#The Two Who Marius Owed

[lesmisscraper]

Marius trying to find one of the man looking for, who 'saved' his father. Volume 5, Book 5, Chapter 8.

Clips from <Il cuore di Cosette>.

[princessanonymous]

Of Trials- Part 3/3 (Ask)

Platonic Yandere Vampire

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The courtroom smelled of polished wood and old paper and ink. It was a grand place, decorated intricately with carvings in the wood. Each wall told the story of great pioneers, from the Original Sire to, the great Vlad, without forgetting the lady Carmilla,

The judges all looked different from the second – the first seat was surprisingly empty – to the last, the ninth. Some of them, he recognized, like Madame Rossignol, and he wondered why such a woman was ever voted to be part of the council for the next 18 years. There were three men and five women. He took note of two elderly-looking people, a man and a woman, with graying hair. It wasn't every day that he saw vampires turned at such an old age.

For his part, Dorian sat poised on the defendant's seat, looking up at the members. It wouldn't do to appear unruly on such a night, so he had taken great care to look presentable.

"Dorian de Beauvoir," called the first judge to stand up, the man who looked old with a gray beard. Despite his late stage of life, his burgundy eyes remained vibrant, contrasting with his dark skin. "You have been accused of the siring of an immortal child, a crime that, as you must already know, is punishable by death." There were whispers, but he held his head high. "We ask you now; how do you plead?"

"Not guilty," he answered, portraying no hesitation. There were even more whispers, and he himself was astounded by his own ability to remain calm.

"Very well," nodded the man, "I, Marius Thorn, member of the vampiric council, therefore announce the beginning of this session." He regained his seat.

On the fourth seat to his left, Madame Rossignol rose. She cleared her throat, then frowned at him. There was at least one person on his side, it seemed. He did not particularly like the woman, but the support wasn't unwelcome.

The atmosphere grew tense as the other judges exchanged glances. Dorian’s mind raced, but he kept his exterior composed. He knew that any sign of weakness could be detrimental. The charges were severe, and he needed to maintain his dignity.

Madame Rossignol's voice rang clear and authoritative. "We must remember that each accused is entitled to a fair trial. Dorian de Beauvoir stands before us, claiming innocence. We owe it to our laws and traditions to hear him out fully."

“Duke, when did you first come in contact with the young (Y/n)?” the interrogator asked, her voice slicing through the tense silence of the courtroom.

“Autumn of 1856," Dorian responded, his tone measured. "I am unsure of the specific date."

"And her parents?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

"Dead," he replied, his voice devoid of remorse. He believed firmly that it had to be done; they were links to her life that needed severing.

The interrogator raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing there was more to the story. "Before or after your encounter with her?" she asked, her tone sharper.

"After." His responses were succinct, unsure how his admissions would be received.

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Were you responsible for it?”

He hesitated for a moment before acquiescing, "I was," he finally admitted.

Most in the courtroom remained stoic, but a few whispered amongst themselves in disapproval, viewing his actions as a significant risk to their status of secrecy. Their concern was not for the mortals, but for the potential exposure his actions could bring to their kind.

He glanced up at the spectators' seats, something he had avoided since the trial began. His gaze first fell upon Elizabetta, the vile woman seated in a prime spot with a perfect view of the proceedings. When their eyes met, she waved at him mockingly. His eyes narrowed, and he quickly looked away.

Finding Killian was not difficult; he sat at the very front, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. Dorian scanned the area around him, searching for his daughter. His eyes landed on his partner again, silently conveying a clear message: 'Where is my daughter?' Killian didn't respond, averting his gaze, causing Dorian to grip his seat in frustration.

"Duke, I believe you were asked a question," Madame Rossignol's voice cut through his thoughts, bringing his attention back to her. He quickly apologized. "When did the decision to turn the young girl first come to mind?"

"A few weeks after our first meeting,” he replied after clearing his throat, though his eyes continued to wander, searching for his child.

"How old was she at that time?"

"Eleven years old," he answered. Noting their outrage, he added, "I did not plan to turn her until her twelfth birthday."

"And when did you turn her?"

"A week after her birthday," he stated plainly.

Madame Rossignol leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "And that, even while knowing the risks of turning a child," she said, her tone heavy with accusation.

"She was twelve," he reasoned with a scoff, defiance in his voice.

Another woman stepped forward to stand beside Madame Rossignol. "Be that as it may, the law against immortal children takes many factors into account: their age at the time of turning as well as their own self-control." She glanced around at the onlookers. "I am sure you all remember the case of Maxim Penryhouse."

Everyone did, of course. The boy and his sire had created such chaos within their society, leading to years of suppressing rumors and whispers about vampires in the country. Maxim had been deemed an immortal child despite being turned at fifteen. Both he and his sire had their daylight rings removed and were left to burn under the sun's unforgiving glare.

"She can control herself," Dorian hissed through gritted teeth, desperation creeping into his voice.

The second woman looked expectantly at Madame Rossignol. She bit her lip, her brows furrowing into a soft frown. “It is neither true nor false," she declared, her power to recognize lies revealing the uncertainty of his statement. This ability was precisely why she held her seat on the council.

Dorian drew in a deep breath, his hands clenching and unclenching. "By the gods," he whispered to himself, feeling the weight of his uncertainty. Even he was unsure of his own answer now, and he suddenly felt awfully foolish.

The courtroom seemed to close in around him as he grappled with his own doubts. His gaze flickered back to the spectators, finding Killian once more. His partner’s face was stony, unreadable, offering no comfort or reassurance. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint murmurs of the audience.

Madame Rossignol's voice cut through the tension. "Dorian, the council needs assurance that the child you turned can indeed control herself. Her actions, should they go unchecked, could expose us all."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I understand. She is different, though. She has a strength of will that is rare. I have faith in her."

The younger judge with piercing green eyes spoke again, skepticism clear in his tone. "Faith is not enough. We need evidence. We need proof that she will not be a threat to our secrecy. Bring the girl in."

Then, the door swung open to reveal (Y/n). His child hesitated to step forward, but beside her stood a man whose very presence commanded respect, a testament to the centuries he had witnessed. His skin was a golden tan, and his ebony black hair fell in waves.

His gaze was sharp, dark eyes seemingly aware of everything happening around him. This was a man who could not be caught off guard, having seen it all. Their eyes locked, and Dorian sucked in a sharp breath. Mikhail smiled at him, his sharp white fangs gleaming in the candlelight.

Dorian stood, driven by a sudden urge to pry (Y/n) away from Mikhail, to scream at him, attack him, or worse—but he was promptly ordered to settle down again. With great difficulty, he complied, feeling utterly powerless. If his sire dared to harm her, though, Dorian would not hesitate to pounce.

Mikhail rested a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder and crouched down to whisper something in her ear. (Y/n) nodded with a small frown. Mikhail straightened, looked at the council members, and nodded in turn.

"Very well," Madame Rossignol said, "let the human in."

This time, a door opposite the one (Y/n) had entered through opened. A young maiden, who could not have been older than twenty, was forced in, shoved by two vampires. She struggled and pleaded for her life as she was thrown at (Y/n)'s feet.

"What is this?" Dorian demanded, his voice tight with fear and anger.

"A test. To assess her self-control."

He knew what this entailed: one sip of the human’s blood, and (Y/n) would sign both their death sentences.

(Y/n) did not react to the human trashing and weeping, demonstrating her remarkable ability to control herself. She wasn't a rabid animal ready to pounce on anyone, obviously. Her restraint, however, was only the beginning of the ordeal. 

When the mere sight of the mortal failed to incite her, the woman was slashed, a shallow cut on her neck causing blood to pool on the floor. "Please!" she cried out, desperately clutching her neck in a futile attempt to stop the blood flow. "I don't want to die! Have mercy!" Yet he was certain his child was not listening; the sweet scent of the blood was probably more enticing to her at this moment. She wasn't one to care about the pleas of her victims.

"(Y/n)..." he whispered, his voice barely audible, as he saw her eyes turn red and her canines grow. He witnessed the fierce battle within her as she fought to restrain herself, to resist giving in to her primal instincts. 

She approached the woman slowly, and he blanched, hoping—no, praying—that she would turn away, that she wouldn't seal her own fate and—

She put both hands over her mouth, clenched her eyes shut, and turned her head away. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling a breath of relief, as he heard the onlookers whisper amongst themselves.

(Y/n) was led out of the courtroom by the same man who had escorted her in. Once again, he whispered something in her ear and flashed Dorian a grin. The tension in the room was palpable, but for now, she had resisted.

The next hour was a blur to him as he awaited their decision. Fairness was not a word in vampires’ vocabulary and this test, Dorian knew, was more for theatrics than anything. It was for them a small, yet entertaining performance that wasn’t likely to change their mind had they already deemed him guilty in their cold, unbeating hearts.

Mikhael sat on the only empty seat reserved for the council. He supposed he should have expected him to have this seat, Dorian thought bitterly. Why him of all people? 

He had to wait hours before the sentencing finally came. As the last member of the council advanced to announce their decision, Dorian stood rigidly unable to think of anything other than the next words that would come out of his mouth. 

The burly man shuffled papers in his calloused hands and cleared his throat before speaking in a gruff voice. He rambled on about the evidence, summarizing the entire session as if they hadn't all been present. But finally, the words Dorian had been anxiously awaiting were directed at him: "Dorian de Beauvoir, this court has found you not guilty of the siring of an immortal child."

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and he nearly collapsed, pulling his face into his hands and sighing deeply. Dorian had never imagined he would feel this light again.

"This is preposterous!" cried out someone in front of the spectators box. It was Elizabetta who had risen to protest, "She is clearly–"

"This council has made its decision," warned the first council member, "Are you questioning it?"

"That child, as well as her sire should be -".

"Elizabetta," snapped Mikhael, and Dorian couldn't help but flinch at the authority in his voice. "Your opinion on the matter is neither here nor there."

He watched as Elizabetta quietly sat down, shooting Dorian a bitter look. He instinctively wanted to listen, or just make himself as small as possible because, while these words weren’t directed at him, he felt as much like a scolded child as she did. 

