. Benny’s probably questioning his entourage right now. A bunch of unprofessionals is what they are.

“Why are you here?” Zachariah asks and he stares at Y/N, his tongue darts out to lick his lips and Dean balls his hands into fists. God, he would just love to punch that fucker for looking at her like that. 

“She’s dipping her toes into the business, Zach,” Azazel says, and maybe Dean’s mistaken, but he can hear something in the tone of his voice. Something that says that Azazel’s a little proud.

“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t be doing this,” Dick, who hasn’t said a word until now says, smirking a little, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Spending daddy’s cash or organizing some catering for parties?”

Dean’s lips are already parted, he already wanted to put Dick into place, but Y/N cuts him off.

“I actually do have better things to do, yes. But you wanted a meeting and that’s why we’re here. Can’t choose where you’re born into, can you, Dick? I bet you have better things to do in California as well.”

She says it with a calm voice, but he knows that she’s not. Her hands are shaking a little and he knows that she wanted to say so much more. She wanted to run her mouth, put Dick into place, but she chose to stay professional. He absolutely admires her. Dean lays a hand on her thigh under the table, some kind of a reassurance that he’s here. A way of telling her that she’s doing great so far.

Dick looks at her father, a frown on his face and Zach just clears his throat, “Right, so shall we? We want to get this over with before we go to the next part which is more relaxing to me.”

Dean doesn’t even know that there’s a next part, but he agrees that he too, wants to get this over with. 

“We’ve been in contact with Winchester before,” Zach nods at Dean and Dean nods back, “We have not one but three shipments on their way over from China. It’s the biggest deal we’ve ever made with the Chinese. All we need are some old warehouses where we can set up labs.”

“You don’t have enough of this in New Jersey?” Azazel asks and Dean knows why. Azazel is keen on dealing but not keen on cooking the drugs himself. 

Zach laughs heartily and elbows his son who starts to laugh too, “No we don’t. Not for that amount of goods,”

“How many are we talking about?” It’s Benny who asks. 

“About sixty to seventy warehouses.” 

Azazel whistles under his breath, “That’s a lot.” 

“It’s a lot of money we can make.” Dick chimes in.

The King clicks his tongue and exhales loudly, “What’s our cut?”

“We will provide the infrastructure, provide the cooks and the people manning the warehouse. We will pay you rent.” Dick says, and adds, “But we know that you don’t like to have your fingers deep in cooking so we’ll reward you for renting it out to us. 30% of the profit.”

“That’s how much?” It’s Y/N who asks. Dean’s a little proud, a little stunned too that she followed the conversation. Well, he knows that she’s not dumb but they don’t. Everyone is looking at her now and notice that she’s still here.

“Roughly about $600k a month,” Zach says proudly. 

“So, say, we let you rent seventy warehouses and you make $30k a month per warehouse. That would mean you make over $2m a month and will give us our $600k cut,” Y/N calculates it in her head, “How can you be so sure that you’re going to make that much money?”

“Girl can do some math, congratulations!” Zach shouts out in mockery and really, Dean has to fucking hold himself back, “We know this because it’s not the first time we’ve cooked, sweetheart.” 

“And why only 30% then? We have more risks, people are disposable, warehouses aren’t. If they find a warehouse, it will somehow lead back to us. We have more risk than you do, I’d think we need to raise the stake.” She drums on her notepad with her ballpoint pen while she cocks an eyebrow at Zach and Dick. 

Christ, Dean finds that side of her highly attractive. It turns him on when she has them by the balls. 

“What do you suggest?” Dick looks at her with a smug grin on his face. 

“50%,”

“What?” Zach spits and Dick has to calm his father down, laying a hand on Zach’s arm. 

“What’s your guarantee for us?” Dick asks as he feels his dad calming down enough. 

She looks into the round and Dean just knows that she has something in mind. He can see from the glint in her eyes, sees it in how her lips curve up into a smile. 

Tonight before they left, she wanted to look at the files and she sat there for an hour, looking through what little information Dean had, and when she finished, she started to smile and that’s when Dean knew that she wanted to lead the deal and he knew that he’d gladly let her. It’s also for her to show her dad that she’s capable, that maybe Azazel doesn’t have to tighten the leash around her as much as he had. That maybe, when this deal is a success, she’ll get to have more rights, gets to have her own car, gets to have a little freedom. Dean fully supports it.

Dean hands her the documents with a nod and she smiles at him. Her dad cocks an eyebrow while Benny frowns. They have no idea what’s going to hit them. Well, he doesn’t really know either, because she wouldn’t tell him, but he trusts her. 

Y/N rolls out the map of the city where she had circled warehouses they own in red circles. She stands up and braces her hands on the table, “As you can see, we own 120 warehouses and counting.”

“Did you know we own that much?” Azazel whispers to Dean behind her back and he shrugs. 

He did, Azazel doesn’t have to know it, though.

They sit in silence when Y/N continues, “My idea is to move production around. Never stay in one place for too long. That will be less suspicious for the neighborhood of the warehouses. That way, the chance of getting busted is as good as zero.” 

“But that’s a lot of moving infrastructure around.” Dick states.

“Would you rather you get busted?” Dean chimes in, he just had to, “When they get us, they’ll get you.”

“No, of course not.”

“Here’s my offer,” Y/N says and sits down, folds her arms on the table while she looks Zachariah straight in the eye, “120 warehouses to do as you please. Only seventy will be occupied at the same time, not more, not less. 50% of your profit.” 

They are all holding their breath as they watch Zach and Dick turn in their chairs to whisper something into each other's ears. Dean reaches over under the table again, squeezes her thighs and she looks at him, grins a cocky grin. Jesus, maybe he just fell in love a little more than he already had. 

Azazel leans back in his chair and over to his daughter, “You did your homework, princess. I’m proud.”

Her face beams.

It’s adorable really how she longs to be recognized. How she wished to be heard all those years. It’s really sad too, and there’s the thing Dean feels in his gut again that makes him nauseous. Makes him want to protect her at all cost and show her that she’s worth fucking everything. 

“Okay,” Zach says after clearing his throat, “Congratulations, Y/N, you got yourself a deal there. Our lawyers will be in contact.”

Her smile grows wide, and he can see that she’s all giddy. Dean really wants to take her into his arms but he knows that it’s uncalled for. That he shouldn’t act like he’s closer to her than what he is. 

Azazel nods his approval, smiling a little and it’s creepy. Dean had never seen the man smile before. 

“Great, onto the next part, the weapon deal, are you involved in that too?” Zach asks, and Dean knew that he missed something because he wasn’t involved either. 

“Nobody knows, because we just only talked about it briefly last time, Zach,” Azazel says. 

“Okay, then please everyone who’s not involved may leave the room.” Zachariah announces and Dean can only look at her. 

She has to leave and she knows it, even though he doesn’t want her to, but it’s not a made deal and she has no clue, she can’t stay, not when her dad is here, too. Subtly, she nods at him, as if she understands. 

“You can go to the club, Y/N, my treat!” Zach says, it’s more mockery than anything else and Dean really really wants to punch that fucking dude square in the face. 

 *

 The meeting is over quicker than he thought it would be. It’s just talks that bore him to death with weapon deals that aren’t even fixed yet. Dean really doesn’t know why she had to leave the room and he feels so fucking bad because he promised her that he’d be by her side. It’s a good thing that he had control over Dick and Zach, though. So at least they couldn’t have come on to her and touch her inappropriately. 

Everyone is making their way up the elevator, with Dick and Benny in deep conversation and Azazel and Zach. Apparently, Dick and Benny has some other issues to work through which Dean shouldn’t know about, but as hard as Dean tried to eavesdrop, he can’t make out a word because Zach was raving to Azazel about the casino and the strip club, inviting him to show him around because they have this new spa in the newly build wing where you can even gamble while relaxing. It’s ridiculous really. 

When they get out of the elevator, Azazel taps Dean on his shoulder, falls into step beside him, “Can you take my daughter home? I’ll probably stay the night and I don’t want her to wait and stay with me. I know she doesn’t like to be around them.” 

Dean knows who he means by them. So the little detail didn’t slip Azazel’s eyes and Dean’s actually quite glad that the man knows how uncomfortable the men are to his daughter.

“Of course,” Dean answers, has to fucking try not to show too much emotion. 

“Thanks,” The King nods, and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze of approval. 

God, Dean doesn’t know if he’d still be thanking him if he knew that Dean’s already fucked his daughter not once but three times.

They make their way down the stairs to the club and already something seems off. The people are talking in hushed tones, the strippers aren’t stripping and the girls aren’t dancing.

Dean spots it then, spots her at the back, where Nick has pinned her against the wall, his hand around her throat. People around them watch in horror and Ed tries to talk Nick out of it, but the dude already lifts his hand and slaps her across the face. 

Chapter.12

[for-i-am-dying-of-such-love]

that time I watched Antony + Cleopatra

I don’t even know where to start with this one. Please don’t mistake my criticism of the episode with my hating it, because I actually think there’s a lot going on here with Xena (and Gabrielle too, but I am less focused on her arc) that’s quite nuanced and compelling. I love that Xena’s role in orchestrating Marc Antony’s downfall contributes to her moral and emotional conflict. What I abhor (and refuse to accept) is the suggestion that it’s born out of her falling in *love* with him, especially when there are far more consequential things in Xena’s life, past and present, fueling her angst in this moment. I have my own reading of what’s causing Xena’s uneasiness here, but more on that in a bit.

First: I think my greatest frustration is with the show itself. Like, THE FUCKING AUDACITY to foist a Boyfriend of the Week on us with just a handful of episodes left in season five. After everything, *everything*, that Xena & Gabrielle have suffered through (actual, literal HELL), and the continued devotion they show for one another, it’s just not believable that Xena would fall in love with someone else, let alone a ROMAN GENERAL. The emphasis here is important, but patience grasshopper, I’ll get to that.

Now, here’s where we start to get into the weeds with this notion of ‘Xena falling in love’ and there’s a lot to unpack around it, but before I do, let me just finish unspooling the threads of frustration I have with the show and it’s AUDACITY. Because it’s important to note that the show’s intention *was* to frame Xena’s attraction for Marc Antony as romantic - on top of whatever else she may have initially felt (indifference, intrigue, lust) - and not just sexual. And while I’ll concede that a story where Xena is forced to sacrifice her heart for the greater good by killing the man she loves is intriguing, it’s one we’ve already seen (Immortal Beloved). More than that, it’s a story that doesn’t fit with the Xena we know now, and the show, better than anyone, should have recognized this.

I know I’m being hard on the show runners here, so allow me this small tangent to give a little contextual understanding before furthering my arguments. As much fun as it is wrestling with the internal logic of this show (a surprisingly uphill battle all the time), I understand the unfortunate truth is that character motivations don’t always drive the story in the ways you would expect. Sometimes external factors complicate the stories XWP wants to tell and the ways it’s *allowed* to tell them. I get that.

I also get that Xena: Warrior Princess - both the show and the character - was expected to be sexy (hello, an easy win because Xena & Gabrielle). And that means, from time to time, it had to tease the audience with sex and seduction and romance (I guess fighting demons in Hell for the soul of your SOULMATE is not romantic enough, but I DIGRESS). What that often translated as on screen was a parade of Boyfriends of the Week for our two favourite Gal Pals, and by this point in the show, well, frankly it had been a while since Xena had had her a boyfriend (the Ares arc in season 5 doesn’t count). Simply put: a Marc Antony type was past due.

