#* ── THE PRINCE IS A LIE. BEWARE. / APPROACH.

[importantchaosgiver]

Update and Sneak Peek

Yes, I am here! I am sorry for not posting 'Where Loyalties Lie' recently, but I will soon, I promise. Now, in honour of HOTD S2, I shall give you a little insight as to what that may look like in later chapters. Got any theories? Feel free to share.

~~~

It was uncalled for. It was horrific. Daemon felt those words reverberate to his bones, Baela and Rhaena looked to their father. They heard stories about this woman and even briefly encountered her. But, this clearly affected everyone, not just Daemon. But Rhaenyra too. Her eyes widened and grew glassy. Even Corlys' jaw dropped, Jacaerys looking shook. First Lucerys... now this? Do the Greens truly have no conscious!

~~~

The dragons cooed softly. Dreamfyre , Sunfyre and Vhagar. Although, Vhagar was the only one who approached. Despite her size and age, she never forgot a face. And this face? Oh, she remembered even as the woman grew older. Vhagar would never forget her courage when saving the young prince all those years ago, or even riding alongside the man titled The Brave when she was only just becoming a woman. To see her like this? It actually hurt. The sword she held with pride, dignity and wisdom, stained and discarded as if it were nothing. Her hand laid on the stone ground, as cold as the Northern winters and as still as the sturdiest tree...

~~~

Dawn arose the next day, and she was still untouched. Not only had she touched the hearts of the people, but of animals and beasts. But one thing the dragons all noted... was a new addition. A necklace of silver and diamond sat upon her chest. A pendant with ancient runes one could only associate with the Old Gods and New. Then... a twitch of the fingers, the rising and falling of her chest and the flutter of her eyelashes as her eyes opened to see the vast ceiling of the Dragonpit. The metal of her sword sung as it was dragged up from the ground, the dried blood flaking off it. She looked at her reflection in the blade and let out a breath. "Beware, Otto Hightower... for you no longer realise what you have doomed yourself to," she muttered hoarsely, her scars shining in the early morning rays...

~~~

I hope you like it. Oh, and I made some moodboards for potential oneshots I may do like (Y/N) takes a different path or just a completely separate story with similar plot.

[insertsickusername13]

Day three of richjake week 2023 and I actually have something written before 10 pm! Be proud of me.

today's prompt: Secrets (oooohhhh)

disclaimer: so star said no explicit content bc they're a minor buuuut I had an idea and listen, it's not explicit like AT ALL, but it does talk abt sex a little and sexual content is definitely implied. I got permission from Star but she also said I have to put a warning sooo here is a warning that yes sex is talked about but no it is not explicit in the slightest. oh also beware of mentions of abuse.

Summary: Rich faces the consequences of being in a long-term kind-of relationship with a prince.

word count: 1.9k

--

“So you’re really willing to live the rest of your fucking life like this?! Living a lie?! You’re so much of a fucking coward you’re planning to hide your entire life—”

“It’s not a lie!” Jake yells, so loud, so guttural, so utterly animalistic Rich is convinced it must be pure screaming rather than a sentence with actual words woven into it. 

Rich almost flinches back. He almost lets himself be afraid of this primitive version of Jake, but to do that would be to exile his consciousness back to five years old, hiding under his bed while his brother took the brunt of his father’s anger. He won’t do that.

“Don’t fucking yell at me,” he seethes, and though he tells himself he’s being mature, being clear and concise, he still blindly fumbles for the silver hairbrush on Jake’s vanity behind him. It can cause pain. He can cause pain. Just in case. 

Jake’s wild, bloodshot eyes follow the movement—darting back and forth in his eye sockets, the rest of him remaining unmoved, borderline crazed in the way he barks out a stark laugh at the pathetic sight. 

“Here’s a deal: don’t try to pretend I’m like you—” this he spits, the words acidic and smoking with implications, as he approaches Rich, his stance daunting and condescending like he believes Rich to be stupid “—and I won’t yell.”

He sticks his hand out, jabbing Rich right between the ribs. He wants Rich to shake it. To make their ‘deal’ official. 

Rich glares down at the offending hand, then back up at Jake’s face. It’s unfair that between the pure malice on Jake’s face and the hard, unwavering set of his jaw, Rich can still see the soft, caring prince he was so accustomed to. That boy was the opposite of irascible. He was painfully civilized, polite to a fault. Jake hasn’t changed, hasn’t suddenly become some unredeemable monster, he’s just been stripped of the humanity he fought so hard to keep among the selfish lords and nobles and royals he’s forced to surround himself with.

“Like me,” Rich repeats, voice so monotonous he almost doubts that he’s kept his humanity either. Even so, anger boils in his stomach, burning his insides with steaming heat, a painful form of proof. He’s human. He’s furious. 

When he repeats the words again, they’re painted with rage. 

“Like me. Fucking like me.” He backs up—one step, two, three. Jake’s vanity bangs up against his spine. “So you’re willing to strip me, fuck me, undo me, but you’re scared of being like me?”

Jake’s hand clenches into a fist. Rich can see the indecision on his face. He wants to hit something. He might hit Rich. Instead, he digs his nails into his own palm until blood coats his fingertips and drips down his wrist.

When he speaks, he doesn’t yell. He sounds like he’s negotiating with another king, debating the outcome of some war with a random, pretentious prince he’d stumbled upon at one ball or another. His civility has returned to him, sure, but it’s a bitter kind—it burns with psychotic desperation despite its apparent tranquility. 

“I never gave you any indication that I wanted anything more than sex. You knew that from the beginning. You knew this was just an—”

“If you say experiment I will never speak to you again. Experiments don’t last two and a half fucking years.”

Jake looks like a ship about to go under. He looks like destruction. 

“I have been engaged with multiple different women over our time together—”

“You seemed perfectly content coming home to fuck me every night anyway.”

Jake makes a sound like he’s just been stabbed with white-hot metal. His legs give out for a second—not long enough for him to fall, but long enough for his muscles to go from tense to struggling to hold him upright. The only reason he doesn’t sit is because he knows how it’ll come off. He’s been in the council’s chambers, he’s sat in on negotiations and treaty signings. He’s memorized every aspect of body language that can signify weakness and, by god, he cannot let Rich know that he makes Jake weak. 

“I have been engaged with multiple women,” he repeats, the words slipping between his teeth (teeth that have dug into Rich’s skin, have tasted his blood, have memorized the indents at his hips and the slope of his muscles), “I am engaged to a woman. Not you. Never you. Our arrangement—”

“Affair.”

“Arrangement—” The word comes out strained this time.

“Dalliance,” Rich says.

“Arrangement—” He almost sounds like he’s choking on it. Rich smiles.

“I can keep fucking going, asshole. We had sex. We didn’t sign a contract. Fucking own up to it.”

Jake lowers his head in submission.

“Our dalliance was just fun. Just playing. It was a thing for children. It was never anything more than—we were just—” he struggles around the word, the weight of it so complete he can barely say it, not only afraid of Rich’s reaction—violent, furious, unforgiving—but also of what it would do to himself. He’ll be forced to slice off his own tongue. It’ll always taste like the shape of—

“Experimenting,” he says (almost sobs), “You were just an experiment.”

Rich drops the hairbrush. If he keeps it in his hand he’ll throw it and he’d rather die than do that.

“Right,” he says, his voice trembling. Doubt stands behind him, a shadow so dark it makes his vision double and triple. Even as the room spun, the two, three, four, five Jake’s all swimming in his vision coalesced down into one boy, one prince, standing in front of him without a crown to be seen. “Right, an experiment sticks around even as you filter through dozens of different girls. I’m the experiment. Not them. They’re not all just fucked up attempts to find a girl who makes you feel like I do. Because she’ll fix it. She’ll fucking fix you—”

“I don’t need fixing! I’m not—” he spins, grabbing his dress shirt from the floor. It’s pretty incriminating to be half naked with the boy you’re claiming you don’t love. 

“I’m straight,” he says, forcing himself into the shirt, “I’m straight. It’s not fake when I’m with her. I’m marrying her because I want to. Because I can't---don't, fuck, won't marry you.”

He keeps talking, Rich knows he keeps talking, but it’s so quiet Rich can’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears, over the tears blurring his vision. Jake’s mouth moves, muttering to himself, reassuring himself that it’s the truth—he likes her, he likes her, he likes her—and Rich does everything he can not to obsess over the words. He almost wants them tattooed on him, wants to stare at them with burning eyes until the entire world has caught fire with the knowledge that Jake does not love him. 

Jake pulls his suit jacket over his shirt. He looks up from the floor and over at Rich, his gaze a labyrinth of lies Rich doesn’t want to believe, but Jake’s always been a sweet talker—he can make even the most bitter of words taste like honey. That’s how he kept Rich around for so long even as he danced with girls at balls and took princesses out on picnics while Rich stayed sitting, waiting at Jake’s bedroom door like a little kid, for Jake to come home and bed him. 

(But it was never the sex, no matter what Jake said. It wasn’t. It was the moments after. Jake, naked under the covers, malleable like molten gold, hanging off of Rich’s words like he was trying to ingratiate him. It was Jake’s hands on Rich’s hips in every dark corner of the palace Jake ruled. It was the stolen kisses before council meetings, chaste kisses in hallways during balls that would’ve escalated to more had Jake not had to return to the ballroom a moment later to dance with a noble’s daughter. It was the pink of Jake’s lips as he kissed Rich’s shoulder, his mouth still the strawberry flavor of the lipstains the girls he courted wore. 

It was Jake pacing the length of his room, repeating the lines to a speech he was about to give with the nervous fervor of an anxious teenager about to confess. It was the way he looked at Rich for either approval or constructive criticism, and the way he accepted every word Rich said, whether good or bad, with a curt nod and hidden smile. 

It was the fact he never seemed to know what to do with himself when Rich complimented him. A simple ‘you’re pretty’ and Jake was frozen, face flushed and tongue drunk and uncoordinated, unable to come up with any response other than nervous laughter.

It was the first night Jake had fucked him. He’d tried to make it all a joke. 

“You’re supposed to boss me around sometimes, y’know,” he’d laughed, still breathless from their climb back through Jake’s bedroom window. They weren’t supposed to go down to town without supervision, but when Rich had caught Jake with his sheets tied into a rope and hanging off the side of the castle, he’d joined him instead of yelling. “Instead you just let me do whatever I want. I could—” he’d grabbed Rich’s shirt and pulled him in close. “I could touch you here—” his fingertips brushed over Rich’s bicep, then the rim of his pants, “—and you won’t stop me.”

There was a long, heavy pause. Jake looked up from the place he was touching Rich and whispered, “You’re not stopping me.”

Rich smirked. 

“Do you want me to?”

Jake only laughed again, bright and starry. He shook his head as he dragged Rich to his bed, overeager and ecstatic. 

It was the fact Jake loved him. Jake loves him. 

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me—)

Jake approaches carefully, almost scared of what Rich will do if he gets too close. Rich remains still, waiting. He wants Jake to kiss him. He thinks maybe he will. One last impassioned kiss, a dramatic ending to their dramatic story, before Jake says that god forsaken word again and leaves.

But Jake only skirts around the edge of Rich’s personal space and snatches his crown from the vanity behind him. 

“Maybe,” he whispers, sounding calm and resigned—almost defeated—now that Rich is thoroughly convinced of Jake’s intransigence, “Maybe it never had anything to do with you, have you—” he swallows the truth and continues, “—have you ever thought about that? Maybe it could’ve been anyone. Maybe you were just a boy in my bedroom willing to have sex, and maybe that’s all I thought. Maybe it was just instinct. Maybe I liked it, but maybe that was just because you touched me and you wanted me, and I—”

Rich searches Jake’s expression for pain. These words should be hurting, should be tearing him apart from the inside out. That’s what they’re doing to Rich. They’re destroying him. He never thought Jake was pernicious. He always thought Jake was an instrument of god, an extension of pure creation and goodness, but there were no tears in his eyes. Only a vague, shadowy regret. 

“---maybe I just let you want me. Because it felt nice to be wanted.”

He knows what he’s doing as he puts the crown on his head and leaves. It’s a show of status. Rich is a servant with red-hot tears on his face and Jake is a prince with a crown on his head. 

Jake is a prince who’s going to a ball to dance with his betrothed and Rich is a servant who’s going to stay in their— in Jake’s—bedroom and clean up the mess of their love and then the mess of their fight. 

Fuck you, Jake Dillinger. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

---

the secret is that they're in a relationship. bc. bc jake's a prince and he's not allowed to be in a relationship w a dude. yep. okay.

[qeldliie-blog]

but Snow petting Vis' little good face like Jon did to Drogon

gentle   hands   cup   his   cheeks   with   a   brittle   cold  ,      that   still  manages   to   feel   ever - so - slightly   wrong   against   the   dragon’s   skin  .      there   is   a   warmth   inside   him   that   hurts  ;      like   he   is   burning   himself   from   the   inside - out  .      he   is   fire  ,      never   meant   for   this   twisted   state   of   living  ,      skin   pallid   and   ice   upon   his   fingertips  .      but   when   Snow   cups   his   cheeks   all   the   pain   is   taken   away   but   for   a   moment  .      if   he   could   remember   he   might   have   compared   it   to   his   mother’s   own   love   and   praises  :      but   he   could   not   quite   grasp   the   ghosts   of   memories  .

he   is   tired  .      destroying   the   wall   took   a   lot   from   him  ,      from   his   frozen   lungs   and   his   fragile   bones  .      but   Snow   is   pleased  .      Noiresiv   manages   a   little   smile  :      lips   curling  ,      disjointed   and   unnatural  .      his   blue   eyes   raise   to   meet   Snow’s  ,      before   he   tilts   his   head   and   rests   his   cheek   against   one   of   those   hands  ,      coming   closer   to   rest   against   him  .

they   did   not   sleep  .      not   any   longer  .      but   there   is   rest   from   pain   in   such   tiny   acts  .