⊱ ────── {⋆☾⋆} ────── ⊰

As he left the room, he soon came across Killian. He smiled and held him in a tight embrace, resting his face on the crook of his neck. Killian smelled of spices and wood. Stepping back, Dorian asked, "Where is she?"

"Outside, that's what they told me," Killian answered, and they walked together towards the entrance.

Opening the door, Dorian's eyes scanned the entry hall until he spotted her. (Y/n) was engaged in conversation with his sire. Dorian quickened his pace until he reached them.

She turned around at the sound of his footsteps, giving him a bright smile. But on the corner of her mouth, he noticed blood, and her eyes were red.

"You're here!" she cried out happily, though she didn't move away from his sire, who was also smiling.

"We are," replied Killian, stepping forward with a handkerchief to wipe the red liquid off her mouth. "When did you feed?"

"Just recently," she chirped. "Mr. Mikhael told me I could have the screaming lady after the trial."

His sire pinched (Y/n)'s cheeks affectionately and remarked, "What a sweetheart she is." Then he looked up at Dorian. "You chose her very well, Dorian."

"Get away from her," Dorian ground out hatefully. Killian shot him a surprised look.

The older vampire raised both hands mockingly. "I do not wish her any harm, Dorian."

Killian leaned in to whisper in Dorian's ear, " (Y/n) and I will be waiting outside." 

He left promptly without waiting for a response, clearly uninterested in being part of any quarrel between Dorian and his sire. Was Killian even aware that this was the blond’s sire? Now that he thought of it, he had never mentioned him to the other as he had always wished to squash any memory of the older vampire.

Dorian watched them depart but reluctantly remained behind.

"A lovely little family you have," commented his sire casually.

"You do not get to do that,” seethed the blond.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Pray tell, what do I ‘not get' to do?"

"You may not just waltz in. This is my family, you may not come into contact with them."

Mikhael stared at him, and Dorian found himself unable to hold his gaze. "I... apologize for Elizabetta's actions," Mikhael said after a moment. "I can assure you that she prepared this entire thing without my consent."

He hummed thoughtfully, processing Mikhael's words. "So she is indeed yours."

"Younger than you. She is good and took to our way of existence very quickly. Though not as quickly as you," Mikhael acknowledged.

Dorian's eyes narrowed as bitterness settled within him. "Of course. This must be why you left me to fend for myself the same night you turned me."

"You turned out so well," justified the older one, “mature and independant– more than your sister would ever be." Dorian scoffed, "I am serious. It had not been an easy decision, but I did it nonetheless, despite my instincts telling me to come back. You were the first vampire I sired and to now see you with your own little fledgling is heartwarming.”

"You would do well to remember this sight as it is one you will never gaze upon again," Dorian stepped forward, pointing a finger accusingly. "I know what you are trying to do. You’re attempting to get close to our girl so you can approach all of us and play happy little coven as if nothing happened. I will not allow that."

"Dorian..." Mikhael whispered, his eyes narrowing in response.

"NO! YOU LOST ANY CHANCES OF THAT THE NIGHT YOU LEFT ME—THE NIGHT YOU MADE ME FEAST ON MY OWN PARENTS' BODIES BEFORE VANISHING INTO THE NIGHT!" Dorian's voice echoed through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone present—judging him, questioning him, and perhaps even scoffing at him. But he paid them no mind.

It took him some time to collect his thoughts and calm himself once again and, when he did, his gaze hardened. "I will now step away. We will say our goodbyes and go our separate ways," Dorian declared firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Am I clear?"

He looked as though he might argue, but then he smiled and chuckled, disregarding the curious onlookers just as Dorian did. "I see myself in you. Even now, I do not regret turning you," he sighed. "Good evening to you, Dorian."

His hands trembled, and words failed to come out as he sent a final gaze and curt nod toward his sire. Turning on his heels, he left swiftly.

Arriving at their carriage where Killian and (Y/n) were already waiting, he collapsed into Killian's arms, using him as his lifeline. Dorian didn't care about (Y/n) seeing his tears at that moment; he just needed comfort.

"What is...” Killian began, concerned.

"We must go, Killian," Dorian interrupted, his voice cracking. “Let the three of us leave Britain behind."

[im-a-killer-queen]

Orm Marius x reader

Part 2

Summary: Orm sees a curvy girl with curly hair for the first time and he is in awe.

Author’s note: so here it is, the second part, honestly i don’t know if it’s good but i think i kind of owe you a second part so here it is.

Warnings: none? fem!reader, curly!hair!reader, chubby!reader, Orm being the werido he is in the surface, Arthur and Orm being brothers and i think that’s it.

Part one

You would say your life is normal, you lived in a town by the sea, had a nice job in a coffe shop and had a few friends.

That’s why when that weird guy appeared, you were amused, you felt like you wanted to know more and see him again.

Lucky you, Orm had the exact same plan as you, that’s why he talked to his brother, to know more about humans, about their way of comunicating and different tools that were necessary to keep in touch nowadays.

Arthur found the whole thing funny, but he also was scared his brother didn’t knew how to manage those feeling and how to treat a Surface lady properly. When Orm first asked him for advice he just told him: ¨Don’t be yourself¨.

Orm got human clothes and walked around the town, looking for you, Arthur decided to join him just in case.

He saw you through the cristal, in that little caffe. There wasn’t any costumer inside, so he just walked in, followed by his brother.

You looked up and saw him there, you offered him a big smile and Orm could feel his heart jumping out of his chest.

¨Hey¨ he said, his face was in awe.

¨Hey¨ you said back, he just chuckled.

¨I think i didn’t present myself properly last time and for that, i apologize¨ he bowed.

Arthur elbowed him.

You just chuckled and bowed back ¨i accept your apologies¨.

Arthur´s eyebrows went up ¨I get why you liked her, she is a freak like you¨ he whispered to Orm, who just shot him a bad glance.

¨So¨ you start ¨want a coffe or…?¨

Orm opens his mouth then close it.

¨Yes, two black coffees please¨ Arthur smiles.

You smile back and start preparing the coffees. While you are working Arthur has a little chat with Orm ¨You have to do something, you can´t just stare at her¨.

Orm nods and reunites corage ¨My name is Orm¨ he says bluntly, a little too loud to which Arthur covers his face with one hand, the other one on his hip.

You look at him and chuckle softly ¨Nice to meet you Orm¨ you reveal your name to them.

He smiles, sun making his face glow ¨You have a beautiful name, perfect for you¨, he says, acting like he is in a trance, like the first time you two met.

You blush slightly ¨Thanks Orm, yours is interesting, i like it¨ you give them the coffes and they sip at it¨It sounds like royalty¨.

Arthur almost chokes with the coffe hearing that and Orm just lets the coffe fall back from his mouth to the cup, not liking the flavour.

¨Is it that bad?¨ you say a bit ashamed.

¨Oh no! It´s not that¨ Arthur says, laughing to ease the mood ¨It´s nice, really¨ he drinks it ¨see?¨ he elbows Orm so he drinks it all.

He puts up a face and takes another sip, he smiles at you but doesn´t swallow the liquid.

You find it funny.

¨It´s really okay if you don´t like it¨ you assure them.

Arthur shakes his head, ready to tell you it´s not like that but Orm talks first ¨it tastes hideous, i don’t understand how you humans can drink this¨

You frown ¨W-what?¨

Arthur widens his eyes ¨Ahh… it´s his first time having coffe, that’s why he says that¨

You raise a brow ¨That’s why he says ´humans’ like he isn´t one?¨

They look at each other and start talking at the same time, trying to find an excuse.

¨It´s a brothers joke¨ Arthur says ¨We kind of have a game in which we think we aren´t human, long story, we were kids¨

You look at them both and stay silent for a few seconds, your gaze shifts from one man to another. They tense under it.

¨You guys are… brothers?¨ you say surprised.

They both let the air out.

¨Yes, we are!¨ Arthur says with an exagerated laugh.

¨From different fathers¨ Orm is quick to elaborate.

¨Oh, i see…¨ you chuckle ¨it´s nice to see you have a good relationship nontheless¨

They side eye at each other.

¨Sure¨ they say at the same time.

¨Okay…¨

You three stay silent, they look at you and you look back at them, unsure of what to do.

¨Number¨ Arthur says suddenly, pointing at you, he then makes a noise and touches his temple, he points at you again ¨Your number¨ he looks at Orm.

¨Ah, yes! Yes, your number¨ he chuckles and looks at you ¨I would really enjoy to have your company on more occassions so it would warm my heart if you could give me your number so we could… talk?¨

¨Oh¨ you don´t know how to react.

¨Freak¨ Arthur coughs out.

¨S-sure!¨ you chuckle ¨Yes, give me your phone¨

Orm smiles and stares at you.

¨Dude¨ Arthur says, the other just looks at him ¨your phone, give her your phone¨

Orm starts to touch his pants ¨Ah yes, just- just give me a second, i don´t seem to be able to… to find it¨ he chuckles, nervous.

He gets the phone and gives it to you.

¨I thought you didn´t have one¨ you tease taking it.

¨My brother just gave it to me¨ he answer in honesty.

Arthur just rubs his temple.

You write down your number and give him his phone back.

¨There you have it¨ you smile.

¨Thank you…¨ Orm is staring at you again, like he has never seen a woman before in his life, which, in a way, is true since you were very different from the woman in Atlantis.

¨Okay bud, that´s it¨ Arthur smacks his chest and turns him around, taking him to the door. ¨Goodbye good lady, see you in family meetings!¨

They walk outside and you just stand there, both confusedand amused.

You are defenitely gonna go to those family meetings.

