#A woman who is imprisoned falls in love with one of the soldiers and then he burns to death and she summons an evil demon

[rooolt]

if I don’t mention teen wolf’s two entirely separate clumsily handled absurd wwii centric plot lines at least once a month I will pass away and die

[extremely-judgemental]

Can we talk about Tamlin again? His story is infinitely sad.

During his younger years, he hides his true nature for the fear of his father and brothers. He has no interest in being a High Lord and is completely satisfied working with his brothers-in-arms and protecting his court. Ultimately his powers come through and he's hated by his brothers. He obeys every command from his father so that he isn't assumed to be a rebel and ends up betraying his mentor. Since then he lives in fear of Rhysand and resists him little whenever insulted because of his guilt.

With his father's murder he becomes the one thing he didn't want to be. He has to leave the life he loved to become someone his people need. Despite the lack of proper training with the court matters, he accepts the one job he always hated.

He offers home to Lucien making an enemy out of Autumn, his neighbouring court which no one would do for a complete stranger who isn't much of a benefit to his court in any way. Lucien becomes his only friend, confidant and family.

I think no one talks about this part as much as they should. When Amarantha establishes her rule, he's the only High Lord allowed to walk out freely. She gives him fifty years to break the curse. Not only is his court condemned all the same, he can't blame failing to save Prythian on his imprisonment like the other HLs could. Knowing Tamlin is warrior at heart, it's heartbreaking that he has to willingly send his 'brothers' to their death. What isn't addressed (enough or at all) is the resentment others UtM or in Prythian develop towards him for not undoing the curse already or trying enough when he stopped sending his sentries out to die. Every time Amarantha does anything remotely cruel, Tamlin would be blamed too for turning his back on entire fae population. Somehow this is glossed over as if fifty years of captivity wouldn't affect the way others see Tamlin.

He finally finds someone who loves him and could potentially break the curse. He ensures her family is taken care of when he didn't have to, long before they fall in love with each other. But he sends her away for her safety damning himself to more blame and hatred. He accepts his fate as Amarantha's toy when the woman he loves returns only to be treated like a circus animal and tortured and abused. He watches as the entirety of fae population bets against her life, watch Feyre almost get killed twice and truly killed once.

Once they are free, he has to build his court back up and also protect Feyre and his people. Even after all those years, he doesn't trust himself qualified to be a HL and takes advice from anyone including Ianthe who manipulates and betrays him, who he believed to be his friend.

We know how it goes from here. Feyre leaves with the one who abused her UtM. Rhysand gloats whenever he can. Tamlin makes a deal with someone crueler than Amarantha. He believes Feyre finally is safe from Rhysand only to realise she's played him. He loses Lucien. He loses the trust of the very people he cared about so much. He cares about the realm enough to spy for the other courts though no one believes him or even likes him. He helps Feyre and her sister. He helps bring the one man he hates so much back to life for her sake. Even after everything his court still suffers from what Feyre and the war did. For a soldier to watch his land wither away, it must be one of the worst nightmares.

There's one scene that always gets me. The one in ACOMAF where Tamlin is with his sentries, talking and laughing with his people during some gathering. That was supposed to be his life, he almost had it if he had the chance to heal. But all of it was stripped away because he loved Feyre and tried over and over again to protect her, blindly sacrificing everything for her. Then I remember Tamlin in his manor, empty and in ruins, with no one around.

To come to think of it, he has received hate almost all his life. Sometimes, rightfully so. But mostly for none of his fault. Maybe he deserves a break after all.

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

A forbidden love.

König x Fem reader.

A colonel arrives at your house to live with you and your husband's family, you weren't expecting to fall for the man who imprisoned him.

«You and I. We'll see each other again mein Engel, you will see me but not as a soldier, you will not even recognize me and you will be a new woman, a different person»

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Warning: image is not mine, spelling and grammatical errors, it is not so long and I admit it's not so good.

You met your husband a few years ago, your parents were the kind of people who believe in marriage alliances, at a very young age you forgot about any possibility to find someone else and fall in love like normal people do.

When you married you went to live with your new husband and his family, to be more precise, his mother, an arrogant woman, it was a silent battle between you and her, your parents died and their business passed to your husband, you never asked what he was into, until one night during his business trips, he didn't come back.

You saw his face on tv, wearing an orange suit, he was in prison, money, drugs and weapons traffic plus some other dark things.

They found your husband thanks to a private military group, he was in a hotel room unconscious because of all the drugs in his system, all his security staff died.

Thanks to that, now you will receive the visit of one of those soldiers, you will share your house with him, your mother in law told you he was an enemy, you needed to be at your husband's side, you wouldn't be allowed to talk to him or be in the same room as him.

- He's here, look at my Y/N, you're not allowed to talk to him, do you understand?

- Yes.

You muttered, As soon as your mother in law opened the door, a giant black shadow filled the doorframe. He's tall, wearing black clothes and combat boots, blue eyes, that's the only thing you can see of his face, he hides himself under a black mask. His voice is actually very kind and calmed.

- Good morning ladies, I'm König, i will try not to bother you.

You were going to say something but then you remembered what you promised, so you simply nodded and stayed closing the door while your mother in law showed him his provisional room.

During dinner you and your mother in law were gossiping, you still weren't understanding what he was doing there.

- So... König will stay... For how long?

- Don't call him by his name! (She yelled at you, a few minutes of uncomfortable silence later she continued speaking) ...Until they can find something else to blame your poor husband or until he finds if we're involved in his business.

He did what he promised, you rarely see him and today is one of those few times. You were carrying some boxes full of clothes and stuff you're not planning to use anymore, they're heavy and some help would be great but no, you can't.

König sees you and goes to offer his help which clearly you ignore it.

- Excuse me, Can I help you? I have to check those boxes anyways.

No response.

- You can say no, miss.

You continue your way to the car, putting the boxes in the backseat and go back inside the house. The same afternoon, while you're in the garden reading, you see him again. He approaches you, and offers you a cigarette, you neglect with your head, you think that will be enough and he will leave you but he starts to talk.

- I usually am the one who applies the treatment silence, I understand if you hate me.

- I don't hate you.

You muttered, your voice is almost a whisper, thank god König has a good ear.

- Can I take a seat?

He points at the empty space at your side, you agree.

- you say you don't hate me, but your attitude says something else.

- My husband's mother... She almost puts a gun in my head, I'm not allowed to talk to you, but I don't hate you.

- Well, she's not here right now, feel free to talk, I'm here doing my job but that doesn't mean I'm YOUR enemy, just your husband's enemy.

You laugh at his joke, for the first time in years you laugh, and for König is beautiful, the most beautiful sound. How can someone like you have a husband like that man he captured.

- Are you married, König?

- I was, then she left me.

- I'm sorry, at least she let you go, my husband keeps me here and now he is in prison while I have to live under his mother's eye.

- Why are you married to that man?

- My parents. It was an alliance between them and him, he now is in charge of my parents business, I don't owe nothing of this.

You talked for hours, discovering all the chemistry between you and him, the secret conversations turned into something essential in your day by day with him, but secrets cannot be hidden forever.

Your mother in law told you, she noticed the way you blush when he's around, the small smiles you send him, she will not allow it, you will not abandon her son.

- The only thing I expect from you is to be loyal!

-But I am!

- You are a friend of our enemy! How can you talk to him knowing well he was the one who... Sent your husband to that prison! When I see him I would like to put a bullet in his skull!

You've been loyal, you don't want problems so the wall between you and him goes back, until one day when you go to the room where könig spends almost his entire time, you're curious about his investigations.

Papers, pictures, files, you started to think about how stupid it was to go and spy on him until one of the files with your name catches your attention.

Talk about your and your husband's family, marriage and then... A small text about another woman, apparently your husband has another wife and children. You felt betrayed, you had a big discussion with your mother in law, she tried to justify her son but nothing worked, finally there was a reason to leave, to not be loyal anymore.

- I refuse to be in this marriage any longer! I will not stay here to support a husband who never loved me and never showed me the minimum affection!

- YOU DON'T HAVE WHERE TO GO Y/N! YOU'RE NOTHING! LESS THAN NOTHING WITHOUT MY SON!

König heard the discussion, he wanted to hold you, tell you how important you are, show you how sweet and amazing you are, but he can't interfere and mix his work and his feelings.

The same night he was in his room finishing some paperwork when you knocked on his door wearing a nightgown, puffy eyes, plump lips and red cheeks, you quickly jumped on his arms hiding your face in the crook of his neck, at first he hesitated but quickly forgot the rules, fuck the job, fuck everybody else, it's just you and him, he quit his mask and you saw him, the scars, his lips, his jaw. He was gentle, he treated you softly but at the same time showed you how does it feel to be desired by someone.

For the first time in life you felt love, passion, desire, you became addicted to him, his perfume, his lips, his eyes on you, his hands and arms around you at every opportunity you had, both fell in this passional frenzy and the fear of losing him grew inside you, because, eventually he would leave and you wouldn't see him again.

- What's wrong, Meine Liebe?

- You will leave and what will happen to me?

König doesn't say anything, he just hugs you tightly, he loves you, of course he does but... He thinks you deserve better, a better life that he probably can't give you, at least that's his way to think since his ex-wife abandoned him with that excuse «I deserve a life that you can't give me» .

You've been thinking about a way to help König, you want your freedom, leave your husband, you don't want money, you simply want to leave him and live your own life, you were cleaning your closet when a small hidden door is behind one of your drawers, there's a bunch of documents and passwords, you read them quickly and indeed was information that could sentence to years of prison not only your husband but his mother too.

It worked, König found a way to help you, his testimony and reports about what he saw during those weeks with you were enough to get witness protection programs for you, you would go to live in a new country with a new identity, a chance to start again. For him there wasn't a better way to demonstrate how much he loved you.

You were in the airport with him, waiting for your flight, it was a bitter goodbye, you were sniffing, sobbing and crying, why does he not understand your life wouldn't be complete without him?.

- Will I ever see you again?

- Oh Mein süßes Mädchen (my sweet girl) you deserve a better life, a better man and a better love.

He was holding you, caressing your hair, you were crying and pleading him to stay with you.

- I don't want no one else but you, why don't you understand that? We can keep this in secret!

«Flight 150 with destiny to...»

- Es tut mir Leid (sorry) it is time to go, mein Engel.

- I love you König, I really do.

You look up at him, his blue eyes seem tired and sad, you understand the fact that he can't risk his credibility and his job, but you can't understand why he can't accept you want to stay at his side, it could be a secret, there's no need to tell someone about it. After a long hug you decide to part, you were walking to the entrance of the tunnel where your flight awaits when he called your name.

- Y/N, wait!

You were expecting he reconsidered your situation, he approached you and hugged you again pressing his forehead against yours, whispering.

- You and I. We'll see each other again mein Engel, you will see me but not as a soldier, you will not even recognize me and you will be a new woman, a different person. Ich liebe dich, y/n.

Months passed by and you, indeed, became a new person, there's a new woman inside you, but you still think about him, in the middle of the night when there's nobody at your side to hug you, when you need the warmth and the touch of someone, you think about him every time you observe the blue grey skies at rainy days, you wonder if he still remember you, if he's okay.

König still thinks about you, he keeps an eye on you not only because it's his job it's because he also cares about you, he knows you opened a small flower shop, your new address, you're single, you're not dating no one, he knows for you it's okay in the day because you're busy but the problem it's at night, the lights of your bedroom are on until the first hours of the morning, you sit in front of the window for hours observing the sky, he knows that feeling, the emptiness inside you it is the same he experimented too.

It's a torture for him to see you like that and is also a pain in his chest to be far from you, incapable to kiss you, hug you, taste you, love you. He never felt so weak and powerless, he needed you.

He took the closest flight to your new country, he doesn't care anymore if people know he's going to see you, he just wants you back.

You were closing your store when you heard a voice, the voice you could recognize anywhere.

- Excuse me, I would like to buy flowers for the woman I love.

You turned to look at the person behind you, there he is, that brown soft hair, his blue eyes, the prominent and straight nose, the scars on his face, his jaw, the neck that one day was your safe place.

He's nervously smiling at you, his eyes scream how much he begs you to forgive him.

Your eyes are full of tears while you smile, both are in front of each other, after months living in pure torture, both are finally there, he was right, you both would see each other again.

[da-xiao-jie]

haven't posted about cdramas in a bit, but I've been burning through The Legend of Shen Li this week and while I've been enjoying the slower pace while plot threads gather in the background, the romantic aspect, the not so subtle discussion of fate and responsibility, etc. something popped up around EP 33ish and now I have to rant about it.

(Spoiler warning)

The biggest obstacle to Shen Li and Xing Zhi is the fact that He's a divine Immortal and as the last one left, he has a responsibility to protect the three realms without using his powers for selfish purposes.

At the same time, Xing Zhi is lonely and bored and utterly isolated by being the last of his kind so he's definitely a sympathetic character.

Right up until, having saved Shen Li and nursed her back to health, finally returning to the heavenly realm, Xing Zhi brings her to his realm and proceeds to basically imprison Shen Li there where she won't get hurt

and. like.

this is what gets me. the whole show builds up to this. Shen Li is engaged to someone else, but after leaving the human realm, she acknowledges her duty and tries to convince herself to focus on what her role ought to be. Xing Zhi on the other hand can't help but tease and fluster Shen Li, keeping her emotions entangled with him and keeping her from her duty. She calls him out on this and he tries to course correct several times only to fall back into bad habits again later.

at the end of the day, Xing Zhi's love for Shen Li is selfish. he's lonely and bored and here comes this captivating woman who loves him! but when she matures a little and sees that she can't be with him for the sake of the world, she tries to back away and stay focused on her duty, to her realm, her soldiers, etc. And! without! fail! Xing Zhi drags her back. until finally, having recovered from torture and regaining her powers, she's determined to return to her realm and resume her responsibilities and see her people after being presumed dead and what does he do? he traps her. against her principles. why? to keep her forever for himself.

the most telling and frustrating thing is a conversation where Shen Li says, "this relationship isn't the sole reason for my existence." talking about how she loves him, wants to be with him, but also needs to be with and protect her people. to which Xing Zhi replies, "Not the sole reason, but a reason for your existence." So the audience is relieved for all of 10 seconds before, in response to Shen Li claiming that she is not his pet bird that he can't keep her in a cage, Xing Zhi proceeds to cage her.

I just—

I would root for them much more if there was some sense of duty on his part instead of him continually pulling her away from hers. Like, yeah it's unfair, we get that. However love is not selfish. It needs to be selfless or it just becomes possessive obsession.

i haven't finished yet. Still have 5-6 episodes to go, but I needed to rant for a sec

might post again about this one, but who knows?