In this case, he wasn’t just past due, he served a dual purpose - fulfilling their Boyfriend of the Week quota, but also helping to re-establish Xena’s sexuality after she’d had her baby. I happen to think the latter take is overly simplistic and misguided (because, what, pregnant women are not also capable of being sexual creatures?), but it’s something Rob Tapert has commented on. So, ok, sure, fine whatever.

To be fair, I’m not sure if the show was deliberately signalling the return of Sexualized!Xena, or if it was simply a byproduct of the chemistry between the characters, and the inherent sensuality of the story’s setting. Regardless, the end result was certainly titillating. And I get it. I get why they want Boyfriends of the Week sometimes. Sex sells, and this episode was a blockbuster.

And before I return again to being hard on the show runners about dumb boyfriends, I just want to point out that my specific problem isn’t that Xena has been given a *boy*friend. Xena is bisexual, so men are always going to be an option when she’s considering a romantic or sexual partner. My issue is that she’s considering *any* romantic partner at all! By the gods, she’s essentially married to Gabrielle at this point.

Ay, but there’s the rub. Because the same expectation that dictated XWP should be sexy, also dictated that it should be heteronormative. The show can repeatedly double down on Xena’s & Gabrielle’s emotional and spiritual fidelity but it can never be seen explicitly to be sexual too (just a reminder, I haven’t seen S6 yet). That’s the unfortunate and uncomfortable reality of television in the late 90s and early 00s.

But this is where I take umbrage: XWP may’ve been limited (by studio notes) to giving us a chalk outline of what Xena’s & Gabrielle’s relationship really looked like, but they most definitely had the ability to control how they coloured the relationships Xena & Gabrielle had with their Boyfriends of the Week. And again, in ‘Antony and Cleopatra’ the show chose to frame it as a love story, a romance, when simply playing it off as Xena’s libido run amok would have satisfied the episode’s need for sex appeal, while also honouring the fact that her heart has long been spoken for (don’t worry: taking Xena’s heart out of the equation won’t lessen her moral or emotional conflict any - I’m getting there!).

Because here’s the thing: Xena getting caught up in the heady thrill of a seduction play, especially with a man as attractive and powerful as Marc Antony is totally believable. And really, Xena taken in by *lust* makes sense, especially at this point in her life. I mean, it’s been a while since she’s had to play this seductive cat-and-mouse game (Ares doesn’t count) and maybe she’s forgotten how easy it is to slip into this character, how much fun it can be. Maybe it’s even a little liberating - this return to form from when she was wild and free - because a lot has changed since she last had to do this; she’s changed and in ways she never anticipated. She’s settled down, even if she’s still travelling the known world. Made a commitment to Gabrielle to share a life together, had a baby, and now the three of them are carving out their own little domestic sphere. And all of this is happening while she’s still reconciling the person she was before with the person she is now. Maybe she’s a little itchy.

Because this… this tension, the cadence of a feint and parry charm offensive, it’s familiar. Comfortable in a way she didn’t know she missed until she felt it again. It would be easy to see her drunk with dark delight, to momentarily lose sight of her head. It would be believable. What’s not believable is that she - a pragmatist - would ever lose sight of her heart. Because the stakes of the game are so high, for Egypt but also for her. (And for you in the back who’s clearly read ahead on the syllabus and is about to point out Xena’s checkered romantic history and her self-proclaimed soft spot for Bad Boys Who Love Like Fools - don’t worry, we’ll get there too.)

What I’m taking a generous amount of time to say is this: if they simply wanted to give us a lush and sexy episode, they could have delivered on the sexiness without attaching it to a love story! We are long past believing Xena only kisses people she’s in love with, or that she’s in love with all the people she kisses. There’s no need to pretend her sexual agency is only relevant or operational within the confines of a romantic plot line. But more than that, throwing an unbelievable romance into the mix really only serves to threaten the integrity of Xena’s motivations, because it risks reducing the entirety of her turmoil to: Xena loses another boyfriend, how le sad. And that is absolutely not the point.

Because the point is this: Rome fucking corrupts and perverts everything it touches. And Xena’s motivations are built from her (and now Gabrielle’s) tortured history with the empire and the men who run it. And if you’ll permit me, like 4,000 words, we can get into it and, hopefully, you’ll agree that shit is heavy enough on Xena’s mind without a ‘star-crossed lovers’ storyline. Remember, it was only a year ago that they both were nailed up by Romans and left to die under a cold, grey sky at the foot of Mount Amaro. That cross alone, and the long shadow it casts, is more than capable of supporting the dramatic weight of this episode, never mind the crosses that came before it.

So, I can’t overstate the importance of Xena’s past connection with Caesar and Rome. It informed so much of who Xena was to become, as a cruel and bloodthirsty warlord, and then later, as a warrior fighting for good. Even now, after Caesar’s death, that connection is still informing her. It will never stop. And, Rome will never be absolved of its sins against Xena & Gabrielle. There’s simply too much trauma in that shared past. Trauma that‘s telegraphed onto every interaction Xena has with Rome and its strongmen going forward.  

And it’s exactly the reason Xena would never fall in love with Marc Antony. She might well lust after his body, but she will never pine for his devotion. Because, even in that moment under the stars when he is just a man with his chest cracked open, offering up to her his heart, beating strong and hungry in want of her affection, she can’t help but see the hardened, black veins where the love of Rome - like a creeping scourge - has left its vile mark. Of course she recognizes it, her own heart bore the same disease. A gift from Caesar. The pretty boy with his pretty words and his pretty promises, who so subtly disarmed Xena and then skillfully stripped away her defences until she had bared her heart to him. Who didn’t hesitate to flay it with a knife of her own making, it’s blade poisoned with his love for Rome.  

He did not take her heart - sometimes she wished he had - but left it to rot in her chest, slow and angry. And it nearly destroyed her. Nearly drained her of every ounce of humanity she had left, as hatred and spite and cold brutality filled her up instead. He had weaponized Xena’s affection for him and used it against her and she was forever changed. In that singular moment she saw Caesar, and Rome - because Caesar was Rome and Rome was Caesar and they were one and the same - for what they truly were: insidious and unrepentant in their calculated villainy. And she hated - not just the man who betrayed her, but the monster who nursed him with poisoned milk, and all the other strongmen who nursed at the same teat. Because in that moment too, Xena learned that all the men who kneeled before Rome and lusted after her glory were the same.

But she didn’t let her hatred go unproductive. She had been careless and imprudent in her dealings with Caesar, and nearly paid for it with her life. Except she survived and then thrived, in her own insidious, unrepentant, calculated villainy. And she never forgot what Caesar had done to her, how he had done it. She turned it over and over and over again in her mind. Studied it from every angle. Studied *him*. Until she knew how he thought, how he moved, where he was weak and unsuspecting. Until she knew every single one of his plays, and how best to counter them. Where and when to lay siege. A secret weapon she cultivated, not just to destroy the man who destroyed her heart, but to lay waste to all the fools who followed in his footsteps. She wouldn’t be taken in by Rome again.

And, to be fair, the episode doesn’t try to run from this history. It just doesn’t linger in it any longer than is necessary to give a brief nod to Brutus and the crucifixion (which is a shame, because it informs so much of both Xena’s & Gabrielle’s psychology, but we’re getting there!!!). Even still, Gabrielle’s first words are loaded with its legacy, if not also quiet resignation: “Are we really going to do this?” Because: Fuck! Rome, again? They’re only willing to go another round with Rome because of Cleopatra, only willing to embrace the ghosts this will stir up because they feel they owe it to a friend.

So, of course they’re going to do this. Only, it’s no longer about vengeance, at least not the white fury that once burned hot in Xena’s veins. This is different. Xena’s ire still seethes, but she doesn’t plan to wield it like a mighty sword, rather she’ll channel it with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel poised to excise a tumour, deliberate and clinical. The plotting is easy - Xena has a library of schemes stored away in the vast reserves of her grey matter - but made easier by the fact that she knows Caesar’s playbook so intimately. The man may be dead but he lives on in Rome and the hearts of all the faithful men who love her - proud and predictable. Puppets whose strings she knows she can deftly manoeuvre.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            The problem is that Xena’s too comfortable in her self-assuredness. Her plan and her assumptions of how Roman strongmen operate and her ability to manage everything is founded on her understanding of Caesar. And none of these men are the next Caesar.  And it’s a problem, because this was supposed to be a quick and straightforward trip up the Nile to Memphis to do a little housekeeping on behalf of a friend and it’s been complicated by the fact that her pawns are not being cooperative.

This entire endeavour is not what she was expecting, Antony is not at all what she was expecting. He’s disarmingly handsome and charming, like many of Rome’s great strongmen, and their chemistry is electric - a bonus when you’re really trying to sell your part in a seduction play - but she realizes a little too late that the game she plays with him is not the one she had planned on. It’s actually much more dangerous.

And, I get that many fans believe Xena’s sexual attraction to Marc Antony is meant to telegraph an underlying romantic attraction as well. That as their physical encounters become more intimate and intense, so too must Xena’s feelings for him. And it’s easy to read it this way because Gabrielle’s own jealousy seems to reinforce the very idea, and Xena, herself, looks increasingly unsettled after each interaction. But I think it’s too simplistic an answer. Xena’s unease about Antony is growing because her plan has been frustrated by unforeseen hurdles, none of which include her falling in love with him.  And Xena is frustrated in return.

We totally see this play out in Xena’s treatment of Gabrielle. She is curt and cool and dismissive (at least until their balcony talk), especially after Gabrielle puts a spectacular halt to Xena’s picnic with Marc Antony. But Xena’s distance here is not because she’s being defensive (at Gabrielle’s continued suggestions that she’s lost the plot), or because she’s angry for the interruption (ok, I’m sure there’s a very base part of Xena that *was* disappointed), or because she’s hurt (how could Gabrielle not have faith in her?). It may come across that way, but, really, Xena’s just acting out her frustrations.

Because this whole situation with Marc Antony, if a little intriguing at first, is irritating. And Xena’s frustrated. On many levels. The most obvious, and least surprising, being that Antony’s attentions have left her itchy and it’s distracting. And not because the chemistry between them has set off a chain reaction of romantic feelings for him - Xena is not spending her free time daydreaming about the man behind the General. It’s simply because there’s a kind of fire in her veins now that she wasn’t expecting to deal with this time out and it has the tendency to keep her on edge. And it’s not that she can’t handle it - spontaneous combustion is sometimes an occupational hazard when she’s playing at desire - it’s just that this particular element was not part of her plan.

That’s the real frustration: Xena’s not used to her plans being stymied. Her opening move - rolling herself, naked and chained, out from a carpet - though, brazen, should have been the perfect lure, should have painted her Cleopatra as an easy, if not unwilling, target for Antony’s ambitions. Because all Roman strongmen are the same: pretty boys with pretty words and pretty promises and pretty predictable tastes for cunning and seduction that they weaponize for the glory of Rome; heartless but for their love of res publica.