@killthebxy

[chillyravenart]

Do you think Aegon is fake? Why or why not?

I was initially very surprised by the revelation that Aegon was "alive" and had been saved from the sack of King's Landing, but upon closer inspection, some things just didn't add up. With Jon also being Rhaegar's secret son, you've got to wonder if George isn't just playing us as he usually does by dangling red herrings in front of us to disguise a bigger truth. I'm currently rereading a Dance With Dragons and I'm approaching the part where fAegon's identity is revealed to Tyrion, so this will be fun lol.

I definitely think fAegon is fake, (that's not to say that I'm 100% correct on all my reasonings) but here is a very brief breakdown of why I think that:

Dany's visions in the HotU: amongst many of the prophetic visions she is shown, of both past and present characters, one of them includes the "cloth dragon swayed on poles" followed by "mother of dragons, slayer of lies".

Similarly Quaithe warns Dany of "kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them." The mummer can be interpreted as Varys, who allegedly saves baby Aegon and alongside Illyrio has been supporting his return to Westeros. Seeing as they all hide hidden agendas, Aegon's authenticity can be brought into question too.

Speaking of Illyrio, he seems to have a very strong attachment to fAegon, and namely for his deceased wife Serra who was from Lys and had Valyrian features. This points to the theory that Serra may have been descended from the female Blackfyre line (or even the Brightflame line), as the male line was extinguished - and this point is brought up quite pointedly by Illyrio:

"Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. When Maelys the Monstrous died upon the Stepstones, it was the end of the male line of House Blackfyre."

And of course when Tyrion asks him how he managed to persuade the Golden Company (founded by a BF supporter, for BF supporters lmao) to break their contact, Illyrio says "some contracts are writ in ink, and some in blood. I say no more."

Now say you wanted to sell someone the lie that Rhaegar's son was alive, who would you go to? Someone who ardently supported him in life right? Someone who was clearly besotted with him and wouldn't question the truth too much because it would be his last chance to redeem himself in the eyes of his silver prince. That's why we have Jon Connington, aka Griff aka Rhaegar's Biggest Fanboy raising the boy as his own.

Another interesting point was brought up by Moqorro the red priest:

"Dragons," said Moqorro in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "Dragon's old and young, true and false, bright and dark."

I think adding fAegon to the story at such a later stage serves as a source of conflict for Daenerys and Westeros itself- arriving late into the story to lay a claim on her birthright and arguably provide a plot point to the imminent upheaval in King's Landing just serves too well.

My final point is that fAegon believes that he is Rhaegar's son. So we take Varys' word that he snuck away the princeling before the snack (conveniently leaving out Viserys or Daenerys) and raised him to be the perfect ruler?

Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar's sister, but I am Rhaegar's son. I am the only dragon that you need.

Like no hun. If he believes he is the real deal, he is the perfect pawn in the game of cyvasse that Illyrio and Varys are playing. After reading the book a few times it's just a bit too on the nose, and we all know George doesn't work like that.

Like Varys says to Tyrion:

"Power resides where man believes it resides. No more and no less."

"So power is a mummer's trick?"

"A shadow on the wall," Varys murmured.

BEWARE THE MUMMER'S DRAGON!!!

We already have a real dragon in the story, we have the last scion of House Targaryen, we have Daenerys. Now why muddy the waters so late on in the story, ultimately for someone who doesn't seem to be destined to contribute to the REAL WAR which is what asoiaf is all about?

Anyway here are some really detailed posts on why fAegon isn't the real deal, and I hope they help too! Keep well and stan the one true Targaryen heir Daenerys Stormborn for clear skin!

[goose-books]

those of you who are new here might be wondering, “what is max even talking about? doesn’t he have three active WIPs that he’s posting about? now he’s going to post about another one that’s been on hiatus?” and the answer is yes i am because it’s the horrortwins’ canonical birthday so we’re on 24 hour TMR lockdown turn up

TMR is my oldest project, a high fantasy WIP about two kingdoms separated by an impassable forest. sometimes children go into the forest. and then they do not come out. except for a few of them (our dear heroes), who come out... markedly different. in simpler terms, it’s a fae story full of gay and trans people and it’s very near and dear to my heart. so near and dear that i started this blog on aurum & argentate’s canon birthdays! the joke is that. uh. argentate uh. dies on his fifteenth birthday. press f

so under the cut... the 2.5k words i wrote about the birthday BEFORE that one. ft. twin princes aurum and argentate and their best friend, a castle scoundrel called moon.

(tws: a description of a shutdown/panic attack, a one-line mention of unhealthy eating; argentate throws up in the vaguest terms possible.)

Of course, it was already too late.

The dice were cast; the pawns were played; the story had been written a long time ago. Really, Argentate reflected, it had been written in his mother’s hand, on the slip of paper she clutched in bloody fingers, three years ago, when he found her. Beware the kingdom of the double-edged sword. If you see it you’re too late.

Argentate reached up to the hollow of his throat to touch the iron cross hanging there. Funny how easily a kingdom could be convinced to follow a demon.

“Argentate?”

In two years, when he came of age at sixteen, Argentate was to be crowned the raven king in place of his ailing father. At the present moment, at fourteen, he was sitting on the floor in his dressing room, one leg out in front of him and the other drawn up to his chest, head resting back against the nearest couch.

He did not, Argentate reflected as he met his brother’s eyes, look very kingly.

Aurum hovered in the doorway for a moment. He was already fully dressed, of course, golden silks draped over his finely stitched tunic, a simple diadem on his head, golden paint daubed around his eyes and over his cheekbones. Argentate, in his underclothes, was nowhere near as prepared, and he watched Aurum’s mouth make a few different unhappy lines.

“Is it just me,” Moon had asked him a week ago, “or is Aurum acting oddly?”

Argentate had stared at the ground for as long as he thought he could get away with it. He was a gifted liar; it was what he was known for. But no one could lie to Moon.

“I wouldn’t know,” he’d said finally, with her eyes burning into the back of his neck. “I haven’t… spoken to him. For some time.”

Now Aurum finally approached, standing over him. “Argentate?”

His voice was as careful as his steps. Like he was treading on thin ice. Argentate’s throat burned with guilt. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I know I’ve been awful lately. I’m not angry at you, Aurum, I never am.

Instead he closed his eyes, reached up to press his cross into his throat, and said, “I’ll be fine.”

“Do you… plan to get dressed?” A bit of the usual humor crept back into Aurum’s voice. “Although if you want to speak to the kingdom in your underthings, by all means, you have my full support.”

Argentate scrubbed at his face. He wasn’t dressed, no, but the usual malaise hung over his shoulders like a cloak should. Guilt. Nerves. The sick sense that he hadn’t done something he was supposed to. The numb knowledge that it was too late to change a thing.

“I meant to,” he said. “Get dressed, I mean.” The rest went unsaid: I have just been sitting here. On the floor. Thinking about how I should get dressed.

“Ah,” Aurum said, extending his hand. “The traditional route. We’ll save the nude speeches for the future, then.”

Argentate took his hand, stumbling a little as Aurum pulled him to his feet. He steadied himself on the closest wall, taking a few deep breaths. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. His hands found their way to the cross, again and again.

Aurum was rifling through the fabrics laid out on the reclining couch. “You ate breakfast, I hope.

Argentate scoffed. “Wish I hadn’t.”

Aurum glanced at him. “Sick?”

“I’m always sick.”

Not that it wasn’t his own fault. Not that he didn’t do it to himself. It was like a game, really: how long could he go without eating? How late could he stay awake? How much could he study on two hours of sleep? How far could he push himself?

He was never really winning, of course, but if he could look past that then he was winning all the time.

It had been two months since he had started pouring his daily anti-stress potion into his chamber pot. Today was no different. Still, Argentate thought irritably, maybe he could have fought force of habit for one day. He certainly could have used something to soothe his nerves, to numb the tumultuous churning in his chest.

Then again. The potions always made him nauseous. That would have been something, the crown prince appearing for a public announcement only to be fantastically sick all over himself. A spectacle for the kingdom. Real entertainment.

“Look alive,” Aurum said cheerily, and threw a shirt at his face.

Argentate pulled it off, hissing. His tunic. Right.

“At least I hope that’s the right one,” Aurum said. “Blast it, Argentate, where’d you send your attendants? All these trousers look the same.”

“I prefer to get undressed with no one staring at me.”

Aurum arched an eyebrow. “It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.”

Easy for him to say, Argentate thought mutinously. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about undressing in front of others.

Aurum tossed a pair of trousers his way. “Or is this because of your liaisons behind the stables?”

Argentate scowled. “Who told you that?”

“Moon.”

Goddamnit; Moon knew everything.

“You don’t have to show me the marks.” Aurum smirked at him. “Though I am surprised there are any boys in the castle who aren’t terrified of you.”

“Well, I’m not using my tongue to yell at them, am I, now turn around so I can put these on.”

Aurum snorted. “We’re brothers; we used to take baths together.”

“Do I care?” Argentate snarled.

Aurum’s shoulders went stiff. He didn’t say anything, just turned around to face the wall.

There it was.

Argentate gritted his teeth, self-loathing burning in his chest, and put his clothes on.

His attendants had painted his face earlier - silver to match Aurum’s gold, the same royal symbols swirling over their skin. His tunic, too, was threaded with silver. For his eyes. For his fantastic eyes. He was getting awfully sick of silver.

It was slower, dressing without the servants’ help. His fingers fumbled. His right hand in particular was clumsy, still wrapped in gauze bandages. A week ago he’d broken a pane of glass in his bedroom window. He hadn’t meant to; it had just happened. He’d been pacing, and there was too much in him, crackling like electricity or magic or sin, too much too much jittering through his veins, and all of a sudden he jerked back into his own body to find glass on the floor and blood on his fingers. He hadn’t stopped shaking until long after the castle medics bandaged his hand.

Don’t panic, Argentate told himself, taking another deep breath. Don’t panic. So long as he could get through this without it starting - the shaking, the shallow gasping breaths - he would be fine.

He fastened the last button on his tunic. All that remained was his ermine cape - what he was to wear instead of Aurum’s silks - lying across the couch.

Argentate looked at it.

The cape looked back at him.

“Are you done,” Aurum said, still facing the wall, “or…”

“Yes,” Argentate said, picking up the cape. It was only fur; he ought to have liked it. Their father wore furs all the time, because furs were expensive, or elegant, or gaudy or whatever was the common thread between all things King Vita liked.

He rubbed a finger across the velvet, then across the fur collar, and considered dashing the wretched thing to the ground.

But he was the crown prince of the raven kingdom, and he could not throw childish tantrums. So instead he draped it around his neck and fastened it at the hollow of his throat, right above his cross.

He and Aurum looked at each other.

Aurum stifled a snort.

“You have to… not look like that,” he said, shaking his head. “This is… no.”

“I hate it,” Argentate said miserably, hunching his shoulders up to his ears in a futile attempt to minimize contact. Something about Aurum’s laughter prickled just as the fur did - an intolerable rough itch against his skin, a touch that made him twitch and writhe, so much so that tears pricked at his eyes.

“It’s nice.”

“It’s horrible. I hate it. I hate it so much.” God, he was starting to get breathless. Not now. Not now. Calm down -

“Hey.” He startled at Aurum’s hand on his shoulder. His brother peered gently into his eyes, tilting his head. “Hey. Argentate. It’s okay.”

With his other hand, he undid the clasp; then he swept the cape from Argentate’s shoulders and settled it around his own.

“I think,” Aurum said, fluffing it up, “I look better in it anyhow.”

Argentate gazed at him. His tongue was thick in his mouth; his words caught in his throat. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. Thank you. Thank you. I’m sorry.

Instead he just jerked his chin toward the door and said, “We shouldn’t be late.”

---

The midday sun was too sharp. The clamor of the crowd below was harsh, discordant. Half the roaring in Argentate’s ears had nothing to do with that.

It’s simple, he thought desperately. It’s so simple. The royal family appears. We tell them all I’m going to be king in two years. Another demon king on a demon’s throne. And they cheer. And then I’m done.

The herald’s trumpet blared. The sound crashed around the inside of his head, bright and brash and cacophonous and agonizing, and Argentate clung to the marble railing of the balcony so he wouldn’t collapse.

His father was speaking, a rare occurrence these days, with the king’s health as it was - his father was speaking, and Argentate meant to focus on the words, or failing that to focus on the comforting presence of Aurum standing behind him, but all he could focus on were his father’s arms. Broad arms, for a broad man. Thick hair growing coarse and wiry all the way up to his elbows. My father, Argentate thought dizzily, my future. A keening wail rose in his throat; he swallowed it back. He pushed down his dizziness. The raven king announced his son’s coronation, and the people of the raven city thundered their approval, and the sun stabbed down into his eyes, and Argentate couldn’t breathe but that had been true for a long long time.

He barely made it inside afterward, prodded by his father and brother, pawing uselessly at his clothing. It was happening. It was happening, it was happening, there were claws clamping viselike around his chest and his breathing kept coming shorter and shorter and his hands were shaking like there was something under his skin, like maybe his mother had been right about magic all along, like maybe there was something in him trying to get out, and he could barely hear Aurum talking, saying that Argentate hadn’t wanted the cape, hadn’t you, Argentate -

I’m sorry, Argentate tried to say, but he was far beyond speech.

He fled the room in suffocating silence.

---

Moon found him in the east garden. Moon had a talent for finding people. Or maybe she had a talent for appearing out of nowhere whenever she was most needed. One moment he was crammed behind a tall, pungent plant, curled up as small as he could make himself, knees drawn up to his chest, panting for air, and the garden was empty. And the next moment all the same was still true, except Moon was at his side.