[idontknowreallywhy]

Stars Are Only Visible In Darkness

A scene thrown down in my lunch break. I’m still not particularly confident writing Serious things but this was inspired by two things -

A song on the Scott playlist shared by @lenfantdeverone this morning - Battle Cry by Imagine Dragons which has some lovely angsty chord sequences, gorgeous vocal melody and the cracker of a line that is the title of this little ramble.

The most excellent @sofasurf who is constantly encouraging and has clearly slightly broken my brain with her angsty-ptsd-Scott writing. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right? Here is a weirdly dark birthday present for you… 😘

It’s established fanon that Scott ended up as a POW in Bereznik while in the Air Force, but how did that happen? One possible version of events…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Fear and fury danced a tango through his veins as he watched the khaki-clad thugs surround the small group of children and a woman he guessed was perhaps their teacher? An impromptu lesson in how to calmly stand up to playground bullies was underway but this particular gang was armed and accountable to nobody. One of them laughed with a coldness that sent ice rocketing down his spine.

He tried to tear his eyes away and move on. But his body was deaf to his logical instructions and so he waited.

It had been nearly 44 hours since he had been spiralling towards the ground with both engines aflame. He hadn’t stopped moving since his parachute caught on a rocky outcrop and arrested his fall with a jolt he was still feeling in his shoulders. He’d dodged the roving bands of soldiers and all the locals too - for how could he know who to trust? And even if he could, he’d only endanger them further. He’d crept slowly but surely towards the local town - hoping for somewhere to hide, food to steal, maybe some kind of weapon more useful than the short length of crumbling iron railing he carried and then… Well. A plan of some kind.

The town had been used as a shield for the local militia and everyone who lived there was effectively imprisoned in their own neighbourhoods. From the moment he’d entered through the heavily guarded gates clinging to the bottom of a truck he wondered how any of them were still functioning.

The devastation and oppression he had witnessed had crept under his skin like a poison he knew he couldn’t outlive. He would carry it for always now. 

The latest Allied onslaught had meant half the place was in ruin. The residents were stoically keeping on going as best they could with what remained… as well as the makeshift medical centre he’d clocked a handful of shops, a tiny church and the primary school across the square from where he crouched among those that were still welcoming people through their sandbagged doors.  

As for the rest… well… at least all the rubble and mostly-collapsed buildings provided shelter for one who knew how to use it. He’d slipped from shadow to shadow. 

Watching, listening. 

And it had paid off. His grasp of the local language was basic but he knew some key words and because of that he knew a cargo plane of armaments was due to arrive at the playing-fields-turned-airstrip on the other side of town in 2 hours. All he had to do was get there unseen, stow away until the ship was airborne again and then overpower the single pilot with the sedative that was the sole item left in the micro first aid kit stowed in his left thigh pocket.

The plan kept him upright when the despair surrounding him dragged his bones towards the ground.

The teacher crouched and addressed her flock with a gentle but emphatic tone as the soldiers jeered behind her. One lad shook his head, horrified, and one of the taller girls frowned and grasped her by the arm. She was shaken off and the trembling woman barked a one-word command that echoed through the courtyard

“RUN.”

Even he knew that word. And his brain shrieked at him to obey…

Seconds ticked by. Each one should have been taking him closer to that airstrip. He had a home to get back to. Brothers to get back to. Dad, Grandma, the farm. That cute librarian he’d promised to meet for coffee when he returned from duty. The smell of maple pancakes and bacon. A thousand sunrises. Hugs. Probably a medal and recognition as a war hero.

He had a life to live…

But so did the woman not 30 feet away, who was now stiffening her spine and lifting her chin in defiance to impossible odds. 

She was more of a hero than Scott would ever be, the quiet, un-showy type only visible when everything else became so desperately dark. The kind that made the world worth saving.

He tightened his grip on the rusty metal bar and stepped out of the shadows into the square. 

[AO3]

Ok a TBC did happen and got a bit out of hand 🤣 index to this universe here…

Next chapter here…

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

The Flash (2023) Spoilers Ahead

So, I loved the movie. Loved Kara. Very juicy story, and very angry. So, so angry. I love that. Only thing is that I dunno how I feel about the fact that she kind of only existed to die over and over again.

That said, I think it would be cool to add Lena somehow. I don't know the specific logistics of everything yet, and I dunno if I will ever have them, but I think it would be neat if Kara met Lena first, and that Lena was her first experience with humans.

Of course, Lex would be the one responsible for locking Kara away somehow, and the last thing Kara would hear as the door swings shut is Lena's voice begging and pleading for her brother to let Kara go, and Lex ordering the soldiers to take Lena away-- and make sure she never speaks to anyone again.

Now, there would be varying degrees of just HOW Lex has them silence her, but in my mind at the moment, I think Lena's story would mimic Kara's-- locked away from the world, alone and helpless. But where Kara wastes away physically without the sun, Lena's mind slowly but surely cracks under the stress of solitary confinement.

Before the climax of the film, I had the idea that Kara would go to Barry. "When you found me in that place... did you see any sign of another prisoner?"

Barry looks at her strangely. "What do you-- you mean another Kryptonian?"

"No. A human. A girl-- a woman now, I suppose. Her name... her name was Lena."

---

After the climax of the film, Barry and Bruce (who also survives), helps Kara search for Lena. After some digging, they find record of an armored transport leaving the facility around the same time Kara was imprisoned.

They trace its destination to another facility, this one even more like a bunker, but high tech compared to the grunge of Kara's prison. As they delve deeper into the facility, Kara picks up the sound of a heartbeat she'd spent a decade hoping to hear again. Lena.

They follow it into the heart of the bunker, where they find Lena in a cell of mirrored glass. The reflective surface of the walls face inwards, creating a dizzying effect that has its lone occupant hunched over, hugging herself. But not by choice-- her arms are constrained within a straightjacket, her head bowed and face hidden behind lank greasy hair.

Barry speeds through as soon as the cell door opens-- he kneels before the prisoner, reaching tilt her chin up as he babbles platitudes.

"Hi, hey, hi, you're going to be okay-- whoa!"

Barry fumbles backwards as the woman lunges forward, narrowly avoiding a headbutt to the face. Thwarted, the prisoner whips her head up and roars, bellowing at the top of her lungs.

It frightens Barry into all but speeding away, but in the next blink Kara has taken his place. She slowly kneels, her movements made graceful with care.

Lena runs out of wind and falls silent, staring at the woman before her. Her eyes widen, then close in recognition.

"Kara."

The relief in her voice is palpable. Kara reaches up with a nod and a smile, reaching up to cup Lena's cheek.

"It's all right now," Kara tells her. "I've got you."

[pealeii]

ok only if you want but can yuppie give me a rundown of the les mis fandom/ characters? Like who is enjolras and why do people ship him with the guy whose name starts with g and ends with taire? Idk I remember the plot of valjean stealing bread then taking care of a dead lady's daughter while running from the worst cop ever add the daughter like falls in love with eddie redmayne but i remember none of the freedom guys lol.

Again, only if you want to but i keep seeing les mis on my dash and I'm genuinely curious!

HAHAHAHA OKAY

I don’t feel super qualified to answer this cuz I haven’t read all of the book yet, but I LOVE the musical and thank you for indulging me cuz this musical has my heart, body, and soul

So your first question is about Enjolras and Grantaire. One of the storylines in Les Mis is about the June Rebellion, which was an anti-monarchist uprising (that actually happened irl but that’s besides the point.) In the show, Enjolras is the intense and passionate leader of this revolution. He has a bunch of friends who have joined in his cause. One of them is Marius (played by Eddie Redmayne in the 2012 movie) who falls in love with this girl (Cosette) who happens to be the adoptive daughter of a known convict. But we’ll get to that later. So Marius comes in being all “I’M IN LOVE” and Enjolras is like “NO WTF I DONT CARE STICK TO THE PROGRAM WE ARE TRYING TO REVOLT 👏 AGAINST 👏 THE 👏MONARCHS 👏 AND FREE 👏 THE 👏 PEOPLE”

So Enjolras is all revolution, no nonsense. And all the other schoolboys (the barricade boys) are on his side. But then there’s Grantaire, who believes in nothing and is constantly drunk. Depending on the version, but in the book especially, it’s pretty clear that he is hopelessly in love with Enjolras. Again, Enjolras is taking none of that cuz he’s in love with France. In the book, there’s an interaction between them where Enjolras says “You don’t believe in anything.” And Grantaire says “I believe in you.”

So the rebellion culminates in the boys building a massive barricade, waiting there to fight the soldiers that oppose them, for the freedom of the people. No matter how passionate and strong-willed the boys of the revolution are, it is sadly hopeless. The soldiers and policeman kill them. The last one to die is Enjolras, triumphant till the end. But wait! While the guards are closing in on Enjolras, who pops up, drunk and out-of-it but GRANTAIRE HIMSELF. He goes over and asks if he can stand by Enjolras (“Permets-tu?” in the original French book. Which roughly means “Do you permit it?”) They take each other’s hands and DIE TOGETHER so no wonder ppl ship them.

As for Marius and the girl he likes. The girl is Cosette, whose mother was a woman living in poverty and fending for herself named Fantine. She could not take care of Cosette, so a kind man named Jean Valjean took her as his own. And Fantine passes :(

But a lil thing about Jean Valjean is that he stole some bread to save his sister’s child but was CAUGHT so he spent 19 years imprisoned. After that, his porale began but it WASNT ENOUGH cuz the guy who oversaw those prisoners was INSPECTOR JAVERT, a man who made it his life mission (he thinks it was God-ordained as well) to track down and capture Jean Valjean. So Jean Valjean has been relentlessly pursued by Javert ever since. And when Valjean finally gets the chance to end Javert’s life and end this chase, he spares him, shows him mercy. Javert, in his dedication to the law and his ONE mission, cannot take this mercy, and throws himself off a bridge. :{

The barricade boys have fallen, Javert has fallen. And eventually, Valjean will be taken from the world as well.

And Cosette and Marius get married yayyyyyyy

[freelanceexorcist]

I tagged one of my moots, but is it OK if I complete this myself? No? Too bad, I did.

FFVII spoilers and absolutely obnoxious length under the cut.

Character: Sephiroth, Compilation of FFVII and FFVII Remake trilogy

Do you project onto this character?

Not that I’m aware of.

2. Did you always like this character?

I discovered FFVII not long after Crisis Core came out, so I was late to the party. I was more into his aesthetic at first, but after taking in CC, I really went off over the complexity of the character. Back then, a lot of Big Bads in the media I consumed were straightforward villain types who were just there to menace everyone and be defeated at the end without much development. He was among the first antagonists I encountered who deployed the duality of being a bad, bad man who used to be a good one until he crossed a line he couldn’t easily come back from.

3. What first drew you to this character?

Not gonna lie, it was how he looked at first.

4. Did you initially dislike/hate this character?

No.

5. If this character were a woman, would you honestly still like them? Or in reverse, what if they were a man?

I think I would. I like well-rounded and complex characters. One of my other favorite characters is June Osborne from The Handmaid’s Tale (show canon). She’s a good person deep down and is nurturing to those who need her help, but when it comes to Gilead and its architects, she is ruthless to the point of being terrifying at times. She started out as someone who just wanted to go along to get along, both before and after the fall of the US, and life turned her into a badass.

6. Do you have any nicknames or pet names you use for this character?

I distinguish between the two apparently separate versions in the Remake trilogy as Glenniroth and Jenovaroth. Does that count? I also refer to teenage Sephiroth as Baby Seph.

7. Does the character’s age matter to you?

No.

8. Does the character’s looks/design matter to you?

Absolutely. How can it not? He’s absurdly beautiful.

9. Does this character remind you of anyone you know? Does that affect how you see them?

Not really. I’ll have to think about that.

10. Do you see yourself in this character even without projecting?

I’m nowhere near that awesome.

11. How did you “fall in love” with this character?

Same way you fall in love in real life. You see someone and you’re like “damn.” Then you get to know them better and you’re theirs for life.

12. If you could write effortlessly and as much as you wanted, what story (s) would you write for this character?

As a matter of fact, I have an AU fic in the planning stages that works on the premise that he is removed from the library before he snaps but not before learning a thing or two about his past that really pisses him off. Vincent will be involved in this, but I’m not sure how yet. Because he doesn’t snap and burn Nibelheim, Shinra does it for him.

Professor Hojo’s plan all along was to destroy the town, imprison the survivors and experiment on them, and that’s why he got there so quickly and was seemingly immediately ready to get started. Anyone else in the town would be killed to keep them from telling anyone what they witnessed. He wanted Sephiroth to lose it and do what SOLDIERs do best and destroy shit. When that didn’t happen, he had to improvise and call in a strike team to get the job done (with President Shinra’s blessing of course). The cover story would be that the town was attacked by monsters that were infecting the villagers and the attack was the equivalent of the army nuking a city to contain the zombie apocalypse. With deepest regret, we must announce that our beloved Sephiroth was lost to us in this attack.

Sephiroth’s lack of mental break and survival was a lucky break for Hojo, because he would be able to get his S-cell samples directly from the tap. So orders were given to take him down, severely wounding but not killing him, which would make him easier to handle. He’s ridiculously strong and fast, but he’s not immune to nor can he dodge bullets.

So truss him up, stick him in a mako tube and give him a cocktail of drugs that act as a sort of Lotus Eater Machine where he’s stuck inside his head living the life he though he would have lived if he had successfully deserted from Shinra. It would keep him docile because he would think it was real. But as with any similar scenario, he would eventually realize that none of it is real and that would snap him out of it. He’d bust out, find Zack and Cloud on his way out the door and off they’d go, but not back to Midgar. Zack would head there, but Sephiroth would take Cloud north because he heard that the healers up there know how to alleviate mako poisoning.

Yeah, it’s a work in progress…

At this point, I was thinking of having Sephiroth as the protagonist who travels the world along with other characters he scoops up along the way and Aerith as the deuteragonist in Midgar with Zack, Tifa and Avalanche. Eventually the two groups would meet up.

It’s going to be a series of multi-chapter stories patterned after the “seasons” of a TV show, and each chapter being the “episodes” connected by a story arc. I don’t know how many there will be yet, it will end when I run out of story to tell.

13. If you could draw effortlessly and as much as you wanted, what scene (s) would you draw for this character?

Probably scenes from the premise described above.

14. Are you physically attracted to this character?

How can you not be? He’s a total smokeshow.

15. Are your thoughts surrounding this character usually sexual, non-sexual, or a mix of both?

Mix of both, but mostly on the non-sexual end of the spectrum.

16. Have you ever cried when thinking about this character? Genuinely?

No. Not yet, anyway.

17. Have you ever felt physical pain over this character? (ex: physical heartache).

No.

18. Do you prefer to see this character suffer or know peace? Angst or comfort? Both?

Oh, both, but with peace being the ultimate outcome no matter what happens.

19. Does this character serve as a stress ball/ security blanket for you? Something you run to after a bad day to feel safe or happier?

Definitely.

20. Do you feel affectionate towards this character?

I’ll have to think about that one.