And so, this exact play is one Xena is confident any ambitious Roman would pounce on - remember: she knows their playbook, was once herself on the near-losing end of such a gambit, back when she was still a little naive and the right words could soften her heart; before her legs and her psyche endured the full force of Rome’s wrath. Except Antony doesn’t take the bait, like she expects, and it catches Xena flat-footed, a position she rarely finds herself in and one she isn’t particularly fond of. And so now she finds herself having to regroup and change tactics on the fly, which is fine - she’s used to that too - it’s just that her forward momentum is frustrated by the fact that she can’t get a good read on Marc Antony, doesn’t quite know his angle. He’s an unknown and unpredictable variable in a plot that already has a lot of moving parts and it introduces just the tiniest element of doubt into the equation.

Which is why it doesn’t help that Gabrielle is dubious of Xena’s motivations surrounding Antony. Not that Xena blames her for her concerns. She knows they aren’t really meant to provoke - that they come from a place of genuine anxiety, born from Gabrielle’s intimate understanding of Xena’s unhappy past with both bad-boy types and the ravages of Rome. Knows that Gabrielle, whose heart has traced all the scars of that past and let her love be a salve, is steadfast in her belief in Xena, even when the wheels are falling off. But Gabrielle’s questions do provoke. They pique Xena’s frustrations. It leaves her feeling cagey - like her back is up - and she hates it because it means she’s dangerously close to being on the defensive.

And really, by the time Marc Antony invites her to meet him under the pyramids, Xena is running out of options. Her back isn’t just up, it feels dangerously close to being backed up against a wall. She’s only playing this game because she’s confident she’ll win - that’s why she led with such a shameless opening bid, presenting herself to Antony as she did - but with each round Antony’ coyishness has forced her to up the ante while she waits for him to play his hand. Once upon a time she might have enjoyed and encouraged this slow, deliberate back-and-forth - would have been willing to play it out until she was out of chips (and her clothes) - but she no longer has the patience. Not that she’s entirely immune now to the thrill of what they’re doing - Xena has always enjoyed the hunt and then playing with her food - it’s just that she needs him to reveal his hand before he can call her bluff because there aren’t anymore chips to spare and she has too much on the line to go all in.

But Xena’s emotional conflict isn’t just being driven by her frustrations with the way her plan is playing out - it’s priming the engine, to be sure - there are other feelings at work here too. And chief among them is a deep and growing unease with the roles she and Gabrielle have cast themselves in and the very real consequences that will come from their interference. It doesn’t sit well with Xena, the way they’re toying with the futures of Egypt and Rome - as if they are just prizes to be won and Brutus, Antony and Octavius are the game pieces that need to be maneuvered around the board until a winner appears. As if there aren’t millions of lives at stake. She hates it. Hates that she has been somehow cast above it all, to dabble, like some unworthy god, in the lives of so many, and yet also stuck in the thick of it, an unwitting pawn herself.

And the longer Xena’s game is in play, the murkier everything becomes. What seems like a straightforward plan on paper, is actually a mess of competing interests, each as cold and ruthless as the next. And right at the heart of it all: Xena (and Gabrielle too), judge, jury & executioner. Because despite her business-like approach when they arrived in Egypt, Xena’s ability to remain detached and objective is under pressure, especially as all the players in her game reveal themselves and their motivations resolve into finer focus.

And there’s something about Marc Antony. He’s truly unnerved Xena. Because he didn’t play by her rules, the rules she owed to Rome - and he, a Roman no less. Maybe there would have been a time in her past when this would have endeared him to her, but now it’s left her uneasy. He needles at her resolve, the confidence she has in her plan. There’s a part of her that starts to wonder if she’s mis-read him completely, and that’s the start of a slippery slope into thinking she has mis-read this entire situation. And she doesn’t have the time for back-sliding.

But the problem is this: no matter how she looks at it there’s no clear answer, only devastating consequences if she’s wrong. For herself, for the lives she’s playing with, and probably for most of the known world. Because Rome and her strongmen will stop at nothing to take it all. And that thought never leaves her. Rome is a constant drum beat in her mind: Rome Rome Rome. Xena knows what Rome is capable of, what these three men jockeying for her power are capable of, even if Xena doesn’t know *them*. It echoes in her mind every time one of them is before her - even as Marc Antony’s kisses leave behind a fever in her blood - Rome Rome Rome.

And while her mind whirls constantly, turning over strategy and tactics, she’s tried to keep her heart mostly out of this affair. Left it unburdened by the machinations of statecraft and violent political intrigue. Except for a dull ache - when she thinks about Eve downriver in Alexandria, or when her eye catches Gabrielle in an unguarded moment - Xena could almost believe the desert sun had turned her heart to dust. Almost. Except that ache is there and, like her frustration and unease, it’s been growing more persistent.

Because Xena has more than herself to consider now. Sure, she’s spent the last five years dedicated to preserving the greater good - whether fighting for her closest friends or the nameless, faceless masses - but it’s different now, she’s different, and not just because she has a daughter who needs her to come home. She has Gabrielle too. They have a little family. And even though Xena has loved Gabrielle for years, she feels fiercely protective of Gabrielle’s heart and love now, in a way she’s never felt before, with anyone. But then, maybe it’s not surprising: they did battle demons in hell for each other’s soul. That sort of thing changes everything.

And Xena can see how this is affecting Gabrielle, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. Remembers the pierce of iron through the flesh of Gabrielle’s hands as surely as she remembers it through her own. Rome has robbed them both and Xena sees the weight of it in Gabrielle’s gaze. Sees, too, the way Gabrielle traps her bottom lip in her teeth as Xena smiles seductively at Antony. Watches the flush creep across Gabrielle’s pale skin when Antony’s kisses become more emboldened. Catches the dangerous flash in Gabrielle’s green eyes. The one that hasn’t gone away since they arrived in Egypt. Xena sees and it makes her heart lurch. To watch her beloved watch her take delight in the charms of another. And to know the sight of it is a white hot grip on Gabrielle’s heart. Xena feels the burning clench around hers too.

And this is the Xena we see when she meets Marc Antony under the pyramids. Frustrated and uneasy, heart aching. Tired. Tired of this game and her role in it. Tired of Rome, but mostly tired of all the horrible things that happen by her hand because of Rome. And then there is Marc Antony waiting for her. Disarmingly handsome and charming, unnerving in his refusal to play into her hands, a Roman above all: a pretty boy with pretty words and pretty promises. And like all Romans, she expects the promises to be lies. Except, there’s something in the way he’s played his hand, the way he’s held back all this time, that tells her there might be truth in his words when he tells her he wants her love.

She can sense his confession even before the words are out. Maybe on some level she always knew, had seen the inevitability of this moment even as she refused to believe in the possibility. But his words pierce the haze that has kept her from seeing her own folly. And it’s like lightning in a bottle. The way every frayed nerve snaps and jumps and arcs all at once - the rain of sparks illuminating everything that had left her mind and heart unsettled - in an instant of sudden, total understanding. It steals her breath and slices at her heart, this clear and unbearable realization. What she’s done and what she still has to do to bring this absurd game to a close.  

See, she’s made a terrible miscalculation. Because in her mind Roman brutes are heartless. Capable of loving only Rome. And her seduction of Marc Antony was only ever meant to be a power play. How could it be anything more? She had weaponized lust and sex in the past to get the things she wanted, this was to be no different. Except that it was. And her hubris - her prideful overconfidence in her infallible, little plan, coupled with her resolute belief that all Roman men are Caesar at their core - has led her to overplay her hand. Not that she won’t still find a way to win. It’s just the cost will be much higher than she could have anticipated.

Because she has unwittingly weaponized Marc Antony’s affection for her and now she is going to have to deliberately use it against him. It is devastating. To see his chest bared to her so willingly, and to know that she must flay his heart with a knife of his own making. It shakes her resolve. It brings tears to her eyes.

But of course it brings tears to her eyes. She has done the unthinkable: she herself has become Caesar. The thing she hated most. The man who won her trust and her love and then betrayed her. Cold and hard and heartless. Brutal and ruthless and willingly so. In this moment she is Caesar. And soon she will become Rome, sacrificing another man, who might yet have been good, in the name of her unrequited love.

This moment under the pyramids is so important. Everything hangs on this declaration from Marc Antony, on Xena’s tears. I know people see it as confirmation of Xena’s feelings for him - and she has feelings to be sure - but they’re not romantic. Xena’s emotional reaction, and the genuine unease she wears thereafter do not hinge on her being in love with him. Xena’s humanity is enough to soften both her heart and her regard for Antony in this moment. Her compassion and regret are not dependent on attraction or attachment. And so the story doesn’t need to frame her tears for Marc Antony as a lover’s heartbreak, because her heart was always going to break for him, as it breaks for herself and Gabrielle and the ruin left in their wake.

And there will be ruin. Xena is certain of it. Although, for a moment, she might have held a glimmer of hope for Antony. This Roman who’s willing to give up his army for love. For love. Not that she wants what he’s offering. She just wants to believe he could be different. Not for her. For Rome. But then his sword is hilt deep in the belly of one of Brutus’ men and then slicing through the throat of another. And Xena knows - even as she and Gabrielle dance around the subject hours later, bathed in moonlight and disquiet - that any hope for him is misplaced. Knows exactly what he will do with Brutus’ army and Octavius if he prevails. Is keenly aware of what awaits if he learns of her deception and is allowed to live.

Because once upon a time she was the one who trusted and loved and was betrayed and lived. And thousands paid the price at the end of her sword for Caesar’s treachery. Xena can’t even imagine what Marc Antony, favoured son of Rome, might do. Can’t risk the chance. So he must pay the price at the end of her sword too. Xena wishes it weren’t so, tries to avoid the fight that will take his life - because now that she’s seen the humanity in her enemy she wants no further part in this madness she’s helped to orchestrate - only she doesn’t have a choice now. Alea iacta est - the die is cast, and her blade and her betrayal find Antony’s heart all the same. And when the end comes, there’s Xena, soaked in blood and rain and tears, in the middle of this fucking mess, the dead and wounded scattered about her. She can’t escape the truth of it then: she did this.

And it’s this! All of this - the many layers of trauma in need of reckoning and Xena’s tangled heart, twisted further by the part she is forced to play in Egypt and the goddamn fucking senselessness of it all - that carries the emotional weight of the episode. Who needs a Boyfriend of the Week when there’s already all this angst?

And, ok, I hear you say: Pattie, you’ve made some valid points about Xena’s state of mind, but why can’t Xena’s emotional and moral conflict be born from this fraught personal history AND from the fact that she *was* falling in love with Antony? Wouldn’t that make it an EVEN MORE dramatic and powerful story? Because she was specifically falling in love with a ROMAN GENERAL, the very epitome of the thing she has spent most of her adult life hating?

I would like to agree with you, dear skeptical reader, but the simple truth is that there isn’t room for both in *this* story. The reality is this: a 44-minute-long, action-focused show like XWP just doesn’t always have a lot of extra time to linger on the emotional beats. And this episode, in particular, already so busy with all the palace and political intrigue, has even less. So much of what we’re able to read of Xena’s psychological state - and *why* it’s so deeply fraught - doesn’t even come from this episode. It relies on past emotional beats to inform our understanding of her behaviour. (And, I don’t know, perhaps this is why a casual viewer might pass off Xena’s and Marc Antony’s interplay as romantic - because most of the horrible things that have happened to Xena by Roman hands are left unsaid, and surely, if we’d been reminded of them we would never accept that Xena would fall in love with a golden boy of the empire.)