“Sit straight,” she said, quietly but firmly. “You’re obstructing your breathing.”

Argentate shook his head. His chest hurt. His chest hurt so much and he didn’t feel well and he couldn’t speak, all he could do was claw at his face, arms, chest -

Moon guided his nails away.

“Can you talk?”

Argentate shook his head again, and then again, and then again, until he was dizzy with it, until it hurt.

“Are you going to be sick?”

Argentate opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

He was sick, multiple times, into an exotic-looking rosebush. Moon held his shoulders. “All right. All right. Deep breaths.”

His bitter laugh came out half sob.

“That’s all right,” Moon repeated. “I’m going to hold onto you, okay? You’re going to breathe with me.”

True to her word, she held his shoulders until the worst of the shaking was over. Only then was he able to wobble to his feet, to glance around the castle garden for the exit, and only then did Moon slip her hand into his and say, “Come on. I’ve got something to show you.”

To the west of the castle was the ocean, glittering and harsh and cruel. To the east was the forest, dark and threatening and suffocatingly green. But to the north was merely fields and farmland. There was forest somewhere off in the distance. But they could not see it, and maybe, right now, that was enough.

Moon’s father had been a guard, before the plague took him. She knew the patterns of the watch at the north wall; she knew where a bedraggled crown prince could sit in silence on the battlements. Blessed silence. So rarely was it ever silent in the castle. So rarely was he ever alone.

They sat. Moon swung her legs over the edge of the castle wall. Argentate laid his head down in her lap, shielding his face from the sun, and she stroked his hair.

It was a great many minutes until he was able to choke out, “Thank you.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Hate being… firstborn,” he managed, with colossal effort. “Aurum… should’ve been… ‘s made for this kind of thing.”

“It’s okay, Argentate,” Moon said, and there was so much honesty in her voice that he almost sobbed. Instead he buried his face in her tunic and tried to breathe evenly.

The castle’s stones were sun-warmed; somewhere, in the distance, he could hear birds. His heart rate was going back to normal. His words still weren’t entirely in order, but he was coming down a little, coming out of his own head.

“Aurum misses you,” Moon said, above him, to the sky.

“Haven’t… gone anywhere.”

Around the castle, they said the crown prince was a crooked liar. That he lied incessantly and skillfully. That he lied for the fun of it. In truth it was rarely fun, but it was all he knew how to do.

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” he repeated, and it tasted worse the second time.

Still. Moon didn’t call him on it. She only ran her fingers through his hair, rhythmatic, soothing, until he felt a bit more of the tension in his chest ease.

“You still have two more years,” Moon said. Two more years. An eternity. The blink of an eye. Two more years. “Who knows how much will change?”

[dumbchickwrites]

Be Mine — part 3

Pairings: Erik Stevens x Reader.

Warnings: soft! Erik.

Requested by @wakanda-inspired.

A/N: Again, no keep reading tag, sawry!😬 About this part, I was going to leave it at that but I was like.... ‘this lacks drama’. So beware, unnecessary drama below lol.

Part One Part Two

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Erik realised that he needed to change the idea that you had of him. He needed to show you that you were special, that only you held his heart in your hands.

So with the help of T’Challa and Kemi, two of your best friends, he organised a little surprise dinner for you, at sunset, your favourite moment. Kemi, more than happy to spend a few minutes with Erik immediately following him and T’Challa to the kitchens.

As Erik and Kemi talked to the chef, T’Challa couldn’t help but think something was off with the handmaiden. Last he heard, you were telling him how much she liked Erik. And just the day before, you told him that someone’s advice kept you from kissing Erik that night.

“Kemi,” he called.

“Yes, kumkani?”

“Would you come with me, please?”

Once they were out of Erik’s earshot, he pulled her around a corner.

“(Y/N) told me she came to you for advice after she talked to N’Jadaka. Would you mind telling me what you told her?”

“My King, these are private conversations,” she tried to laugh the request off but T’Challa kept a straight face.

“Alright then. As your King, I command you to tell me what was said. And I’ll know if you lie.”

Your best friend gulped. “Well, she came to me, told me what happened. I was sceptical at first because, well, we all know about the Prince’s... activities. So I told her that maybe he was not sincere.”

“Hm,” T’Challa crossed his arms, one of hands going to fiddle with his beard. “Isn’t it true that you are... infatuated with N’Jadaka?”

“I...” Kemi opened and closed her mouth, not knowing what to say. “I wouldn’t say ‘infatuated’—“

“You’re dismissed.”

“... I’m sorry?”

“You can be. N’Jadaka won’t need you anymore, you can go.”

With that, he left her in the hallway. He went back in the kitchens to find Erik studying a piece of paper. With a little smile, his cousin handed it to him.

“What do you think?”

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” T’Challa smiled, giving the menu back to Erik.

*

You kissed your lips as you huffed and puffed on your way to the massive panther statue on the other side of the mountain. Had you known T’Challa would call you there — for what exactly, you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have worn heels that morning. Scowl set on your face, you stepped off the elevator, ready to cuss his head off.

Except it wasn’t T’Challa on the cliff. It was Erik, standing in front of a table. He was wringing his hands, looking at the table, but the moment he saw you he dug them in his pockets, a close-mouthed smile on his lips showing off his dimples.

He looked absolutely adorable.

“Wh... What’s going on?” you approached him with small steps.

“Will you have dinner with me? ... Please?”

You could have cried. That had to be one of the sweetest things anyone had done for you.

“Oh, Erik...”

You threw yourself in his arms, your own circling his torso. With your ear against his chest, you could hear the beats of his heart quicken as you squeezed him tighter.

Erik immediately hugged you back, burying his nose in your hair, inhaling the scents of shea butter and coconut oil. Finally. Holding you felt so, so good. Better than he ever imagined.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled.

“You did all of this for me?” you asked with watery eyes as you took in the setup.

“And I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

If you weren’t falling in love with Erik before, you sure as hell were now. A burst of confidence shooting through your body, your hand found the back of his head and pushed it towards yours, making your lips collide in a passionate, breathtaking kiss.

Erik moaned in your mouth as your tongue started dancing with his and he embraced you tighter, if that was even possible.

“Erik, I have to ask,” you said in the middle of dinner. “Why me? Why all of this?”

“‘Cause you got me, Princess. You’re the only thing that keeps me sane these days, you keep me grounded. When I’m with you I feel safe, I feel heard and seen. I want you to feel all those things when you’re with me. I want you to be mine, just like I’m yours.”

You couldn’t help it. You left your chair to sit on his lap, your legs dangling on one side.

“I’m yours,” you whispered against his lips before kissing him again.

*

You and Erik had officially been an item for a few weeks now. You couldn’t get enough of him, of his touch, of his lips, his warmth. Happiness had you glowing and giggling to yourself like a school girl as you thought of him. You were over the moon.

Kemi kept telling you to just wait. Wait until he slips up, because he will. He’s a womaniser. And you haven’t even laid with him yet! He will never settle down with you. But honestly you couldn’t care less about what she thought, and she saw it.

“Looks like someone had a great night,” Shuri teased as you entered T’Challa’s office.

Once a week the three of you would sit down and catch up on gossip and your respective lives. It didn’t look like it but the King of Wakanda loved juicy gossip, he also had the best too.

“Yes, we slept together. I mean we slept together, literally slept, but we didn’t — you know.”

“Bast, (Y/N), I’m not a child anymore!” Shuri rolled her eyes.

“Alright, alright!” you raised your hands in surrender as you sat down on T’Challa’s desk.

“Eh, I already told you, there are chairs here and a sofa over there! Both of you!” the King huffed, gesturing towards you and Shuri, who sat on the other end of the desk.

“Yes, yes,” you waved his remark away. “So, what’s new?”

“We need to find another handmaiden,” Shuri said.

“Why?” you frowned. “What’s wrong with Kemi?”

“She’s becoming sloppy, you do all the work around here. She gets distracted, and I don’t like her energy.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation to all of this. I’ll talk to her.”

“How can you defend her after what she’s done to you?” T’Challa tilted his head towards you.

“What she’s done to me? What has she done to me?”

“She put her interests before your happiness,” T’Challa stated, as if it was as simple as one plus one.

“I don’t understand,” you shook your head, the crease between your brows deepening.

“She is putting toxic thoughts about your relationship in your head because she wants N’Jadaka to herself. Don’t you think it’s strange that her behaviour is changing just when you’re perfectly happy in your relationship?”

You were livid. Not Kemi. Not your best friend since middle school. But when had T’Challa ever lied to you? Betrayal hit you first. A blow in your stomach which knocked the air out of your lungs. Then anger. You were angry that if it hadn’t been for her, you would have been with Erik long ago.

“I need to talk to her. Where is she?” you asked Shuri.

The Princess raised her wrist and a 3D hologram of the Palace came out of one of her kimoyo beads. She zoomed on the little blue dot and your blood ran cold.

“She’s in Erik’s chamb— (Y/N), wait!”

Without thinking, you kicked your heels off your feet and sprinted out of the room.

“Ugh!” Shuri groaned, hopping off her brother’s desk. “Eish, what are you doing?” she watched him walk at a normal pace. “Don’t you have superhuman speed? Aren’t you going to stop her?!”

“No,” T’Challa simply shook his head.

Shuri groaned again and rolled her eyes.

They found you in front of Erik’s door, fumbling with your kimoyo beads. You placed one on the massive door and the other in your ear. You were practically fuming. Kemi was using that voice, the one she used to lure her one night stands back to her house on nights out.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you heard Erik say.

“Oh, come on, your Highness! What has it been, weeks now? A man like you must miss it.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, man. Get off me.”

That was enough.

You barged into the room, breath heavy and nostrils flaring. Kemi was sitting on Erik’s lap as he sat on his couch. They both had a look of pure horror on their faces.

Driven by adrenaline, you yanked Kemi off your man by her puff, making her cry out in pain.

“(Y/N), it’s not what you think, I swear!” she cowered on the ground.

“No? Weren’t you just trying to seduce my boyfriend?!”

“No! I— I just wanted to—to show you he’s not trustworthy!”

“Baby, you know that’s bullshit!” Erik exclaimed from behind you.

You raised your hand to make him stop talking. He immediately thought that that was it. You’d break up with him and he’d be back to square one, but this time with no hope whatsoever.

“I can’t believe I spent all these years calling you my best friend, my sister, only for you to go around my back like this and play your twisted mind games with me!” you spat, blood boiling.

Her mask of tears and pity melted, leaving in its place a nasty scowl.

“You always had everything you wanted, everything you dreamed of was handed to you on a silver platter. Even the damned King is a your feet! So yes, I wanted something for myself. I wanted him,” she pointed her finger at Erik. “And in order to have him, I had to keep you as far back as I could.”

“Crazy ass,” Erik muttered under his breath.

As you rolled your eyes, Kemi saw an opportunity. In a flash, she was off the ground and her hand about to collide with your cheek. Instead, it was met by a golden spear.

“You do not. Lay hands. On the Princess,” Okoye, who had followed Shuri and T’Challa, warned.

Kemi huffed, her face contorted by fury. With a dark look sent your way, she stomped out of the room.

“Feel free to never come back!” Shuri yelled after her.

You thanked Okoye for her protection and she gave you a curt nod, then left followed by the royal siblings, leaving you with Erik. You turned around to face your boyfriend, hands on your hips.

“Baby, I swear, nothing happened—“

“I know,” you smiled.

Erik exhaled, relieved.

“That bitch is crazy.”

A laugh escaped your lips as you buried your face in his chest, your arms around his torso. “You can say that again. But don’t worry about it. I’m still yours if you’re still mine.”

Erik hugged you back, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m yours, baby. I ain’t going anywhere.”

A smile stretched Erik’s lips as he held you, gently rocking your bodies back and forth.

He had won the girl.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Tags: @fonville-designs @ohliyaxoxo @bidibidibombaclaat @chaneajoyyy @heykillmongerluhme @ljstraightnochaser @deansbbysblog @honeytoffee @raysunshine78

[miguel-manbemel]

Aspects & Fanfics Ep. 11: Bitten by Laziness: Beware the Sanders Sprites

Entry number 11 of Aspects & Fanfics, the fanfic based on “Sanders Sides” by Thomas Sanders, Joan and the Foster Dawg Team. Yes, I know I said this entry could be delayed, but when the muse kisses you, work runs incredibly fast, I wish this happened more often. In this entry I introduce a new original concept that I think it’s gonna be juicy in future episodes. Also, there’s gonna be a stellar appearance by Sleep. Well not exactly the Remy we know, but a character based on him, just like the Prince Guy, the Teacher Guy and the Dad Guy inspired Roman, Logan and Patton. Thomas said that he would never make Sleep a Side, and I have respected his wishes. Sleep is not gonna be a Side in this fanfic. He’s gonna be... something different. You’ll have to read further to know more. Also, in the end card I decided that the story called for me to get in full Prinxiety mode, so get ready for that if you like it and be warned if you don’t. As always, you can read all the previous entries of Aspects & Fanfics here. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Until next time.  P.S. At last I’ve learnt how to put a “read more” link on Tumblr. Sorry for all the times I published the long posts on the tags and the nuisance it may have caused. I’m still pretty new on Tumblr, I’m still learning.

SYNOPSIS: Thomas feels like he’s lost all his creative capacity, so he calls Roman. When he doesn’t answer, they get scared and go to his room to check if he’s okay. It turns out he’s been bitten by a Sprite, a creature that represents a minor trait of Thomas’ personality, not strong enough to be a Side of its own. A Side bitten by a Sprite is possessed by it and if it stays attached to him for too long, it can erase the Side completely and take his place in his body. Soon, the Sprite starts talking through Roman’s body. All the Sides and especially Virgil, worry about Roman’s safety and try to find a way to set Roman free from the Sprite’s control before it’s too late.