21. Are your feelings about this character platonic, romantic, or familial? All of these feelings at once maybe?

Familial toward Baby Seph. I just want to kidnap this kid, send him to school, encourage him to make friends and play video games while I make him lots of pasta as my army of robot snipers protects him. Eat some more pasta, Baby Seph, you look thin.

I suppose my feelings toward the adult version are platonic even though I find him ridiculously attractive. I don’t imagine myself with him, but when I get the occasional hankering for seeing him paired up, I’m partial to Sephiroth/Aerith, maybe Sephiroth/Genesis if the canon dynamics are preserved and I’ve even seen Sephiroth/Tifa done very well.

22. Do you think you will always love this character?

It certainly seems that way now. I’ve loved him since 2007 or so even with very little new content and I seriously doubt there will be no new content after the trilogy ends because Square Enix can practically print their own money thanks in part to him.

23. Has this character permanently altered or impacted your psyche in a way you won’t forget?

If that’s a way of saying I’ve got permanent Sephiroth brain rot, then yes.

24. Do you ever dream about this character? If so, describe a dream you once had about them.

I can’t say I have. I don’t dream much and when I do it’s usually about me and my mom fighting. They say dreams about dead loved ones are them coming back to visit, and it’s just like her to use the opportunity to give me a hard time.

25. What kind of fan-fiction do you read about this character? If you don’t read fan-fics about them, why not?

Gen fics, but the occasional pairing as well. I’m partial to ones that take place pre-Nibelheim and show the “slice of life” scenarios with or without the rest of the Himbo Holy Trinity or Zack. AU fics where Nibelheim is averted and his life goes in a different direction. AU fics where he does do a Face-Heel Turn but works with various other main characters because he’s acting out of Enlightened Self-Interest (the fic Epiphany on AO3 does a great job of portraying him this way but unfortunately it appears to have been abandoned by the authors).

I tend to avoid the ones where he’s portrayed as the usual monstrous villain. I can get that from canon and I haven’t seen many where the author goes outside the lines.

26. If you look for this character’s name on AO3, what tags are you including or excluding?

Sephiroth Needs a Hug, Sane Sephiroth, AU, Alternate Timeline are usually included. I exclude many of the pairings, but only because it makes for more efficient scrolling when gen fic is what I’m most interested in. I don’t bother to exclude the rare ones for that reason, because there aren’t many of those.

27. Do you like to ship this character with other characters or do you prefer not to?

When I get a yen for it, I’m partial to Sephiroth/Aerith. I’ve even seen Sephiroth/Tifa done very well. I could even get into a Sephiroth/Original Character ship if the OC is an actual functional character and not an obvious self-insert. Nothing against that, I’m just a little allergic because of all the blatant Mary Sues running around back in the day.

28. Do you get defensive about this character? If yes, then why?

Sometimes, but I keep it to myself. It’s just aggravating when people seem to deliberately misread him and act personally offended when he gets any kind of character development because they want to stay forever mad at him for killing Aerith. Like, any new developments for him don’t negate the existence of the original game, folks. I don’t even bother checking if anything on TV Tropes gets updated regarding him, because that place is crawling with those types. And don’t even get me started on those people who accuse you of Draco in Leather Pants-ing him anytime they see a take that isn’t “he’s evil and I hate him!” And then there are the folks who feel the need to point out his bad deeds any time they see a fan gushing over him. We all saw the same media, chief, we know what he did. Do you want us to call 911 over it?

29. Do you affectionately bully this character?

Sometimes.

30. Are you especially sensitive about this character?

A little bit, but I keep that to myself as well.

31. Are you ashamed of liking this character?

HELL no. I wear my Sephiroth brain rot like the Medal of Honor.

32. If you could make this character a meal, what would you make them?

Shrimp scampi. I hear he likes seafood and pasta. I’ve also heard that if you and someone else both eat something with a lot of garlic, you won’t smell each other’s garlic breath. If we have to shack up until we could sound the All Clear on the breath front…

33. Are you “blinded by love” for this character or do you accept any flaws they may have?

Mass murder aside, I embrace his flaws. Flaws make for a well-rounded and complex character.

34. Does this character inspire you with little things in your daily life?

The opposite happens, actually. You know those posts I make sometimes where I have Sephiroth losing his shpadoinkles not because of anything he read in the library but because he finally had enough of That Fuckwit from Field Services’ emails and Teams messages and ridiculous demands? All of those have happened in my professional life. If you hear about a small town in Southwestern Pennsylvania burning to the ground*, it’s because I stopped writing posts like that.

*No, I would never do something like that in real life. Most likely not. The fate of hundreds is in your hands, Fuckwit from Field Services.

35. Has this character ever prevented you from sleeping because you can’t stop thinking about them?

Nah, thinking about the plot bunnies hopping through my head that were inspired by him is my melatonin.

36. Do you feel a spiritual/soulmate connection with this character?

No, I tend not to do that with fictional characters, even ones I’m as obsessed with as Sephiroth.

37. Is your love for this character a secret from people you know in real life?

Yes, but mostly because no one I know in real life knows who the hell he is. Most of them have heard of Final Fantasy, but that’s about as far as it goes.

38. Do you tend to joke more about dying or killing for this character? Both? What causes the distinction?

Neither. I mostly joke about him losing his shit because of fictional versions of one or two incredibly aggravating and demanding work colleagues. For the sake of me continuing to receive a paycheck and staying out of prison, this will be my outlet when Janice and Keith are on a roll.

39. Do you feel lovesick over this character?

No, he’s not real.

40. Are you very empathetic towards this character? When they feel a certain way in the story, do you feel those emotions too?

Yes, definitely.

41. Do you prefer to interact with this character directly via self-insert/reader type content? Or do you enjoy seeing them mostly with other characters in the story and/or your OCs?

I don’t consume much Sephiroth/Reader content, but I’ll have to check it out. As for OCs, the story I’m thinking about will have three prominent OCs and yes, they will also be products of Project S. In my idea, there were originally 10 S-types including Sephiroth. Two of them didn’t survive infancy and four were lost in various battles during the war. The remaining three are scattered to the four winds when the story starts. They and Sephiroth are connected in a way that they can sense each other but can’t pinpoint a precise location. I’m playing with the idea of a romance between him and one of them, but whether that gets included depends on how it will enrich the plot or move it forward.

42. If you could, would you write this character a song or poem?

I suck at poetry or songwriting, but get me speculating about something related to him or his place in the story and I could go on for hours.

43. What type of weather makes you think of this character?

Hot weather, because I HC that he doesn’t like it. Which made me come up with the following scenario of the Himbo Holy Trinity and Zack goofing off on a message forum one day:

Angeal: Seph, you need to take a vacation. How about a few days in Costa del Sol?

Sephiroth: Too hot.

Zack: hot damn…

Angeal: And my band ‘bout that money, break it down

Genesis: Girls, hit your hallelujah

Zack: Woo!

Sephiroth: *posts video of Uptown Funk* And if I have to have that song in my head for the rest of the day, so do all of you.

44. Which season makes you think of this character?

Hm, I haven’t thought about that.

45. Do you feel as if you are intimately familiar with this character?

A little. Enough that I can recognize subtle things about him.

46. How much do bad interpretations of this character upset you?

Not upset so much as aggravated. Some takes seem so deliberately bad that it’s so obvious they’re comically exaggerating his bad traits just so they can continue to hate him for killing Aerith.

47. Does this character ever make you laugh sincerely?

@rottenpumpkin13 ’s takes on his and the boys’ shenanigans sure have me laughing out loud most of the time!

48. What’s your favorite physical/design feature for this character?

I love the Remake trilogy’s design for him. Everything about it is just *chef’s kiss*

49. What’s your favorite personality trait in this character?

Pre-library, the way he showed such kindness and protectiveness to the people whose safety he was responsible for. The look on his face after he failed to save that security officer and the way he shook his head after he put the mission on hold to look for him and had to report that he wasn’t found was heartbreaking.

50. Link your fav song, playlist, aesthetic board, fan-fiction, reference pile, personal artwork, analysis post, meme, headcanon, or quote for this character. Whichever one (s) you are most comfortable with!

This song really makes me think of him. I deliberately chose the Limp Bizkit cover over the original version from The Who because the cover adds a new verse that I think describes him very well (apologies in advance for any unskippable ads).

No one knows what it’s like to be mistreated

To be defeated

Behind blue eyes

No one knows how to say that they’re sorry

And don’t worry

I’m not telling lies

But a verse from the original that isn’t in the cover fits as well

If my fist clenches, crack it open

Before I use it and lose my cool

If I smile, tell me some bad news

Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil

Put your finger down my throat

If I shiver please give me a blanket

Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

Oh, and did you know that Behind Blue Eyes was originally written as part of a rock opera Pete Townshend wrote after Tommy? It was called Lifehouse. There were a few live shows at the Young Vic Theater, but the project was eventually aborted and some of the songs from it ended up on other albums. Behind Blue Eyes was on Who’s Next.

In the rock opera, the song was sung by Jumbo, the main antagonist, a dictator who tightly controlled the entertainment that the public consumed, and rock and roll was considered barbaric. The hero was the leader of a resistance group who embraced rock and roll and tried to push it to the masses.

Behind Blue Eyes is sung by the antagonist when he realizes that he’s seen as the villain when up until that point, he though his intentions were good. It’s described as a first-person lament.

Sound like someone we know? Sure it does.

Anyway, this is more than long enough. Thank you for sticking around if you’ve made it this far and I hope the rest of your day/evening is peaceful.

[thequeendomhq]

NAME. Arkyn AGE & BIRTH DATE. 40 & April 12th, 2084 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cismale & He/Him NATIONALITY. Iskaran SPECIES. Human FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Alexander Dreymon

biography

( tw: imprisonment, death, fire, murder )

Born human, Arkyn was as stained by the sickness of magic as any supernatural creature among Iskaldrik was. Tainted, the moment his mother sought the help of magic, an elixr to carry her through the woes her first pregnancy forced upon her, his first breath carried with it her sentence to the mines. Just moments upon this earth, and already he’d sentenced another to suffer. Flesh and blood that he would never know of, and yet would carry, a poisonous burden that would follow wherever the pattern took him. His second breath found the compassion of a woman of nobility. Spare the child, his humanity remains carved in innocence, however, tainted his birth may have been. Allow him the chance to do what his mother did not. And though he was cast aside, sporting the energy of something beginning to rot, he lived. 

But what hope does a babe have without the promise of warmth and protection? No matter the whispers of his survival, his life remained strung up by a single hook, uncertain of how long he could linger before the atrocities of a life without the bare minimum would take him too. A woman unknown, filled with enough warmth and the ability to protect all that was hers, the madam of a whorehouse, welcomed the newborn into a place no child should perhaps ever see. He’d never last, they whispered, and each side eye that the boy earned in the years that he grew, earned a shift cussing from the women of the brothel, those who nursed him, who taught him to grow with more love than he’d experienced just yet.

Wooden swords and sticks that looked nothing like the real thing were all he had to hope for, yet still, as he came of age, Arkyn was more determined than ever to ensure that he could protect the women who’d raised him. He learned to imitate those around him. Footwork of the Iskaran soldiers a dance he memorized and sought to repeat, over and over, with no partner to spar with. He learned to listen to what people were truly saying, instead of merely the words they formed in its place. Although Arkyn was undoubtedly forgettable, he remembered every face he ever came across, every voice in the night that stumbled over another lie. Devils. They said. Devils among them all, charming all those who had sauntered through the doors out of pocket and home. Witchcraft, kept the brothel standing for as long as it had, kept the coin heavy in the hands of the women within as they bewitched their clientele against the Iskaran laws. An uprising, so those of nobility claimed, and though Arkyn swore his family; those women of the brothel who took him in when nobody else would, would never be part of something so heinous as treason. 

And when the brothel was burnt to the ground, and all those within it perished among the flame, he was left only to wonder, if everything he touched was doomed to fall. If that touch of magic passed down by his mother had rotted him so deeply, he would find nothing but disaster within the shores of Iskaldrik. But with little more than the breath in his chest, and the cloak upon his back - where else could he go? Water cleansed all, and each ripple sent outwards by the reverberation of refugees as they stow from the city echoes the Vow of Silence he swore oath to years prior. The journey beneath the depth of the Lake of Sighs, into the cavern of Nightingales is one that Arkyn has never felt as a weight upon his shoulders. Never has he been more than a blight upon the lives of those around him, a pariah to earn more cold shoulders than blank stares and though everything he touched until his tongue was tied, fell to rot - something told him this would not join in destruction. 

As the Kindgom fell, his return was inevitable. Arkyn knew far too many clinging to the slivers of hope that perhaps, one day, the magic within Iskaldrik wouldn’t be seen as something demonic. He knows the touch of warmth it has always offered along the cold, lonely path he’d walked. The touch of a mother's hope, the love of strangers open enough to help raise him, and the kindness of a woman who gave him more to live for with the passing of a single coin Undoubtedly, the sight of his face, as refugees are led towards the shores of Iskaldrik, is one that leaves an echo of shock. The boy who existed alone for so long, too afraid of humanity and magic kind alike, forever fearful that growing too close to either one would end in disaster. Touched by the shadow of magic, and too human to know it at all; Arkyn’s pledge to the Nightingales became his saving grace. A place to exist, upon the precipice of all that which threatened to choke him until now. The boy within him still quivers, confused and lost within the imprint of destruction, and yet every whisper Arkyn gives to the wind brings his younger self that little bit closer to clarity.

The pattern weaves, as the pattern wills.

personality

+ resourceful, compassionate, meticulous – introverted, stubborn, dissociative

played by becer. aest. she/her.

[princesssarisa]

Sleeping Beauty Spring: "Dornröschen" ("Briar Rose") (1971 German film)

This Sleeping Beauty from the East German studio DEFA – the same studio that would co-produce the 1973 Czech/German cult classic Three Wishes for Cinderella – is no run-of-the-mill retelling of the fairy tale. First of all, much like Three Wishes for Cinderella, it takes a grounded, almost realistic approach to the story, with the magical elements depicted as subtly as the plot allows. Secondly, it portrays some of the characters in a different light than usual. Reflecting the values of East Germany's socialist government, it avoids the usual simple portrait of benevolent royalty and a villainous fairy, and glorifies the virtues of humility, kindness, loyalty, and work.

While I had to watch the film without English subtitles, I was able to follow along thanks to my reasonable knowledge of German, as well as the synopsis from the film's German Wikipedia page, and a JStor essay I found that analyzes all of DEFA's fairy tale adaptations.