As it is, there’s barely space for any kind of meditation on how either Xena or Gabrielle are feeling about the roles they are being forced to play and the seemingly callous and ruthless tactics they increasingly use to do so, let alone a tenuous romance. And the former is what this episode should be actively engaging with: the moral ambiguity that has been driving season five and will continue on through the end of the series.  

Further complicating things with a love story, doesn’t make the episode more dramatic, it just takes up emotional bandwidth that could be better served elsewhere. Because, yes, Marc Antony is the epitome of the thing Xena has spent more than a decade hating! Xena’s history with Caesar and Rome (and everything they both stand for) is richly layered and devastating. It cannot be erased or ignored. To suggest that she is capable of falling in love with Antony (and to ask us to then believe it) without also deliberately exploring the tension inherent in that act is obtuse.

Those kinds of emotional beats need room to fucking breathe. And the episode doesn’t do this because there’s just too much happening. It tries - in broad, moody strokes - to capture the tenor of Xena’s emotional landscape, and it succeeds in wrapping us up in the same angst that drapes Xena, but the source is nebulous. Her haunted looks and tears - under the sphinx and when her sword finds Antony’s belly - can only telegraph so much, especially when we have been given very little reason to feel invested in her supposed affection towards him.

And here’s where we finally touch on Xena’s checkered romantic history - and her self-proclaimed soft spot for Bad Boys Who Love Like Fools (10 points to Ravenclaw for your patience) - because I’m sure you’re about to suggest that Marc Antony’s air of a Bad Boy is itself cause enough to garner Xena’s affection. Powerful, disarmingly handsome, and charming? Check, check, check. Capable with his ‘sword’? Bonus: super check. But just because her past is littered with dysfunctional relationships and Bad Boys - though I’m sure not all were bad, and some were definitely women - doesn’t mean she’s interested in repeating her mistakes. The Xena of old is vastly different from the one we know by season five, even if there are parts of her that are very much the same.

The principal driving force in her early adult life and formative romantic relationships was lust. It ruled over every part of her. Lust for: power and for violence and for blood and for riches and for infamy, and, of course, for sexual gratification. And so, she sought out partners - themselves driven by the same hunger - who could satisfy all of her desires, not just her (very) carnal appetite. She fell hard and fast and burned white hot until something, or someone, else came along and made her feel even more incandescent. In those early days, Xena wasn’t looking for *love*, she was looking for a good time.

Now, that’s not to say Xena’s past romantic entanglements were frivolous or lacking in genuine sentiment. At the very least, I suspect many were sustained by the warm affection that comes naturally from the intimacy of sharing your life with someone, whether they’re riding into battle alongside you or just warming your bed over a long winter. Nor is it meant to be dismissive of whatever fondness she felt for her lovers. Because: not all love looks the same. There are different kinds of love and different ways to love.  

For Xena, though, whose heart had been so thoroughly and devastatingly mangled by Caesar’s betrayal, love was immaterial. At best, it was the unintended, if pleasurable, byproduct of a mutually beneficial arrangement. At worst it was a weakness that her enemies could exploit. Mostly, it was just a silly notion to scoff at. And the feeling Xena would come to associate with love - whether she acknowledged it as such, or not - was informed by both the dynamics of her relationships with Bad Boys and her own dark, irrepressible designs. It was selfish, and often cruel. Grounded in hot blooded impulses and savage desire, rather than growing out of an honest and patient connection.

And it became so thoroughly ingrained in her psyche. It was her overriding view of love. Even after she came to recognize how different love could be - and look and feel - once it was no longer centred in selfishness, when it was open and giving and kind, it was a struggle for Xena to undo her conditioning, to rewrite her love language. Because: first, she had to accept that she was worthy of this new kind of love, and then she had to actually accept it once it was offered.

But, old habits die hard, even for Xena, and I’m sure there were times - when she was just beginning to reframe how she viewed love and was learning how to reopen her heart - that she slipped back into her outmoded ways of thinking. Conflating lust with something else; allowing herself to be tempted by dalliances with partners who stoked her selfish desires, instead of tempering them. And maybe if Xena had crossed paths with Marc Antony then - back at the beginning of the series when her history with Rome was still messy but not nearly as tortuous as it is by the end of season five (you know after Britannia and its fallout which was the beginning of The Rift, and the deaths of Crassus and Ephiny and Pompy and the countless others who were the collateral damage surrounding those events, and, of course, Xena’s & Gabrielle’s own death on the cross) - I’d be willing to believe that she could love him.

Because, at one time Xena might have been interested in a man like Antony, might have been able to look past the Roman tunic and pursued him, taken in by his magnetism and allure. But by this point in the series Xena just isn’t interested, and not because her duplicity has made it impossible for her to be, but because by now her entire understanding of love - of being loved and giving love and nurturing it and making room for it to grow - has fundamentally changed. It’s been re-centred in selflessness, and everything that Marc Antony represents is antithetical to this new appreciation.

And I get that there’s an argument in here somewhere, that suggests Xena’s new approach to love might have softened her heart in such a way that she’s both able and willing to see the man behind the General, and be open to loving him too. But I would argue that the very things, the very people, whose love has transformed Xena’s heart are also the very things that would stop her from ever letting her heart go there. It’s not just that her point of reference on love has changed, it’s that she’s had years now of lived experience to break that cognitive dissonance between her attitude - knowing the kind of love she wants, the kind of love that’s *good* for her - and her behaviour - choosing that reaffirming, selfless love instead of the tempestuous, selfish one. She’s not blind to her past weaknesses, she knows exactly the sort of temptation Marc Antony offers - as surely as Gabrielle does the moment she lays eyes on him - but recognizing it is not akin to considering it. Because: Xena’s already found the love she needs and wants (and knows she’s earned and deserves).

Ok, but what of Xena’s admission on the balcony, when she cops to having a soft spot for Bad Boys Who Love Like Fools? I think it’s less about admitting (to herself as much as Gabrielle) that she’s developed romantic feelings for Marc Antony, as it is about Xena acknowledging a certain sort of fondness she feels for these ‘Bad Boys’. A fondness that’s born from a mutual understanding. Because: I think Xena sees herself in these men - at least an earlier version of herself - when she was ‘bad’ and foolhardy at love, and her heart tugs at the memory of it. Some curious mix of nostalgia and empathy, that softens her regard for them.

And she certainly sees herself in Marc Antony. The parallels between her story with Caesar and the story she’s now playing out with Antony are unavoidable, and if she’s cast herself as Caesar in this shadow play then Marc Antony is her younger self. Of course she would have a soft spot for him, she knows how this story ends. Knows, specifically, what it’s like to be willing to give your trust and your love only to be betrayed in return. And, of course, it’s made only more complicated with the knowledge that she’s the one who will ultimately be his ruin.

So, finally, exhausted and exasperated and, like 7,000 words into this, I hear you ask: what does it really matter? Xena doesn’t choose Marc Antony in the end, so what does it matter if it was lust or love or guilt or a fucking mid-life crisis that was driving her in this episode? Well, dear, patient reader: it matters because Gabrielle deserves better (THIS IS A BOLD STATEMENT, I KNOW, AND IT’S NOT AN INDICTMENT ON XENA’S CHARACTER EITHER, IT’S JUST THAT I FEEL VERY PROTECTIVE OF GABRIELLE’S HEART, OK! AND THE ONE THING THIS EPISODE DOES IS GIVE GABRIELLE THOSE LITTLE BEATS WHERE WE LINGER ON HER VISIBLE REACTIONS TO XENA’S TETE A TETE WITH ANTONY AND SHE’S CLEARLY JEALOUS AND HURT AND WORRIED AND SO, LET’S NOT LOSE SIGHT OF THE FACT THAT HER EMOTIONAL STAKES ARE ALSO INCREDIBLY HIGH IN THIS EPISODE, NOT JUST BECAUSE HER LIFE PARTNER IS SEDUCING SOME DUDE, BUT ALSO BECAUSE THE LEVELS OF BRUTALITY SHE’S INCREASINGLY HAVING TO EMPLOY ARE ALARMING. AND SO, SOMEONE IN THE WRITER’S ROOM WAS THINKING ABOUT THIS WHEN THEY WERE OUTLINING THE STORY - UNDERSTANDING THAT THERE’S AN UNDERCURRENT IN XENA’S & GABRIELLE’S RELATIONSHIP THAT WOULD MAKE SEEING XENA WITH ANTONY UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT THEN NOT ALSO RECOGNIZING THAT THAT SAME UNDERCURRENT WOULD MAKE IT EQUALLY UNCOMFORTABLE FOR XENA. AND IT’S JUST LIKE: TEAM, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO DO THAT TO GABRIELLE? HER HEART MUST HAVE BEEN IN A TERRIBLE STATE. AND WHY DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE XENA COMPLICIT IN THIS?)

But, seriously, I’ve spent all this time diving deep into this episode and the ways it comes up short and why, and while I’ve alluded to it, I’ve mostly avoided the elephant in the room.

We need to talk about Gabrielle.

Because: Gabrielle is at the heart of why a romance between Xena and Marc Antony feels contrived and unconvincing. At this point in the show, it’s clear Xena & Gabrielle are fully and completely committed to each other (and, yes, I know that doesn’t necessarily preclude either of them from also seeking romantic or sexual partners elsewhere... I just don’t think they’re the sharing types, but I DIGRESS) - I mean, we *just* had ‘Kindred Spirits’ where they were nesting and talking about domestic bliss and privately teasing each other about their sex life in the most blatant way possible and failing miserably at breaking up but winning at being cute and married and adoringly in love. And I think it’s important to acknowledge the weight of Xena’s decision to very clearly have Gabrielle as her *life* partner - because implicit in the act of choosing to commit yourself to another person is a vow of fidelity, a bond that would be near-holy to Xena, whose word means everything.

But more to the point: Xena loves Gabrielle and Gabrielle loves Xena, and their love has been the beating heart of this show from the beginning. Gabrielle’s care and tenderness has been transformative - everything that Xena has come to understand about love, everything that she does to honour and protect it, is because of Gabrielle and the heart she’s so selflessly given of. And it’s this love story - and how the show has framed its slow and beautiful unravelling - that becomes the bench mark, the gold standard, for how all other love stories in this universe should be viewed, for how Xena, herself, now views love.

So, I guess what I’ve been saying all along is this: Xena can’t possibly be falling in love with Marc Antony because she’s already in love. Deeply, profoundly, bound-for-all-eternity in love. And no one, in this life (or any other, let’s be real) will ever compare. Not pretty boys with pretty words and pretty promises. Not Bad Boys Who Love Like Fools. Not even a god himself. There is only Gabrielle.

[caramarafics]

Reckless (Seth Rollins)

Seth Rollins x OC Maya Grey One Shot 

Warnings: just sad.

A/N: Soooo.... this has been in my drafts for awhile now and after some positive motivation from @royallyprincesslilly​ @thedeboniardevistation​ and @bigstrongblackheart​ I’ve just decided to post it. 