Tags (the ones who asked for a part 2)

@nkatr84 @dark-silhouette

[shitty-mechs-headcannons]

Ivy has banned all the other Mechs from the library:

- Ashes is obvious

- Tim and Jonny kept getting into fights

- Brian clanks too much (he vehemently protests this as unfair, since he can't help it. Ivy does not care)

- Nastya got oil stains on the books

- Raph kept knocking things over with her wings

- Marius made doodles of Lyfrassir inside a book (credit to my discord server for this one. If y'all see it you know who you are)

- The Toy Soldier brought tea in (no food or drink in the library!)

yesss. if you want a book you have to file a special request and know exactly what book it is. if you ruin it in any way you owe two favors to ivy

- mod fen

[vorbarrsultana]

the vampire lestat reread, pt. 1 (lestat and nickistat)

also known as "i decided to reread tvl after the season finale because some takes i've seen online give me the impression i read a completely different book two years ago". i've finished it two days ago, and turns out i have more than 5000 words of notes that significally exceed tumblr character limit. so, i had to split them into three parts.

here is part one, all about dramatic theater kids full of love, sad violinists of infinite beauty, and friends-to-lovers romances doomed by the narrative.

i love lestat.

i forgot how fun and likable tvl lestat is from page one. and how different he is from his fanon characterization!

lestatposting is fun, i get it, but i am starting to get annoyed at the amount of fanfics where lestat needs someone to help him adapt to modern times. he is doing fine on his own, thank you. it took him less than two weeks to start a rock band.

(and the whole iphone thing from "prince lestat" is more about him not seeing it as something useful since he has a mind-skype ability to talk to any vamp on planet earth, and they cannot decline the call.)

lestat is not stupid. impulsive? yes. stubborn? of course. but clever, resourseful, and cunning when he needs to be. all of this makes him a great hunter! also, really thoughtful when the mood strikes, and his quiet, existential moments have some of the best prose in that book.

i wish someone smarter than me wrote a good meta about lestat & social class because he really seems to buy into the idea of "noblesse oblige" i.e. the belief that aristocrats are obliged to take care of those less fortunate. it's present in the way he kills the wolf pack for the villagers (who live on his father's land), and later takes responsibility for the theatre troupe & remnants of armand's coven, even though he doesn't owe them anything.

also, characterization of lestat as someone socially cluesless is simply untrue. sure, he plays dumb on occasion (and hates it every time because early life illiteracy trauma), but he is also good at reading people. like, he got a pretty accurate read of armand behind the angelic facade during their first face-to-face meeting. the only people he has trouble reading are those closest to him because he heavily projects his abandonment issues on them.

lestat's struggle of being "too much" contrasts nicely with the struggle of never being enough which is so crucial to louis. hashtag made for each other.

and juxtaposition of lestat's desire to be loved for who he is and louis's struggle with identity is also delicious.

this time i also related so much to lestat's "malady of mortality" and his search for meaning in the world. which ultimately fails because he is forcibly turned into a monster, and now every ounce of happiness he might bring into the world (and lestat desperately wants to do good!) is outweighed by him killing to survive.

and marius later reinforced the belief that vampirism has no higher purpose, and no wonder that nola!lestat is a shell of his former self.

lestat's turning is the most classic horror moment of the vampire chronicles to me. the mina harker of it all. the creature of night shrouded in terror snatching an innocent victim from the arms of their love right before bleak november sunrise.

also, all the implications of what magnus has done to lestat were even more clear during this reread, and i wonder if that was the reason rolin "i-love-narrative-parallels" jones added bruce into claudia's story.

the book also explains perfectly why lestat is so well suited for vampirism. his curiosity, thirst for new experiences, and adventuring spirit are his eternal engine on the devil's road :)

however, the downside of that personality facet is that lestat steamrolls over his trauma telling himself "this is fine! look, satan, i am making the best of it", which in turn leads to the iwtv nola mess.

and i feel like this constant search for positives in vampirism (that unwilligly turned lestat & claudia share) is why they can't really relate to louis, who chose it for himself. if these two start to get too existential, the temptation to throw themselves into the fire might become unbearable.

lestat equating his loneliness with his evilness is interesting, but i have nothing to say about that for now other than equation being there.

lestat's explosive temper is also present in the book. there is a constant pattern of lestat doing things he regrets the most (like the theater performance fiasco or eating people at notre dame's steps) when he is angry or upset.

let's talk about nicki. i love him, despite half of fandom hating on him for some reason.

lestat has a type, which is "good catholic boy" with narrow view of good and evil. except louis is of a parent's favorite, conforming variety, and nicki is the rebellious one, driven to the utmost cynicism by religious dogmas.

however, despite being a self-proclaimed cynic, nicki practically drowns in catholic guilt, almost reveling in the fact that everything he does, from playing violin in the boulevard theater to having an affair with lestat, is wrong. there is no meaning in anything, and he is doomed to die a sinner's death.

he is doomed! by the narrative though.

lestat and nicki's philosophical difference seems to be that nicki (unlike lestat) does not believe in inherent goodness of the positive emotions. for him, "sin always feels good", therefore happiness they bring performing = sin.

but still, nickistat's love is so touching. after lestat ghosts nicki to protect him, he still trusts lestat's love for him and the troupe, thinks best of him, and shuts down all nasty rumours. in turn, lestat equates all the good that was in his mortal life, all his hopes and dreams with nicki. he is a symbol of everything magnus took from him.

AND THEY COMMUNICATE THROUGH MUSIC, AND IT'S THEM AT THEIR BEST, AND IT'S BEAUTIFUL.

nicki almost became lestat's charlie. when they meet face to face for the first time after lestat's transformation, he can barely contain his hunger magnified by attraction.

the most terribly sad thing about nicki is the unfairness of all that happened to him. he had seen lestat being shot right before him, then he disappeared with dying gabrielle, then the coven kidnapped and tortured him until he lost his mind.

and for nicki, the dark gift is a confirmation of everything he believes in being true. the meaninglessness of it all. evil being the only certain thing in the world. the way to fall into a deeper, darker abyss than the one that was before the mortal him. and it is a confirmation that lestat's inner light he loved so much will eventually burn out.

(his spark in the dark, if you will.)

(and lestat's dream before turning nicki hurts, because he dreams of growing up and growing old together, of maturing past magnus's eternal lelio with sunlight in his hair and summer sky in his eyes. oh, the lesdaughter of it all.)

there is certainly a parallel between nickistat's bitter "in darkness, we are equal now" vs loustat's comforting "in the quiet dark, we were equals".

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🔱 A Queen’s Duty, A King’s Privilege

A Queen’s Duty, A King’s Privilege: You have been the Queen of Atlantis for nearly two years, dutifully performing you queenly duties, all except for one that is. You have yet to give your king an heir. Convinced that your husband has always only tolerated your presence, you will soon find out Orm's opinion couldn’t be farther from your thoughts.

Warnings: Mature and Explicit Themes.

To Note: Orm Marius x XebellNAMED!FEMReader, hair and eye color are given, dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Word Count: ~5.1k

Kicking your way across the palace, your red hair streamed behind you in rippling waves as you headed towards the grand hall. As the queen of Atlantis, it was your duty to attend hearings with your husband to listen to the troubles and inquiries from your people. You had been Queen of the Atlantean people for nearly two years and it never ceased to trouble you with how many showed up to voice their troubles.

You took your job as the Queen of Atlantis very seriously. Years ago, when your mother died and you were left to take care of your little sister Mera, Atlanna had stepped forward and raised both of you as her own, guiding you as best she could. Now, years later, she might be gone, but you still felt a very ingrained depth of gratitude towards the Atlantean people. As queen, it was only right of you to try your best to rule and protect them.

Swimming into the great hall, guards nodded in greeting as you headed for the dais, and took your spot next to your husband. Settling down in your seat, you folded your hands in your lap and looked onwards. The crowd of Atlantean citizens had already started gathering. Your eyes scanned the growing crowd.

“Is it just me, or are there more citizens than we normally see?” You questioned, turning your head to look at Orm and Vulko.

“There has been an increased amount of attacks by the Trench Kingdom as of late, my queen,” Vulko spoke up. “These citizens are no doubt the sufferers of their attacks.”

“These citizens are from the outreach colonies,” Orm explained, his calm blue eyes meeting yours. “We have already set up alternative housing for them within the city.”

You nodded in understanding, falling silent as you thought over the implication of the Trench Kingdom increasing their attacks, and being so close to the city itself. They were getting bolder with each passing year, and if not taken care of, every citizen not within the walls of Atlantis would flock here. You didn’t have that kind of housing.

“We won’t have the space if this continues,” You murmured quietly, your fingers curling in slightly at the foreboding thought.

“We will discuss further action at the council meeting later today,” Orm responded, giving you a hint of a smile. That took you back. Orm was not a man who was well adept at kindness or smiling for that matter. King Orvax made sure of that.

Growing up with him, you had always made sure to try to be on the best terms with Orm; you were going to eventually get married and it was best if you were at least friends when that happened. But for some reason, he spent most of his time becoming the best warrior in the ocean, and you always got the feeling that he tolerated your presence in his life.

Now, years on from your teenage life, you were his wife pretty much in name only. He stayed busy trying to protect the kingdom from the threat of the surface and the pollution that was killing your people, and you spent as much time as you could as the best queen that Atlantis needed. Except for one little fact. You hadn’t given him an heir.

It was kind of hard to when you both slept in opposite ends of the palace, hardly ever saw each other outside of royal duties, and to be frank, never really talked to each other than to discuss plans for the city. You owed him and Atlantis an heir, but how exactly was that going to happen when you felt like he only tolerated your presence?

You always thought you were decently pretty, not nearly as pretty as your younger sister Mera, but you could hold your own. Mera and you were spitting images of each other, only Mera had softer lines and features, a product of your struggle to raise her to have the best life she could get. You were more battle hardened underneath your dark green body suit; you didn’t have the same soft curves she did. Your body had long since adapted to hard hewn muscle with the occasional scar.

As long as Mera had a good life, your job as the eldest was successful and your mother could rest in peace. The hearings went by slowly, what seemed like an endless line of citizens lining up to inform you of their difficulties, and when the time slot was finally closed, you had a headache and felt the stresses of the people.

There were so many problems, and not enough of advisors and rulers to take care of the situations that arose. It seemed like a miracle that anything got done. Rising from your seat, you started making your way towards the advisor’s chamber, readying yourself for your headache to get worse.

“Itara!” Pausing, you looked back to see Mera swimming towards you. You let her catch up before continuing your journey.

“Is something bothering you?” You questioned her after you left behind most of the crowd. Mera raised her eyebrow up at you.