In this Sleeping Beauty, the main antagonist isn't the angry fairy, but the King (Helmut Schreiber), who, while a devoted father, is spoiled, hot-tempered, and selfish. When he learns that he owns just twelve golden plates for the fairies, rather than bother to have another one made, he petulantly chooses not to invite the Fairy of Diligence (Vera Oleschlegel) to the celebration of Princess Rosalinde's birth. On the feast day, the fairies – who outwardly resemble ordinary ladies in elegant white dresses – give the princess their blessings in a ritual that has each bring forth a symbolic physical gift: a mirror for beauty, a book for intelligence, etc. The Fairy of Diligence – who is neither old nor visually "dark," but a golden-haired lady in a white gown like the other fairies – arrives unexpectedly with the gift of a spinning wheel, representing good, honest work, and only when the King insults her further does she change her gift to a curse. The other fairies side with her against the King, but for the princess's sake, the twelfth fairy softens the curse from death to sleep and amends it so the King, the Queen, and their court will sleep too.

The Fairy of Diligence doesn't leave the castle, but withdraws into a tower, which the King has surrounded by an iron gate, imprisoning her forever (so he thinks). He then has his soldiers confiscate and burn all the kingdom's spindles. This leads to a harsh sequence where peasant women, shown cheerfully spinning and singing at the film's beginning, are pitilessly robbed of their source of livelihood.

When Princess Rosalinde (Juliane Korén) turns fifteen, the King is so confident that the curse will never come true that, despite the Queen's objections, he leads the court on a royal hunt, leaving the princess alone. The lively, inquisitive Rosalinde resolves to try to enter the mysterious forbidden tower. The gate's lock breaks in her hand, and inside, she finds the still youthful and elegant Fairy of Diligence spinning at her wheel. The Fairy holds no ill will toward the princess and gives her a genuine lesson in spinning, then gently leads her to a bed after she pricks her finger, and promises that one day a prince will arrive to wake her. Meanwhile, the newly-returned King, Queen, and court all freeze in place like statues rather than physically sleeping, just as they did in the 1955 West German film, and a hedge of thorns grows around the castle.

A hundred years later, in a tavern, Prince Ferdinand (Burkhard Mann) hears a hurdy-gurdy man sing a haunting folk song about the sleeping "Briar Rose." He then sees Rosalinde's image engraved on an old coin, falls instantly in love, and sets out to find the castle. Throughout these scenes, the prince does deeds that reveal his kindness, in contrast to the long-lost King. The Fairy of Diligence appears disguised as a poor woman and asks him to climb a cliffside to retrieve her spindle from an eagle's nest. After he obliges, she shows him magical visions of rewards she could offer him, but he wants only to find "Briar Rose." Finally, the Fairy shows him the way to the castle, where the briars sprout red roses and part for him.

After Ferdinand's kiss wakes Rosalinde, and the court unfreezes, the young lovers ask the King to bless their marriage. The King refuses because Ferdinand is only the prince of small kingdom, but the Fairy of Diligence intervenes. She strips the King of his crown and declares Ferdinand and Rosalinde the new king and queen, because they've proven their virtues and earned the right to rule. At their coronation feast, the Fairy gives Rosalinde her spinning wheel as a gift and urges her to teach her subjects to spin again. Thus the film ends the way it began, with the kingdom's women happily singing as they spin.

While this grounded production isn't the lavish visual spectacle that other Sleeping Beauties are, its filming location of the Renaissance-era Hartenfels Castle is beautiful, and the costumes are a handsome and faintly fanciful depiction of 18th and later 19th century fashion through a slight '70s lens. Likewise, the musical score is a stylistic blend of classical and '70s pop – similar to the music of Three Wishes for Cinderella – and while the pop elements are jarring at times, it all has a certain charm too. The cast is also well-chosen. But what really makes this film stand out are its unique storytelling choices.

Whether this Dornröschen becomes a favorite Sleeping Beauty or not, I recommend seeing it.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @reds-revenge, @thealmightyemprex, @paexgo-rosa, @thatscarletflycatcher, @faintingheroine, @the-blue-fairie, @themousefromfantasyland, @autistic-prince-cinderella

[lucid-fate-if]

What are the ROs' favorite love stories or romantic fairytales, and do they try to emulate it in their own relationship?

Not all the ROs are romantic fairytale type of lovers, leaving only a few left. Specifically Dante, Fai, Saeko and surprisingly even Zephyr!

Dante - Would most likely be obsessed with Aladdin. Specifically the romance trope between princess Jasmine and Aladdin himself. For Dante, the most captivating aspect of Aladdin's love story lies in the way it subverts traditional class distinctions, with a lowly hero boldly pursuing a woman from the upper echelons of society.

Trope - The romance trope present in Aladdin is the classic "Rags to Riches" trope. He wins the heart of Princess Jasmine, who is initially hesitant to marry someone outside her status and class, but eventually falls in love with Aladdin for who he is, not just for his newfound wealth. This trope is popular in romance stories because it emphasizes the idea that true love can transcend social status and wealth.

Fai - The little mermaid is his favorite! This fairytale might be a good fit because it highlights some of the qualities mentioned, such as shyness, a love of animals, kindness, a love of reading, and the inability to express words an emotions. It also touches on the theme of wanting to connect with others and the struggles that can come with communication barriers.

Trope - He's drawn to the idea that true love can transcend any obstacle aswell, but more on an emotional aspects rather than social standards like Dante, even one as seemingly insurmountable as the mermaid's inability to speak.

Trope - "The Snow Queen" does not fit neatly into a single romance trope, as it is primarily a tale of friendship and adventure rather than a traditional romance story. However, there are elements of the "rescue romance" trope in the relationship between the main characters Gerda and Kay. Gerda sets out on a perilous journey to save Kay from the clutches of the Snow Queen, who has imprisoned him in her palace of ice. Along the way, Gerda braves many dangers and obstacles, displaying her courage and devotion to Kay. When she finally finds him, he is cold and distant, having been bewitched by a shard of the Snow Queen's magic mirror. However, Gerda's love and tears are able to break the spell and restore Kay to his former self. In this way, the story of "The Snow Queen" has elements of a rescue romance, with the hero and heroine being brought together through a shared experience of danger and hardship.

Saeko - The fairytale that would fit this girl would be "The Snow Queen." The main character, Gerda, is also shy but brave and determined. Like the girl in question, Gerda is fiercely loyal and protective of those she cares about. The Snow Queen herself, who is initially portrayed as a cold and unfeeling character, also shares some similarities with Saeko. Both characters appear aloof and unapproachable, but ultimately have a good heart and are capable of great compassion. The story of "The Snow Queen" also explores themes of love, friendship, and the power of emotion, which would be relatable to Saeko's experiences of being less familiar with emotions.

Zephyr - The fairytale that would fit this description is "The Tin Soldier." In the story, the tin soldier is a strict and disciplined figure who follows the rules and serves as a royal guard. He is renowned for his strength and appears unapproachable and mean, much like the described guy. He is also very territorial over the paper ballerina, whom he cares deeply for. The tin soldier is not emotional and doesn't like to show weakness, much like the described guy who doesn't like emotions because he sees it as a weakness.

Trope - The romance trope present in "The Tin Soldier" is the unrequited love trope. The tin soldier is in love with the paper ballerina, but she doesn't reciprocate his feelings. Despite this, he continues to love her and is willing to sacrifice himself to protect her. This trope is common in fairytales, where one character harbors strong feelings for another, but the love is not returned, creating a sense of tragedy and unfulfilled desire.

[lady-sai]

Exciting Fall News!

Dance With Darkness - An Exciting Announcement!

So, I am being published in an anthology from Hydra Productions entitled Dance With Darkness that is set for pre-order 9/17!

PreOrder Dance With Darkness TODAY!

Here's the Blurb!

To protect your people, you must allow yourself to be captured by the creature everyone has feared for over a century.

Or maybe, you're a stowaway bested by an enemy on distant shores or a princess seeking a deal to save your kingdom.

Whether this collection of stories takes you on a journey through a magical landscape or brings a creature from a distant land to your doorstep, you won't be left wanting of magic and excitement. In this collection, you'll be captivated by dark magic, anti-heroes, and tough heroines who don't cower in the face of their demons. In fact, you might find some falling for them.

Fae, vampires, elves, and more grace the pages of this book, written by various beloved fantasy and paranormal authors. Be captivated by unconventional enemies to lovers stories with twists to thrill, surprise you, and sometimes, break your heart.

Grab your copy of DANCE WITH DARKNESS today. Discover nearly a dozen romantic fantasy stories for fans of Elise Kova, Emily Blackwood, Sarah J. Maas, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Laurell K Hamilton, and more!

Fire Soldier by JA Culican!

BLURB

The Gods may think they own the fire soldiers, but they have no idea of the inferno that’s coming.

I was born from Ares with the fire given to him from his one true love. Though the Gods imprisoned him as punishment for loving a woman that wasn’t his, he forged a kingdom from the flames and made his children his soldiers.

Now that Ares is gone, the Gods will stop at nothing to control the Kingdom of Fire and all who inhabit it. But I was created to fight, so, in Ares name I'll avenge his murder and reduce them all to ashes for what they have done to my family.

The only problem is, my brethren don’t fully understand what’s at stake, so I’m on my own fighting a battle with a cursed trait no one knows about. When Karim, a half centaur/half siren and my sworn enemy since birth takes my side as I stand up to the Gods, I’m torn, but without anyone else to help save the fire soldiers, I have to accept help from my age old rival, with secrets of his own.

I might not like it, but he’s the only thing between my eternal servitude and scorching the earth with the bones of the Gods that enslave us. We are coming for the thrones of the Gods, and I’m not going to let anything stand in my way. Between us, we’ll set the heavens ablaze and watch the ashes fall.

If you love Game of Thrones, Greek mythology and enemies to lovers romance that’s guaranteed to have your heart set to slow burn, grab book one of this sizzling fantasy series now.

Alpha Seeker from Lela Grayce!

Can she find her mate and save her people from extinction?

PearlChosen in secret to be the Alpha Seeker, it is Pearl’s duty to carry out a mission many have failed at. Find a worthy Alpha. The packs are led by corrupt, power hungry alphas who have stripped families, like hers, of their titles and forced them into exile. Now, her mate will be the alpha to unite the packs and bring balance by righting the wrongs of the past.

RylanRylan has seen the corrupt nature of wolves firsthand, and can't deny his own lust for power. In spite of it all, he is pushing his desire for political gain aside to seek answers from a different source. In order for him to achieve his full potential, he must find his true mate. Too bad she hates him.

Now both are investigating the death of the previous Alpha Seeker, they realize that—like it or not—they can accomplish more together. Can Rylan use the opportunity to convince Pearl he’s changed for the better? Or will Pearl reject him and leave him to a life of madness and ruin?

Shadow of the Dragon Book 3 from Amber Morant!

The final battle has begun.

Kalio has hidden within the confines of Ombramoor, leaving Anjuu to destroy the last remnants of the queen's army. When a mysterious assassin reveals herself to Anjuu, all of the Drow's plans begin to unravel before her. On the other side of Narishma, a scholar and a god work to fuse into a single being. Together, they must learn the truth behind the many stories around Devata and the mysterious images from their shrines. Tosh's mind may not be able to handle what is in store for him. With the final chapter coming to a close, the fate of Narishma and its future rests in the hands, and claws, of the Dragon Guardians and Gods.

In the Shadow of a Wish: A Fairytale Reimagining with Spice by Maci Aurora!

Auri Fareview, practical and realistic, does what she can to serve her impoverished family. When she finds a golden key that could be the answer she needs to save her sisters from the unjust Marriage Laws of her land, she discovers the treasure might be more than she bargained for. Enchanted, the key is home to an imprisoned god, who wreaks havoc on her body, her heart, and her soul. And those aren’t practical matters. He has the power to break her.

Nixus Uraiahs has lost track of how long he’s been imprisoned by the spell on the key. There have been six key-keepers, all of whom have failed to break the spell to free him. He will hold this 7th key-keeper accountable to the bargain of the spell: three wishes and a price for each. There’s no hope in her freeing him, however. Nix knows she'll be like all the key-keepers who came before her. Except Auri approaches her wishes differently than any of the others, and Nix begins to see her as more than just a key-keeper. She intrigues him, proving her strength, surprising him, and enchanting him. Nix realizes his heart is at risk of being captured by the seventh key-keeper, and that is a risk he can’t afford to take knowing his villainy is just a single wish away.

NEW RELEASE!

From Jen L Grey: Destined Mate (Twisted Fate Trilogy, Book One)

PNR/Urban Fantasy

Fate stripped everything from me and forced me to face my worst nightmare.

As the adopted and weakest member of my pack, I’ve always been an outcast and mistreated, especially since I’ve never been able to shift into my animal form.

Every time I try to find a way to escape my personal hell, my pack leader stops me so that I’ll never be free from him.

Then the worst happens.

A group of my pack members attacked me.

Alone, outnumbered, and stuck in my human form, I’ll fight for my life even though there’s no hope for survival.

Until a group of unfamiliar wolves come to my aid.

The sexiest and strongest of them, Bodey, is adamant to protect me.

And something inside me tugs toward him almost unnaturally.

But it turns out things aren’t what they seem.

There might be something more to my past than I knew . . . and

Bodey might be the very person I need protection from.

Buy Your Copy of Destined Mate Today!

Hidden Passages: Realm Walkers by Elle Klass

Rosette and Terra’s bonding vacation in the Meradin Woods in Aradia is cut short when the realms are invaded.

Trapped in the tiny city of Provence, refugees flood in from the realms and Terra’s true nature and parentage is revealed to her. Without a moment to consider it, she’s smuggled to another realm to practice magic that is anything but innate to her, when she is kidnapped by someone with electric whips. Her already complicated life grows in complexity when she and her kidnapper, a young attractive warlock, find they share a bond and a mission.

Their lack of trust in one another diminishes as they narrowly escape an encounter with a hybrid fae/warlock in the dungeon beneath the fae palace. Thrust into the secrets of the past and enigmas of the present, their bond ties them to the future as they find themselves embroiled in a battle between warlocks, werewolves, and vampires.

Destiny weighs on their shoulders, as they must find a way to salvage Drakonia and bring peace to the realms.

Hidden Passages is Available Now!