Hope you like it. 

AUGUST 23, 2015 11:27 PM

MANHATTAN, NY

DING!

The elevator comes to a halt upon the arrival of yet another floor. A robotic, yet feminine voice came over the speaker to announce:

“You have arrived at the twenty-third floor.”

The metal doors slowly open to reveal a black and gray hallway with artwork of abstract watercolor paintings hanging on the walls. Standing towards the back of the car, leaning against the safety bar, I watch as my aunt Isobel steps off the elevator. Placing one hand in front of the elevator door so it wouldn’t close she scans the hallway, looking left and then to the right, all to make sure that there was no one around.

After a few minutes, she finally turned her gaze back into the elevator towards me. A small, loving smile softly forms and she extends a hand.

“Come on cariña,” she whispers.

I nod my head and, with a heavy sigh and a push off the safety bar, I throw the thick strap of my Diva’s Championship over one shoulder and my gym over the other. I step off the elevator and into the waiting arms of my aunt and we begin our walk down the hall. 

Isobel puts one hand on the swell of my back while the other pulls her suitcase. My gaze fell to the floor as we walked, focusing on the hotel’s unusual carpet pattern while she scanned the placards on the wall looking for our room. Every so often I could feel her eyes practically burning a hole into me before quickly turning away to look back up at the placards. 

She was worried. She had every right to be. Since leaving the Barclay Center over an hour ago I had barely said a single word. Not to her, to Roman, no one. I was catatonic and numb. 

But who could blame me? After what just happened, anyone would react the exact same way if they were in my shoes.

As we made our way down the hall, I could feel my phone consistent buzzing through the thin fabric of Roman’s hoodie he had lent me back in Brooklyn. Slow at first, but quickly becoming more often with every unanswered second passing by.

Call me crazy, but it almost felt like with every step I took, my phone would go off.

Step.

Buzz.

Step.

Buzz.

Step, step.

Buzz, buzz.

Step, step, step.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Normally I would have answered it by now. But instead, I choose to ignore whoever it was and kept on. 

We reached the very end of the hall and finally stopped in front of a door marked 1127. From the corner of my eye, Isobel pulls out a key card from the pocket of her jeans and slide it into the automated lock. A few short whirring, buzzing sounds later, a green light flashes and a loud *click* signals the door had unlocked. She turns the handle, pushes the door open, and then moves to the side to usher me into the room. She follows right behind me, but not before grabbing the “Do Not Disturb” sign from behind the door and hooks it on the handle outside the room.

The door shuts and Isobel sees a small touchscreen wall panel placed by the door. She presses the button marked Lights and the overhead lights come on, revealing the room to us.

Placing my title belt on the dresser, I look around at what would be my new home for the next two nights. For the most part, the room looked like every other hotel room I’d stayed in while on the road. Granted, this was probably the most luxurious of most of them, but still pretty standard. 

There were two Queen beds each donning a fancy purple duvet with no less than eight of the fluffiest pillows I have ever seen in my life, a giant flat screen TV mounted above a black dresser, cashmere floor rugs draped across cherry hardwood floors, a cozy little reading area near the windows with a small leather loveseat, and a wet bar fully stocked with overpriced snacks and tiny bottles of alcohol. 

The only thing that did make the room stand out from all the others, however, was the incredible view. A floor-to-ceiling window panel was centered on the main wall of the room and, because of our floor being leveled with the New York skyline, displayed a near perfect image of downtown Manhattan. There was even a clear view of the Empire State building in the background, lit up in red and blue lights as night blanketed the city.

Moving over towards the beds I toss my gym bag onto the one closest to the window and sit at the foot of the bed, looking out the window. Looking out at the city I couldn’t help but think about how different my life was less than 24 hours ago. I was staying in Brooklyn with the rest of the WWE, getting ready for SummerSlam. I was in this beautiful hotel suite that overlooked the Brooklyn Bridge with the love of my life, my fiancé. My bridesmaids and I had had our final fittings for our dresses, I was getting all the final details ready for my October wedding…

But that was all before a few hours ago.

Before everything had gone to complete and utter shit.

How could this have happened? How could he do that to me? I thought to myself. 

But before I could think of some sort of explanation, the sound of boots clanking across the hardwood floor followed by the thud of Isobel’s purse landing on top of the dresser next to my title.

“Well,” she says with a satisfied sigh, “this is nice. Really nice as a matter of fact, especially with it being super last minute.”

I bring my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and placing my chin on top, never once looking away from the window. “It’s fine, I guess.” I manage to mumble out.

“Fine?” she snorts, “Maya, come on! Look at what we got. Gorgeous view, fancy sheets, free Wi-Fi, a fully stocked bar...”

I hear movement from behind me and see a light flick on through the window’s reflection. “Oh my-, Maya you’ve gotta see this bathroom! It’s got a huge shower and…” she pauses, “Oh. My. God. The floors are heated. Cariña the floors are heated!!”

But I don’t move. I don’t spring up from the bed to revel in her excitement over heated floors or whatever other fancy details the room had to offer. Instead, I just sit there in silence, holding myself as I gaze out into the city and its nightlife. 

I observe the streetlights perched on the sidewalk creating an ominous glow on the pavement. The mixture of city cars and yellow taxis, halted by ongoing traffic as they struggle to reach their destination on time. The small groups of tourists stopping every few minutes for selfies with various buildings in the background, including this very hotel.

All the while my mind replays the events from earlier. A single tear manages to escape from my eyes as my subconscious began to torture me with a play-by-play of what happened. It all still felt like a dream to me, a sick twisted nightmare that no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t wake up from. My brain searched and scanned through every single memory collected from the last three years of our life together.

It was desperate to find any little detail that I may have missed that could explain just where everything went wrong. Something that could’ve prepared me for what would eventually happen.

But I find nothing.

No hints, no little clues. 

No hidden messages or blaring warning signs.

Nothing that screamed out: “Maya don’t be alarmed, but just two months before you’re supposed to get married… you’re gonna find your fiancé half naked with another woman.”

Boy that would’ve been a great fucking warning now, wouldn’t it?

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t feel the bed dip or that Isobel was now sitting right behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when her hand found its way into my hair, softly playing with it and twirling the ends around her fingers. Another arm wrapped itself around my stomach to embrace me. My body quickly relaxes and I lean into her embrace, my head resting just above her chin. The hand that was in my hair moves to join the one around my stomach and I feel Isobel’s lips plant a soft, motherly kiss at the base of my temple as she gently rocked me.

I knew just how much it pained Isobel to see me like this; a deflated, catatonic alien that had replaced her bubbly and vivacious niece. I’d barely said less than two sentences to her or to anyone else since we left the Barclays, just a few grunts here and there whenever somebody asked me anything. She probably had dozens of questions she wanted to ask right now; ‘are we canceling the wedding, where are you gonna stay, who does she need to call, what I actually wanted to do now,’ things of that nature. 

But rather than bombard me with things that even I had no earthly clue how to answer, she said nothing and just held me.

Though she was my aunt and nearly seven years older than me, I often viewed her as the big sister I never had and the mother figure I had so desperately yearned for. She was my protector from bullies like Angela Ferrell in sixth grade after I had come home crying one too many times for her liking. Isobel pushed Angela face-first into the mud and threatened to shave her bald if she ever messed with me again.

When I reached the preteen stage and my body began to develop, she was the one who explained to me the so-called ‘joys’ of becoming a woman and who took me to the pharmacy to buy my first box of pads. She also, in a very detailed description, broke down the basics of sex and practically scarred me for life. 

After Bryan Anderson gave me my first kiss in fifth grade, she was the best friend that I ran to her to spill all the juicy details. And when I was a junior and my first ever boyfriend Joaquin broke my heart for some varsity cheerleader, she picked me up and helped put the pieces back together with junk food and my favorite horror movies… only after we went and egged Joaquin’s truck. 

Whether it was something as simple as helping me with my calculus homework, or something big as catching a red-eye flight from London to Houston just to watch me compete in my very last high school gymnastics invitational, there was never a moment in my life that I couldn’t rely on her to be there for me whenever I needed her the most.

And tonight, tonight was one of those moments when I definitely needed her.

We stayed like this in comfortable silence for what seemed like hours, just staring out into the night as she held me close to her. I feel her chin fall gently against my shoulder and her breath tickles at the side of my neck for a few minutes before she finally speaks.

“You feel like talking about it?” her voice just above a whisper.

I say nothing but shake my head.

Her lips press themselves gently against my cheek, hugging me a bit tighter as she does. “Ok, that’s fine. We don’t gotta talk about it tonight.” 

“But,” she pauses, “What we should do right now is get some food. Cause I don’t know about you, but I am starving.” 

Once again, I am silent. Intentionally I knew what she was trying to do. First, she would pump me with some of my favorite foods, maybe even some top shelf liquor, then after a few of the cheesiest and goriest slasher films she would happen to find on demand and I appeared to be in a neutral state, she would lay on the questions. It’s been her routine since I was 13 and about 80 percent of the time it usually worked. Sadly though, It’s unlikely that this particular problem could be easily fixed with takeout and Freddy Krueger.

She was right though. I hadn’t eaten anything since this morning and just the mention of food made my stomach growl. 

“Tell you what... why don’t I order us some food, and while I do that you can take a shower and get cleaned up. ¿Suena bien?”

I thought it over for a little before eventually nodding my head in agreement.

“What do you wanna do; Chinese takeout, get a couple pizzas…?”

I look up, her brown eyes meeting mine. “Can we get both?”

A small laugh escapes her mouth, and she squeezes me again. “We can absolutely do both. I’ll even throw in a couple of those brownie sundaes I saw in that menu. While you shower, I’ll call the boys and see where they are with your stuff.”

I nod once more and with one final squeeze and forehead kiss from her, I remove myself from her embrace and slide off the bed. She follows and moves towards a conveniently placed touch screen panel near the window. I watch her press a button on the panel and, in an instant, large panels start to descend over the window panel, slightly darkening the room and hiding Manhattan away for the rest of the night. 

I grab my gym bag from off the bed and make my way inside the en-suite bathroom. Once inside, I shut the door and lock it. Just as she said earlier, this truly was an incredible bathroom. A lot nicer than some I had had before. Apart from the aforementioned heated floors there were marble countertops, super soft Egyptian cotton towels, two complimentary bathrobes with matching slippers, full-size bottles of luxury brand skincare and body products, & to top it all off, a huge glass walk-in steam shower with two large overhead rainfall showerheads and about six square wall panels placed on both the front and back walls. 

Setting the bag next to the sink I make my way over to the shower. On the outside wall was yet another touch screen panel solely for controlling the shower. I look it over for a few moments before finding an app that says ‘RAIN’ and press it. Instantly, the overhead panels come alive and water begins to rain down on the inside. I mess around with a few more buttons, adjusting the water temperature and whatnot, before finally moving away so that the water could warm up.

Back at the sink, I started to open my gym bag when I felt my phone once again start the incessant vibrating like before. But this time instead of ignoring it, I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and look at the screen.

The first thing I see is his profile picture followed by his name. It was one of my favorites of us together, taken almost a year ago at a mutual friend's Halloween party. We were dressed up as Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones, complete with three ‘dragons’ perched on my shoulders. I was looking at the camera but his eyes were fixed solely on me, a smile stretched across his face as he looked.   