WARNINGS: Some main characters are gonna live situations of danger, specifically body control by another entity, all in the context of a fantasy story that shouldn’t be a bad trigger, just thrilling, but just in case it could be a trigger, there’s the warning. As I said, there’s Prinxiety at the end of the story, and not platonic, but there is not nsfw material in there, it’s all romantic, the warning is here for those who don’t like ships in Sanders Sides fanfics.

EPISODE INDEX

THOMAS: [dejected voice] Yes. I was supposed to open this video with a joke or a pun of some kind… But I couldn’t come out with anything, so let’s go straight to the title screen which is what you’re waiting for anyway, shall we?

[intro sequence]

THOMAS: [same dejected voice] What is up, everybody? Sorry about earlier. I swear that I tried my best to deliver something good for you, guys, but, strangely enough, I feel dried out. Did you hear of that thing called the blank page syndrome? Well it’s not a pleasant feeling, I can tell you, but it’s what I’ve been getting lately, and I don’t know why. Getting to put some letters in my word processor for a project is a task that lately I’ve been finding exhausting. I thought it would pass, that when I least expected it, I’d get an idea and I would go back to normal… but… it’s only getting worse and worse… It’s… I don’t know… as if I had lost my will to create, completely.

LOGAN: [rising up, concerned] What?

THOMAS: Yes, Logan, and I don’t know why. I suddenly lost the drive to create, and, on the contrary, all I’ve been wanting is to sit down on the couch and watch TV.

LOGAN: Thomas, that’s not good. I hope that at least you haven’t indulged in that unproductive feeling.

THOMAS: No, Logan, as a matter of fact, I didn’t, because…

VIRGIL: [appearing, his creepy music box tune starts in the background] I didn’t give him that pleasure. Thomas! You have videos to make, songs to sing, media to release! Remember? It’s your job! Your way of earning a living! If you don’t create anything, you’ll lose your audience and you’ll end up starving! And so will your employees! Think about Joan, Talyn, Camden, Adri, AJ, Quil, and the others! What will become of them if you don’t deliver!?

THOMAS: [anxious] Okay, okay! I already know that, Virgil! That’s what makes me… anxious about it! What will become of us if I cannot create anymore?

PATTON: [rising up] I certainly don’t like this either! This is not like you at all, Thomas.

THOMAS: I know, Patton.

PATTON: But what’s worrying me more than anything now is… This is a problem of creativity on your part. Where is Roman?

VIRGIL: [puzzled] That’s right… We’ve been criticizing his working routine and he hasn’t showed up with his offended Princey noises!

PATTON: Perhaps something happened to him?

THOMAS: It would be the most probable thing. He’s my creativity. If I lost my will to create, that means he’s switched off for some reason. I think we should call him. Roman? Roman, can you hear me? Roman, come right here at once!

[there’s no response from him, but a faint sound of jingle bells is heard]

THOMAS: Nothing. Maybe he’s in autopilot?

LOGAN: Wait a second… Thomas, call him again, and then everybody stay quiet and listen carefully. Go ahead.

THOMAS: Roman! Come here!

[again, he doesn’t respond, and again the sound of jingle bells is heard]

LOGAN: Did you hear that sound?

VIRGIL: I did hear it. What was it?

PATTON: [scared] Oh, my gosh… do you think that…?

LOGAN: [concerned] I’m afraid so, Patton… This is serious…

THOMAS: Guys… I hate when you do this thing of talking to each other about something I don’t know about without explaining to me first.

LOGAN: Apologies, Thomas. But if you want to know more, you’ll have to let Deceit let us speak.

DECEIT: [appearing] Did someone say prince?

THOMAS: No… and why are you using Roman’s catchphrase?

DECEIT: I intended to say “did someone say Deceit”, but it looked better in lie form, it suited me better.

THOMAS: Okay… Well, as a matter of fact we did mention your name. What are you making Logan and Patton hide from me?

DECEIT: I don’t know what you mean…

THOMAS: Let’s not get back to falsehoods, Deceit. How could you not know what you’re hiding from me?

VIRGIL: I don’t know either, I have no idea what Logan and Patton are talking about.

LOGAN: It’s about the sounds of jingle bells we heard earlier that clearly indicate that… [puts his hand on his mouth] …mmm, mmm!

THOMAS: [annoyed] Deceit!

DECEIT: I’m not doing it on purpose. I know I’m a liar, but I swear that I don’t know myself what Logan’s talking about, and I’m being honest. I just have the impulse of hiding it to you, whatever it is, because you unconsciously don’t want to know about it.

PATTON: He’s telling the truth, Thomas. Neither Deceit nor Virgil know anything about this.

THOMAS: Well, that means it’s something bad…

DECEIT: Like the first time, Thomas, the power is yours. Only you can make me break the spell and let them speak, but you must truly and sincerely get ready to hear what they’re going to say. Until then I can’t do anything other than following your wishes, Thomas.

THOMAS: This is scary…

VIRGIL: Thomas… even I am intrigued about all of this, so please, overcome me and say yes. I do want to know too.

[Thomas takes a deep breath and closes his eyes]

THOMAS: Okay… I think I’m ready… Let him speak, Deceit.

[Logan takes his hand off]

LOGAN: Thank you, Thomas. As I was going to say… Roman may have been bitten by a Sprite.

PATTON: I was afraid you’d say that!

THOMAS: A Sprite? What’s that?

VIRGIL: Yes, what’s that?

LOGAN: Sprites are little spirits, with the shape of bright floating lights, similar to fireflies, that populate the Mind Palace. Like any other living entity in the Mind Palace, they surge from traits from your personality, Thomas. We are the Sanders Sides, the main entities in the Mind Palace, because we come from your strongest traits in your personality. The Dark Sides are equally strong traits, but originally repressed in your subconscious. However, there are multiple facets in you, Thomas, that also have an influence on you but which are not strong enough to be Sides, and neither are repressed enough to be Dark Sides, they’re somewhere in the middle. These are the Sanders Sprites.

VIRGIL: Why didn’t I hear about them until now?

DECEIT: Yeah, me neither!

LOGAN: The Sanders Sprites are allergic to the Dark Sides, they never approach you. Furthermore, they’re invisible to you as a self-defense mechanism.

PATTON: We can see them, but usually too late, as they can be quite sneaky when they want. Only the jingle bell sound they emit when they bite and the little light they emit when they approach serve as an alert of their presence. That jingle bell sound we heard must mean that Roman has been bitten by one of these Sprites…

THOMAS: Why do they have to bite you? And what happens when they do which scares you so much?

LOGAN: I think it would be better if you see it for yourself, Thomas. We should go to Roman’s room to check on him, as he will be needing our help anyway. I warn you, you’re not gonna like what you’re gonna see.

THOMAS: All these warnings in advance are only scaring me even more… Is that bite poisonous? Is Roman sick? [face of horror] Or worse, is he…?

PATTON: No, no, don’t worry, Roman is still alive… The problem right now is… of a different kind.

THOMAS: Still talking in riddles… Okay, let’s get over with it. Are you all coming?

LOGAN: [to Deceit and Virgil] It would be better if you come too. You could serve as a protection for us. Should any unseen Sprite be there, he won’t approach us if you’re there covering us.

VIRGIL: So we’re coming as your bodyguards? This is new.

DECEIT: I saw it coming that someday you would give us this task… Just kidding.

THOMAS: Okay… Let’s go to Roman’s room…

[Thomas and the Sides sink down. Then, they appear in Roman’s room. As seen the previous time Thomas, Logan and Joan were there, in the back wall there’s a huge royal portrait of Roman riding a horse, holding his samurai sword with one hand. Below the portrait, on the back couch, there’s Mrs. Fluffybottom, the bunny doll, and the shelving is full of fairy-tale books. The kitchen counter is full of medieval-like pots, huge wooden spoons, a roasted turkey, and other stuff. In Logan’s spot there are books of spells, magic wands and bottles with potions. In Virgil’s spot, the walls are covered with a forest of thorns, but there’s a beautiful purple rose blooming from one of them. Roman’s spot has a huge golden throne with Roman’s shield hanging above it, and red curtains framing it. Thomas and the others show a face of horror when they see Roman lying on the throne with his head resting on his right arm. There’s a red pixie light on the back of his neck and the sound of jingle bells is coming from it.]

VIRGIL: [horrified] Roman! Are you okay!? Roman!

[Roman doesn’t respond and doesn’t move a muscle]

THOMAS: Oh, my gosh! What’s wrong with Roman? That red light… Is that the Sprite?

VIRGIL: What red light?

LOGAN: Yes, Thomas, that’s him. You can’t see it, Virgil, but it’s there.

PATTON: Do you think we’ve arrived on time to…?

LOGAN: I don’t think so, Patton. He’s already unconscious, he must have been fighting that darn creature for a long time and he’s losing the battle. Probably he’s on the verge of…

THOMAS: [over the top terrified squealing] …dying!?

LOGAN: My goodness, Thomas, what is that obsession with death? It’s not that.

THOMAS: Then wha…?

[He doesn’t finish his question, as the jingle bell sound gets stronger and Roman’s body starts shaking. He then wakes up and sits on the throne. At first he shows an emotionless, robotic face, as if he was a dummy doll. Then he looks around and starts sporting a mischievous, slightly evil smile]

THOMAS: Roman? Are you okay?

ROMAN: [sassy voice never heard before on Roman] Roman is gone, sweetie, it’s only me.

THOMAS: What? What does that mean?

LOGAN: You see, Thomas, the Sanders Sprites are not strong enough to manifest physical bodies of their own, so they use us as hosts whenever they get to bite us. Roman is… you could call it… possessed… by the Sprite, who is using his body as a puppet to do his will. The Roman we know is still there, somewhere, but he’s unconscious. And of course, in that state, your creativity is completely inoperative. That’s why you didn’t have the will to create anything.

VIRGIL: My gosh, thank goodness we don’t have to deal with that…

DECEIT: True…

THOMAS: [to the Sprite in Roman’s body] Then who are you? What’s your name?

SPRITE: [through Roman’s body, with the same sassy, unconcerned voice] I’m not in the mood of telling my name, sweetie. It’s been a long struggle to get this body working and today I don’t feel like doing anything. Nothing at all.

THOMAS: [imperative voice] I command you to tell me your name!

SPRITE: [mocking him] Ooooh… look how I’m shaking… Well, I command you to… back the F… up, okay, honey?

THOMAS: What?

LOGAN: Thomas, unfortunately you don’t have control over the Sprites. They’re creatures so ethereal that they don’t follow anyone’s orders, not even the Light Master’s. They always do whatever they want, whenever it pleases them.

SPRITE: Oh, so you’re the Light Master in person, huh? [mocking him] What an honor…

THOMAS: Yes, I am Thomas. Why don’t you want to share your name with us?

SPRITE: Well, since you’ve been so nice to tell me your name…

THOMAS: Yes?

SPRITE: [lowering his voice] My name is…

[there’s a huge silence]

SPRITE: [high pitched scream] NOOOOOOOO!!!!

[Everyone yelps, scared. The Sprite laughs lively]

SPRITE: Oh, my goodness, you should have seen your faces! You almost made a dent on the ceiling with your heads, so high you jumped! And Roman wouldn’t have liked that you destroyed his room, would he?

THOMAS: [with his hand covering his heart, recovering breath, with an annoyed voice] Only two minutes in and I’m already hating this guy…

SPRITE: [negating with his finger] Uh, uh, uh, Thomas… Hatred is wrong. Right, Patton?

[The Sprite starts laughing like a maniac]

THOMAS: Well, it’s clear we’re not getting anything from him. So what do we do now?

VIRGIL: Perhaps I should get closer to him. You said that the Sanders Sprites are allergic to Dark Sides, right? I wouldn’t mind giving him a little… tackle of friendship.

SPRITE: [affected sigh] Why do you always have to resort to violence? Where is your sense of humor?

VIRGIL: As if you were being funny at all.

SPRITE: [imitating Virgil’s voice] Said the most sulky individual I’ve ever met in my life.

VIRGIL: [angry, reaching out his fists, Logan holds his shoulder] Why you…

SPRITE: [imitating the scene from Snow White, with low pitch voice and crossing his arms over his chest] Oooohhh… You must be grumpy!

LOGAN: Stop, Virgil. Remember if you try to hurt the Sprite, you’ll only be hurting Roman.

VIRGIL: But you said they were vulnerable to us!

LOGAN: If we had arrived on time, he would have been, but sadly he’s taken control of Roman’s body, and while he’s in there, he’s protected from you. He’s using Roman’s body as a shield.

[The Sprite sticks out his tongue at Virgil]

VIRGIL: [sighs nervously] I can’t believe someone would get on my nerves so much. He’s much worse than the real Roman in his worst times…

LOGAN: Don’t fall into his trap, Virgil. Ignore him. I suggest that we get back to the living room to tackle the situation.

SPRITE: [fake sad voice] Awww, you’re leaving, after, like, ten minutes of being together?

THOMAS: But what about Roman? We can’t leave him like that!

LOGAN: He’ll be okay, Thomas. The Sprite needs him, he wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, we need to talk on our own without him present.

SPRITE: Oh, keeping your plans under wraps? As if it was going to make a difference…

LOGAN: [ignoring him] Thomas, let’s go now, quickly.

THOMAS: Okay, if you say so, let’s go…

[Thomas and the Sides sink down, the Sprite smiles and waves goodbye]

SPRITE: See you later, pretty faces!

[There’s a white flash and Thomas and the Sides rise up in the living room. Virgil and Deceit get a little dizzy after rising up, but they recover soon]

THOMAS: Okay. Are you sure Roman will be okay, Logan?

LOGAN: As a matter of fact, Thomas, I have my concerns.