[clarchive]

reiner  is  the  epitome  of survivors  guilt   ––   for  so  long  he  has  taken  himself  as  the  one  who  has  survived  it  all,  who  has  come  back  from  paradis,  where  everyone  else  has  died.   for  four  years  he  has  been  a  shell  of  himself,  a  husk   ––   his  heart  is  a  fragile  thing,  overgrown  garden   &   cracked  glass  that  stabs  in  occasionally.   for  four  years,  he  is  nothing  more  than  cynical  destruction,  wanting  to  keep  what  is  his  close   &   also  wanting  to  throw  it  away.   for  four  years,  he  is  nothing  because  being something  means  survival  still.

part  of  him  doesn't  know  how  to  maneuver  in  this  world  now.   now  that  some  of  the  weeds  have  been  cut  back,  some  of  the  pieces  glued  back  together.   bertolt  is  very  much  alive.   &   reiner  himself  is  very  much  alive.   there  is  a  ticking  clock  over  them  always   ––   four  years.   four  years  with  the  titans  inside  of  them.   but  there's  a  desperation  that  whispers  inside  of  his  own  mind,  the  one  that  will  always  be  torn  between  soldier   &   warrior.

even  now,  when  he  feels  like  he  has  settled  into  the  routine  of  paradis   &   the  things  that  come  with  it,  there  is  a  longing  that  keeps  yearning  wide,  keeps  kicking  up  against  his  rib  cage  to  remind  him  that  there  is  a  home  across  the  sea.   there  are  people  waiting  for  him   ––   or  maybe  there  isn't.   he  tries  not  to  think  about  that  possibility,  that  his  capture  has  destroyed  them,  that  they've  been  tortured,  imprisoned,  maybe  killed. 

he  doesn't  want  to  think  of  gabi's  light  being  snuffed  out  because  he  had  been  impulsive,  he  had  been  tired,  he  had grabbed   &   then  felt  the  world  fall  out  from  underneath  his  feet.   he  doesn't  want  to  think  about  his  mother   &   what  might  happen  to  her,  either.   or  his  aunts   &   uncles.

it's  hard   ––   there  is  a  disconnect  that  he  can  never  truly  get  over.   in  their  minds  he  is  a  hero,  but  they  don't  want  the  actual  war  veteran  of  him.   they  want  this  grandiose  idea  of  him   ––   the  one  who  went  to  paradis   &   fought  devils   &   returned  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth.   they  don't  want  the  fractured  parts  of  him  that  had  friends  among  the  devils,  the  one  that  had  smiled   &   played   &   became  good.   sometimes  he  looks  at  them   &   feels  like  an  outsider,  like  he's  someone  that  they  are  worshiping  but  never  truly  seeing.

reiner  has  gotten  good  at  hiding  the  parts  of  himself  that  others  don't  want  to  see.   as  much  as  people  want  to  call  it  split  personality,  he  has  gotten  it  under  control.   it's  not  the  weight  of  his  sins  or  the  guilt   ––   it  had  been  simple  survival.   it  had  been  him  finding  a  place  he  belonged  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  born.   &   it  had  been  the  sad  reality  that  he  had  to  give  it  up,  that  he  was  meant  to  be  nothing  more  than  destruction.

he  hates  himself  regularly.   he  despises   &   loathes  the  fact  that  he  is  shield  because  that  is  all  people  see.

but  ever  since  he  was  a  little  boy,  that's  all  he's  been   ;   a  pawn  for  a  mother  who  wanted  revenge  against  the  person  who  had  knocked  her  up   &   not  loved  her  in  return.   he  had  been  some  strange  plot  in  order  to  torture   ––   his  entire  family  could've  been  killed  along  with  him  for  what  had  happened.   his  mother  was  a  vindictive  woman  who  thought  only  of  her  own  goal.   she  sees  son   &   sees  mistake,  but  also revenge.   reiner  had  been  so  naive  to  think  that  she  had  wanted  a  family.   it  had never  been  about  that.

he  had  never  told  her  that  he  met  his  father.   she  had  never  even  bothered  to  ask.

a  bigger  part  of  himself  that  he  has  hidden  from  everyone  else  is  his attractions,  when  his  heart  wants  what  it wants.   he  isn't  a  fool   ––   he  has  had  hook  ups  in  marley   ;   everyone  wants  a  piece  of  a  war  vet,  especially  when  he's  a  vice  chief   &   the  armored.   they're  disgusting  any  other  time,  but  put  that  on  them   &   suddenly  they  don't  look  so  bad.   he's  had  his  share  of  girls   &   guys   &   has  chased  pleasure  like  it  was  the  only  thing  holding  him  to  the  world.

but  it's  never  been  perhaps  a secret  that  he's  looked  at  bertolt  like  he  was  something  to  behold,  like  he  was  something  to treasure.   it's  strange,  looking  back  on  it   ;   how  it  was  nondescript  in  its  own  way,  how  he  had  bit  his  lip   &   laughed  off  the  kiss  in  the  trees  like  it  had  been  just  a  moment  of  mania,  of  adrenaline   &   excitement  that  they  could  finally  go  home.   it's  easy  to  believe  that  if  he  lets  himself,  but  he  doesn't   ;   because  he  knows  that  it  had  been  something  for  him,  something  that  had  stirred  in  his  chest.

he  thinks  about  all  the  times  curled  up   ––   they  are  no  strangers  to  having  to  do  it,  they're  soldiers.   you  can't  be  picky  when  it's  freezing   &   you  need  body  heat.   bertolt  indulges  him   ––   even  when  they're  both  far  too  hot  underneath  their  own  skin  because  of  the  shifter  blood  inside  of  them.

reiner  has  realized,  more  than  anything,  that  he  is touch  starved.   he  gets  an  ounce  of  affection   &   falls  in  love.   he  chases  it  like  the  best  high  in  the  world.   he  wonders  if  it  comes  from  the  fact  that  his  mother  loved  him  selectively,  happily  sent  him  to  slaughter  for  her  own  agenda.   he  wonders  if  it  comes  from  the  fact  that  his  father  never  wanted  him,  practically  ran  from  his  existence.    he  wonders  if  it  comes  from  the  fact  that  he  never  had  anything  for  himself   ;   he  has  given   &   given   &   given  with  no  end  of  stopping  in  sight.

his  lips  still  feel  like  they  tingle,  even  though  it  was  barely anything.   he  tries  to  temper  it  down   ––   bertolt  doesn't  think  that  way.   bertolt  isn't  built  for  what  reiner  is  always  searching  for,  always  wanting.   he  had  no  illusions  with  himself  that  bertolt  has  thought  of  him  like  that,  or  maybe  even  at all,  in  the  four  years  that  they  were  apart.   bertolt  hadn't  looked  at  him   ––   his  eyes  had  always  been  for  annie.   &   reiner  had  been  sincere  when  he  had  told  him  that  he  should  tell  annie  his  feelings  if  they  made  it  out  of  there  alive.

he  thinks  they'd  be  a  good  match,  even  now.   even  if  bertolt  deserves  better.   that  is  the  bitter  part  of  him,  the  one  that  is  desperate  to  be  wanted.

but  for  now  he  takes  what  he  can  get.   he  takes  the  tentative  friendship  that  still  has  its  edges   ––   there  is  four  years  between  them,  kids  that  had  become  adults.   there  are  things  that  are  no  longer  the  same   ;   reiner's  new  resolve,  reiner's  new  deposition,  reiner's  new  self  loathing.   bertolt's  new  cynicism,  bertolt's  new  belonging,  bertolt's  new  roughness.   the  foundation  is  there.   sometimes  he  forgets  that  they're  different.

sometimes  he  wishes  they  were  still  the  same.

reiner  chuckles  as  he  takes  his  canteen,  gives  it  a  shake   &   hears  the  water  still  rattling  around  in  it.   he  takes  a  slow  swig  of  it   &   tries  to  let  the  coolness  of  the  water  clear  his  mind.   he  is  scrapes   &   bruises   &   faded  titan  marks.   he  will  heal.   but  he  finds  he  keeps  them  a  little  longer  this  time   ––   tries  to  remember  that  they  are  from  bertolt,  because  then  it's  another  reminder.  

he  lied  when  he  said  he'd  stop  thinking  of  him  as  dead.   sometimes  he  needs  those  reminders  that  this  isn't  some  weird  side  effect  of  too  many  artillery  hits   &   long�� dreams.

❝   when's  the  last  time  you  sparred?   when's  the  last  time  you  used  your  new  height   &   weight  to  your  advantage?   ❞     eyebrow  raises  slightly  in  question   ––   bertolt  had  never  been  much  for  combat  training   ;   he  had  been  revered  for  his  crack  shot,  for  the  calm  demeanor  that  he  carefully  held  close.   the  colossus  barely  needed  any  sort  of  combat   ––   it  relied  on  destructive  explosions   &   scorching  steam.   the  armored  had  been  built  for  fighting   &   shielding. 

tongue  presses  against  his  cheek.   he  had  learned  to  come  into  his  own  with  combat  here,  had  adjusted  it  in  his  titan  form.   he  had  found  solace  in  the  punches   &   bruises,  in  the  blood  dripping  from  his  lips  from  too  many  moments  of  shield  in  the  field.   but  he  wonders  if  bertolt  ever  got  the  hang  of  it   ––   if  he's  had  to  use  a  choke  hold  until  he  felt  a  body  slacken.   if  he's  done  anything  more  than  be  strategic  use  to  the  scouts.

reiner  is  a  lot  of  things.   he  is  bastard  son.   he  is  shield.   he  is  armored.   he  is  touch  starved.   he  is  unwanted.

but  his  belief  that  bertolt  had  always  held  so  much  more  within  him  still  remains  true,  even  now  when  bertolt  looks  like  training  is painful,  like  this  whole  ordeal  is  painful.  

he  wants  to  ease  that  away.   make  it  so  that  he  can  curl  into  the  warmth  of  a  good  meal   &   good  company   &   good  home.

he  thinks  he'll  never  do  that.   thinks  that  he  can  provide  a  foundation  but  never  be  the  building  blocks  of  it.

it  leaves  something  hollow  ringing  in  his  chest.   something  that  makes  him  glance  away  from  bertolt  even  as  their  hips  bump    &   fingers  touch  as  they  walk.

❝   sorry  about  back  there.   fight  adrenaline  or  whatever.   ❞    because  reiner  has  learned  that  he  is  not  the  hero  in  the  story.   he  has  learned  that  he  is  not  the  one  that  gets  that  happy  ending,  that  smiles   &   finds  that  one  true  love  or  whatever  bullshit  they  spew  these  days.   he  never  was  fond  of  them.

maybe  it's  because  his  sense  of  love  is  skewed.   is  written  in  forbidden   &   hung  over  a  door  that  was  never  meant  to  be  opened  in  the  first  place.

but  he  gives  bertolt  a  sideways  grin,  knows  it  doesn't  meet  his  eyes.  

because  reiner  is shield,   &   sometimes  that  even  means  from  himself.

there’s  a  part  of  him,  stuck  somewhere  in  his  ribcage,  that  feels  something  equally  petulant  &  pleased  at  reiner’s  indulgence  in  unnecessary  warfare.  petulant  —  because  it  had  been  unwarranted.  because  bertolt  finds  himself  resistant  to  the  notion  that  reiner  might  teach  him  something  about  combat.  at  this  stage  of  their  turn  as  warriors.

it’s  not  a  concern  of  power.  bertolt  is  a  horrible  contradiction  of  power  itself,  delayed  wielding  of  power  outside  of  his  titan,  &  indifference  to  power  (  who  wields  it  &  how  ).

but  still  —  bertolt  is  full  of  concerns.  power  concerns.  regular  concerns.  he  is  a  bomb  within  himself,  &  it  is  pressure  collapsing  in  on  him.

concern  one.   treachery  is  a  cheat  on  trust.  survival  is  a  cheat  on  death.  four  more  years  is  a  cheat  on  alternative  plans.  in  order  to  survive,  you  have  to  cheat.  however,  on  a  practice  battleground,  there  are  no  gains  in  false  surrenders  &  cheated  victories.

but  reiner  stands  a  little  taller  than  bertolt  remembers.  &  granted,  bertolt  stands  taller  too  —  he  stands  more  cynical  &  disheveled  &  flaky  in  his  principles  or  convictions  &  vices.

reiner  stands  a  little  taller  than  bertolt  remembers,  a  little  fuller.

he  stands  as  the  product  of  impacted  artillery  shells  &  shielding.

it  takes  heart  to  shield.  it  does  not  take  heart  to  destroy.

it’s  an  interesting  path  of  evolution,  &  bertolt  traces  it  through  memory  as  though  it  were  a  thread  of  smoke.

he  doesn’t  want  reiner  to  be  able  to  teach  him  combat  because  he  doesn’t  want  him  as  a  shield.  he  doesn’t  want  reiner  to  have  to  be  a  shield.  not  for  him.

colossus  is  good  for  some  things.

concern  two.  hand  to  hand  combat  is  something  that  bertolt  sometimes  remembers  flatly.  still,  he’s  surprised  to  feel  some  hints  of  nostalgia  touching  at  him  —  things  before  panic  started  ringing  increasingly,  persistently,  consistently.  evenings  before  the  dinner  bell,  sparring  with  reiner  because  he  could.

because  for  some  reason  that  bertolt  still  doesn’t  fully  understand,  he  had  elected  to  believe  how  genuinely  reiner  threw  himself  into  the  fight.

it  takes  a  heart  to  shield,  to  become  shield.