I watch the call stop and my home screen reappear with the notification bar.

Over a dozen missed calls and voicemails. 

With a sigh I unlock my phone and scroll through the list of missed calls, seeing one name in particular more often than others.

Seth.

Seth.

Seth.

Renee.

Roman.

Seth.

Brie.

Nikki.

Seth.

Seth.

Seth.

Renee.

Nikki.

Seth.

Roman.

Seth.

Seth.

Seth.

Seth.

Annoyed, I tossed my phone onto the counter, not caring where it landed or if it had smashed. I open my gym bag and go to pull out the set of post-match clothes I always kept handy, so I could change quickly out of my sweaty gear after any of my matches. But when I went to pull them out… nothing. Only my workout clothes from earlier, an extra set of bra and panties, deodorant, and sneakers.

Shit.

I look down at my body, currently covered in the giant hoodie.

Shit, shit, shit.

My suitcase, my clothes, my laptop… all of that is currently on its way from Brooklyn. 

I forgot to pack my spare change of clothes. 

And as if things couldn’t get any better... I’m still in my ring gear from my match earlier. 

My eyes rolled to the back of my hand and my hand runs over my face, an annoyed chuckle escaping as I relish in my own stupidity. 

Great. I thought. Just great. Good job there Maya.

Not wasting any more time, I throw off the hoodie and angrily start to undress. Starting from the bottom, I unlace my wrestling boots and set them next to the toilet. I remove my sweatpants and shimmy my way out of the custom wrestling shorts Isobel had made specifically for tonight. The matching top was next to come off and once over my head I let it fall to the floor next to my shorts, leaving me in just my sports bra and underwear. 

The gear for tonight was all-white with intricate gold lines patterned along the sides, knees, and chest with four symbols faintly embroidered in white on each side; one was mine, the other Roman’s, then Dean’s, and finally… his.  

For months, he’d been throwing the idea around of switching up his ring gear and trying out new colors aside from his usual black attire. And once Isobel had sketched up a white and gold version of his gear, he was beyond ecstatic to showcase it for his Title for Title Match at SummerSlam. 

And when she had enough fabric left over from doing his gear she made a second set just for me. 

“It’s kind of like your wedding dress,” she said to me. “Just in gear form. Hey, if you want I’ll even attach a veil to your butt and it can be your train.”

I quickly shake the memory from my head and free myself of what was left of my clothing. Grabbing two of the white bath towels placed underneath the sink, I set one on the back of the toilet and hanging the other on the hook placed next to the shower. I grab a bottle of complimentary body wash I open the shower door, and finally step inside.

I stand directly underneath, letting the warm water hit my skin and cascade around me and down my body. The splashing against the tile echoed off the walls but it wasn’t enough to drown out my thoughts as they continued to torture me. Every kiss, every touch, every ‘I love you’ we had ever said played on an endless loop in my head as I tried to pinpoint the moment that everything changed.

Meeting for the first time at that college bar back in NXT. That first kiss backstage in NXT that caught us both off-guard. The night he had told me for the first time that he loved me, which was followed up by the night we first made love.    

I try to shake these thoughts from my mind, but it won’t work. No matter what I try to think about, no matter what other happy memory that doesn’t involve him, those memories are still all that play. A few stray tears push their way out but I quickly wipe them away.

No, I thought. You are not going to do this Maya. This isn’t happening right now. Stop it!

I reach over to grab the bottle of body wash from the shelf inside the shower...    

And that’s when I saw it. The tan line on my finger, now completely visible on my left hand that just a few hours ago bore my beautiful oval cut diamond engagement ring. 

The ring that he claimed to have been carrying around in his suitcase for months, hoping to find that right moment that never seemed to come. 

Until the night of WrestleMania, just mere seconds after winning his WWE World Heavyweight Championship, he would look over to Joey Mercury and trade him his newly won title for a small black box. He would get down on one knee and take my hand in his. And then, in front of Vince McMahon and everyone else currently occupying the Guerilla, would ask me to spend the rest of my life with him. 

Now that hand was bare. The ring was gone, given or rather thrown back to him after what had happened.

And just like that, my world came crumbling down. That false sense of reality I had created since leaving the arena had finally collided with actual reality and smacked me dead in the face.

Seth, my first love, the man I was set to marry in less than two months… had cheated on me. And I had caught him tonight. 

Three years of my life, our life together, all gone in a flash. Our plans for the future, children, traveling the world… were all just illusions and fantasies that would never come true.  

My legs carried me backward until my back hit the wall of the shower and I slid down. A wave of nausea swirls all around my empty stomach and my chest tightened like someone was stomping on it repeatedly. The first sob that left my mouth was quiet, nothing short of a small childlike whimper as the tears fell. But more and more as reality continued to sink in, they grew louder. The tears flowed more, so much so that I couldn’t tell what were tears and what was just water from the showerhead. 

My body sank more and more into the ground that before I knew it I had curled myself into a ball, crying into my chest as the water turned from warm to cold. 

But I didn’t care. My head swam with half-formed regrets. My heart felt as if my blood had turned into tar as it struggled to keep a steady beat. 

I was emotionally bankrupt. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that now enveloped me in swirling blackness.

And it was all because of him.  

END.   

[ritualpurposes]

Why History is Important

This week has been a week of terrible takes on History, Politics and how the two intersect. From the appalling article in the Telegraph on how the “woke masses” are trying to sabotage Britain’s history (I won’t give this the dignity of a link, but it is easy enough to find), the continued harassment and vilification of Dr Corinne Fowler for her work on the Colonial Countryside Project, to the release of the utterly disgusting 1776 commission in the US and as always, the plethora of ‘hot takes’ on Tumblr, I am seething with rage.

This is a long one, apologies. I won’t go into Tumblrs approach to history, that has been better covered by others here, and here and honestly this rant is long enough as is. 

Archaeology and history are inherently political, that is an inescapable fact. People are quick to turn up their noses at the subject of the past and say it has no bearing on the present, but that is a simplistic fantasy. The present is always built of the back of the past, our attitudes, our justifications, our worldviews are all artifacts of what has come before. And when our understanding of what came before is, shall we charitably say, flawed, that is dangerous. The links between the alt. right, white supremacy and fake, white –washed, hyper masculine ideas of the past are well documented. Many of these people justify their actions using versions of the past which to them are very real, ideas of a white ethno-state where the men were Men™. It should be noted, this isn’t a modern phenomenon, I’m pretty sure anyone who has had to sit through intro to archaeology has had to listen to at least once lecture on how Hitler used pseudo archaeology to justify his actions. And while academics can point out that Roman Britain was not white, or that the Vikings traded and intermarried with people from North Africa, these attempts are hindered, both by popular perceptions of the past, and by this idea that the left are attempting to rewrite history.

I find that last point difficult really to deal with, because it combines two opposing ideas, that historians want to make the past more ‘politically correct’ but also downplay the ‘greatness’ of whatever nation they are talking about by talking about the distinctly not political correct bits of history (colonialism and slavery).  There is this overwhelming idea that adding any sort of nuance is the result of massive bias. And that any history that doesn’t make your nation look 100% the Heroic Good Guys is part of some sort of plot to undermine national pride and patriotism. The Tories are terrified we might remove statues of slavers, but in the same breath attack the National Trust for trying to talk about the Colonial legacies of their properties.

I think at this point it’s also worth discussing the difference between history and commemoration.  I am 100% in support of removing statues, and of renaming streets etc. These things are not history, they are commemoration. History is found in museums, in books, in scholarship. History is knowledge, it is not objects but the context that surrounds them.  The removal of a statue does not equal rewriting history, a statue, while an archaeologically interesting artifact, does not in and of itself tell us much. Its context is far more revealing. There is an idea in archaeology called object biography, that looks at how items change in meaning and use throughout their ‘lives’. Items are not static, just like ideas are not static. In the 19th century that statue meant something very different to the people who are around today. What we commemorate, and what commemorations we destroy tell us about society. If the history of Edward Coulston is so important (a man, who I had never heard of before the statue was thrown into the river, so clearly not a priority in English history), then put the statue in a museum with an information board. And if you are really worried about the destruction of history? Why don’t you spend your time and money instead ensuring archaeological work gets done ahead of development or making sure history departments are adequately funded. Interesting, the Torries, while very concerned about statues, are actively fighting those two measures. I know less about the Republican agenda, but looking at the 1776 project, I’m pretty sure that any concern they have for history is less about the past and more about preserving the status quo.

I grew up in America. I took AP US history, and I remember having to write papers about how the Civil War was absolutely not about Slavery. I guess that doesn’t seem that harmful in and of itself, but let’s trace this bit of revisionism through shall we. The Civil war was over States rights, that doesn’t sound too bad. I mean I may not agree with the South, but is it really a moral issue to say that the Federal Government shouldn’t be able to override what individual States want? After all States are very different, what is good for New York might not be so good for Georgia. Ok, so using that logic I don’t really see what’s wrong with flying a confederate flag, I mean it can’t possibly be a symbol of oppression, because the Civil War *wasn’t* about Slavery. So I don’t see why people are getting all upset, it is simply a statement that States Rights are important.

Add to this the general romanticized picture of the Confederate South in the media and you suddenly are looking at a very different picture of the past, supported by, of all things, the fucking AP US History curriculum. The Confederates are seen as tragic heroes, on the wrong side of history perhaps, but with a point, fighting for a way of life.  And from there it doesn’t seem too far a leap to what happened on January 6 does it?  I’m not saying all media should demonize the South, but I think removing Slavery from the Civil war is dangerous and false representation of History, and one that directly plays into the Civil Unrest we are seeing at the Moment.

So that brings me back to the 1776 commission. It was published as a direct response to the 1619 Project. The 1619 Project sought to center slavery and its effects on American history. This is hugely important, and a weirdly contentious issue. The echos of slavery are still present in the USA, in the form of institutionalized racism, voter suppression, and increased levels of police brutality among other things. It is, at best impossibly naive and at worst actively malicious, to try and consider US history without dealing with the brutal legacy of slavery. And yet, this project was deemed to be ‘UnAmerican’ and ‘revisionist’. How dare any history of America undermine the idea that America is, and has always been, A noble nation that has never done anything wrong ever. To return briefly to my own experiences with AP US History, our textbook said we didn’t lose Vietnam (My father who was a war correspondent in Vietnam had some things to say about that comment). The myth of American Exceptionalism runs deep. The 1776 commission, which I have not brought myself to read in its entirety, is a horrific example of it. It justifies slavery, it states that “as a question of practical politics, no durable union could have been formed without a compromise among the states on the issue of slavery.”, states racism ended in 1964, and that Christianity is the reason we have secular law.

Why does this scare the shit out of me? Why do I care what people believe happened 200 years ago? Because if people truly believe that America can do no wrong, that patriotism means never questioning that we really will live in Trump’s America. Because if Slavery was justified, and racism doesn’t exist anymore than clearly we don’t have to do better, and any complaints are communist plot.  Because if Empire really did make England Great then why should we not continue in the same vain? History is grand! Let us live in the Good Ol’ Days!