THOMAS: [scared] What? But you said…

LOGAN: I know what I said, and I only said it to avoid revealing anything to the Sprite, Thomas. The truth is the situation is really tricky.

THOMAS: Why?

LOGAN: Roman will be okay… for the time being. But his time is running out. If we don’t expel the Sprite out of his body soon, he could bond with him, and if that happens, Roman will be gone forever.

VIRGIL: [horrified] Oh, no!

DECEIT: This is totally not serious at all, less than I anticipated…

THOMAS: There has to be a solution, right? Right?

LOGAN: We have to identify exactly what Sprite has bitten Roman. Once we know, it will be easy to defeat him. You’ll just have to perform an action that conflicts with the trait that Sprite represents to weaken him enough to let Roman fight to reclaim control over his body.

THOMAS: So that’s why he didn’t want to tell us his name. But how will we know who he is?

LOGAN: Let’s see… Sanders Sprites are of different colors, just like us, Sanders Sides, and the color they have is the color of the Side they affect. In the case of Roman, his color is red, and red was the Sprite Roman had on his neck. Therefore, that Sprite comes from a trait that affects creativity… what could it be? Dang, if Roman was here, he could help us… Thomas, don’t you have anything?

THOMAS: I… I don’t know…

LOGAN: Describe the exact way you’re feeling in regards of creating something.

THOMAS: I… I…

VIRGIL: [anxious begging voice] Please, Thomas, do an effort! Roman’s life depends on it! [mumbling to himself with a whining trembling voice, his eyes fill with tears] I… I don’t want to lose him… [noticing the others have heard him, he quickly dries his eyes with his hand] I mean as a friend!

DECEIT: [mischievous smile] Excusatio non petita, accusatio manifesta… See? I know Latin too.

VIRGIL: What?

DECEIT: Never mind, it’s not the moment right now.

LOGAN: [a little angry] You’re right, it isn’t. Could you all focus, if you please? Thomas, we’re waiting.

THOMAS: Let’s see… When I try to think of something to write… I feel dried out, like I said, completely empty… I also feel…

LOGAN: Yes?

THOMAS: I also feel a strange tiredness, also like I said before… I just want to lay on my couch and do nothing for the rest of the day…

LOGAN: [thinking] Mmm…

THOMAS: Was that helpful?

LOGAN: [suddenly his face lights up as if he had an idea] Of course! The Sprite said it himself and we didn’t notice!

THOMAS: What?

LOGAN: Remember what he said when you asked for his name the first time? He literally said: “Today, I don’t feel like doing anything, nothing at all.”

THOMAS: And what…?

LOGAN: That’s from “The Lazy Song” by Bruno Mars!

VIRGIL: How do you know about Bruno Mars…?

LOGAN: We’re dealing with your laziness, Thomas! The Sprite that has bitten Roman is Laziness! It affects creativity in the sense that you can’t create anything if you’re dominated by laziness.

THOMAS: [in disbelief] My laziness? I mean, I’m lazy at times, but I’m not so lazy. I try to stay productive as much as I can, and you know it.

PATTON: Well, that’s why Laziness is a Sprite in you, kiddo, and not his own Side. It comes and goes, but when it sits down, it can cause trouble if you indulge in it and let it set roots in you.

THOMAS: I suppose this is my fault, then…

VIRGIL: That doesn’t matter now. The point is what are we going to do to rescue Roman. We’re wasting time! We’ll be late if we wait for too long!

PATTON: Relax, Virgil, getting everyone anxious won’t solve anything!

VIRGIL: I know, but…

PATTON: You’ll see how everything comes out right, kiddo. Now, let the grown-ups speak.

VIRGIL: [frowning] I’m a grown-up too, Patton.

PATTON: [cute voice] Of course you are, my precious boy!

[Virgil sighs and decides to ignore Patton and keep on listening]

LOGAN: As I said, Thomas, you must fight your laziness and try to stimulate your creativity to give some strength to Roman. If he manages to set himself free, we have two pest exterminators here who can take care of the bug… and sorry for the qualifier.

VIRGIL: Oh, don’t worry, We’ve been called worse… and it’s a job I would be more than delighted to do…

PATTON: Who called you bad things, Virgil!? Tell me so I can call their parents or physically fight them!

VIRGIL: Now it’s you who should relax, Dad.

THOMAS: What do I do to fight Laziness?

LOGAN: Well, creativity is not my department. My suggestion is that you think of new ideas for shows, new shorts, new songs… Anything may do, but concentrate on it, and try to develop these ideas to stimulate creativity, and Roman with it. Laziness won’t make it easy for you, but you must endure. You can do it, Thomas. We’re rooting for you.

PATTON: We’re with you Thomas. You can win this battle.

VIRGIL: If anyone can be helpful for Roman at this moment, I can’t think of anyone better than you.

DECEIT: I’m totally not going to say that I agree with them all. But I do.

THOMAS: Thanks, guys…

LOGAN: Let’s get started, then. First, we need to bring Roman and Laziness here. Call Laziness.

THOMAS: Can we? You said I had no control over him.

LOGAN: You don’t have direct control over his actions, but now that you know his name, you can summon him like anybody else.

THOMAS: Laziness! I command you to come here right now!

[Roman appears, he’s frowning and Laziness shines bright red in his neck]

LAZINESS: So… I see that you know who I am, Thomas. But that won’t make any difference. Look how strong I am now!

[Suddenly, Roman’s shape changes into Sleep’s shape, only that his shirt is red instead of white and there’s no label on his chest]

LAZINESS: Just give up, gurl. You can do nothing against me, and Roman is almost gone anyway.

THOMAS: It will sound cliche that I say it, but I really mean it: we’ll see about that.

LOGAN: Go ahead, Thomas. You can do it.

THOMAS: Okay, a new idea for a short…

LAZINESS: [evil giggle] You have nothing… [tempting voice] And don’t you think that couch behind you is comfy? You want to lay down to watch TV… Even better, you want to spend a whole day sleeping in the couch, don’t you?

THOMAS: [mesmerized by Laziness] Yes… [putting himself together] No! I don’t! And I have an idea for a short, precisely.

LAZINESS: [shows a face of slight shock] No…

THOMAS: Yes. It goes like this. I haven’t been able to sleep all night. My Sleep comes in at the worst time, and he looks exactly like you do like now… Although I think I’ll need to put a label on the chest that reads “Sleep”, to avoid confusion among viewers…

LAZINESS: Stop it!

THOMAS: …I ask him where he was last night and he tells me there was a concert downtown, and offers to work in that moment, but it’s two in the afternoon, not exactly bedtime, so I complain.

LAZINESS: [angry] That’s story is awful! Stop it!

THOMAS: And he goes away again, “oooutt”, as he says… And I’m fed up with him because Sleep is never there when I need him and shows up always when he should be away…

LAZINESS: [loses balance] Ugh…

THOMAS: I think I’ll title it… “So Rebellious, Out of Control”. I’ll film it just tonight. And who knows? Maybe I’ll make a series out of it. That Sleep character could blow the audience away!

ROMAN: [struggling voice] Get… out… of meee…

LOGAN: It’s working!

PATTON: You can do it, kiddo!

VIRGIL: Come on, Roman! You’re the bravest and mightiest knight I’ve ever met! You can do this! Fight!

LAZINESS: [now struggling too] No… Noooo… I’m losing control! I’ll be back! I swear I’ll be back! Noooo….!

ROMAN: [struggling yell] Get… oooouut… NOOOOW!

[There’s a red flash. Roman recovers his usual shape and falls down unconscious. Laziness, now a Sprite pixie again, flies around for a moment and disappears]

LOGAN: He’s gone! You did it!

VIRGIL: Come back, Laziness! I just want to give you a big round of applause… with you between my hands!

[Roman regains consciousness. He gets up, a little dizzy]

ROMAN: Ooff… That was outrageous. How dare that miserable Sprite do this to me?

VIRGIL: [emotional happy] Roman… Roman!

[Virgil runs and jumps on Roman and hugs him, squeezing his shoulders]

ROMAN: [wide smile] Whoa, whoa! Relax, Emo Viking! It takes more than a red firefly to defeat Prince Roman!

[However, he also hugs Virgil and they stay like that for a minute or so]

PATTON: Awww… This is so pure…

[Finally they separate and Virgil goes back to his spot]

VIRGIL: [emotional, a black tear has fallen down his cheek] I thought that I… [quickly corrects himself nervously] I mean… we, were losing you… We were so heartbroken… You better watch out for bugs carefully next time, don’t you dare scaring me… I mean, us…  like that again!

ROMAN: [loving, grateful smile] I promise, Virgil… [to Thomas] And thank you, Thomas. I couldn’t have won this battle without you.

THOMAS: Of course, Roman. I was not going to abandon you, my dear friend. And we also must thank Logan. Without his knowledge, this wouldn’t have been possible.

ROMAN: Thank you, King of Specs.

LOGAN: You’re welcome, Prince of Ilusions.

PATTON: How are you feeling, Roman? Are you okay?

ROMAN: I was feeling awful… [furtive glance to Virgil] but now I feel like I could conquer the world. I’m so lucky to have you all as my best friends… [suddenly grimaces in pain and covers his neck] Aww!

VIRGIL: [scared] What’s the matter?

ROMAN: It’s suddenly hurting in my neck, right where the Sprite bit me.

THOMAS: Should we be concerned? Maybe Laziness sneaked back and bit him again.

LOGAN: Nah… It’s completely normal. Have you ever been stung or bitten by a wasp, Thomas?

THOMAS: Yes, a couple of times, and it was painful…

LOGAN: This is something similar. It’s the pain Roman wasn’t feeling earlier over being under control of Laziness, that now he’s feeling in all its extension, but he’ll survive. A Sprite can’t bite a Side twice in the same day, they need a few days to recuperate.

VIRGIL: However, we should take care of that lump. It could get infected, right? Have you got any med kit in your room?

ROMAN: Yes, I think I do.

VIRGIL: [sinking down] Then let’s go, Princey.

ROMAN: [sinking down] Um… okay, Virgil, if you insist.

PATTON: Isn’t it cute? They’re such good friends now.

DECEIT: [giggles mischievously] The best kind of friends, I think.

PATTON: Why that giggle?

DECEIT: Have you ever seen one of our wounds getting infected, Patton? We’re not humans, we’re immune to mundane microorganisms. [voice of being obviously lying] I wonder why Virgil was so interested in getting to be with Roman in his room all alone…

PATTON: [confused] To have a cup of tea?

DECEIT: [sighs, while sinking down] Oh, Patton, sometimes you’re so naive it puzzles me how, among all of us, you’re the only one who’s managed to be a father…

PATTON: [sinking down] I don’t understand you. Deecey, explain?

LOGAN: I wonder that too…

THOMAS: Well, thank you again, Logan.

LOGAN: You’re welcome, Thomas. I’m glad that I could be of help this time.

THOMAS: Will we ever hear of the Sanders Sprites again?

LOGAN: Most certainly. They’ve been a constant pest, even though it was always hidden from you.

THOMAS: Have you ever been bitten by Sprites before?

LOGAN: Sometimes. Not all of the Sprites are as dangerous as Laziness. Some are more benign, they bite us, play with our bodies for some time, say whatever they need to say, and then leave us. They are a little bothersome but harmless in the long term. Others, like Laziness try to replace us and are more difficult to defeat. Thank Franklin that these don’t show up often. But we’ll have to be more alert to our surroundings. Roman, Patton, Honesty and I are potential victims of them and we can’t drop our guard. Well, I think Honesty may be safe. He was once part Dark Side and I’m sure there are still remnants of Deceit in him that may make him immune to the Sanders Sprites. Who knows?

THOMAS: I hope so, the less of you they can affect, the better.

LOGAN: By the way, I’m going to tell Honesty about this. He’s not gonna like that he’s missed another adventure of ours again. [sinking down] But that’s what he gets for being in autopilot so often.

THOMAS: Bye, Logan. Tell Honesty hi for me. [to the camera] We all can be bitten by laziness from time to time. It’s completely normal and it happens to all of us, one moment or another. Of course, we must get the proper amounts of rest that our body requires after a long day of work, school or whatever, but we must try to stay active so that laziness doesn’t conquer us and makes us lose our capacity to shine as much as we can. Sometimes it’s difficult, but I’m rooting for you. I’m lazy too at times, as you’ve seen, and if I did it, so can you. Let’s get rid of this lazy bug together. Until next time, take it easy, guys, gals and non binary pals. Peace out!

[ending card]

[Virgil is putting a band aid on Roman’s neck]

VIRGIL: There you go. That should do.

ROMAN: Thank you so much, Virgil.

VIRGIL: Of course, Roman. You’ve gone through a lot today. You deserve to be taken care of for a little while.

ROMAN: I’m sorry I worried you.

VIRGIL: What are you talking about? It wasn’t your fault.

ROMAN: In a way, it was. I should have paid more attention. I was caught off-guard like a fool. If only I could have asked for help… But I couldn’t speak. From the very first moment I sensed the bite, I felt his consciousness invading me, slowly numbing all my members, turning me into a worthless puppet… It was a horrible sensation…

VIRGIL: [grabs Roman’s hand] It’s okay, Roman. It’s over now, and you’re here with me… I mean, us, again.

ROMAN: [grabbing Virgil’s hand] Virgil…

VIRGIL: Yes?

ROMAN: Isn’t it funny how our relation has evolved? We started as the worst enemies, then with our silly arguments, the name callings, the bickering… and then, almost without noticing, we became best friends, and now…

VIRGIL: You were right, Roman.

ROMAN: About what?

VIRGIL: About how worried I was about you… When Logan said that you could have been gone forever… I pictured a life without you there. Even without your over-dramatic acts and occasional nuisance, and I felt so empty… I don’t ever wanna feel like that again. Please, always stay safe. You’re important to us… You’re important to me. You have no idea how much.