&  he  supposes,  too,  that  reiner  was  as  good  as  anyone.  naive.  &  as  good  as  anyone.

also,  bertolt  didn’t  want  to  lose.  he  never  wants  loss.

concern  three.  he  loses.  the  moment  he  means  to  drag  his  feet  k&  join  annie  with  the  military  police.  the  moment  he  realizes  he  waited  a  moment  too  long,  &  he  is  fucked. he  is  fucked.

he  means  to  follow  a  decision  that  someone  else  had  made.  to  search  for  the  founding  titan  like  a  spider  in  the  capital.  he  means  to  just  follow  the  plan,  to  make  himself  invisible.  to  pretend  to  be  invisible.

nowadays,  bertolt  thinks  he  has  wasted  a  lot  of  time  pretending.  he  realized  that,  too,  at  shiganshina.  when  he  drew  his  blade  against  armin  &  realized  more  of  the  philosophy  of  colossus.  there  is  no  use  pretending.  it’s  a  waste  of  time.  it’s  a  waste  of  time.  four  years  are  too  few  to  waste.  &  it  turns  out  it  is  possible  to  love  &  be  human  &  still  be  wasteland.

he  loses.  when  he  means  to  follow  a  plan,  &  follows  reiner  instead.  it  feels  like  the  product  of  indecision,  &  it  terrifies  him  ( another  waste  of  time  ).  but  bertolt  didn’t  want  to  lose.  he  never  wants  loss.  so  it  makes  sense.

reiner  feels  too  close  to  loss.  annie  would  be  okay.

then  annie  got  captured.

bertolt  keeps  losing  pieces  of  reiner  anyway. 

concern  four.  he  lose  reiner  that  day.  when  reiner  loses  his  mind  &  announces  himself  as  armored.  he  exposes  bertolt  too  &  risks  everything.  it  works,  though.  attack  is  captive;  jaws  is  captive.  &  there  is  talk  about  homecoming.

there  is  talk  about  homecoming.  &  reiner  is  bleeding  heart,  bleeding  adrenaline,  bleeding  relief.

he  kisses  berolt  then.  crashes  his  palms  against  bertolt’s  cheeks  in  a  celebration,  kisses  him  short  —  like  a  shout,  like  punctuation.  it  hadn’t  been  much  of  anything,  but  bertolt  feels  the  adrenaline  tickingbomb  inside  him  too.

but  then  bertolt  keeps  losing  pieces  of  reiner,  &  even  that  short  shout  turned  into  something  he  remembers  wearily.

it’s  easy  to  ignore.  bertolt  reminds  himself  then  that  he  had  indulged  in  childish  daydreams  of  stealing  a  kiss  with  annie  (  captive  -  then  &  now  &  maybe  ),  &  he  hadn’t  thought  of  reiner  so.  what  of  it  ?

concern  five. it  takes  a  heart  to  shield,  to  become  shield.  reiner  stands  a  little  taller  than  bertolt  remembers,  a  little  fuller.  he  is  lighter,  &  he  brought  play  to  the  practice  ground.  a  teaching  moment.

it  makes  bertolt  too  hyper-conscious  what  parts  of  reiner  he  has  lost.  it  makes  him  too  hyper  conscious  of  the  way  that  reiner  has  been  gravitating  towards  him,  making  pretend  things  less  of  a  waste  of  time.

they’re  too  visible.  bertolt  doesn’t  know  what  to  do  with  it.

it's  careful.  it's  exposing,  even  though  everyone  has  left.  it's  a  quiet  cicada  buzzing  in  his  ears.  it's  everything.

it’s  no  good  to  waste  time.  that's  what  he  knows.

he  rolls  to  his  feet,  full  of  concerns.  he  drifts  towards  the  canteens  &  thinks  of  tossing  reiner’s  his.

instead  he  steps  back,  extends  reiner’s  canteen  towards  him.  bertolt  studies  reiner  as  he  steps  closer,  tries  to  assess  how  much  he  recognizes  the  man  &  the  heart. he  tries  to  assess  how  much  he  took  for  granted  &  whether  he  missed  something  when  reiner  learned  how  to  cheat.

there’s  a  part  of  him,  stuck  somewhere  in  his  ribcage,  that  feels  something  equally  petulant  &  pleased  at  reiner’s  indulgence  in  unnecessary  warfare.  petulant  —  because  it  had  been  a  little  bite  to  his  pride.  pleased  —-  because  the  answer  still  stays  the  same.  no  matter  how  much  bertolt  has  lost,  he  thinks  of  reiner  quite  a  lot.

there  is  no  use  pretending  otherwise.  it’s  a  waste  of  time.

‘  my  long  ass  legs  have  never  been  a  problem  before.  i’ll  make  sure  not  to  trust  you  to  be  a  good  sport  next  time.  sound  good  ?  ‘

maybe  he's  a  sore  loser.  but  not  really  ? 

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Élisabeth Lebas corrects Alphonse de Lamartine’s Histoire des girondins(1847)

Source: Le conventionnel Lebas: d’après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 327-331

Volume 4 — page 341: ”Saint-Just… mute as an oracle and sentient as an axiom, seemed to have stripped away all human sensibility to personify in him the cold intelligence and the ruthless impulse of the Revolution, etc… his passion had, so to speak, petrified his entrails. His logic had contracted the impassiveness of a geometry and the brutality of a material force. It was he who, in intimate and long-lasting conversations in the night under Duplay's roof, had most combated what he called Robespierre's weaknesses of soul and his reluctance to shed the king's blood, etc.” (In the hand of the son of Lebas): My mother did not recognize Saint-Just in this portrait. Where do you know that from?"

Volume 5 — page 65. (Interior aspect of the Convention during the trial of Louis XVI): ”The first benches of these popular stands were occupied by butcher boys, their enameled aprons rolled up on one side of their belts and the handles of long knives, etc…” Mark of denial.

Volume 5 — page 73: ”Robespierre, having returned to Duplay's house that evening and discussing the king's judgment, seemed to protest against the vote of the Duke of Orleans: 'to listen to his heart and to recuse himself, he did not want or he did not dare to do it: the nation would have been more magnanimous than he!” Word from Robespierre on d'Orleans made up.

Volume 6 — page 35: “The bourgeoisie, the bank, the upper class, the men of letters, the artists, the landowners, were almost all of the party which wanted to moderate and contain anarchy. They promised the orators of the Gironde an army against the suburbs, etc…” Lamartine does not explain the temporary triumph of the Girondins. See my husband's letters.

Volume 6 — page 300: ”Love warmed, without softening, the hearts of these men. Couthon's tenderness for the devoted woman who consoled his infirm life, Saint-Just's stormy and passionate feelings for Lebas's sister, Robespierre's grave and chaste predilection for his host's second daughter, Lebas's love for the youngest, etc…” Correction: very calm feelings.

Volume 7 — page 105: ”Fort Vauban was taken by the Austrians, Landau was about to fall. Saint-Just and Lebas were sent to Alsace to intimidate treason or weakness with death.” (Mark of protest.)

Volume 7 — Page 212: (About the proscriptions of Collot d'Herbois and Fouché in Lyons.) "Fouché, in his letters to Duplay, endeavored to circumvent Robespierre, and presented Lyon as a permanent counter-revolution." Letters of Duplay — false. [1]

Volume 7 — Page 232 (Imprisonment of Madame Roland) “They arrested her in spite of her summons, and threw her into another prison, at Sainte-Pélagie, that sewer of vices where the prostitutes of the streets of Paris were swept away. One wanted to debase her through contact and torture her through her modesty.” (Note from the son of Lebas:) Madame Roland was sent to Sainte Pélagie by the Commune; my mother to Saint-Lazare by the Thermidorians.

Volume 7 — page 287 and following: ”Robespierre, now dominant in the Committee of Public Safety, threw in notes, since revealed, the vague outlines of the government of justice, equality and freedom… When will, he wrote, their interest (interest of the rich and the government) be confused with that of the people? Never! "To that terrible word, etc...." Never! — Papers seized and falsified by Courtois. [2]

Volume 7 — page 341: ”Saint-Just… brought to the battlefield the enthusiasm of his youth and the example of an intrepidity that astonished the soldier. He spared no more his blood than his fame, etc…” So his heart was not petrified.

Volume 7 — page 342: ”He sent to the guillotine the president of the revolutionary tribunal of Strasbourg…” He sent to the revolutionary tribunal.

Volume 7 — page 343: ”Lebas, his friend and almost always his colleague, had been Robespierre's classmate.” Fellow patriot, not classmate.

Volume 7 — page 344: ”Lebas had become the commensal of this family (the Duplay family).” Not the commensal: the friend.

Volume 7 — pages, 344, 345 et 346 (reproduction of letters from Lebas to his fiancée). Made up letters.

Volume 7 — page 396. ”Hébert’s wife, a nun freed from the cloister by the Revolution, but worthy of another husband, frequented the Duplay house.” Invention.

Volume 7 — page 409. (Arrest of Hébert, and his friends) “They lamented, they shed tears, a spy of Robespierre, imprisoned as their accomplice, in order to reveal their confidences…” A spy of the Committee. (The Committee of Public Safety which had just instructed Collot d'Herbois to replace Robespierre at the session of the Jacobins which immediately preceded the arrest.)

Volume 7 — page 411: ”Robespierre's dark imagination magnified everything.” Courtois.

Volume 8 — page 8. (Attempt to reconcile Danton and Robespierre): “An interview was accepted by the two leaders. It took place at a dinner in Charenton at the house of Panis, their mutual friend…” Narrative of the dinner meeting between D and R — Melodrama.

Volume 8 — page 67. (Robespierre's words on the death of Danton and Camille Desmoulins): ”Poor Camille! Why couldn't I save him! But he wanted to get lost! As for Danton, I know very well that he clears the way for me; but it is necessary that, innocent or guilty, we must all give our heads to the Republic…” (Lamartine adds): “He pretended to moan…” He pretended to moan (Mark of protest)

Volume 8 — page 76: (About the letter from Madame Duplessis in favor of her daughter Lucile Desmoulins) “This letter remained unanswered. Robespierre… either did not receive it, or pretended to ignore it. He was silent…” Who proves that he received this letter? If he did not receive it, why reproach him for not having paid attention to it?

Volume 8 — page 153. ”Saint-Just, his only confident.” His only confident?

Volume 8 — page 159: ”…Finally, Courtois, deputy of Aube, friend of Danton, having never applauded his crimes but never betrayed his memory, an honest man whose honest and moral republicanism had not hardened his heart. Praise of Courtois!

Volume 8 — page 207 (Feast of the Supreme Being): “A symbolic mountain rose in the center of the Champ-de-Mars, in place of the old altar of the fatherland. Access was difficult. Robespierre, Couthon carried in an armchair, Saint-Just, Lebas, placed themselves alone on the summit. ?

Volume 8 — page 249. (About Dom Gerle): ”Robespierre often received the former monk at the Duplay’s.” (Note from Lebas's son:) My mother saw him two or three times.

Volume 8 — page 255: ”Trial, a man of the theater and mutual friend, took Robespierre to Madame de Sainte-Amaranthe. He was received there as a dictator. He sat down at the table in the middle of a circle of guests chosen by himself, etc…” Interview of Robespierre with the Sainte-Amaranthe — false

Volume 8 — page 257: ”Make every effort, Payan wrote to Robespierre, to diminish in the eyes of public opinion the importance that they want to give to the Catherine Théos affair…” Payan. — is his letter authentic?

Volume 8 — page 278: ”The fear that the insurrection, without moderator and without limits, would break out of its own accord and carry off the Convention, which he regarded as the only center of the country, finally determined Robespierre not to act, but to speak. … He only recalls Saint-Just, his brother and Lebas, to assist him in the crisis or to die with him. (Note from Lebas's son) My father had been in Paris for six weeks and more.

Volume 8 — page 366. ”Robespierre, carried by four gendarmes on a stretcher, his face covered by a bloody handkerchief, led the procession. The carriers of Couthon, etc. Robespierre the younger, having fainted, was carried by his arms by two men of the people. Lebas' corpse was covered with a bloodstained tablecloth. Saint-Just… followed on foot.” The corpse of Lebas — Error. (It is these passages from Lamartine that Mme Le Bas seems to be referring to in the last part of the manuscript reproduced above.)

Volume 8 — page 369. ”After the dressing, the wounded were all transferred and brought together in the same cell at the Conciergerie. Saint-Just would wait for them there beside Lebas. — ibid

Volume 8 — page 370. ”At five o'clock, the tumbrels were waiting for the condemned at the foot of the main staircase. Robespierre, his brother, Couthon, Hanriot, Lebas were either human remains or corpses. They were tied by the legs, by the throne and by the arms, to the wood of the first cart.” — ibid

Volume 8 — page 374: ”These twenty-two thrones were thrown pell-mell into the dumpster with the corpse of Lebas” — (We have already said that this passage, on the edition of the History of the Girondins owned by Mrs. Lebas, was annotated with the word ” No")

Volume 8 — page 372: (At the time of the passage in front of the Duplay house, of the tumbrel driving Robespierre to the execution) ”A child was holding a butcher's calf filled with ox blood and deceiving a broom on it, the goettes were thrown against the walls of the house. Fable.

Volume 8 — page 372: On the evening of the same day, these furies of vengeance invaded the prison where Duplay's wife had been thrown, strangled her and hung her from the rod of its curtains. That very evening its furies — la Lacombe.

[1] Élisabeth is mistaken here, Collot d’Herbois did in fact send a letter regarding Lyon to Maurice Duplay December 5th 1793.

[2] Élisabeth is mistaken here, the ”catechism” where Robespierre wrote this has been accepted as his.

[dae-dreemur]

Prompt — The faerie prince has an arranged marriage to a human with extraordinary abilities for power

2,513 Words — This is a written AU I have with @goldinkpen of our OCs as a spin off of his story inspired by this song and their sun and moon themes.

Solar Waltz

Kratos, the prince of the light Faerie, has to marry a common human for the benefit of his father. Little does he know what his little wife is capable of.

Preparations were in order; Everything had to be perfect. Decorations colored gold were being hung across giant marble pillars, fae scattered around in hurried flushes of smacking wings and sparkled steps. Faerie crept left and right bringing juices, wines, and food while others carried large boxes of elegant fashioned cloth and round tables. A royal wedding didn’t happen often, and with such a man-whore of a prince no one expected one either. What they didn’t know was that it was arranged for them. An arrangement for power. The cocky prince Kratos would be taking power for his kingdom of light fairies by marrying the last maiden found to have the tears of pearls. Moon pearls to be exact, which were known throughout as the most enhancing tool for any creature to hold. After the fall of the moon fairies only a few reincarnated maidens would carry them per decade, and they had finally caught her. The great king Helios didn’t tolerate imperfections, and with such a significant event occurring there would be none. That’s why everyone scrambled so scarcely to get it all done with the magnitude of the wedding’s importance. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for their kingdom.

Down in the damp moist dungeons awaited a simple girl, a human with faerie eyes and covered in scars. The fae soldiers that passed grimaced and chuckled to themselves at the sight of a pitiful human imprisoned, so ugly and battered that they felt she was no woman for the prince. Though she was not for the prince, she was for the king’s greed. The maids fluttered their red, angry, glowing wings as they pulled the human out of her cell “It’s time to get ready. Try to behave, peasant girl.” The thin fairy hissed at her. The girl wearily nodded as she was dragged up the cold steps with her bare feet and shoved into a bubble filled wooden bathtub. The water stung her wounds with faerie remedies that would close her cuts and fix her blemishes, she splashed her face and ran her fingers through her long matted curls. “We don’t have time for all of that. Come here.” The girl winced as she was pulled back by her hair, the faerie gliding gold scissors across it to give her a below shoulder length cut. “There.” The Fae was aggressive as she cared for her, brushing her hair with a harsh regard and braided gold trimmed flowers into it, pinning pearls into her hair for the occasion. A light powder of blush tainted her rosy cheeks with light gold sparkling eyeshadow dabbed onto her eyelids and lined with a dark color, then the splash of pineapple lip gloss to finish her look. “Hmph.. I guess it’ll work..” the faerie muttered, pulling the girl aside to dress her.

Prince Kratos wasn’t happy about the news, though who would be if they found out they were getting married on the day of their wedding? The prince was dragged out of his bed that morning,  rushed to start getting prepared. Fae read his vows to him to help him practice as the other scrubbed his hairy back in his extravagant bath tub. “How come no one told me?! This is serious!! How will I have my parties and go dancing?!” He asked furiously. “Not to worry your highness, we’re sure you’ll still get to do all of that.” They responded sparing knowing glances and snickering at each other. Kratos merely raised an annoyed brow and huffed snatching his vows from their hands. “With the light in my soul

and the love in my heart,

The sun in my eyes will meet the moon in the middle of the sky to make you mine.” They were odd vows but he actually kind of liked them.