History is messy. History is unpleasant. History doesn’t fit into simple narratives of good and bad, because people don’t fit into those categories. And while I agree it is impossible to teach history without some bias (interpretation being a key part), we need to accept our past. If we want a brighter future we need to confront where we come from. We need to fight the false narratives prevalent in our culture, be they the idea that Game of Thrones is a good picture of Medieval England or that the Civil War was over a simple ideological difference and not the lives of thousands of enslaved peoples. The best bit of advice on history I ever got was from my high school teacher “If you want to live in the past you haven’t been paying attention”, I think about that statement a lot. The past has power, let us not pretend otherwise.

[writinglionqueen]

Now that I'm thinking about it, in the My King series, how would the relationship of Drew and Prince Devitt be? Would they be allies or enemies?

@nicolewoo asked: Can I please have more Fergal Devit???? It can be in the My King series or not. 

There had been a commotion that pulled the king from his bed in a hurry while you, his little queen, slept on. Shouting and a scuffle in the keep had caused him to stir and mad his way to deal with it himself, even if the cold bite into Drew’s being…he bothered with no shirt, no cape, only his boots as he made his way through his keep with a feral growl. 

The word of a intruder made it’s way to Drew’s ears as he did so, only heightening his anger. 

The scuffle of the intruder -a lithe man who didn’t know who he was messing with- lasted no longer than the commotion started. It ended with the man being dragged inside the main hall with grunts and growls before he was chained to the floor before Drew’s chair. He glowered down at the pathetic excuse of a man who could only glare back. 

“I’ll kill you,” the man threatened. It was then Drew had found the little man who couldn’t complete what he was doing was Irish. Drew was about to spit something back at the Irish fucker before a voice stopped him. 

“My king?” you called, only wrapped in white and gray wolf pelts, as you made your way into the great hall. The man turned his head to look at you as soon as you stepped into the room. The king looked to you a moment after. 

You were timid for what scare the man had brought to the castle. So, you clutched your cloak -tightly- to your sternum as if you were cold and afraid. Almost so but the scare had warmed you. You looked to the captive man in concern, chained and kneeling, then to your king. 

Drew went to you, his large hands lifted to cup your cheeks. Your eyes meeting. Even with your tremendous difference in height, the Scotsman accommodated for it. You barely made it past his chest, but he craned his neck to look down at you. 

“My queen, you should be in bed,” he whispered to you. His words were honeyed and mellow. You only held onto the soft furs tighter. Your eyes casted a quick glance to the Irishman. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked curiously. Your attention went back to your husband who sighed at his your lingering need to know what had happened. 

“Yes, my love, everything is well again,” Drew answered, turning his large body to the man. The Irishman glared at the Scotsman. “This weasel was trying to worm his way into the castle. Isn’t that right, boy?”

“Fuck you,” he hissed. It caused the your head to tilt at the oddity of seeing someone so small challenge your husband in his own castle. Drew couldn’t help but glare.

“How far did he get?” you asked. Your eyes raked the man, seeing minimal cuts on him. He did have a bloody nose and cut lip that dripped into his dark beard. Its cause was mainly due to being almost ran through by the king’s own body, knocking him to the dirt.

“Well he got to the courtyard,” Drew huffed out. “Before he ran into my boot.” Drew sounded almost pleased with himself. His bare chest puffed out a bit in pride. The man growled. “Oh, hush now mutt. You’re lucky you’re still living.” 

You took a step closer to the chained Irishman in curiosity. 

“My love, I wouldn’t.” The king reached for you at the same moment the Irishman lunged towards you with a growl. 

With quick thinking, the king kicked the Irishman with the flat of his boot, right in the middle of his chest. It knocked the wind out of the chained man. He landed back onto the floor, wheezing as the guards swooped in quick. They were there to ensure he didn’t try anything again. The man coughed and sputtered. He looked between the smug king and you who smirked at the sight. The man moved to kneel again.

“I like him,” you whispered to your husband. The king growled. “Maybe he can be of some use to us, beloved.” Drew turned his nose up at the Irishman at his feet. “He could provide us with some information, my love.”

“I don’t trust him here,” the king growled to you. You chuckled as you took a closer look at the Irishman, knowing that Drew and the guards weren’t going to allow the man to even rise from his haunches. 

He seemed familiar to you somehow…like the two of you met. It was then you knew who he was.

“You’re Prince Finn Bálor,” you said, taking a step away from him. “You were supposed to be in next line for the Irish crown.”

“Yeah, that was until your husband put Sheamus there, instead,” Finn growled, glaring at Drew. His blue eyes blazed with passion. You looked to Drew, understanding why this man would go to lengths to get to the keep and kill Drew. Your husband only stood straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I have no power when it comes to the Irish crown,” Drew said. “Perhaps Sheamus was more fit for it since he’s much more of a man than you’ll ever be.” Finn growl as he rose to his feet and lunged at the king. It caused Drew to grab you and move you behind him. You watched the guards move forward but Drew raised a hand to stop them. He stayed where he was while the Irishman pulled at the chains keeping him bound in one place. He was unable to do much except for writhe in the length and glare at Drew. He tried to move closer but the chain that held him to the floor was taught and unmoving.

Your king stayed where he was, unafraid at the man trying to reach for him. He knew the chains were holding Finn well enough. 

“Because all I see is a mutt who’s lucky to be alive and in my presence after the stunt he pulled.” Finn said nothing but he snarled like the mutt Drew had called him. Anger burned bright in his eyes. He was at the end of his chain and you had no idea what your husband planned to do with him due to his behavior. 

“Drew,” you whispered, bringing your hands up grasp at your king’s bicep. Your king looked at you from over his shoulder. His storm-grey eyes held a bitter cold but you knew it wasn’t directed at you, but to the unwelcomed guest at his feet. You knew Finn could be a great asset…he made it this far. He could prove to be useful. Your king knew this for his gaze softened and he sighed.

“Guards, take the mutt to the dungeon. My queen is right; he could serve some use to us.” The guards nodded as they unchained Finn from the floor but dragged him down to be locked for…who knows how long. You watched him leave, the fire dying in his eyes as he knew it was no use to fight any longer. It made you frown. 

“Did…did you ensure Sheamus’ rule to be the king of Ireland?” you asked your own king. Drew huffed. 

“The mutt doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Drew gruffed. “I’ve had no influence on the Irish crown and I still don’t. The ones he needed to go after are well beyond his reach.”

“So….you know who did it…all of it?” you asked. Drew sighed as he turned to look at you. 

“Beloved….lineages and reigns are…complicated,” he answered. “I have an idea of why Bálor was not the crowned king….and I may know who influenced it so…but they’re merely guesses and it would take more digging than he did to figure it out.” You frowned while you looked into the direction the guards had taken Finn. “Now…I don’t know why you think he might be useful, and I would like to understand that logic.”

“Well…he did breech your defenses,” you said, turning to look at your king. “Got as far as the courtyard, as you said. You might want to ask him how he managed that.” Drew smirked at your words. “On top of that, since…he appears to be a man fit enough for stealth…we can use him to spy on our enemies and get information. Figure out what the failed prince knows until he no longer proves useful.” Drew nodded. 

“Aye…seems like my queen finally has grown into her clever mind to have a future plan for our guest,” Drew said as he moved closer to you. He reached for you, wrapping his arms around your frame before pulling you to his chest. You went to him with a smile. “But he’ll be your responsibility then.” You sighed, playfully. 

“Oh, what am I to do with a mutt?” you teased. Drew chuckled at that before he leaned down to kiss your lips. 

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “But he better prove to be of some use to us, beloved. Or I’ll behead him with my claymore.” You sighed at that, knowing your husband’s words were a promise he intended to keep. 

Finn needed to be useful and you were going to ensure that. 

Or it’ll be Bálor’s head. 

Tag: @adriennegabriella @alwaysbenhardysgirl @amariemoore @andie01 @annoyingasian @artemisapalla316 @aspiringhorrorfilmmaker @balorstrowmanblackmurphy @biforbecky2belts @blackmoonrising @burning-coco @calicina @calwitch @claymoreme @darlingambrose @dcnmarvelgamergeek @demonqueen29 @desstehhnee @drewmcintyreinarefereeoutfit @finnsauroraborealis @fireyegale @fivefootxo @flawlessglamazon @haharollins @hardcoresweet45 @homeorbust @i-have-saracasm @itsicantbelievethis666 @kalliravenne @king-drew-mcintyre @lilred91 @littledeadrottinghood  @littlesuperstar @lolorockstar101boom @madamaholmes @madebypointlesswerewolves @meishaabae @meremaidqueen @moxleysbaby @moxley-unhinged @mox-made-me-do-it @moxtiel @neversatisfiedgirl @new-zealand-chic @nicolewoo @nothinginlifebutgreif @number1120 @ofbeornandbjorn @psychic-angus @queenofthearchitect @reigns420 @rollinsreginssupreme @rollynch-roman-empire @sassymox @sassyspacedust @savemeroman @scuzmunkie @shieldgirl18 @slytherinyourrpants @snowtroopergirl @softmoxymuffin  @superrezzy00 @svnflowrs @taryn-dibiase @thatpanpal @the-beastslayers-queen @thehoundsofjustice @thewrestlingwarehouse @theworldofotps @trashofambrolleigns  @twistedbeautifully @undeadspazzattack @unprettypeony @voidstrugh @wrestlersownmyheart @writing-reigns @writtingrose @xbreezymeadowsx @xladyxfatex @xprincessofthefallenangels @yaint-me @youcantreignonmyparade

[cherryfelixs]

hereditary enemies - 1

pairing: angel!hyunjin x demon!reader - soulmate! au

warnings: strong language, innuendos, sexual references !!, mentions of blood and gore

note: this series is HEAVILY influenced by Good Omens bc aziraphale and crowley T__T theyre so baby

----

hwang hyunjin. one of the most famous names from upstairs. he was known for sticking to the rule book, for having a heart as soft as a plushie. he was the perfect and classic example of an angel. bright smiles that light up rooms and sparkly brown eyes that anyone could get lost into. he wouldn't hesitate to perform miracles and that's how everyone knew him.

on the other hand, there was you.

y/n. one of the most famous names from downstairs. you were known for being frivolous and childlike. you were one of the more playful demons. ever since the times of adam and eve you were one of the lighthearted ones. everyone was so serious and boring. so, you tried adding a splash of colour to hell!but just because you were lighthearted, doesn’t mean you also did wreck havoc everywhere you stepped.

caesar getting stabbed? influence by you. the fall of the roman empire? yup, you. the bubonic plague? you, with the help of crowley of course.

you really thought hell was the place for you. perfect for your pranks and being able to cause trouble. however, there was one thing you didn’t get. why the fuck did you guys have soulmate tattoos? you thought only humans and angels had them. demons aren’t supposed to love. well, that’ what you thought anyways. some of your friends had already met their soulmates. some you think are...questionable... some you thought didn’t need soulmate tattoos to know they would get together.

for example: aziraphale and crowley.

you only made an exception for them because they somehow became ever so close to your heart.

you tried to keep yours hidden away. it was below your collarbone, a ring with the words ‘you! you messed up my hard work!” etched underneath it. the first words your soulmate says to you.

“tagamuth! how ya doin’?” you asked the man who grumbled a hello back.