“You tell me, there is talk amongst the maids about your inability to provide Orm an heir.” That had you pausing in your tracks. You knew it would eventually come up. Really, your only official job, according to the old scriptures, was to provide Orm with as many heirs as he wished, mainly sons.

“Your maids need to learn to keep their thoughts to themselves, especially if they have enough time to talk about such frivolous thoughts,” You responded coolly, dropping to your feet on the stone flooring. “There is nothing wrong with your ability to procreate, you needn’t worry about me not being able to perform my duty.”

“That’s not what worries me,” Mera announced, lightly taking your wrist. “I want to know if you are okay, you never talk with me anymore.”

Orm and Vulko appeared in the hallway, mid conversation, and Orm’s eyes met yours. Your eyelids fluttered as you pursed your lips and tore your gaze from his.

“Everything is fine, Mera, I am simply busy you needn’t worry,” You told her, brushing a strand of her hair free from her face. “There isn’t anything I can’t handle as the queen.”

She didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press further on the subject. Releasing her light grip on your wrist, Mera continued on to the advising room.

“May I have a moment with you, my queen?” Orm’s voice floated through the hallway, making you stiffen ever so slightly. Everyone seemed to be out for you today.

“Of course, my king,” You responded demurely, twisting your body to face him. Vulko gave you a respective nod before leaving you and Orm alone to talk in the hallway. “Is there something wrong, it seems that everyone wishes to talk to me today.”

“It has come to my attention that we have yet to have an important discussion. I would like it if you would please meet me in my room tonight.” Looking up into his eyes, you tried to search for an emotional give away of what he intended to talk about, but as usual, he was far too good at hiding things from you.

“I will meet you when I am done with my duties,” You promised with an inclination of your head. You then frowned. “Do you know what had Mera on edge so much? I’ve never seen her so worried.”

“I believe Mera is just highly concerned for her older sister,” Orm explained before gesturing towards the council chamber doors. “May I escort you?”

“You’re my husband. That privilege is yours and yours alone,” You told him, taking his arm and turning your head towards the double doors.

The rest of your day was extremely busy after the meeting. You had been called to discuss a few disputes between the nobles, one of which ended up with two idiots challenging each other over a woman. So you then ended up having to referee a challenge, which took forever because the two men ended up locking tridents and growling at each other for an entire hour.

Eventually it ended up with the woman screaming that the two idiots that she wasn’t going to choose either of them. That had massively deflated their tails in a tumultuous ending. You had briefly spoken with the harassed woman, making sure that she would not be bothered again before departing.

So after a grueling day of indenturing royal duties, you had headed back to your private rooms, relaxed in your steam vent shower for a few minutes before changing into an emerald green silk slip to sleep in. You did have one more duty to attend to before going to bed, meeting up with Orm. Grabbing a simple grey robe, you covered up your body to hide the revealing slip and tied it off before swimming for Orm’s private wing.

Finding yourself at the guarded entrance to Orm’s wing, the guards greeted you with respectful bows, informing you that Orm had one last affair to take care of, but wished for you to wait inside for him. Entering the spacious suite, you floated around, your eyes taking in the beautiful sculptures and decorations that were placed around the rooms.

Orm hailed from a line that had long since collected riches and beautiful artifacts from the old world. So naturally he would have unbelievably beautiful sculptures and decorative weapons. But what caught your attention was not all the flashy artifacts and vases, but the balcony over viewing the city. Lightly skipping your way over to the stone carved railing, you looked out at Atlantis, a sense of pride and honor running through your veins.

This was your city, your home, and every citizen worked together for the better of your oceans and your way of life. That was why you tried so hard to be a good queen, one they deserved. Your hands lightly gripped the railing as you watched turtle trains glide smoothly around buildings, carrying vital supplies and goods.

You were sure that Orm wanted to talk about the issue of heirs; it was obvious and something you had never talked about. You would probably go about it as clinical as possible. It was your job and Orm could always go to a noble woman he actually liked for further intimacy. You heard the tell-tale signs of Orm, his voice echoing as he talked with the guards, the light boom of the stone doors closing, the shuffling of his armor as he loosened it up.

“Your day sounded far busier than I expected,” Orm quietly spoke, his voice floating to your ears. Reaching up, you brushed your red hair behind your ear while you turned away from the city. Orm had removed his greaves and breastplate, and was now working on his vambraces. They were notoriously harder to take off alone when you only had one hand.

Taking the initiative, you glided over to him and gently took his arm, your smaller fingers replacing his hand as you loosened up the string of the vambraces.

“I try to stay busy,” you answered him as you fully loosened the knot and pulled the vambrace free from his wrist. Your eyes darted up to his blue ones ever so briefly before you moved to work on his remaining vambrace. “There is plenty to do and I want to be a good queen.”

“Who said you weren’t a good queen?” Orm questioned, his eyebrow going up as you pulled off his remaining vambrace. You gave him a soft shrug of your shoulders.

“Queens are only good for one thing, my king,” you told him quietly as you went to place the vambraces on the armor stand for tomorrow. Sliding the vambraces into their holder, you lightly ran your finger down the golden scales. “I am not blind to that duty, I owe you an heir, it is expected.”

“Would having my child be that cumbersome to you?” His tone was snippy and egged your own attitude towards your discussion.

“It matters not what I feel,” you stated, your fingers dropping from the beautiful armor and fisting your robe. “You clearly only tolerate my presence, so what difference does it make?”

A hand closed around your wrist and had you spinning in a dizzying circle, your body ultimately being tugged against a hard, warm chest as you steadied yourself with your palm on Orm’s shoulder. Letting out a startled breath, you lifted your wide eyes to Orm’s as his other hand grasped your chin.

“Are you really that unhappy here, Itara? Unhappy with me?” He asked, his blue eyes searching your green ones.

“I wouldn’t say I am unhappy,” you responded, your cheeks heating up slightly at his close proximity. “I just—I want to be a good queen like your mother… and yet sometimes I feel you go out of your way to stay busy, to stay away from me… I don’t want to admit it, but I will give you your desired heirs, and I won’t protest if you choose to seek intimacy from a more attractive woman.”

Rather than be pleased by your words and acceptance of not protesting him seeking pleasure and comfort elsewhere, he seemed to be irritated, if not irate. You didn’t have time to contemplate what you had said to make anger simmer behind those crystal blue eyes before his grip on your chin tightened and he was pulling your mouth to his.

Shock, utter shock, filled your veins and burned a clear path through each and every pathway to your brain as Orm hungrily pressed his soft lips against yours. Your heart started racing in your chest while your skin prickled in delight. When you had wed, in front of citizens from both Xebel and Atlantis, you had only shared a brief, chaste kiss, as was expected of a King and Queen, but this was nothing like that simple brush of lips.

This was hungry, dominating, and had every single molecule of your being consumed by boiling heat and desire. His hand released your chin and slid along your cheek until his fingers reached your floating hair. His fingers dug into your flaming red hair, weaving into your locks until he had a firm hold.

Biting down on a soft moan, your fingers curled into his basic purple armor, making your nails scratch the delicate yet infinitely strong scales. That small sound from the back of your throat seemed to please Orm further because he was releasing your wrist and sliding his arm around your back, pulling your body further against his.

With your hand free from his grip, you tentatively placed your hand on his shoulder, sliding your own fingers up to his neck to feel his skin beneath your fingertips. Completely absorbed with his possessive kiss, you provided no resistance when his tongue flicked across your lower lip. Parting your overly sensitized lips, you let Orm dive even further.

It was euphoric and nothing you had experienced in the past made you feel as intimate and connected with him than the caress of his mouth against yours and the gentle yet needy touches of his hands on your body. Only when your lungs started to burn and little gasps tumbled out of your mouth did he pull away.

Your face was flushed from the high of his kisses and lack of oxygen, and while you caught your breath, your hands remained on his chest and neck. Finally, after you had caught your voice and stared into his eyes with a look that reflected how you felt, you spoke.

“That was unexpected…” you whispered out weakly. Orm’s lips curled into a half smirk as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“You are my wife, Itara, mine to have, mine to hold, mine to cherish, and I will never have eyes for another. It is my honor that you will carry our children. It may be a queen’s duty to carry on the line, but it is the king’s privilege to indulge in that sacred right.” That took your breath away. You had been treated most of your life as a tool, and yet he made you feel like you were more than just a broodmare.

“I always thought that you didn’t care for me or my presence.” Your reply had his eyes softening while his fingers slipped free of your hair and delicately traced the curve of your jaw.

“My feelings are far from that, my queen,” Orm explained. “After my mother died, I felt it was my duty to become as strong as I could in order to protect both Atlantis and you. It seems in my dedication to becoming a man worthy of your hand, I unwittingly pushed you away. I don’t know how to remedy my folly other than beg for forgiveness.”

Your eyes burned from the realization that you had allowed yourself to suffer so long simply from a misunderstanding. He had been focusing on becoming a King worthy to rule Atlantis, and a man who could protect his wife.

“Gods, I feel like such an idiot,” you moaned quietly to yourself, pressing your forehead to his chest. “I think I’m the one who should be apologizing. I never thought to ask…”

“Now that we’ve cleared up that misunderstanding, may I worship my wife like she deserves?” If your cheeks were pink from that tail curling kiss only a minute earlier, they were now burning the same shade of your hair. You could refuse and make him wait for a later date, or open up to a glaring fact of yours you were fairly sure he didn’t know. Cowardice couldn’t, and wouldn’t, win this time.

“Orm, there is something you should probably know…” you spoke up, withdrawing your hands to twist them together in nervousness. “I haven’t—I’ve never been intimate with anyone before, so I do not know what to do.”

Rather than laugh at you, or leer over the fact that you were untouched and his for ruining, Orm simply took your hands in his grasp and pressed light butterfly kisses to your fingers.

“I will be gentle, my queen.” With that, you allowed him to lead you over to his bed, his fingers slowly working at the robe you wore, all the while keeping your eyes connected. Your robe slipped from your shoulders and floated down to the stone floor, revealing the emerald green slip you wore to bed.