“With the light in my soul

and love in my heart,

The moon in my eyes

will fall for the sun to rise each morning,

So that I may be yours.” The girl echoed in her side of the castle, repeating the vows to herself as she stood in her wide white dress, dragging her hand across her chest as they adjusted the tips of her lace and adjusted her sleeves off her shoulders to the end of her hand. Lastly a Tiara topped on her head, with her veil lifted over her face covered in embroidered gold butterflies along it. The peasant girl felt gorgeous, but saddened as she saw herself in the mirror. Marriage to a fae as a human was like selling your life away, after the human slave amendment was repealed they found other ways around it. Marriage bound with multiple wives and husband connected by soul, or contracts with hidden ink. It was terrifying that she’d give her soul away like this too, but she supposed it was only a matter of time before it happened. At least she got lucky and landed a prince.

Prince Kratos stood by the doorway smiling his toothy grin as he shook hands and greeted many royal guests, many admiring and complimenting his white tunic which carried gold lacework and rich embroidery. Some of his old partners and sexual flings teased him as they entered, blowing kisses and flicking his epaulettes to make them shimmer. After everyone was welcomed inside Kratos made his way to the altar waiting patiently as the large double doors opened for his bride. Gentle tunes of an organ piano and flutes filled the air and paved the way for her glass slippers as she crossed the isle. Kratos felt amused by the height of his bride as she approached, so short compared to him. It felt cute, though he felt guilty and confused that no one walked her down the isle. Kratos took her hand and helped her up squinting a bit at the scars marked over her hand and arms but held her closer. The long space of time as the priest spoke gave him time to observe her, a short girl who smelled human to his surprise. Her hair was braided back half way up with his favorite gold flowers littered across her hair, some pearls he leaned over and caressed curiously as he held her hand. “Your majesty?” The Priest interrupted giving him a look.

A blush rose to his cheeks and he cleared his throat. “With the light in my soul and the love in my heart, The sun in my eyes will meet the moon in the middle of the sky to make you mine.” The Bride lifted her lowered head and finally spoke “With the light in my soul

and love in my heart, The moon in my eyes will fall for the sun to rise each morning, So that I may be yours.” Her voice was as sugary as soft cotton, the voice of an angel if he had ever heard one. Excitement rose in his chest as the priest spoke again “You may now kiss the bride.” To which Kratos eagerly pushed back her veil to meet eyes with his new human wife, gliding his thick hand over her neck leaning down to pull her closer by her waist as he met his lips to hers in a deep and sensual kiss. The crowd of faerie cheered and applauded as he lingered in the kiss, meeting the unexpected response of her pinching his hand and pulling away to hug his arm. Kratos crinkled his nose in annoyance as he rubbed his hand but smiled and waved as he walked his new found bride into the dining room. “What was that for?” He growled in frustration but stopped as he saw her flinch. “Sorry, I’m sorry..” he say her down at their table glancing at her “You didn’t have to pinch me you know..” he mumbled rubbing his hand and tilted his head at her.

There was a deafening silence between the two alone in the empty dining room. He hated it. His new bride did not look at him or spare a single word. “What is your.. uh.. name, wife?” He asked, trying to make conversation. “Selene.” She replied simply and rubbed her stomach with her growing hunger, interrupted by her growling stomach. Selene felt her face grew hot as Kratos burst into tears of laughter at it, he grabbed her wrist and smiled at her startled form as he made her touch and feel his also rumbling stomach ”I’m hungry too!! Fantasia, I could go for a cold brew of fae wine and some lobster am I right?” He chirped light heartedly while nudging her. Selene didn’t share the same expression and gave him a weary look “I can’t have faerie wine.” She says “I’m not a faerie.” Kratos knew that but somehow he thought she might’ve at least been half because of her eyes. “But what about..?” He points to her eyes and she turns away again making him frown “They were eaten and replaced with these. It’s the only faerie thing about me.” She muttered with a heavy sigh dropping her shoulders. The awkwardness of the situation only grew heavier to bear on their shoulders. Both just opted for the silence they held before, watching in the quiet air as they waited for the crowds of idle chatter to fill the halls. It was a relief that they did, otherwise Kratos would’ve collapsed from the pressure between them. The tension was enough to make his chest full of butterflies weigh much harder with the mass of the occasion. Marriage was a commitment, one that a flirty fuck-boy like himself was NOT ready for. When he glanced at his newly wed wife yet again he felt hurt for her, she seemed to have already come to terms with it. As if this marriage would’ve happened sooner or later.

“I’d like to raise a toast to my only son, Prince Kratos and congratulate him on his brand new marriage to this fine young lady. Today will mark a bright day in history and the future of my Kingdom! CHEERS!!” The fae cheered, raising their glasses and crying their joyous congratulatory  praises with raised glasses. Kratos tried not to raise a brow at the fact he didn’t address her by name but brushed it off as simply protecting it by any possibly hostile fae in the audience. Ones like Marcus who he wasn’t sure as to why he was invited to his wedding. Kratos didn’t like the way he eyed his bride, or well.. now wife. Food was laid out before everyone and Kratos ate without a care in the world at the opportunity to finally eat his stresses of the day away. With the chugs of Faerie wine dripping down his hairy bearded chin, his wife leaning over and catching the stray strands of red before it could taint his nice white suit. “Thank you, beloved.” He charmed with his toothy smile hoping for a smile back, though met with the same silent treatment as before as she cracked the king crab on her plate. “Tough crowd” he responded to himself in saddened confusion about how he has already upset his wife. This marriage stuff was gonna be a lot harder than he thought, wasn't it. Kratos stood after he finished eating, his wife again cleaning his face then taking his hand to escort her to the ballroom.

“I’m sorry if this arranged marriage is as difficult and inconvenient for you as it is for me.. But I promise to treat you as well as I can.” Kratos brought her hand to his lips for a charming kiss.To his surprise he reached out and caught a white soft glowing pearl from her face. Selene halted in the ballroom as they were alone and silently started to cry tears of pearls that clicked and clacked all over their marble floors.Kratos watched in shock, gawking in silent horror as the instant realization hit him. The maiden who cried moon pearls was his bride, and he knew well enough that this marriage gave the royal family exclusive rights to her ability. When his father said it would mark a date in their history and the future of their kingdom this is what he meant. Kratos' heart sank at the thought of what may happen to his wife after their wedding day, but he shook it away to snatch and gather the pearls off the floor before anyone saw or hurt themselves. “My love, I know this may all feel overwhelming but I need you to stop crying before anyone sees.” He said in a hushed panicked tone. Kratos stuffed the pearls into his pocket and pulled her closer by her waist as guests started to walk inside, he held her cheek and put on a show for them giving her a loving and full mouthed kiss. Fae chuckled and giggled from afar as they entered the ballroom and circled around the young couple. Kratos pulled away but remained inches away from her face “Please play along for now, I promise to protect you but I need you to cooperate.” Kratos whispered in her ear before pulling her up. The lights dimmed around them leaving them in the dark, but he felt hands slide along his arm and onto his shoulder. Kratos took a deep breath with the gust of gold glitter falling to the floor. The floor glowed  for them at the impact of the glitter, spreading through the solar designs and barely lighting the room. “I’ll drop one of your pearls onto the floor, step on it as hard as you can” He instructed as he started to guide her steps. A pearl she hadn’t even noticed slip under her shoe nearly made her fall, but her husband held her hips to give her the chance to push her glass shoe against it, crushing it like he told her too. Lights migrated from her foot and into the moon’s outlines starting to highlight their figures in gold and soft blue light. Kratos guided the waltz as they span around in circles following the guide of the sun and moon floor patterns. The glimmers of moon dust and sun dust linked their souls in their waltz, Kratos the sun staring into the eyes of the moon as they danced through the days displayed in the ever changing flooring and walls. The other fae in the room were nowhere to be seen. The waltz felt like it was lasting for eternity, the room shifting to gold and silver accents alone together, footsteps guided by sudden memory as if they had done this before. The sun and moon danced together joined by what felt like distant stars outside of their orbit, not slowing until after the sun had set and the night took over the realm again. The young couple felt suddenly fatigued and spared a shocked but knowing glance at each other. Kratos smiled at his wife and kissed her hand, to which she smiled. This solar waltz would not be their last.

[thequeendomhq]

NAME. Alrik Hart AGE & BIRTH DATE. 28 & December 7th, 2996 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him NATIONALITY. Iskaran SPECIES. Witch FACTION. Hidden Ones OCCUPATION. Street Performer / Skald FACE CLAIM. Kit Harrington

biography

( tw: death, torture, mental illness, imprisonment )

i. CHILDHOOD

Born in the Southlands under the black wings of the ravens that were native to the region, in a small home on the outskirts of Hrafntun, Asbjorn Hart, a berserker, weary from years of war, laid an infant son in a makeshift cradle for the first time. Born on foreign shores in the Kingdom of Astoria, The Hidden was a child of war, a witch entrusted into the arms of the soldier that his mother had fallen for ten months prior. A blacksmith by trader and a berserker by raiding need and profession, in the Southlands the old Iskaran traditions ran deep. Alrik was yet unnamed, but a runecaster divised under the warm glow of a naming ceremony that it would be an auspicious name to protect the child in the years ahead.

An infant armband, forged from the iron of his father’s forge was placed upon him, inscribed with the sigils of the Hart family line, and the ravens of Hrafntun that had watched over the Southlands since time immemorial. Children swelled in the region over the coming years as men returned from wars, and widows were made from those who did not come back from the war in Astoria. Naming ceremonies abound, his father’s forge never went cold as bands were created, sigils were inscribed, and good fortunes were placed upon the children that would come. Again, Asbjorn found love, a Lysaran woman from across the sea - and from this another child was born. Alessia.

Those who could weave always would, it was inevitable when power was so intrinsically tied to strong emotions, but in the Kingdom of Iskaldrik there was nothing more shameful than the act of spellcraft. Illegal in any region and punishable by imprisonment in the mines; in the throws of childbirth the air itself howled in protest as it hummed with the telltale charm of magic that left a metallic taste across the tongue. Alrik was still small then, held in the arms of a neighbor as another child was soon entrusted to them.

Witchers would come and the woman that Alrik bore no memories of was dragged away in irons - how Asbjorn protested, if he did, wasn’t something they’d ever know. Just the crime, and the secret that both Alrik and Alessia would come to carry for the years to follow, children of witches would likely beget more witches, more magic, and more crimes that were easily punishable under the eyes of Iskaran law.

Still, Alrik was a child, bright, precocious, and eager for the light. Life in the Southlands was difficult and arduous, the harsh winds off of the Veiled Sea crashed against the rocks of the shore, but old traditions ran deep. Son of the tides and the forge, clever as a pike and just as troublesome. As a young boy he was always finding himself in places that he shouldn’t be, in the neighbour’s pantry, out long after dark listening to the howl of the wolves, climbing the steep cliffs of Valkyrie’s Rest, and skirting his duties around the homestead to disappear alongside the other children. Alrik would drag his sister around with him, barely any older, he appointed himself the de facto leader of their varied expeditions. They met the son of an aged performer, and in the fields they’d learn to walk on their hands, or balance between a pair of ropes, laughing as they tumbled to the ground. Children that were free to fall as many times as they needed; children that continued to rise and try again, no matter how many tries it took. In the early hours and the late wandering of dusk he’d tend to the forge until his arms were strong enough to swing the hammer himself.

Over the mantle the pair of broadaxes that Asbjorn had once bloodied time and time again sat unused, though the blades themselves never dulled or began to rust, their father made sure of that. While Alrik’s daily life was arduous, it was rich with tradition, storytelling, and paternal bonding with the man who’d put violence behind him in order to be the sort of father that both children needed. Their mothers were dead and the magic that flowed through their veins meant that the future that lay ahead of them would be difficult, patience was all but a necessity, as was the immersion into every aspect of Iskaran culture. Where the laws were harsh and violent, their traditions were rich and proud.

ii. BOYHOOD

At twelve Alrik had learned to beat iron into steel, heard the whispers from the flames and the forge as the pattern echoed the call of ancient weaves that had the potential to stir the air, to gather the earth, to call upon the tides, to sing to the fire, and give rise to the spirit. Still young, already his hands had begun to harden under the weight of the hammer that he swung upon the anvil, his palms had calloused from climbing the jagged rocks, from hunting and weaving nets for fishing or trapping small game. This was a coming of age; enter the wilds, the mountains of Valkyrie’s Rest, and return with a feather from a falcon’s nest.

Alrik returned with not one, but three, one to keep, one for his father, and one for his sister. Birds of a feather that would flock together. He was considered a man after this, allowed more agency and responsibility, to trade in Hrafntun on his father’s behalf, the first of what would be a series of familial clan tattoos already laden across his skin. Bright, thoughtful, and charismatic - Alrik used this agency to do more of what he wished, he’d entertain with iron balls that he’d pressed at the forge, juggling their significant weight or trading them for small, edged daggers instead. Children would laugh, they’d praise him, and somehow that fed something in him. His reputation was a good one, strong but kind, wistful with a tongue that had the charming gift and knack for flyting. Poetry, tales, and the regaling of oral tradition in the insightful way that his father had when he’d grown.

Still, a witch would inevitably weave, just as surely as a fish would make roe. Alrik was in the forge one morning, working the bellows when his arms began to tire, air wrapped itself around his limbs as he wove it together and the flames surged. A metallic tang resounded across the tarmac of his tongue as Alrik’s ears rang slightly, his father knew at once and sent him away immediately. To the village he busied himself selling a few wares, to a neighbor’s home with horses that needed shoes, to homesteads that needed minor repairs, and to the docks to work on the boats for a fortnight. No witchers came, but the fear that they would be there was always there and something Asbjorn feared more than anything, something that Alrik feared as well.

It was a lazy afternoon some time later when Alrik and Alessia sat on a plateau overlooking the valley, stacking stones into cairns and trading stories of Iskaran heroes and gods, their deeds and their follies. The trick was to stack them high and wide, the first to topple would lose and the other’s would stay standing, though on occasions when neither fell, they both won. Commotion from Hrafntun below brought them down to see it firsthand, there a woman had thrown herself at the feet of a witcher and their envoy as a wailing toddler was restrained in their arms. Stunned and knocked unconscious, when she came through Alrik would hear about how she was inconsolable. Disease had made her a widow, magic had taken her child from her, never to be seen again. She’d spend the rest of her days looking out at the sea, in the years to follow Alrik would visit on business, to sell or try to entertain. She was polite, she’d smile, but there was something dead within, something that ached so loud Alrik could hear it screaming without the woman needing to say a word.

iii. SOUTHLANDER

At eighteen Alrik was not just a man with responsibilities, but an adult, and as was tradition in the family he forged a blade of his own. It was one of rudimentary make, neither he nor their forebears had the talent or mythical knowledge of the Iskaran smiths of Yggdrasildal, but it was a blade as fine as any other, and once it was completely, Asbjorn gave him an armband to symbolize his place among them. Emblazoned with runic symbols of the Hart family, and adorned with the ravens of the Southlands, this was when Alrik began to see himself not just as a man but also where he fit in in this world. Patience and temperance from the forge and the cairns made it easy for him to hear when weaves were calling to him at the edge of his consciousness, and Alrik could see that this was where he would remain. Someday, when the mind of his former-berserker father was too addled to continue alone, Alrik would take up the mantle over the forge, continue their traditions, and find a quiet life to settle into.