[Roman looks at Virgil with a loving glance]

ROMAN: All of my life I have always been looking for the prince of my dreams, even back when I was young and they told me that I was required to marry a princess to secure an heir to the throne, you know, the royal protocol and all that jazz…

[While he speaks, Roman gently caresses Virgil’s cheek with his hand and passes his finger over Virgil’s eye-shadow, while Virgil holds that hand and looks sweetly at Roman. Roman’s finger gets stained in black from the eye-shadow, as it is wet from Virgil’s earlier tearing]

ROMAN: Who would have thought that the perfect one, the real prince of my dreams I was looking for, was right here under my nose all the time, wearing a hood instead of a crown.

[Roman approaches Virgil to kiss him. Suddenly, Virgil shows a face of fear and walks back, dropping Roman’s hand]

ROMAN: [confused] What? What’s the matter?

VIRGIL: We can’t do this, Roman.

ROMAN: But I thought…

VIRGIL: And what you thought is true, Roman. I… I love you. I love you more than I love myself. But… Precisely for that, we can’t be together. I’ve let myself get carried away, but we can’t do this.

ROMAN: I don’t understand…

VIRGIL: Our relationship would be dangerous, Roman, dangerous for you. I’m a Dark Side, and you’re a Light Side. Remember what happened when you stayed in my room for too long? What could I do to you if we stayed together for a lifetime?

ROMAN: I don’t care about the danger. I just want to be with you…

VIRGIL: Please, try to understand. I don’t want to run the risk of doing the exact same thing that Sprite almost did to you today. I don’t want you to be endangered because of me.  If something happened to you because of me, that would kill me. I must renounce to you, because I love you, and I care about your safety and well being more than I care about my feelings. I’m sure you’ll find someone better than me who will make you happier than I ever could.

ROMAN: But Virgil, I…

VIRGIL: I must go, Roman. This was a mistake. Let’s do as if this had never happened and remain being friends, okay? Please don’t tell anyone about this. And if it serves as a consolation, always remember that my love will always be yours, till our final day. See you later.

[Virgil sinks down, leaving Roman’s room. Roman approaches Virgil’s spot and looks at the purple rose in the forest of thorns]

ROMAN: And what’s the use of a long and safe life if I have to live it without you, Virgil? I don’t want anyone better than you, should that person even exist. I want you, my hooded dark prince. I love you, Virgil…

[Roman looks at the purple rose, then at his finger, still covered in Virgil’s eye-shadow, and starts silently crying]

[archivednerdfics]

“Fair and Square” Summery: Anne notices that Gilbert hasn’t acting like himself and decides to take care of him. (Takes place a few months after season 2, episode 10, so beware of spoilers if you haven’t finished the season yet!) ______________________________________ He hadn’t seemed quite like himself the entire school day. He was never a particularly rowdy student — he did his work diligently, answered questions from Miss Stacy when addressed, and rarely talked to the other boys during class; partly, Anne was sure, because he didn’t particularly enjoy their company. However, today was different. Gilbert had nearly dozed off several times during the lesson, and when approached by one of the other boys, he’d positively snapped at him. Not that this in particular concerned Anne, as the boy Gilbert had snapped at was Billy, and she had absolutely no sympathy for that particular boy; not after all he had done — especially to Cole. However, there was no denying the fact that all of this was very unlike the Gilbert Blythe she had come to know over the past months now that they were... well, friends. This was the reason that she chased after him as he made his way to the Haunted Wood after school, he had a head start as he’d been the first to leave the schoolhouse the moment everyone had been dismissed — something else that was very unlike him as he normally stayed behind for a bit to discuss his plans for the future with Miss Stacy, and ask her for her advice on such matters. “Gilbert! Gilbert, wait!” The boy stopped in his tracks and turned around to face her. “Anne?” he asked in surprise, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing! —Or, well nothing to do with me, that is. It’s just... are you alright? Because you haven’t seemed like yourself today and— What?” She cut herself off as she noticed the small, amused smile playing on Gilbert’s lips. “I’m fine,” the boy said in a reassuring voice, “Just tired is all.” She stared at him for a few moments with a quizzical expression. Something about him still didn’t seem quite right; he did seem tired, just as he’d said, but there was something else amongst his features that concerned her. He’d always been pale, but this was different, he was much paler than he should have been — even allowing for the cold of November — and it made the dark circles under his eyes and the unnatural flush of pink in his cheeks stand out more than it normally would have. “You’re ill,” Anne said eventually, a somewhat accusing tone to her voice as she reached up and placed her hand on his forehead. “No,” Gilbert said dismissively as he gently pushed Anne’s hand away from him, “I told you; I’m fine.” He turned and began to walk again, but quickly stopped when he found himself staggering slightly and leaning against a tree for support, a dizzy spell having taken over him for several moments. Anne rushed over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. “Yes,” she said when she was sure he wasn’t about to faint, “Because not being able to walk straight is completely fine!” She realized that, again, he was giving her an amused smile, and she sighed in irritation. “Gilbert Blythe you are positively infuriating. Come,” she added as she took his arm and linked it with her own, “You are clearly much too unwell to be left to your devices; I’ll help you home.” He gave a half-hearted protest, but quickly gave up as the thought of Anne helping him was a pleasant one. ...And besides, when Anne Shirley-Cuthbert made her mind up about something, there was no changing it. It was a long walk — longer than it normally would have been due to Gilbert’s slower pace, something else that concerned Anne, but it was a pleasant walk all the same. Eventually they reached Gilbert’s home, and upon entering, Anne immediately noticed how still and quiet and, well, cold it was. “...Where are Bash and Mary?” she asked as she followed Gilbert to the kitchen table and sat in the chair next to him. “They went to visit Mary’s son. They want him to stay here with us for... well I’m not sure how long. I don’t think he’ll go for it, but Mary wants him to come here so badly...” Anne nodded sadly and gave him a smile, “I hope they convince him to come.” “Yeah,” he returned her smile, “So do I.” They sat quietly for a few long moments when Anne stood up. “Now, you need to change into something more comfortable and warm,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that took Gilbert slightly by surprise, “Then get into bed and rest. I’m going to get a fire started and make some tea.” “Maybe you should be the one studying to be a doctor,” Gilbert said with a smile, making Anne blush slightly. “Gilbert Blythe, don’t be ridiculous. I am going to become a teacher; and I hope my students will listen to me better than you do. Now go to bed.” Gilbert slowly stood up and gave Anne a pointed, mischievous smile “Yes, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.” Anne’s eyes widened and she blushed again — a little more pink than before — and Gilbert laughed slightly before leaving the kitchen and retreating to his bedroom. He changed as quickly as possible, trying to keep the chill of the room from getting to him, and got into his bed. The moment his head hit the pillow he realized just how tired and ill he really felt. The last time he’d been sick his father was still alive, and the memory made him smile. He had always hated being alone when he wasn’t well, so on that day he had opted to stay with his father, who was bedridden himself. It was one of the last days the two had really spent together, without Gilbert gone at school or working the farm, and he wouldn’t trade that day with his father for anything. Still, the thought of his father sick and dying wasn’t exactly a welcome one, especially while Gilbert was sick in bed himself... Anne entered the room several minutes later, cup of tea in hand, and found the boy curled up in bed looking like he was trying to hold back tears. She set the cup on the nightstand and quickly sat on the edge of the bed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Gilbert, what’s wrong?” she asked in concern, “Does something hurt?” “No... no I-I’m fine I just...” he let out a shaky breath as he looked up at Anne who was waiting patiently for him to finish speaking, “I don’t want to die like him, Anne.” “Like who?�� “My father. He was sick for so long and I... I don’t want to die like that.” Tears filled his eyes and he looked so small and frightened; not at all like the Gilbert Blythe that Anne had come to know so well, and it frightened her. “Oh, Gil,” she said softly, using the nickname she reserved only for important occasions as she pulled him up into a tight, reassuring hug, “I promise you, you aren’t going to die like that. You’ve just got a fever, you’ll be better in no time.” They sat like that for several long moments with their arms wrapped around each other. The boy’s anxious breathing slowed until he finally relaxed, releasing Anne from the hug, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he had when he’d first laid down. “...Thank you,” he said, looking up at the girl through half-closed, glassy eyes. “What do you mean?” “For helping me. I know I can be stubborn, but I do appreciate it.” Anne smiled, but shrugged it off all the same, “You’re my friend. Of course I’m helping you. —And Marilla often tells me that I am stubborn as a mule, so I’m sure you aren’t half as stubborn as I am.” “Are you trying to compete with me?” Gilbert said with a small, playful smile. “Perhaps.” They both laughed, then Anne noticed how tired Gilbert seemed and quickly stood up. “I should go so you can rest.” “No...!” the boy said, panic showing slightly in his fever-bright eyes, ”Please, Anne, I... I don’t want—“ The girl sat on the edge of the bed again, just as quickly as she had stood up, and took his hand. “—I understand,” she said gently, “I don’t like to be alone when I don’t feel well either.” This was a lie meant to make him feel better, and he knew it. Anne would not permit anyone to speak to her when she was in the “depths of despair” as she called it — except for perhaps Diana. Still, he appreciated it; especially when she laid next to him and started to tell one of the many stories she was able to create out of thin air. He drifted into sleep after a short time, dreaming of a certain red-headed Princess Cordelia and a nameless prince who’s description had sounded suspiciously like himself. By the time Gilbert awoke it was dark, though there was a lit oil lamp on his nightstand which illuminated the room. He thought he was alone until he heard a quiet laugh from the doorway and looked up. “Bash?” he asked as he sat up. “You still going to tell me that Anne’s ‘just a friend’?” “What are you talking about?” Bash looked pointedly at Gilbert’s nightstand and the boy followed his gaze to find his school slate sitting next to the oil lamp with: I’ll be back tomorrow to recount the lessons you miss. When I beat you I want it to be fair and square. Love, Anne written on it. He smiled and placed the slate back on the small table, then leaned back into his pillows. “She left you a love note.” Bash was positively grinning and Gilbert rolled his eyes. “It is not a love note. She just said that she’s going to help me.” “I think that fever cooked your brain, Blythe.” “...How did you know I—“ “Anne.” Gilbert sighed; of course Anne had told Sebastian everything. “Now how about we get you something to eat? My mother always said there’s no ill that some good food can’t cure.” The younger of the two smiled and nodded a little. “Yeah,” he said as he pushed himself out of bed and made his way to the man who had become his family, “I think I could use some Trinidadian Bush Medicine.” Bash laughed a put an arm around the boy’s shoulders as he led him to the kitchen. “You still wish you were sick every day?” he asked jokingly and Gilbert rolled his eyes but didn’t otherwise respond, trying not to think about the fact that he’d been telling Anne how afraid he was of that very thing only a few hours earlier. “You were talking in your sleep earlier,” Bash said, sensing that he should change the subject. “Who’s Cordelia?” Gilbert could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. “A friend...” he said and Sebastian gave him a look of amused surprise. “What, another one?” “...No. Same one.” He knew he was blushing furiously now, he just prayed that he could pass it off as part of his fever. Bash just shook his head in disbelief and laughed a bit as he made his way to the stove, and Gilbert sat at the table, a small, involuntary smile playing on his lips as he thought about the princess Anne Shirley-Cuthbert who had graced him with her friendship.

[kraut-und-ruam-4-diversity]

On (physical) disabilities and their portrayal in Videogames.

This post includes significant Spoilers for Final Fantasy XV (everything post-Altissia // Chapter 9))  – spoilers are under a Read More, but mobile-users, beware!

A few days ago, I had an interesting discussion with a friend, about the portrayal of disabled people in popular media, such as movies, anime, games and fanwork, such as fanart or fanfiction. We both found, that while there is some cool representation out there already, it could be done better in quite some cases of  physical impairment portrayal in Anime and Videogames (which don’t aim to revolve around these topics, mainly.)

 Especially in Anime and Game-design, there are tons of characters who have giant scars all over their body – or some might be missing a limb – or an eye. However, in most of these cases, these impairments have no real consequences for said characters – they have no relevance to the plot. While fans might be delivered an explanation in form of a flashback as to how said impairment came to be, the impairment itself Is most often used to make said character look ‘bad-ass’ – or to justify flashy gadgets and body-modifications. Many end up not being impaired at all - in a round-about way, because their body-modifications give them even greater power than they usually had. Or the impairment becomes the only, defining trait of said characer.

 Let me throw the first stone – I am both fanfiction author and original-story writer. I have tons of OCs (original Characters) or Fan-Characters and I too have added scars or some impairments, only to show that “this character has been through a lot, but despite it all, he is still bad-ass and can easily kick enemy-butt.”

Scars and impairments can add a lot to a character – but as of lately I too have started believing that they only do, if they are taken into consideration throughout the entire story. They offer many chances and open doors, which can enrichen your character. What negative consequences do they suffer? Are there things they cannot do anymore? How do they cope? Can they find ways to still get the tasks done, or do they have to change their lifestyles and find complete work arounds? How does the public react? Do they have any benefits from their impairment? How do they emotionally deal with what happened to them? Does the character lose one or more important fights, because they miss a leg? An arm? Couldn’t see the enemy coming because they only have one eye? Are they deaf or maybe completely blind? Did they have to give up an artistic, creative hobby because their prothesis is not finely-tuned enough and won’t allow small, sensitive movements?

Et cetera.

 (Kayori from ‘Your Lie in April’ - due to a terminal disease, she has to give up playing violine because her body soon becomes too weak.)

Basically, what many people demand, are characters who have to suffer the negative consequences of their impairments as well, instead of only the positive aspects.