While his hands lightly explored your nearly bared body, Orm lowered his mouth to press feather kisses along your jaw, his lips drawing out the most delightful sensations. Shuddering beneath his gentle touch, your fingers curled into purple armor, not really knowing what to do other than hold on.

The water softly cushioned your body as your bare feet floated off the floor, and as you floated over the bed, your body trembled underneath his surprisingly light touches. Your husband was not a gentleman, nor was he raised to have a soft touch, and yet in this moment you felt as if you were seeing an entirely new side to him. One that reminded you of the late Queen, his mother, Atlanna.

Every kiss Orm pressed against your lips drew you deeper into the foreign world of lust and pleasure. Not once did you find yourself wanting to pull away. Hands slowly undid the neat bow holding the back of your silk slip, and with one tug, the soft material resting on your body became loose.

But he didn’t automatically yank the material from your body, instead choosing to slip his fingers across skin that was rarely shown, always hidden behind your dark green body suit. Orm’s hands were unrestrained, but never once rough and hard. Fingers trailed all over your back, around your hips, across your stomach, they stroked your skin until your entire being was shivering in delight and anticipation.

Orm’s mouth wandered from yours, moving over the contour of your jaw before landing on your neck. A small shuddering sigh passed your lips when his lips started to tug at your tender flesh. You found a new sense of pleasure bubbling underneath your skin just from the way his mouth caressed and teased your neck.

That wasn’t the only sensation your mind was hyper fixating on at the moment. The hand that had been delicately stroking your stomach had migrated to the waistband of your underwear, and in one motion his fingers slipped to flesh no man had ever touched before.

Letting out a startled gasp, you bit back a whimper and clutched at his shoulder when his fingers stroked through your folds. Your body twitched in his hold, unaccustomed to any type of touch and highly sensitive to each stroke and swirl.

With your breathing heavier and your cheeks reddened with arousal rather than embarrassment, your lips trembled, soft echoes of moans and pants barely audible. Orm finally released your neck from his ministration to look into your flushed face. He had a satisfied, smug little smirk on his lips that only deepened your blush.

“Care to help me with my armor, my queen?” Orm questioned, not once halting his electric touch. Even with a flushed face burning with heat, you managed to let out a small scoff.

“The day you need help with something as simple as dressing yourself is the day you cease to be Orm Marius.” You breathed out, making him quirk an eyebrow.

“Indulge me?” Your fingers traveled from his shoulder to his neck, where the zipper was neatly tucked away in a fray of scales. Your hand trembled as you slowly drew the zipper down, relieving Orm of his skin tight armor. With the material loose, you slipped your fingers between the armor and his skin, pushing it back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this meek,”

While your cheeks were still dusted red, you managed to scowl at him for a few moments but were soon twisted around in the water as Orm shed the rest of his armor and tugged your floating slip from your body. Nostrils flaring at how naked you now were, Orm glided an arm across your bare back and pulled your body so you were flush against his chest.

Your lips were only a whisper apart as you stared into his hard blue eyes. Your body trembled at the feeling of his hot skin on yours. Orm was quick to return his hand to your underwear and, with one unapologetic smirk, tore the material free from your body. A noise of outrage bubbled in your throat, but was soon smothered by his mouth. As he took your lips in a hot and demanding kiss, you snaked your arms up and wrapped them around his neck.

His mouth completely distracted you, for it commanded attention and demanded a response. But a benign lance of pleasure shot up through your body, causing you to jerk in his hold and release a gasp that was instantly smothered. Orm had worked a finger into your body and from that came a whole new onslaught of sensation. Your nails dug into his neck while he curved his finger and started to stroke you deep and slow.

“Orm,” you grasped out, as his mouth migrated from yours once and worked its way across your chin to your neck. Your body tensing up from the sensations building in your body. “What are—what are you doing?”

“Indulging,” was his only reply before he added another finger. You gripped his shoulder harder as your body struggled to stretch to accommodate his extra digit. It wasn’t painful, but there was a certain dull burning sensation that wasn’t comfortable. Orm placed a line of kisses on your neck, providing a brief distraction. “You need to relax, my queen.”

While Orm nuzzled his way up your neck to nip at your earlobe, you closed your eyes and tried to do exactly that. Letting out a shaky sigh, you forced yourself to relax once more and with that the hot tingling pleasure slowly returned. Rather than let Orm do all the work, you leaned forward and dropped your own hungry lips to his neck, raining down passionate kisses and ravenous nips.

Past the burn, your body vibrated in response to his ministrations and felt like it was on the teetering brink of… something. Fidgeting in his embrace, rather than kissing his neck and shoulder, you started biting down with a tormented whimper. A hum of satisfaction came from deep within Orm’s throat, and with that noise he curved his fingers further in your body and stroked a spot within you that had your toes curling and abdomen clenching.

Fire burned in your veins, your heart pounded, and with your body quivering in Orm’s arms, you felt something within you release itself. Going slack, you leaned your face into his neck and tried to calm your heart down. His fingers disappeared from your folds and he gently took your chin in hand, pulling it so you were looking at each other. Orm brushed his fingers through your hair, tucking several strands behind your ear.

“I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but I will keep my promise.”

“I know,” you responded quietly, as he whisked his fingers down your back and then along your thigh. Your leg was pulled up to his waist as you sucked in a breath when you felt his length press up against your aching core. Orm ran his fingers up your back, tracing along the ridges of your spine until his fingers dug into your red hair. He dipped his head down, stealing another passionate kiss.

You gasped against his mouth at the invading thickness that was suddenly filling your body. You wanted to squirm against the sharp pain that emanated from between your legs, but you didn’t budge in Orm’s grasp so you had to settle with digging your nails into his shoulders until you were sure they were leaving marks. Orm’s lips nipped at yours once more before slowly moving to the corner of your mouth, and then along your jaw. Shuddering in his hold, you focused on the sensation of his lips moving across your skin rather than the slowly dissipating pain.

You floated there for at least half a minute, Orm patiently allowing your body to adjust to the invasion. At first you were content to just float there, but the less it hurt, the more you realized that a peculiar prickle was boiling where pain had once echoed. Releasing your nails from his skin, you slipped one of your hands up his neck and stroked your fingers through his blond hair.

“I’m not as breakable as I might seem,” you whispered against his neck, your lips brushing his hot skin as you nuzzled your nose in and rested your head on his shoulder. “Perhaps naïve, but I am not breakable.”

“I never saw you as naïve, Itara,” Orm said as he shifted his eyes down to look at you. “You have always seemed dedicated to your duty as Queen of Atlantis.”

“Save for one major duty you have neglected,” you answered with a twitch at the corner of your mouth.

“I wouldn’t say you have neglected it any further,” he said before easing himself out. Breathing out steadily, you waited for a recurrence of pain, but were surprised to find that when Orm slid back in, pain was no longer at the forefront. Heat was blooming in your stomach and before you knew it, an echoing soft sigh slipped from your barely parted lips.

With a half smile on his face, Orm pulled your head back by your hair and pressed a blazing trail of kisses down your throat. You could feel his mouth pulling at your skin and occasionally adding just a hint of bite. You didn’t know what to focus on, the feeling of Orm sliding in and out of your body or the little zips of lightning he produced with his mouth.

With a breathy groan, you slowly wrapped your legs around his waist, closing the minuscule space between your bodies. Your neck was branded with his lips. Never before had it felt so sensitive. Teeth once again raked your neck and you couldn’t help the small cry as his pace increased and his cock started brushing against a certain spot.

Your quivering and soft moans only increased when Orm’s wicked mouth dropped from your neck to slowly make its way down to your breasts. Twitching in his hold, you whined out as he gently bit around at the soft tissue and then licked the stinging skin.

You were content to wrap yourself around Orm, holding onto him for the ride, but he had his mouth and hands everywhere. He was addicting, and you found yourself craving the feeling of his body pressed against yours, driving deeper and deeper until all that came from your mouth was heavy gasps.

Nails clawing at his shoulder, you felt your body overtaken with waves of pleasure that got stronger and stronger with every second that ticked by. Shaking to the point of writhing, you felt your body clamp down around Orm and in seconds heat was streaking through your body while a strangled scream left your lips, your limbs twitching in his grasp.

While liquid fire was slowly streaming through your body, you shuddered as lightheadedness hit you. Orm tore his mouth from your chest to mash his lips back against yours, his movements now coming hard and fast. His hands clasped your hips and with one last hard thrust, your hips crashed together and hot liquid was rushing into your body.

Grunting against lips that seemed ravenous and never sated, your body quivered against his while you caught your breath. Slowly, the hungry kiss mellowed out to soft nips, Orm reaching up to brush his fingers through your own hair.

“I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable,” Orm murmured in your ear. You let out a soft giggle and wrapped your arms all the way around his neck.

“There are certain unpleasantries that are unavoidable,” you answered softly. “I will be fine, my king.”

His blue eyes flickered down to yours.

“Can I perhaps convince you to stay the night? I quite like having you in my arms.” Your only response was to smile.

Date Published: 1/18/21

Last Edit: 4/28/24

Orm Marius Masterlist

[felixravinstills]

any hcs about felix when he was a kid? i'm curious lol

Hmm... See the problem is I don't know how much of my fics, you've read, anon, so I feel like I'm danger of repeating things you might already know. I feel like a lot of my headcanons get sprinkled across all my fics lol. Some of this might be familiar if you're familiar with my fics.

Thanks for the ask! (HCs below cut)

He was orphaned during the the beginning of the war at age 4 (going on 5)

He's raised in the Presidential Palace by President Ravinstill (whose pretty distant because that man has baggage)

He has two living cousins who are over 10 years older than him, Marius and Gnaeus. He isn't particularly close with either of them.

He doesn't remember much of his parents (or the rest of the large, dead extended family I gave him) as he grows older which is part of what reinforces the distance between him, his cousins, and his great-uncle.

To grieve with Felix would require them to remind him of what he's lost which would rip open wounds for the rest of them that are just beginning to try and heal. In the middle of a war, those three don't have the emotional energy. Once the war's ended, they all feel like it's too late.