For years Asbjorn’s mental health deteriorated, this was common with berserkers, and the poisons they ingested for battle took a toll on the body over time. It ate away at their memories and chipped away at their identity. Alrik would awaken some nights to find his father in his night clothes standing at the cliffside, looking out over the thundering tides of the Veiled Sea, where the Gulf of Taravell ended and the unknown world began. He’d mutter about the realm of gods and giants, demons and worse. Helheim and Asgard, glimmering cities of gold - he’d ask who Alrik was when the man was disturbed, and to this, the young witch would only place his hand on his father’s shoulder and remind him, “Dad, it’s me. Alrik, your son.” Most often it would come back to him, but sometimes there’d be an uncomfortable smile, polite and ashamed because in the small hours of the dark, even Alrik’s voice did not prompt Asbjorn to recall.

Charming still, hardship was a way of life, but Alrik made time for entertainment and games. Because he’d always been fit and flexible, he’d walk on his hands, jump from the branches of trees, and support Alessia as she stood on his shoulders. It was childish and stupid, but these were moments of reprieve and as their friends had aged and grown, so too had the siblings who’d known nothing but strife. Entertainment aside, there was an ego under Alrik that liked the attention, and he wanted to show off - his tongue would curve over a well-articulated flyte, shaming grown men and sages alike over a horn of ale in the hall of Hrafntun. Festivals with too much drink saw him walking on his hands to the applause of raucous drunks and, more importantly, to the compliments of the eligible women of the Southlands. Interests aside, he’d need a kid someday, the homestead was his inheritance, but he’d need his own to take over someday, just as he would for his father. It helped that she was beautiful, and it helped that she was kind and had the wit to match his own.

He’d fallen in love then; at least, it was what he assumed was love at the time. Dagda was the miller’s daughter, and it was with her that his defenses could come down, her that he felt less guarded and less cautious. In the years that followed Dagda bore witness to the magic that flowed within the Hart siblings, that brother and sister that would inevitably weave, and those siblings that brought ruin upon their family.

The two weren’t children anymore; they did not hide in a neighbor’s cupboard when the witcher came, and they did not look on as they pressed their attack. Children of a blacksmith and a berserker, stubborn Iskaran blood pumped hot through the veins of the three; Alrik saw firsthand that day how a witcher could turn the tide of the spell; a mediocre and mundane weave of air was reversed and sent him flying with greater force than the young witch could have conjured at the time. Their home burned as their father was cut down before them, the siblings were manacled, and to the mines they were hauled away.

iv. PRISONER

Alrik had fought, of course, he had fought, because what else was there to do? In the back of the carriage that rolled forward, the irony of the iron bars that surrounded them was not lost on him. The manacles that bound his wrists were unlike anything he’d known, simply metal but inscribed with complex, intricate runes that overlay one over another in patterns that Alrik had never seen. What they looked like hardly mattered, what they did was far worse because for the first time in his life, he could not feel the One Power. Cut off from magic, Alrik could no longer hear the subtle threads of air or the sparks of spirit that resounded in the hearts of any creature - living or dead. He knew it was there, just beyond his reach, hovering above him like a static that refused to discharge; this was a madness that Alrik would come to live with, one that spoke of what those who were cleaved of their magic entirely were forced to feel.

There was no trial, the witcher that arrested them had found them guilty and their word was proof enough. That face was one that Alrik would commit to memory, in the years to follow he’d remember them as appearing young - barely any older than Alrik himself, but he was cruel. Merciless. The silver mines of Sølvgruve were only a few days journey from their home, but they might as well have been on the other side of the world. For thousands of years Valkyrie’s Rest had been dug into, deeper and deeper the miners of Iskaldrik dug into the ground below; deep enough that the earth grew cold and warm again. The dark of the caverns were dimly lit by torches and stones etched with runes cast alight by the pattern itself. Home was a wet hay on a damp, cavern floor, a damp blanket and shadows so pronounced they had a will of their own. Prisoners piled together in rows, murderers, thieves, and worse, in the night the sounds of violence kept sleep largely at bay, and by what Alrik assumed was day they worked. Tirelessly and endlessly. Lightless save for the glow that was cast for them, whether the sun was up or down was unknowable. This was home now, this would be his life.

When sleep came Alrik dreamt of the foolish act that had brought the witchers down upon him, the horror of his father’s bloodied face, and his screams as their homestead was left to nothing but the forge he’d been raised over. His hands were used to the swing of a hammer, but the pickaxe felt heavier, colder in a strange way. It rattled his bones with each swing, the glinting silver they chipped away from the caves piled in carts to be taken to the surface above. Some Jarl’s finishings, some Merchant’s horde, a prize for a lady of the Lysaran court, or a common bauble for a Sinarian trader. It was his dreams that staved the nightmares away that were cruelest, the truth of his hardship was a kindness, but dreaming of Dagna’s laughter, or the feel of the sea around his waist, the feel of an ax leaving his hand as he hurled it with accuracy towards a target - mountains beneath him, trees around him, sky above and fresh air in his lungs - these dreams were cruel. These lies were devastating because when Alrik awoke the truth came crashing down as another day, or night, began. Fresh horror and fresh misery served over the grool that was dolled out within the caverns.

Desperation bred cruelty from the dredges of society, Alrik offended, and in the night they came for him. Sharpened tools poised to strike, but instead he found scarlet beneath his wrists as Alrik’s manacled hands bludgeoned the skull of an attacker again and again. Transformative like how water became ice, you’d look at it and wonder how it was ever water to begin with; iron ore pounded as the molecules realigned, steel from feeble, brittle metal. Blood splattered the cave, gray matter and a body remained and whispers followed his name while the corpse was dragged away. There was no chance of release and the harshest punishment they could conceive was a beating and the missing of meals - each were motivation enough to stay in line.

In the beginning Alrik imagined escapes, he believed that someone would come, that someone would save them. He didn’t know who, all he had were stories from days of flyting and entertaining. Could Heimdall see them so far below the earth? Had the Valkyries come to carry his felled father away to a golden hall and the warriors of Asbjorn’s youth? The Norns predicted when and how a person would die, it was up to the individual to discern what to do with their life and what to do with the time that was given to them. Alrik would die down here. That much became clear. Days, months, and years lost meaning. There was only the dark, there was only the swing of his pickaxe, and there was only the misery that denoted his existence now. The boy had died, killed by the mines, what was left now was a shell of the man he’d been, a conglomerate of ruins.

v. FREEDOM

Freedom shouldn’t have been possible, but it happened, occasionally. One of the newer prisoners became violent, they struck out at a guard and while it was foolish to resist - it was vindicating to watch their captors bleed. Pickaxes became weapons, carts became methods of clearing through fortifications. The prisoner population of Sølvgruve had swelled and in the vast network of mines and catacombs that stirred within the foundation of Iskaldrik, the caverns broke out. A raucous eruption of rebellion that saw the shackles of many freed, and those who were still in chains only moved to run. Alrik and his sister did just that, they fled through the network as fast as their feet could carry them, fighting as they needed to, killing with prejudice. It felt easier now and while the miner would deny it, there was a satisfaction to it.

Light broke across Alrik’s features for the first time in what felt like an age; the warmth of the sun illuminated his pale skin and washed over the course of his filth-ridden and malnourished frame. Bones that had never healed properly, scars that laden his skin, and abuse that haunted the hollows of his eyes. For a moment there was a reprieve, Alrik wept at the feet of liberation - in grief and in mourning of the people he’d known, the father that he lost. He cried for the mother who’d likely been put to the torch, for the infant that had been dragged away from the arms of the fishwife. Alrik cried for that same woman who’d died that day because he too now knew what it meant to be gutted and cleaned, made hollow.

They would not go back there again.

Together, they ran, ran towards whatever freedom they could find. Somehow the pattern had shifted them, mountains they did not recognize and ranges they did not know, still they continued to flee. The madness of the mines bunched the fabric of this world upon itself, shaken by an age they did not know - that would come to be their explanation, because while they’d been imprisoned in the mines of Valkyrie’s Rest, they’d emerged on the other side of their rotted Kingdom in Ymir’s Spine.

Behind them still, the witcher pursued with an entourage of beasts and guards. They were expert hunters, masters of this terrain, and the hounds that were set loose for the siblings had a scent for blood and an acute sense for taking down those who’d been audacious enough to not just escape, but run. Upon the back of a drake, the witcher crawled over hills and lept from rocky cliff faces, unencumbered by the terrain. A day passed and through the night the siblings continued to run as their pursuers took the dark for a time to rest; the witcher was certain they would close the gap the following day and they did, because in Alrik and Alessia’s path the witcher now stood.

Alrik still saw the man as young, his skills more refined, his conscience even more cutting and ruthless. He wouldn’t kill them, no, he would bring them back to the mines because that was what the law dictated. The witcher mocked them, their grubby appearance, their inability to do any magic while still confined by their manacles, but if the Norns had already decided how they would die - then Alrik was resolved to let it be here. It was better to die on his feet than as a forgotten slag on the doorstep of the Abyss.

They fought, ruthlessly and endlessly. The witcher had gone ahead of his hounds and his entourage, leaving them behind with what he’d assume would be an easy catch. Alrik was changed now, no more skilled than he had been before, arguably weaker given his state of malnourishment and exhaustion; they had no magic available to them and the witcher was a trained killer. A knight of the realm, the symbol of order, justice, and death within Iskaldrik. Where they differed was that the pattern had decided long ago that only one of the three would die that day, Alrik and Alessia left nothing but gray matter and a corpse behind them. There, barely clinging to life, the witcher’s poisons coursed through their bodies as they limped or crawled away. In the elements they should have died, meat for orcs, carrion for the vultures that circled overhead, but instead the siblings pressed forward - called without knowing who or what they were answering.

vi. HIDDEN ONE

Into a structure the two crawled, sheltered walls with an open ceiling above, no rocks to hold them, no cairns to bury their bodies or mark their gravesite. Alrik recounted the story over his dry tongue of Balder’s death, Loki’s deception and the mistletoe that felled him; he spoke of how Frigg had made everyone vow to never harm her son, and when he died, she demanded that all the world weep in order to save him. She bid the mountains to cry, the wind, the tides, and the ground beneath them. All the animals of the land, air, and sea; gods, heroes, and mortals alike were bid to shed tears for her son. Beneath the stars of Ymir’s skies Alrik remembered that there was one who refused, whispering their name into the open air, the trickster and the child of giants.

Alrik dreamt of threads of air, woven through spirit as it circled about his hands, water rising from the underground streams buried deep beneath the earth. He dreamt of a woman’s regret and promise, of a debt that would be repaid, and an oath sworn with a dying breath that echoed across space and time. When he awoke it was under the harsh light of day, his body had been healed, the poison was gone, the wounds had been closed, and his bones had been set. For the first time in years he didn’t feel hungry or thirsty, but in the distance he could hear the telltale current of a running stream. Alrik saw his face reflected in the pool and without sparing a thought, he jumped in; summer’s warmth made the cool stream from the mountain’s peaks a jolting shock that reawakened something that the witch long thought dead. He felt at his aching wrists, the manacles were gone, he could feel the threads of air around him, the water, the One Power called out to him and a sound that was foreign to his throat echoed about the current: Alrik laughed.

Every Iskaran child knew the story of The Old Woman in the Mountain and it was only at a distance that Alrik and Alessia thought they could see her, she was the mountain itself, her face etched into the slopes of the cliff face, her noce protruding with the haunt of her brow and the force of her jaw. It was within that there was the palpable air of magic and traces of those who’d come here before, this was a roost for countless ravens that circled the cliffs, and a home for the chosen few that had been plucked from the pattern to stand amidst the halls of long-fallen giantess.

These mountains were their proving ground, they could have left and put it behind them, but what did they have to go back to? The Norns decided how a person would die and this was their chance to make their life meaningful for those that would come after them. Someday the wheel would turn out the souls of their mothers, the soul of their father, and by then the siblings Alrik and Alessia would have made the world a better place. They adopted an adage, No Mourners, No Funerals. When they died there would be no noble mourners at their funerals, there’d be no marble columns to decorate their graves, and no one would thank them for what they would come to do. A thankless mission, one that promised they’d spend this life at one another’s side, and then hopefully find each other in the next.

They were given nothing but what they could make for themselves, the elements were the first threat to overcome, but here in the remote mountains Alrik could reach towards the One Power and work out the weaves that had been calling to him since his days upon the forge. Simple, mundane, and mediocre; there was nothing refined about them, but they were useful to survive, and when they dreamt of a band of marauding goblins a short ways away, they knew what it was they had to do. Within there were creatures that had been captured, these were what the siblings liberated, killing the vile green-blooded beasts that stood in their way. Fashioned in the leathers that they stripped off of the bodies and wielding the crude weapons that the goblins had carried, they outfitted themselves with their haul and hunted to stay alive. Trapped, tanned, and laid offerings at the desiccated hollow of the giantesses’ heart.

Again they dreamt of mines below Ymir’s Spine, mines carved away by the minions of orcs, where the beasts feasted and dined. Within was the leader of the tribe, a marauder and warlord that had scrambled together a small legion of creatures under one cruel umbrella. His death would mean anarchy among their forces and the collapse of what was being built, to live would mean they’d come to threaten the range, the creatures within, and the small settlements that had cropped up in the dangerous territory. Together the siblings crept within, weaves of air to muffle their movements and conceal their scents, light footsteps and skillful hands to clamber walls, cliffs, and fling from one ledge to another. Limber, spry, and strong. A scuffle would have set the horde into a frenzy and the siblings never would have made it out alive, but a quick flash of a blade across his throat left little noise but a few short gurgles as his blood pooled across the floor of his tent.

Alrik continued to hunt in this region, fighting the brutish creatures that dominated Ymir’s Spine, here he dreamt of the darkness that they had clung from. Here the lies and the truths muddled together into a madness that made it difficult for him to discern what was real and what was false when he awoke. Alrik would dream about the mines and fear that liberation was the error, then awaken and be uncertain of himself. He’d remember his mumbling father at the edge of the world, remember how he died screaming and bloody. The boy was gone but the miner remained.

The Old Woman in the Mountain asked for their blood and as they dribbled it over her altar, they felt her contentment. Hidden Ones, blades of the pattern, warriors of fate - they left with an unmarked iron coin and wondered if a day would come when their names would appear upon it.

personality

+ charismatic, confident, patient – argumentative, manipulative, spiteful

played by shane. est. he/him.