Don’t get me wrong – it can be very empowering and uplifting to see people who are physically impaired, in positions of powers – to see them do things which able-bodied people can also do! And possibly, even more – and even better! It is a positive portrayal of physically impaired people and many come to appreciate this.

 …but life’s not always fun and sometimes people also want to tell the world how their condition can make things rough for them – so other people might understand.

Sometimes, we want our favourite characters to struggle the way we do – because if they do, it can be so much more uplifting and inspiring to watch them learn to overcome it.

..and some things, you just can’t overcome – some things just won’t work and won’t be possible anymore – and that is also okay.

  This is where Media can come into play, for representation.

I have played tons of Videogames throughout my life, thus I have seen a great number of diverse characters. As of lately however, there was one game which particularly impressed me, in regard to it’s portrayal of physical impairment – and especially, how it affected the gameplay.

 The cool thing about videogames is, that they do something no other medium can do to the consumer to this degree – they directly involve you. While during the game you might be following a sometimes strict, sometimes not so strict path and pattern, it is still the player who makes the characters move – and who makes the decisions.

The immersion is much greater since you are actively taking part, instead of just passively watching, or reading. This of course offers a wide range of possibilities for interesting approaches, if used wisely.

The game I was speaking about earlier, which has left me so very impressed, was Final Fantasy XV – the latest entry to the Final Fantasy Franchise.

Final Fantasy has had a great history of many popular games and thus, the series has seen many heroes and heroines – of course many of them had their fair share of scars –be it mental, or physical.

Final Fantasy VII has one of the most popular examples – namely it’s hero and Protagonist  “Cloud Strife”.

In regard to Cloud alone, I could write an entire post of analyzing him and his mental state, but many others have done so, which is why I will just leave a link to a very informative and great post, for those who are interested.

 Ahem, back to topic – AND HERE IS THE SPOILER WARNING. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILERED FOR EVERYTHING POST-ALTISSIA ARRIVAL // POST CHAPTER 9.

This is Ignis Sciencia – he is one of the four main characters and he is the Royal Advisor to Prince Noctis.

During their Journey, Ignis is more than essential – not only for the team within the story, but also, to the player. Ignis, next to being a great Strategist, is also an amazing cook. He takes care of his friends and provides them with delicious meals, after a long, hard day of fighting for their lives. For the player, this means – next to entertaining and heart-warming cutscenes of dinner-conversations over a campfire -  Status Boosts. The gameplay makes great use of Ignis’ hobby: depending on what ingredients the Player has collected and how many Recipes Ignis has learned, the Player can pick what will be for dinner.

Depending on the choice, this can make the following day much easier. Some meals will greatly boost the attack, or defense power. Some will allow endless sprinting, double your experience gain, make the boys immune to elemental damage – or it might help them find more items along the way.

If the right dish is picked, a battle which would take you 1h 30 to 2 hours, can be completed in only 45 minutes, which is an amazing deal. (Adamantoise fight, anyone? Unthinkable without the 100% Critical Hit Chance dish.)

Everyone who has played this game is aware of just how essential and useful Ignis’ cooking on it’s own already is. BUT – he is not only a cook – he is also an excellent fighter, using quick, deadly daggers – or lances to attack from above. Also, he can heal his party members and aid them with spells, or items. There really is a notable difference between having all 4 boys fighting – or one of them being unavailable, or momentarily not able to fight.

 Ignis is great for many reasons - …. But with Final Fantasy XV being a dark game, taking place in a world where a war is just about to start, things of course take a turn for the worst.

Plot happens – and after Chapter 9, when Noctis awakes from a coma which had lasted a few days, he finds his dear friend Ignis blind.

…and this is, where many things change - for the four friends, and also for the player.

 The four heroes are escaping from Altissia, making their way to Niflheim where the enemy awaits and where they hope to find their stolen crystal, which could end the war & stop the longer-and-longer growing nights, which threaten to cloak the entire world in everlasting darkness.

However, Ignis being blind greatly affects the gameplay – and the chemistry between the main-cast, which gives our heroes troubles.

Noctis and Gladiolus, who have been like brothers, are constantly fighting.

Prompto, the sunshine of the group, is trying to ease the mood and keep them from getting in each other’s hair, but he fails, as everyone is on edge.

And Ignis? Well, he is blind. He remains composed, trying to still be as useful as possible. He is not holding any grudges, but  behind this mask of him trying to remain collected, it shines through that he too is of course bothered by it.

 From this point of the game on, the player is faced with what this disability means – and in quite a realistic way.

Ignis can no longer cook – there is no way to obtain all these great status boosts which had been so useful before. Ignis now has to use a walking-cane and thus, he is much slower. If the Player goes too fast, a very angry Gladiolus will leave a sarcastic remark, telling you to slow down – whereas Prompto will always stay at Ignis’ side – helping him along the way. Ignis also trips a lot – and man, MAN, does it hurt seeing him like this.

 Additionally, to the group being slower and the boys having to live off pizza and cup-noodles from now on, the player also now lacks manpower during combat.

While Ignis does try his best to fight along, he is still very slow – and does almost no damage. While Gladiolus and Prompto easily deal 1200 damage per hit, Ignis deals 10. He can no longer use his daggers or lances – he will use his cane.

 To make things even worse, he cannot use his Limit Breaks (special commandos and attacks, which can give the player a strategic advantage if used wisely) anymore.

One of his attacks featured him, marking the enemies with daggers which he would throw at them, so Noctis could warp-strike attack them at the speed of light, since he would just have to warp from Dagger, to dagger, instead of having to manually aim.

However, a blind man cannot mark enemies, can he? (instead, he learns to infuse  his friends’ weapons with elemental magic, so they might be more efficient when fighting.)

  Chapter 10 to 13 do an amazing job of making the player understand just how devastating Ignis losing his eyesight affects the entire group.

The poor man trips, slows his friends down considerably, cannot do great damage during battle – and of course, it has taken a mental toll on everyone involved.

FF XV was praised for being immersive and for making the player feel like he belonged to this group of friends. Everyone who has played this game, will probably agree on this. Thus, seeing Ignis like this hurts on a very, very personal level.

  For story-reasons, there is a time-skip of 10 years and after this time has passed, Ignis is almost back to normal. While he is still blind, he can walk without a cane and fight very well on his own. Since Ignis insists on carrying out his duty as Royal Advisor to Prince Noctis, and since these four are best friends, it is only natural, that Ignis will stay with the group for the rest of the game. Thus, gameplay wise, it was a good decision to have Ignis return to almost his old glory after said time-skip. While some might argue that this completely nullifies the tragedy of him having lost his eye-sight, I would disagree and rather see it as him coping with his disability in a believable way. Final Fantasy XV takes place in a world where magic and great technology exist – it is believable that after 10 years, he would have learned to cope in such ways.

Also, it would have negatively affected the experience, as it would have been frustrating to keep Ignis around in this helpless state during all final chapters. (Sorry Ignis, I love you, but I would much rather have you had stay at home where all is safe, if you still had been completely blind and unable to help yourself ; ____ ;) Thus, in order to not completely frustrate the players, it was a good call to make Ignis regain most of his abilities, while still keeping him impaired. (Because hey – some things just cant be cured – not even in a world where magic exists, which is a realistic and grim reminder of just how brutal war can be – and how it can affect your life forever. ) To me, there was a great balance - a realistic portrayel of how a sudden impairment can affect not only an individual, but also his friends - and the already threatening situations the boys are in, during the game, only adds to it - and, seeing how a person can cope.

Final Fantasy XV – in my opinion – tackled Ignis’ disability in a great way. The player really came to understand and witness first-hand, through clever use of gameplay,  just how off-throwing and life changing losing one’s eye-sight can be. Not only did it affect Ignis and his mental state – but it also affected his friends and their dynamic in a great and yet terrible way.

I remember – when Trailers of the game teased that Ignis might become blind – many people said “But he will be fine again, won’t he?” or “he won’t be permanently blind! It’s probably just for now!” – since Square Enix has never gone so far as to disable one of their main-characters over the course of the game. We have had characters die – but this? This was…new. It was interesting. ..and it was tragic.

 I really hope to see more Game Developers be brave enough in the future, to include more disabled characters – and to dare showing their struggles in a realistic and hopefully equally gripping and dark way, as real life itself often does.

- Mod Magical Mario

[standtoreason93]

Seeing the Unseen: The Nature of Spiritual Warfare

Sometimes, if you know what to look for, you can “see” something that is invisible; you can see the unseen. It’s not a parlor trick, but a valuable spiritual skill. And it’s not that difficult if you know what clues to look for. I’d like to show you what those clues are.

First, though, a foundational matter. I am convinced that most Christians do not understand spiritual warfare. Either they are unaware of the unseen battle or, if they do recognize its importance, they do not focus on the central issue but instead are distracted by a secondary concern. In military terms, they have been taken in by a feint. Here is the feint.

Some Christians think of spiritual battle in terms of power encounters with the devil (or demons) where prayer of a certain sort is the principal weapon employed to defeat, or at least to neutralize (“bind”), the powers of darkness. Curiously, Jesus never taught this approach. He never told us to pray to devils. Instead, He taught us to ask the Father to “deliver us from the evil one” (Matt. 6:13).[1]

I certainly do not mean to minimize the importance of prayer in any area of our Christian lives, especially this one, but to invite you to see something you might not have noticed. When it comes to spiritual warfare, the New Testament emphasis is not on prayer-infused power encounters, but on something completely different, and if we miss that, then I think we miss the heart of it.

The Invisible Battlefield

We live in a world made by an invisible Being and this world is thick with invisible things. They are all “around us,” in a sense, but not immediately obvious to many since the visible realm is so much more imposing.

In 2 Kings 6:15-17, the prophet Elisha’s attendant saw something in the visible realm that overwhelmed him—the Syrian army encircling their city with horses and chariots. “Alas, my master!” he said. “What shall we do?”

Elisha, though, was not shaken. He saw a deeper reality in the unseen realm.

“Do not fear, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them. Elisha then prayed and said, “O Lord, I pray, open his eyes that he may see.” And the Lord opened the servant’s eyes and he saw. And behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.”

Elisha saw something his servant did not see: the enemies of God surrounding the city were themselves surrounded by a massive invisible force arrayed behind the scenes for Elisha’s protection. The prophet was able to see the unseen.

Of course, there was no non-miraculous way for Elisha’s servant to see into that realm. He needed help. In our case, though, there are passages in the New Testament that tip us off, giving us clues to help us detect details of a world Elijah had access to. There is an invisible army arrayed against us, too, and sometimes—if we are alert—we can track its maneuvers.

I want you to consider a familiar passage that contains an insight you may not have thought about before. Here is that passage:

Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. (Eph. 6:11-13)

In this text, Paul tells us we are at war. He acknowledges the reality of opposition in the visible world (“flesh and blood”), but instructs us that the more fundamental conflict is at a deeper level in the invisible realm (“the heavenly places”). This you already know.

Here is what you may not have seen before. Paul also tips us off that the enemy operates according to specific strategies he calls “schemes”—battle plans, of sorts, that inform the devil’s tactical maneuvers. Being clothed with the proper armor allows us to “stand firm” against his schemes, resisting the devil’s subterfuge.

Can we know anything about those schemes? I think we can.

Weapon One

I want you to consider a quartet of verses that add up to a sobering truth alerting us to the principal way Satan advances his army in the spiritual battle.

We know that we are of God, and that the whole world lies in the power of the evil one.” (1 Jn. 5:19)

And the great dragon was thrown down, the serpent of old who is called the devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world. (Rev. 12:9)

And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing, in whose case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelieving so that they might not see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ.” (2 Cor. 4:3-4)

The Lord’s bondservant must not be quarrelsome, but…patient when wronged, with gentleness correcting those who are in opposition, if perhaps God may grant them repentance leading to the knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will. (2 Tim. 2:24-26)

It may not have occurred to you how complete the enemy’s penetration into the minds of men has been, but these passages make it unmistakable. According to the New Testament the entire world is in the devil’s deathly grip. He holds people captive to do his bidding by trickery and deceit, blinding the minds of those who are perishing, keeping them from coming to their senses and seeing the world the way it really is.

Jesus warned that the devil “is a liar and the father of lies” (Jn. 8:44), employing ruses even Christians are vulnerable to. When we come to Christ we have a new spirit, true enough, but our minds are still filled with Satan’s foolishness, the lies we readily believed that “deceived” and “enslaved” us (Titus 3:3), as we walked “according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air” (Eph. 2:2).

A key element of our own rescue, then, is reversing the process. We are to “lay aside the old self, which is being corrupted in accordance with the lusts of deceit,” and “be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self which…has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth. Therefore, laying aside falsehood, speak truth each one of you with his neighbor…” (Eph. 4:22-25). Do you see the emphasis?

Not surprisingly, then, the very first step in arming ourselves for battle against the devil is to gird our loins with truth (Eph. 6:14). And when we engage the battle with God’s “weapons of warfare [that] are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses,” we attack those lies and lay waste to them, “destroying speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God…” (2 Cor. 10:3-5).

Note: nothing about binding and loosing here. No spiritual wrestling match hinted at in these verses. Rather, the bulk of the biblical testimony takes us in an entirely different direction. As I have written elsewhere:

[The devil] gains ground by craftiness and secrecy, and he destroys by lies, accusation, enticement, and subterfuge. If you doubt him, beware. Stealth is his weapon. Satan happily stays in the shadows where he can do his dark business undetected.[2]

The principal weapon at the enemy’s disposal allowing him to gain ground in the spiritual conflict, then, is not power but deception. Thus, if the basic strategy for Satan’s spiritual assault is spreading lies, then the most potent weapon we can wield in the battle against him is its opposite: spreading truth. The counter to lies—the answer to deception, the antidote to deceit—is truth. I conclude, then, that spiritual warfare is much more about truth encounters than it is about power encounters.[3]

Seeing the Unseen

So, we are at war. We battle otherworldly forces in the unseen realm with weapons that are effective to oppose the spiritual strategies and demonic plans in play against us. Our job is to resist those schemes by exposing them, doing everything we can to stand firm by opposing lies with truth.