He was homeschooled for the duration of the war, and doesn't join the rest of the kids until he's 8 going on 9 (around the time the war ends)

Being a Ravinstill offers him amount of confidence in social interactions. He believes that he's owed a certain amount of respect from his peers

He also offers a certain amount of respect back, but he can come across as rather patronizing

He doesn't actually pull rank (saying his great-uncle is the president or that his family is more prestigious). He expects people to to treat him that well without a reminder, and when they don't, he believes he's failing to fall into his idealized view of what a Ravinstill should be.(I weirdly think about John Locke's social contract when I think about Felix's views of his interpersonal relationships. Ravinstills are great, and everyone should want to be our friends! If they don't want to be mine, maybe I'm not doing it right? Maybe, I should be overthrown I'm not a worthy Ravinstill?)

For most of his childhood, he isn't really able to tell the difference from doing what he thinks he should and doing what he actually wants to do

Felix is jealous that Gaul can get his great-uncle's full attention so easily, and he develops a bit of a grudge against her from a young age. Plenty of other officials can get the president's attention more than Felix, but he's sensitive to how his distant father figure interacts with others and can see the president will pull his attention away from other matters if Gaul speaks.

[czerwonykasztelanic]

Really interesting thing about Les Miserables is that it combines a number of semi-independent stories - each of which, when isolated, is a fairly standard interpretation of a given trope - into a larger, inter-connected whole; and wherever the individual archetypes interact with each other, they set the stage for the introduction of things that are less generic and cannot be treated as a one-dimensional paradigm. Such a layered "collage" is possible because of two factors: first, a large (and varied) cast of characters; second, the fact that the events in the novel span a relatively long period of time (some 40 years*).

However, unlike many historical works of similar calibre, Les Miserables usually favors a surgical approach - in a way, the individual "puzzle pieces" and their intersections matter more than the final "big picture".

When you look at the collage, you start to notice patterns and parallels: how Éponine is a distant echo of Javert, and in turn how Grantaire can be likened to Éponine; the mirrored fates of Enjolras and Gavroche; the analogous-yet-divergent fates of Valjean and Fantine, and many more.

In and of itself, the joined tale of Marius and Cosette is a variation on the theme of Werther et al. But when you broaden your perspective and consider the preceding stories of the two characters, it suddenly expands beyond the conventions of the genre. They are more than archetypical Romantic lovers: Marius - by virtue of his conflict with his grandfather and his involvement in the June Rebellion; and Cosette - owing to the detailed account of her turbulent past. The lover, the wayward son and the patriot-martyr are all characters extremely common in nineteenth-century literature - it just so happens that Marius is all three. Similarly, Cosette's childhood is a typical, if harrowing, Realistic depiction of abuse and poverty; and yet she is also the angelic, aethereal "kindred spirit" venerated by the lovestruck Marius-Werther.

Then you have Valjean, whose life is part morality play, part Positivistic* success story, part psychological study of an eternal outcast; Javert, who is simultaneously a caricature of single-mindedness, a universal parable about the dangers of blindly following authority, and Hugo's way of critiquing the reactionary police-state of Napoleon III; Éponine, at once a cautionary tale and a sympathetic look at the seedy underbelly of 'civilised' society; and bishop Myriel, both a textually canonized saint and the jolly protagonist of a pastoral about the highs and lows of life in a provincial parish.

The characters evoke emotion not because they can be losslessly stencilled into the new millenium, but because their reality is multi-faceted enough for us to become immersed in it. It's as if Hugo put a bucket-load of archetypes and genres in a well-researched and digression-prone blender, and out of that marring of ideals came something that has perhaps lost some of its everyman appeal and universality, in favor of immortalizing a kaleidoscope view of life in the early eighteen-hundreds; and yet it remains relevant because the problems he tackles are relevant still.

[xprojectrpg]

Moment of Awesome - Kyle Gibney/Wildchild: In the aftermath of Behold A Pale Horse, two old friends have a serious talk.

“It won’t happen again." Finally, Marius dragged his amber eyes down to look at Kyle. "What would I end up as, that third time?"

"How about next time you just fucking tell someone, okay?" Kyle made deliberate eye contact. "Like, please, man, do I need to be in my feelings here? I will go get some more feelings if I have to. I don't get it, I don't get the relapse thing I don't get the medical stuff, I know, okay but I do get that, like, you can just say 'I think the hunger is back, please tell someone' and I'll tell someone else and never bring it up to you again if that's what it takes, as long as you tell me one time so I can make sure you're not doing this dumbfuck shit again, because I can't lose any more fucking friends. We've got a new Forge, and he's a complete asshole, we've got a new Julio and he's a kid and we've got a new Catseye and she's so fucking weird, and I can't go find a new Marius because there won't be one!"

Even through the fog Kyle's vehemence struck something in him. Marius' eyes widened, just a little, before he slid his gaze away again.

He knew Kyle considered him to be someone worth keeping in his life, and always had. They wouldn't have kept in contact for all these years if not for that. But now, in this moment, Marius couldn't understand why. He looked at the determination on Kyle's face and felt only a great emptiness.

Mate, you think I'm so much more than I am. You all did. But I've never been like the rest of you, however much I wanted to be.

But he could pretend. He owed Kyle that, at least.

"Right," Marius said aloud. "Well, no worries. I feel as if I've caused everyone enough trouble, eh? Consider this a lesson learned."

Kyle shut his eyes very slowly, in defiance of Marius' false even-handed tone. "Uh huh. Yeah, this isn't gonna be that. I had to take classes on this shit, I teach teenagers." He pulled a phone out from the depths of the terrible lime basketball shorts. "This is me texting Terry, and god I hope you like bread because expect she'll be showing up a lot to make it. The catering kitchen's still fucked. Whatever room they put you in, you get a roommate until, I dunno, I decide you're not gonna go toss yourself into a volcano." His voice finally had expression, firm stubbornness and a break as he said aloud the fear he had, that Marius would consider suicide. "We don't have any volcano kinetics here right now, don't get any ideas. You get me, my grading papers at 5am and Shamu sleeping on your butt."

"Eh, sorry?" Marius said, unsure whether he'd parsed the rush of words correctly. "I'm going to . .��?"

"You're going to be living with me until such a time that someone decides you're not actively fucking suicidal." Kyle said, eyes still closed, voice on the verge of a growl. "Which means my girlfriend is going to show up at all hours to make food, because that's what she does, and you're going to tolerate my cat who probably is going to sleep on you because he loves everyone more than me."

"I wouldn’t hurt myself," Marius protested, although even he could perceive the frisson at the end of the sentence that implied an unspoken 'here'. He shook his head dismissively. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but this isn't necessary. It's just . . . it's hitting me all at once right now, all right? Once my head's straight again she’ll be right. I'm adaptable. It's one of my few redeeming features."

"I don't believe you." Kyle said. "My ears still work, you were all 'what would I end up as the third time', and you're assuming it'll happen and assuming the platelets are fucked, and man, of everyone I'd think you know I'm not as dumb as I pretend. I'm the... " He cut himself off. "It doesn't matter, you get a suitemate for a while. If nothing else, it means if your platelets are fucked, you're safe. Consider me the emergency parachute."

Marius opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally he met Kyle's gaze, and held it.

"Never in my life have I thought of you as dumb," he said.

[monstersinthecosmos]

i'm curious to know why you're not a big fan of modern day armand x marius!

In some ways I can't really explain this because it's like, why do any of us ship anything? It just doesn't really click for me in the way that any other random ship doesn't click for me.

I think there's a version of them that I could buy if someone wrote it out and sold it to me, where they put in a lot of work to heal themselves & each other to a point where they make sense as a couple, but where canon leaves off I just do not see it at all. And that's the beauty of fanworks, like our job as fic writers is to convince the reader that this is plausible.

But when I think of each of them in the modern day, and how strained their relationship is, I just cannot really connect with what they could possibly see in each other or how it could possibly work.

Armand is SUCH a different person than he was in Venice and I feel so strongly about his need for respect and his need for boundaries so that he can be the person he's meant to be. And I'm not sure Marius will EVER see him as an equal, even at their best. Armand needs to be treated like a grown up, you know? I want him with people who respect his feelings fully and who take him seriously and see him as a complete person. (This is him and Louis lol.)

I also think Armand seriously & deeply needs time with people who don't need him to be a caretaker. I think it's natural for him to want to play that role and make a home for everybody and take charge, but I think there's a balance in here somewhere in that he can do things that make him feel good and centered without feeling like he has to. And Marius in the modern day is SO deeply traumatized I don't like Armand being burdened with it. I think it's outside of the scope of what he can deal with, and this was somewhat like their dynamic in Venice, that Marius at times relied on him emotionally in a way that was too much.

I just think everyone needs to put their own oxygen masks on before helping others!

And for Marius, I just think he's like so broken. Like within his lifespan I still think that the Akasha wound is WAY too fresh; UNFORTUNATELY I WILL BE SAYING THIS FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE BECAUSE I'M A MERE MORTAL but it's only been 30 years, right? Vs. the 2000 years he'd cared for her.

Part of Marius healing (to me) is also him dealing with some of his ego issues, because I think he's created this shell for himself as his own way to cope with immortality and the burden of The Parents and all the existential bullshit that entailed. And that kinda means like, being able to treat Armand as an equal (or anyone else) and the practice to get there and the work it takes might need to be done with a peer like Pandora or Mael. And those two particularly I think have seen him at his messiest and ugliest and imo are the only people in the world who actually know him.

He's also harmed Armand SO MUCH that I don't think Armand can be that person, or least I don't think it's fair for Armand to be that person. It kinda reminds me of the Ring Theory with grief/support except there's this like layer of parentification that I'm not sure how to plop into an infographic but

Basically, I imagine Armand being the very center, and Marius directly outside of him because he's the parent, and because he owes Armand the space lol. Marius should be traumadumping OUTWARD away from Armand while he works through his problems. LEAVE ARMAND OUT OF THIS LOL.