“hey, asami! lookin’ good! get that maggot infestation sorted?” you shot some finger guns at her, walking backwards, awaiting her response. she gave a quick nod back with a half smile.

you were about to turn around before bumping into someone. you swivelled on your heel before beaming a pearly white smile: “beelzebub babe! haven’t seen you in ages!”  

they gave you a mocking smile. “get back to work y/n. whether that be down here or on earth.” 

you popped your bottom lip out. “aw c’mon babe. i’m sure satan won’t mind if i took a lil break huh?” you looked around for a minute before leaning in towards beelzebub. “i know you’re satans right hand but is the reason you’re so uptight is that you haven’t found your soulmate yet?”

that caused some heads to turn. how bold of you.

“back to work!” they roared. this kinda made everyone piss their pants but you knew better, you were used to it. you gave the entity a pat on the shoulder before skipping off.

“alert me when you find em babe!” you teased and ran off before any consequences. 

you walked out and stepped out onto the warm streets. you were glad you wore a short sleeved white top that was tucked into a dark red skirt. you black stockings reached your knees and black chunky boots fitted your feet. you had a plastic devil horned headband on and a choker wrapped around your neck. fitting. lastly, a pair of dark sunshades covered your eyes.

now, your first task? to get someone named choi taeyong to give into a temptation. as you skimmed through his records on your phone you had to admit the angels did a good job keeping his pure.. well.. for now.. anyways.

you threw the helmet on your head before racing off towards the building on your motorcycle.

stereotypical. you knew it was. but hey, you loved it. 

finally, you stepped into the facility. sm headquarters. you snapped your fingers before the receptionist could say anything before leaning over the counter and scribbling your signature in and grabbing a keycard. without a care in the world you waltzed around the office, sending pretty smiles towards a anyone who looked over to you. and then, you found it. ‘choi taeyong’ indented into the golden plate that hung on the door. you knocked on the door softly. “mr choi?” you asked before opening the door and entering.

he was tapping away at his laptop, his brows furrowed in concentration. you cleared your throat: “we had a meeting booked today? i really hope you didn’t forget.” you innocently stated, closing the door.

his head popped up as he shut the lid. he was attractive. newly-wed too. wife’s expecting their first child. rich, powerful and had a family at age 27. a miracle indeed. 

you sat infront of him on the chair, making sure your skirt rode up a little bit. easy now, you have to lure him in. you’ve done this countless times, you’re a natural.

you could tell he noticed by the way he furrowed his brows for a quick seconds. “now miss..?”

“y/n.”

“miss y/n. what is your pitch for our company?” he asked, rolling his chair closer.

you stood up and placed yourself onto his chair arm. your index finger traced his jawline as your thumb gently pushed his bottom lip down. you moved close to his ear and you could feel the heat radiating from him.

“th-this isn’t appropriate. i’m.. i’m married.” he cleared his throat shuffling a little in his seat.

you chuckled lowly: “oh but my love, is that ever a problem? wasn’t it one of your.. fantasies?” your fingers carded through his thick brown hair before your lips pressed down his jaw to his neck. 

taeyong let out a small whimper: “how’d... how’d you know that?” he managed to splutter out between deep, shallow breaths.

“just a guess.. love.” you smashed your lips against his, pulling at his blazer and tie, throwing them off. you seated yourself in his lap now, your lips still on his. you snapped your fingers for the telephone to switch on, dialing his wife. he was too into the moment to notice. 

your hand pressed down onto his now prominent bulge as he let out a loud groan.. much to his wife’s dismay. you could here her voice from out the speaker.

“choi fucking taeyong! how fucking dare you! who’s the bitch with you, you bastard! i’m coming right over!” oh, she definitely heard the moan. you roughed him a little more. tangled hair and purple bruises on his neck before you heard his wife burst through. 

in a split second, you jumped out of the freakishly large windows and scurried onto your motorcycle and zipped away. you heard a voice scream at you as you heard someone run behind you. as you looked into your side mirrors you discovered it was a boy.

“you! you messed up my hard work!”

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

APH England Headcanon: On Top of the World

Hey look another song headcanon. Idk why I get so much inspiration from songs but here it is. Long, Long, Long, Long, Long Post Warning (I went into detail here so... you’re warned)

Basically a look at this song (On Top of the World by Greek Fire, not Imagine Dragons, one of my favorites, please listen) through England’s eyes, because I think it really fits him, mostly discussing his imperial times (colonies, America, all that fun stuff):

Ok so: Imperial England, in my headcanon, is a Sly Old Bastard exactly the way China is/was at his height. And this post is going to be focusing on England’s sly, cunning nature and weaknesses (?) he might have felt at the height of the British Empire. Most of the song is reminiscing (“I remember”...), so it could also be when England’s empire has crumbled and he’s wondering how it all went down.

Anyway, first couple lyrics are just “on top of the world/on top of it all/trying to feel invincible”, the refrain that goes on throughout the song. I guess it just kinda sets the scene, I think as his empire got larger and larger, and as England got more and more colonies, he would become somewhat aware that all the things he’d been building, the states/lands he’d been conquering, would crumble one day, and then his empire would be no more (trying to feel invincible).

Slight Digression: Britain was a Roman province, however the whole of the British Isles were never quite subdued by military conquests, and I think England would have existed at the time and would be resisting the Romans with his mother Britannia (even though I think Scotland was the one left unconquered, although they were defeated in battle lots of times, England would not have willingly surrendered either). Therefore, he would also witness the fall of Rome, and carry with him the knowledge that all empires fall, no matter how great they are or how much land they have. So this would also factor into his state of mind of inevitability I guess (I was thinking of insecureness but that’s not fitting, England is too egotistical to be insecure imo) that his empire will end one day, and the least he can do is to enjoy (?) or pay attention to how it feels to rule while it lasts

Ok anyway: “I remember the nights/Caught up in dreaming my goodbyes/Watching the door for anything more than an ordinary life"

I have no explanation, maybe this was when he was first starting out as a country or when he was starting to grow his empire, when things used to be ordinary for him maybe? Idk what it means about dreaming goodbyes but rationale is: he somehow has a premonition that his empire will die someday? Actually wait, even better is that he’s saying goodbye to Britannia, who is dying, and perhaps deciding to build something great in her legacy? As a tribute (and also maybe a fuck you to Rome) to her, he wants her legacy to be “my son(s) did something great” rather than to be a forgotten woman to history. I interpret the next line as England perhaps being excited about the prospect of his growing empire, excited about leading, conquering. I think during imperial times he had the same god-complex America does; the US often markets itself as “doing good” for the world (eg. Ridding Communist Scum !!!) which, although it may actually be disastrous, is usually seen as “right” in some way (I have major issues w/ US politics as you can see but let’s not talk about that). So the wishing for a better, more exciting life might just be his wish to “make the world more civilized, more British, more gentlemanly” etc.

Next: “I remember the days/New beginnings on an open page/With something to prove/ And nothing to lose, not a soul to betray”

I think this could be about his relationship with young America as the 13 colonies, before the American Revolution. I believe (correct me if wrong) most of the Age of Imperialism, when England, France, Germany etc. started scrambling for land was in the 1800s, and so I think America was like England’s test run colony, and therefore the first person he really had to “care for” as a brother and a child. He didn’t have anything to lose with America, all he could do is build a relationship with this small country and open his heart to friendship and love from America. I don’t think England was as uptight about stuff then and America was his test run, his “new beginning” if he messed stuff up at home (idk if he really did though). He didn’t have any “history” or previous relationship with America before they became like a father/son duo, so he didn’t have to worry about damaging a previous friendship with him (”nothing to lose” by getting to know him).

Side note: I think America’s independence sort of broke England, and I definitely agree with @hongkongenthusiast ‘s hc that England distanced himself from his other colonies because he didn’t want what happened with America to happen again.

Next: “Here I am/Living a dream that I can’t hold/Here I am/On my own”

So this just kinda speaks to England’s loneliness ig. He’s literally living the dream: power, colonies, wealth, everything, but he still has the premonition/wisdom (?) to see that it won’t last (“...that I can’t hold”). He won’t be king of the world forever. He’s also up on a pedestal. I think after the Age of Imperialism England owned the most colonies (I think France is a close second), and like America with his modern-day “police of the world” status, I think lots of people knew about and admired/were jealous of England’s power (maybe they didn’t “look up” to him, but I think they certainly wanted his power for themselves), and being without an equal can make it feel pretty lonely at the top of the food chain.

Next part is the refrain, the new lyrics after that are: “I remember the lies/Caught up in building paradise/The angels were slaves and demons behaved/And everything was alright”

This could represent the propaganda England fed to his people at home to make them support colonization. I don’t think it would’ve taken much convincing, because of the “white men superiority” idea that were colonizers’ way of justifying colonialism and imperialism (actually called White Man’s Burden). However, even though that idea was prevalent, there are still historical propaganda pieces that glorify colonization; one example is called “ABC for Baby Patriots” (full text in link). It basically convinces people colonizing is good for the mother country, and I’d like to think England also told his people that to make them support it (“I remember the lies”). I don’t know how physically old England the character would be, but if he was still young and maybe not as cynical (unlikely but still possible), he could tell these “lies” to himself as well to justify his actions. I mentioned earlier about him wanting to make a better world by introducing British ways to his colonies, and maybe that was the version of “paradise” he envisioned. The last two lines strike me as a flip-flopped world where the bad are free and the good are punished, so maybe idk that was the actual situation, where England’s colonies were suffering instead of being helped, like he thought? Anyway this is getting into kinda political ugly history so...

Next! “I hear the crowds beneath me/I'm wishing they could reach me/But I'm on top of the world/Up here I'm dying alone”

Not really any analysis here, just another example of England being lonely ig as the leader of the imperial world. I feel like this part can be summed up in a more positive light by this

Next: “Inside the walls of gold/Outside of happiness/(It's all been a show, too late to confess)/No room for heart and soul/No room for innocence/Innocence”

To me, this is England reminiscing when he still had compassion and when he was young. I feel like nations, like humans, get more cynical as they age; they stop seeing good in the world and start just seeing people as things they can manipulate, pawns on a chessboard who can achieve their own interest. In the context of England’s imperialism, this is basically him thinking back and thinking what have I done. Maybe he finally acknowledged negative impacts of his colonization, and wishes he could go back to the days where he was just a small nation, minding his own people, instead of forging an empire that stretched across continents. I guess the whole imperial episode is: “I thought this was a good idea, I thought it would bring me happiness and glory, I thought I could make the world better, but instead, it only showed me the worst in people, and the worst in me”. Idk, I still don’t know if imperial England deserves compassion (Aftereffects of colonization are still being felt today, eg. when original India was split by Britain into India and Pakistan. Britain never clearly specified the India-Pakistan border, and that led to a whole lot of wars and shit and people are still fucking tense about this to this day) But I guess this song and my consequential thinking about it gives him a bit of humanity in spite of his Sly Old Man status?

Ok that’s it! You’ve made it to the end of this long-ass post! I’m so conflicted about England’s character now! I’ve literally disliked him so much ever since I joined the fandom (I also don’t really like FACE fam in general) but bruh my head just warps canon so it’s more palatable for me I guess hhhh. What do y’all think? Feedback Appreciated!