There is another angle, though, another key insight you must not miss, a clue that allows us to unveil the unseen schemes.

A person who can see will not easily stumble into a ditch, even a small one. He’ll walk around it. A blind person, on the other hand, will walk right over a cliff because no matter how deep or wide the abyss, he does not know it is there. In the same way, Satan can foist a very big lie on the world—one so obvious that thoughtful Christians easily see through it—yet the world at large will be oblivious to it because they cannot see it. They have been blinded.

And here is the clue, the “tell,” the giveaway that reveals the scheme and helps inform our own counteroffensive against it in the battle. Look for the big spiritual lie that seems completely transparent, the obvious ploy that appears ridiculously ham-handed, the massive ditch that can’t be missed but the world doesn’t seem to see, the abyss the blind masses fall into without giving it a second thought. Find that and you will find the scheme.

If you wonder why anyone would buy into such an obvious spiritual error, if the gullibility of the throng perplexes you, if you catch yourself saying, “This makes no sense,” then you have probably stumbled onto a scheme. You have identified a maneuver in the battle, since the only explanation for such lack of spiritual perception is spiritual blindness, and we now know who is responsible for that.

Let me give you a few examples.

Three “Schemes”

The first scheme is easily revealed by answering this question: What single religion in our culture has the suffix “phobia” attached to it to protect it from criticism? Is it “Hindu-phobia”? “Jew-phobia”? “Buddha-phobia”? “Christian-phobia”? Hardly. It’s “Islamophobia.” The word has become a fixture in the social lexicon, showing up not only in Wikipedia and the Urban Dictionary, but also in Merriam-Webster, the English Oxford Dictionary, and the Cambridge English Dictionary, to name just a few.

Why is this significant? Because Islam is currently the most dangerous religion in the world. On September 11, 2001, what Time magazine called the bloodiest day on American soil since the Civil War, 2,996 lives were snuffed out by Muslim terrorists. Yet within a few short months Islam somehow achieved most favored religious status in the West. Over the last 16 years since then, Muslims—following a tradition clearly taught in the Koran and endorsed by hundreds of millions of Muslims and respected Muslim clerics—make headlines weekly with acts of murder, mayhem, and mutilation all over the globe, yet any public criticism of that faith is labeled bigotry.

Ironically, even New Atheist Sam Harris sees the problem (not every non-believer is blinded by every lie). He once tweeted, “Islamophobia. A word created by fascists, & used by cowards, to manipulate morons.”[4]

Not only is Islam the most dangerous religion in the world, it is also the mortal enemy of Judaism and Christianity. Hmmm. Maybe I have an overactive imagination, but does anyone else see a scheme slipping past the eyes of the spiritually blind?

The second scheme has been around for a long time, but people continue to be taken in by it, despite it’s obvious absurdity. This con has gone through a number of iterations over the years, but it still boils down the same simple notion: There is no truth.

Claiming there is no truth is a kind of “end around” the whole who-is-right-about-religion debate. If there is no truth to begin with, then feuds about what religion is true would be pointless. There’s no sense fighting about who has the right answer when there are no right answers to begin with.

This tack is appealing in part because it’s meant to engender a kind of tolerant peace and harmony between people. That is the point of the clever “COEXIST” bumper sticker—clever, but ultimately contradictory. Everyone is “right,” in a certain sense (“true for you”). In another sense, though, a whole bunch of religious people are wrong if they think their own view is true in any deep way.

When people say there is no truth, I often wonder how they want me to respond to their own statement. I think they want me to believe them, but the minute I’m tempted to think they might be on to something—the minute I start agreeing with them, in other words—I run into a problem. I cannot give the nod to their relativism, since that would be the same thing as saying their view were true, which is the one thing they will not allow me to say. You see the problem. You can also see how the idea that there is no truth cuts the legs right out from under the Great Commission.

Notice the pattern. Something of spiritual significance is going on in the visible realm that is obviously false, and the response of the rank and file is obviously wrong-headed, but they don’t see it. Why? Because there is a ploy, a ruse, a scheme in the unseen world working blindness among the masses. And the spiritual consequence of this blindness is devastating.

The third scheme is front and center at the moment. Two thousand years ago, Jesus made a simple observation about the created order: Humans are made male and female. From that observation He drew some fairly common-sense conclusions about the nature of sex and marriage: one man, with one woman, becoming one flesh, for one lifetime (Matt. 19:4-6).

Jesus was not trading on His Divine authority here, or even on His superior perception. No special clout nor spiritual shrewdness is necessary to see what is self-evident. Rather, Jesus was making a pedestrian observation about something that nature (and nature’s God) had clearly dictated: There are males and there are females and each was made for the other. Nowadays, though, this simple truth is no longer clear to multitudes. In fact, it is aggressively repudiated by hordes of otherwise intelligent people.

Why is the obvious no longer obvious? Why is Jesus’ observation lost on so many (including countless Christians, sadly) when it comes to gender and homosexuality and a host of other sexual adventures? And what accounts for the intensity of the opposition towards those who see what others are blind to? It’s not something natural; it’s something supernatural. This lie is driven by a hidden power in an invisible place.

The gender/sexuality controversy is ultimately about neither. Rather, it is about who is in charge—the creature or the Creator, the Potter or the clay.

Out of the Shadows

You can see the significance of each of these lies from the perspective of spiritual combat. Each is a scheme to blind and deceive regarding something spiritually significant.

Islam is a threat to religious liberty the world over and is a special menace to the “people of the book,” Jews and Christians. Relativism undermines all attempts to separate truth from lies, giving free rein to the father of lies. The “gender wars” takes personal choice to near comical extremes and places those who advance God’s view of sex and marriage right in the crosshairs of the spiritual conflict.

Here is the key. If you want to see the unseen, look for something spiritually dramatic going on in the visible realm that is so obvious everyone else should see it, but they don’t. That is the tipoff. That is the “tell.” That is the giveaway letting us know we’re dealing with an area where the enemy has doubled down.

Others are blind to the ruse since it’s driven by spiritual forces of darkness in a realm they cannot perceive, but we can. We can see the scheme, we can marshal our forces of truth at that point, we can do everything within our means—by wisdom and truth and the grace of God—to “stand firm.”

I will close with this word from former slave trader turned hymnist and pastor, John Newton, taken from his first public service at St. Mary Woolnoth, London, December 19, 1779. His text was “...speaking the truth in love…” from Eph. 4:15:

The Bible is the grand repository of the truths that will be the business and the pleasure of my life to set before you. It is the complete system of divine truth to which nothing can be added and from which nothing can be taken with impunity. Every attempt to disguise or soften any branch of this truth in order to accommodate it to the prevailing taste around us either to avoid the displeasure or court the favor of our fellow mortals must be an affront to the majesty of God and an act of treachery to men. My conscience bears me witness that I mean to speak the truth among you.[5]

[1] Of course, when Jesus encountered demons directly, He dealt with them directly. Two qualifiers, though. First, rarely if ever do we encounter demons directly as Jesus did. A different dynamic is in play, day to day, for us. Second, when a demon-possessed fortune-teller harassed Paul, he ignored her for days before casting the demon out (Acts 16:16-18). Direct confrontation, it seems then, is the exception, not the rule.

[2] Gregory Koukl, The Story of Reality (Grand Rapids, Zondervan: 2017), 85.

[3] This is the reason why defense of the truth—apologetics—is a vital component of the church’s spiritual battle strategy.

[4] Tanya Basu, “What Does ‘Islamophobia’ Actually Mean?”, The Atlantic [online], Oct. 15, 2014.

[5] Jonathan Aitken, John Newton—From Disgrace to Amazing Grace, (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2007), 272, emphasis added.

[qeldliie-blog]

*pats the dragon*

he   is   still   little   more   than   a   newt  :      decorated   in   shimmering   cream   scales  ,      that   shone   like   milky   water   under   the   moonlight   of   the   open   wastes  .      all   ready   Viserion   had   attached   himself   to   his   namesake      (      a   decision   Viserys   likely   forced   his   input   into  .      )      the   baby   dragon   had   taken   a   liking   to   the   soft   praises   and   gentle   soothing   laced   upon   him   by   his   uncle  ;      the   King   without   a   crown  ,      the   white - haired   wraith   of   a   man   who   spoke   with   a   snap   of   his   tongue  ,      but   never   to   Viserion  .   

the   dragon   rears   his   neck   upwards  ,      singing   to   the   skies  .      the   gentle  ,      high   sound   so   rare   and   so   fragile  ,      lost   from   the   world   for   over   a   century  .      his   little   wings   are   thin   as   malmade   parchment  ,      and   just   as   see - through   as   seaglass  .      he   stretches   them   as   if   sleepy  ,      and   crawls   up   the   front   of   Viserys’   tunic  ,      finding   a   place   to   get   comfortable  ,      with   little   care   for   if   Viserys   had   plans   to   move   or   nought  .   

[qeldliie-blog]

Mel hates you abd your brother

his   features   fall  .      no   one   has   ever   told   him  ,      not   to   his   face  ,      such   harsh   words  .      he   waits   for   the   anger  ,      but   it   never   comes  .      there’s   only   a   hollow   space   with   no   fire      ——      only   ashes  .      he   knows   who   she   is   and   he   knows   why   she   hates   him   though   he’s   not   entirely   sure   that   he   understands   what   it   means  :      to   hate  .

she   looks   like   him  :      Quentyn  .      it   makes   him   want   to   look   away  ,      for   Viserion   can’t   remember   the   boy’s   eyes   without   remembering   the   way   they   burned   like   paper   lanterns  .      mortal   flesh   burns   to   cinders   so   easily…      it   wasn’t   what   he   wanted  .      he   remembers   Rhaegal’s   shimmering   scales  .      he   remembers   begging   his   brother   to   change  ,      to   cull   all   panic  .      but   there   were   too   many   men   around  ,      and   Rhaegal   did   not   feel   safe  .      he   had   told   Quentyn   no  ;      but   the   boy   persisted  .      he   may   well   have   succeeded   but   for   the   striking   arrow  .      the   golden   boy’s   lips   part   in   remembrance   of   the   cry   he   had   wailed   at   his   brother   as   Rhaegal’s   flames   engulfed   the   prince  .

❛      he   never   meant   for…      ❜

it   had   been   the   first   time   it   struck   Viserion  :      quite   what   it   means   to   be   the   creature   he   is  :      at   the   cost   of   a   friend  .      and   now   he   has   to   look   into   his   mother’s   eyes  .      is   it   a   fitting   punishment  ?      

he   does   not   like   being   punished  .      it   aches   like   poison  .

❛      …i’m   sorry  .      ❜

[qeldliie-blog]

Sits on

the   dragon’s   maw   rises  ,      but   when   a   familiar   scent   fills   the   air   he   lowers   it   back   down   against   the   scorching   rocks  .      there   is   no   threat  ,      only   a   friend  .      and   he’s   too   sleepy   to   awaken   for   any   less   than   a   threat  .      his   wings   uncurl   either   side   of   the   shinobi  ,      muscles   in   his   back   rolling  :      an   expression   of   comfort  .

then   he   rolls   over   onto   his   back   in   lazy   playfulness  ;      sending   the   other   sliding   away   down   opalescent  ,      cream   scales  .

[qeldliie-blog]

✚ and ⊗

DIFFERING HEADCANONS            /   @killthebxy

A HEADCANON ON A FAVOURITE POSSESSION

Viserion   adores   his   mother’s   hrakkar   cloak  ,      though   it   is   not   really   his   possession   he   enjoys   stealing   it   when   he   can  .      the   smell   reminds   him   of   his   mother   when   he   is   alone  ,      which   ties   into   the   phobia   headcanon   i   got   going   on   here  .      he   also   thinks   it’s   beautiful   and   enjoys   how   it   spurs   Daenerys   on   to   talk   of   Drogo  .

in   my   Khalakka   verse   where   Drogo   lived  ,      @assilat-vojjor​   got   a   little   baby   Vis   a   hyena’s   pelt   cloak  ,      all   in   mottled   grey  ,      white   and   tan  ,      and   he   loves   that   too  !

A HEADCANON ON A PHOBIA

Viserion’s   phobia   spans   from   being   kept   in   an   enclosed   space  .      though   because   in   my   canon   Dany   wouldn’t   have   used   chains   unless   he   was   in   his   dragon   form  ,      unable   to   be   reasoned   with  ,      being   chained   up   is   not   really   the   problem   here  .      though   he   fears   that   well   enough   it   is   not   irrational  ;      most   people   would  .      Viserion   fears   the   open   sky  .      he   fears   flying   too   far   from   his   mother  :      he   is   not   like   Drogon  ,      he   never   would   fly   too   far   from   those   he   knew  .      and   he   never   would   fly   over   the   ocean   without   his   brothers  .      he   feels   the   yearning   for   it  ,      the   sky   is   his  ,      but   due   to   spending   so   much   of   his   childhood   domesticated   and   then   locked   up  ,      it’s   set   him   on   edge  .      it   brings   huge   anxiety  .

this   is   not  ,      however  ,      an   issue   in   my   Khalakka   verse   ofc  .

[qeldliie-blog]

Don't eat the raven, I'll be sad and I won't boop your nose more

❛      i   don’t   want   to   eat   a   stringy   black - bird  .      but   Lady   Sansa  ,      i’m   ever   so   hungry…      ❜

[qeldliie-blog]

*carefully boops nose*

SANSA IS HIS FAVOURITE. SHE BOOPS HIS NOSE & GIVES HIM LEMON CAKES.