I think Marius is like, deeply hurt by things that have happened in the Coven since QOTD (even actually since TVL when Akasha drank from Lestat) and like, I don't get the feeling that he's really dealt with it meaningfully because he tries so hard to be stoic and like logic&reason his way out of feeling his feelings. I don't think he ever really had that reckoning in canon. And like I think him being hurt by Armand is completely genuine, even if he has to be accountable for his own part in it, and that's something they absolutely should talk about. Maybe it's even the conversation that Blood Communion alluded to.

But to me, canon ends at Blood Communion, and I don't see like a single conversation as enough to heal this tremendous schism between them.

I just think they're both so deeply disappointed in each other and it's gonna be like centuries before they can even begin repairing it.

I CAN'T EVEN CONCEPTUALIZE HOW LONG IT WILL TAKE FOR THEM TO GET TO A PLACE WHERE IT'S OKAY. I believe they'll get there, but. I just don't see it and I haven't yet cracked the seal on writing post-canon sci fi taking place 200 years from now.

So anyway people ship things for a million reasons and like sometimes it's as simple as "hot" and sometimes it's "i want them to destroy each other" and sometimes it's domestic fluff and sometimes it's even all these exact points I've made--breaking them to pieces so that they can heal each other--but for me personally it just doesn't really do it for me. All the reasons I listed could be THE reason why someone else ships them in present day!! 😂 I just feel like so emotional and opinionated about what I want Marius to get up to in the modern day and I don't think Armand can help him. At least not in the Kacyverse!!!!! 😂😂

[theblackphoenixwritings]

ᴅᴀʏ 𝟷𝟸 - ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs: ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ

ᴍᴀʀɪᴜs/ᴀᴍᴀᴅᴇᴏ & ᴍᴀʀɪᴜs/ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ ᴀᴜ/ᴡᴇsᴛᴇʀɴ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟽

The day was ending again, and Marius was again beginning to feel the tension building. If Daniel was not mistaken and these creatures were somehow connected to Mr. Carson, then the damn priest, who preached discord and destruction by hiding behind a God who asked his worshippers to fight for him, was also entangled in all this. And his town, Cripple Creek was in immense danger. All these thoughts and the coming night almost suffocated Marius with worry. Daniel and Amadeo were sitting together near one of the sentry fires. They seemed to be engaged in exchanging vitriolic banter and seeing which of the two remained breathless first. It wasn't such a bad way to bond. Marius, in his life as a lawman, had seen men punch each other over a woman, and wear each other down, and learn the value of respect and friendship in what he thought was a mean way. He had seen men punch each other in drunken saloons for exchanging conflicting opinions, and then join in fighting the poor Christian on duty who had tried to stop them.

He had seen men teasing each other, until, they had seen a reflection of themselves in the man in front of them. And Marius, he thought, that was as good a way as any for those two to find their way to friendship. He watched them for quite some time, as illuminated by the iridescent heat of the fire, they exchanged gesticulating insults, Marius, could not help but smile when he realized that both of them had run out of ideas and looking at each other, had crossed their arms over their chests, observing each other and then looking away.

" It seems that their war is over, but they have yet to sign peace agreements, it would seem."

Teskhamen, had approached Marius and was observing the two at his side. The night seemed calm and the noises of the village were familiar and pleasant.

" Tell me Teskhamen, have you seen these creatures?" asked Marius as he continued to watch his boys.

"No, not in person, only through the account of my scouts, I guess Daniel told you that he was the one who stopped them before they engaged those creatures in combat." continued Teskhamen.

"No, we had other things to talk about, but Daniel told me that he's pretty sure that Mr. Carson is in cahoots with these creatures, how and why, I can't really say."

"Is there any other reason than greed that drives a man like Mr.Carson?" asked Teskhamen, who had a deep feeling of hatred toward Carson, to him he owed the death of one of his closest friends, Marius' father." Your father's death weighs on my conscience more than anything else, a good and righteous man who left in this world an intelligent and good-hearted boy who became a righteous and big-hearted man like his father." concluded Teskhamen.

"My father paid with his life for his ideals. He was a man of culture, curious and thirsty for knowledge, a man who did not put up barriers but tried to erase them.If at first his interest in your tribe was purely scientific, later it became purely one of respect and friendship. Neither Carson nor dear Santo, ever forgave him for welcoming you on his land, and allowing you to stay.I know because I was there and I forget neither Santo's cross shining in the sun, nor Carson's evil smile as he hanged my father." Marius, he was forced to stop and sigh, Teskhamen rested one of his large but slender hands on his shoulder," No one believed a little boy, and at ten years old what could I do against the two most powerful men in town? There was nothing I could do then, I spent years trying to make them pay for their crime and fighting them in their unhealthy ideas. I would not have imagined that they could go so far, but neither did I imagine that such creatures existed." Marius turned to look at Teskhamen's calm and peaceful profile," Your father was convinced that this land was rich enough for everyone.Everyone had a place here for him, he always repeated how there was wealth for everyone, enough wealth for everyone, but he could not understand the danger of greed and how heand his ideas inspiring the people of Cripple Creek, was harmful to those who made greed their very life."

Teskhamen mirrored himself in Marius' blue eyes; they were not the color of his father's, but they had the brilliance and strong calm determination.

"Daniel stopped my scouts, as I told you, they listened to him because they know how dear he is to you, they followed the creatures, and lost them in the vicinity of the beginning of Mr. Carson's lands. Your Daniel seems convinced that things are connected. I think he is right. And I think we need to figure out what they are plotting." said Teskhamen.

" Let's go to Daniel and Amadeo, Amadeo, too, unfortunately knows about the creatures." said Marius.

"Yes he told me about it while I was fixing his wounds."

"He was in pretty bad shape, I tried to keep his wounds clean, but without bandages and with rationed water, I couldn't do much." blamed Marius.

"You've done enough by the looks of it, the boy is alive, yes battered, but the body will heal despite the scars and disfigurements, the soul...well this I think is more the field he has entrusted to you." said Teskhamen with a smile, Marius seemed puzzled and embarrassed at the same time. Soft laughter and lively voices accompanied their path to the fire where Daniel and Amadeo where resting. Daniel noticing Marius, smiled sweetly at him, Amadeo on the other hand got up and threw himself into his arms, looking happy, as Marius could not tell, after all he had seen and suffered and how much he had struggled. Yet there he was clinging to his waist, his face resting on her chest. Teskhamne sat next to Daniel, while Marius checked Amadeo's bandages, who repeated that he was fine and that there was no need.

They all remained together sitting by the fire, Teskhamen quietly smoking, Daniel leaning against Marius's shoulder staring at the horizon, Marius sitting next to Daniel staring at the immense dark sky full of stars, and Amadeo had dozed off tightly to Marius, who had covered him with his own duster.

" What shall we do?" it was Daniel's practical and intelligent tone that pulled everyone from their thoughts.

"First, tomorrow, we will go back to the city, I have left Thorne alone to handle everything,and I have been missing too long. After that we will contact Zenobia, Avicus and Mael, for them to come to Cripple Creek. We need some help. And then we'll go pay a nice courtesy visit to Mr. Carson, and see what he has to say." concluded Marius.

[cosmicjoke]

“I’ve ranted myself into a little corner.  I know why I resent him so, and find it so soothing to hammer at his reputation, to beat upon his immensity with both my fists.

He has taught me too much.  He has brought me to this very moment, here, where I stand dictating to you my past with a coherence and calm that would have been impossible before I cam to his assistance with his precious Memnoch the Devil and his vulnerable little Dora.

Two hundred years ago he stripped me of illusions, lies, excuses, and thrust me on the Paris pavements naked to find my way back to a glory in the starlight that I had once known and too painfully lost.

... and I hate him only because I cannot imagine my soul without him now, and, owing him all that I am and know, I can do nothing to make him wake from his frigid sleep.”

Oof, this part.  Coming off of Armand’s bitter and, at moments, petty criticisms of Lestat, accusing him of blowing his own pain and tragedies out of proportion, accusing him of making grand adventures out of “capers” as he calls them, etc... this part is all the more powerful, because it’s what’s actually there, underneath that bitterness and anger.  He’s upset because Lestat is hurt, he’s fallen into a coma which Armand himself can’t rouse him from, trapped in his own mind, mentally and emotionally destroyed, and Armand can do nothing to help, and it’s that, more than anything I think, which caused Armand to lash out and rag on Lestat so much, before he finally broke under the misery of what he was actually feeling, and simply confesses to it here.  That Lestat, for all the pain and anguish between them, gave Armand his life back, the very one which he had stolen from him five hundred years earlier, and in giving him back that life, shaped who Armand now is and was able to become again.  Armand realizes and confesses here that without Lestat, he wouldn’t even be here, telling this story, and that he wouldn’t be the person he is now.  And of course, you understand how that kind of reliance, that kind of dependence could lead to resentment and even hate.  But Armand cares so much about Lestat, and loves him.  And I think Armand’s anger here comes from the fact that he knows he owes Lestat the life he now has, and more than resentment towards Lestat for that, he’s anguished that in this moment of need, in this moment of Lestat needing help, Armand can do nothing.

There’s all these moments which really drive this home

“What good is it to go back down now to the chapel here and lay my hands on him again and beg him to listen to me, when he lies as though all sense has truly left him and will never return.

I can’t accept this.  I won’t.  I’ve lost all patience; I’ve lost the numbness that was my consolation.  I find this moment intolerable-”

Or this, when speaking about how he hadn’t pitied Lestat when he’d come to him in Paris a hundred years before, seeking his help, but after the ordeal with Memnoch, he says

“But what I’d seen now was a devastation of the soul in his anguished face, and the vision of the one blue eye, shining so vividly in his streaked and wretched face, had been unbearable.”

There’s a sense here, I think, of guilt in Armand.  This awful feeling that he didn’t help Lestat in the past, when he needed his help, and he can’t help Lestat now either, when he wants so much to.

I feel like this is, in part, supported by this sense in Armand of being unlovable, or undeserving of love, rather.  This guilt he feels over not being able to help Lestat sort of affirming for him a sense of worthlessness in him.  He says here

“I felt so sad for Lestat that he had bothered to wee for me...”

Which tells me that Armand doesn’t think his supposed death is worth anyone crying over, which, again, the parallels to Lestat are heartbreaking and remarkable I think.  These two really are so much alike.

And then of course, there’s the topper to all this, the true reveal of Armand’s feelings regarding Lestat, when he overhears Marius and Santino talking about him, and realizes that Lestat has fallen mad, and that if he can’t come back to his right mind, Maharet plans to kill him

“Lestat, my Lestat- for he was never theirs, was he?- my Lestat was crazed and railing as the result of his awful saga, and held prisoner by the very oldest of our kind on the final decree that if he did not cease to disturb the peace, which meant of course our secrecy, he would be destroyed, as only the oldest could accomplish, and no one could plead for him on any account.

No, this could not happen!  I writhed and twisted.  The pain sent its shocks through me, red and violet and pulsing with orange light.  I hadn’t seen such colors since I’d fallen.  My mind was coming back, and coming back for what?  Lestat to be destroyed!  Lestat imprisoned, as I had once been centuries ago under Rome in Santino’s catacombs.  Oh, God, this is worse than the sun’s fire, this is worse than seeing that bastard brother strike the little plum-cheeked face of Sybelle and knock her away from her piano, this is murderous rage I feel.”

I mean, damn, Armand’s love for Lestat here shines through so powerfully.  The horror he feels at the thought of Lestat being destroyed, of him being imprisoned the way he had once been, how it’s that and that alone which really snaps Armand out of his resigned state of lying there, waiting to die, says it all.  It also shows Armand’s own growth, his own realization, I think, about his feelings for Lestat.  Where once he imprisoned and tortured Lestat himself, the very thought of it happening to Lestat now is enough to give Armand the will to fight for his own life, to give him the anger he needs to fight.  That’s incredibly powerful and deeply moving, I think.  And then just him calling Lestat “My Lestat” and saying he was never really Marius’, or any of the others who have laid claim to his life, that alone speaks to the depth of their history together, and how much they actually mean to each other. 

[warrioreowynofrohan]

I’m making a third attempt at reading Dickens’ Great Expectations, after one previous incomplete attempt and one complete reading in which I nonetheless completely missed some key plot points and didn’t remember it very well afterwards.

I’m enjoying it a lot more this time. My main difficulty with the book - that the protagonist is thoroughly unlikeable and un-respect-able - remains, but that is pretty clearly intentional on the part if the author, and frequently acknowledged in the text. I always found Magwitch more interesting than Pip (and see interesting parallels between Pip’s reaction to him later in the book and Marius’ reaction to Valjean in Les Mis; I wonder if Victor Hugo had read this?), but on this read I realized just how great a character Estella is [1].

I expected her famous conversation with Miss Havisham to be near the end, but it’s not; it’s in the middle, incited by a small moment of Estella stepping away from physical affection from Miss Havisham, and her relationship with Miss Havisham continues uninterrupted after it. I expected Estella’s tone to be angry or bitter, but instead it is puzzled and analytical - as if someone prevented by their guardian from swimming and taught to hate the water was suddenly reproved by that same guardian for being unable to swim. And indeed, Estella uses a similar analogy:

“I begin to think," said Estella, in a musing way, after another moment of calm wonder, "that I almost understand how this comes about. If you had brought up your adopted daughter wholly in the dark confinement of these rooms, and had never let her know that there was such a thing as the daylight by which she had never once seen your face,—if you had done that, and then, for a purpose had wanted her to understand the daylight and know all about it, you would have been disappointed and angry?"

Miss Havisham, with her head in her hands, sat making a low moaning, and swaying herself on her chair, but gave no answer.

“Or," said Estella,—"which is a nearer case,—if you had taught her, from the dawn of her intelligence, with your utmost energy and might, that there was such a thing as daylight, but that it was made to be her enemy and destroyer, and she must always turn against it, for it had blighted you and would else blight her;—if you had done this, and then, for a purpose, had wanted her to take naturally to the daylight and she could not do it, you would have been disappointed and angry?”

Miss Havisham sat listening (or it seemed so, for I could not see her face), but still made no answer.

“So," said Estella, "I must be taken as I have been made. The success is not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me.”

She does not reject Miss Havisham - she gives her loyalty to her ideals, and she states she owes her everything - but she cannot give her an affection that she does not know how to feel. (Interestingly, the ‘Frankenstein’s monster’ comparison that might be thought of is not used here, but is used later in reference to Pip: The imaginary student pursued by the misshapen creature he had impiously made, was not more wretched than I, pursued by the creature who had made me, and recoiling from him with a stronger repulsion, the more he admired me and the fonder he was of me.)

As a further complexity, even that loyalty to Miss Havisham’s project of vengeance against men has a few chinks in it, and one of those chinks is Pip. Pip sees Estella as his idol and tormentor - but looking at her words and actions rather than through Pip’s distorted glasses, she is remarkably open and frank with him. Given his infatuation, if she wanted to make him believe she was in love with him in order to later break his heart, she easily could. Instead, she continually warns him off, even when he doesn’t want her honesty and would prefer deceptive favours.

In her first meeting with him as an adult, she tells him that it is not in her to fall in love, even as Miss Havisham on the same visit urges him to love her:

“You must know," said Estella, condescending to me as a brilliant and beautiful woman might, "that I have no heart,—if that has anything to do with my memory.”

I got through some jargon to the effect that I took the liberty of doubting that. That I knew better. That there could be no such beauty without it.

“Oh! I have a heart to be stabbed in or shot in, I have no doubt," said Estella, "and of course if it ceased to beat I should cease to be. But you know what I mean. I have no softness there, no—sympathy—sentiment—nonsense.”…“I am serious," said Estella, not so much with a frown (for her brow was smooth) as with a darkening of her face; "if we are to be thrown much together, you had better believe it at once. No!" imperiously stopping me as I opened my lips. "I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere. I have never had any such thing.”

Again, when she first comes to London as a breaker of men’s hearts in Miss Havisham’s project of revenge, she expresses weariness with her lot (in which she seeks commiseration from Pip in the repetition of ‘you and I’):

“We have no choice, you and I, but to obey our instructions. We are not free to follow our own devices, you and I.”…

“It is a part of Miss Havisham's plans for me, Pip," said Estella, with a sigh, as if she were tired; "I am to write to her constantly and see her regularly and report how I go on…”

And when Pip asks her why she favours other men (particularly one whom he despises) over him, she lays things out clearly:

“I have seen you give him looks and smiles this very night, such as you never give to—me."

"Do you want me then," said Estella, turning suddenly with a fixed and serious, if not angry, look, "to deceive and entrap you?"

"Do you deceive and entrap him, Estella?"

"Yes, and many others,—all of them but you.”

In short, Estella defies the intent of the guardian whom she obeys in everything else by warning Pip off rather than trying to decieve him. In this, we could reasonably say that she cares for Pip more truly than he cares for her - she is going against the guiding force of her life in trying to spare him, whereas Pip, while he wants her to be hers, wants her to love him, wants to be around her, never truly listens to what she is saying or thinks about what she wants or what would make her happy. He even digs up her past - even the constitutionally unemotional Mr. Jaggers breaks character for a moment to point out that this serves no purpose and would be deeply injurious to her, if it became known.

And in one pivotal moment, she extends her attitude beyond Pip, throwing herself away on a man she knows to be crass and brutal and stupid (and whom Pip and his lawyer companions speculate will abuse her) because being with any better man would, she thinks, be cruel, because a better man would feel more pain from her lack of love. This is not pride or caprice, this is near their opposite; this is self-immolation. She is sick of a life devoted to breaking hearts, and seems willing to destroy herself (or willfully unaware that she does so - she has always had men in her power rather than the reverse, and may not realize how possible the reverse is) rather than continue it. Despite her describing her “inability to love” in neutral terms, I think there must be some self-loathing in it, if this is what it drives her to:

“Your own act, Estella, to fling yourself away upon a brute?”

“On whom should I fling myself away?" she retorted, with a smile. "Should I fling myself away upon the man who would the soonest feel (if people do feel such things) that I took nothing to him? There! It is done. I shall do well enough, and so will my husband. As to leading me into what you call this fatal step, Miss Havisham would have had me wait, and not marry yet; but I am tired of the life I have led, which has very few charms for me, and I am willing enough to change it. Say no more. We shall never understand each other.”

When Estella says she does not love, then, I do not think it is correct to conclude that she does not care about people. If she did not, she would be less honest with Pip; she would have no scruples about marrying a good, kind, intelligent man who loved her and whom she could not love in return. Her ‘not loving’ means that she does not feel any particular affection to anyone or pleasure in their companionship (and, never having been shown love that did not seek to use or own her, she would be exceptional if she could), nor any need for another person. I think it is the latter, in part, that leads people to call her proud: the sense that she could easily do without them.

There’s a theme woven throughout the book about how the ‘respectable’ Victorian world pushes people to reject those who love them and are honest and sincere with them, and to pursue the esteem and respect of those who despise and do not care for them, and to entail the suppression of every genuine and good feeling (to the point where Mr. Wemmick deals with it by sequestering his home life and self from his work life and self in its entirety). But with Pip and Estella, I feel that this theme is (intentionally by Dickens or not) expressed not in her spurning him, but in him failing to understand or sympathize with her.

[1] As an aside, I have to see Estella as a model for Denna in The Name of the Wind, even though Kvothe is very unlike Pip. Men pursue her, and she uses this for her own purposes, but Kvothe, the man she does not treat in the same romantic way, is the one man she is honest with, and she sees not treating him the same as the others as an act of love. If he is in the ‘friend’ zone, it is in a very positive sense - he is a friend, not a meal ticket like the others, and she will not insult him by treating him like them.

[bookmaker-untaken]

defiantly almost a mitski lyric

vyn richter x reader // to the moon au

Word Count: 1,598

Summary: If your job has taught you anything, it’s that dying pretty fucking easy. Everything else about being human, though? For the birds.

Author’s Note: I was going to beat this chapter if it was the last thing I did wether you'll liked it oR NOT. Likely OOC as hell, tbh. New at this whole thing...

The funny thing about University campuses – well, not funny ha-ha, funny annoying as hell – is that you can spend your entire tenure in your little corner without ever venturing into the other buildings. It is, for this very reason, you are standing in the Phycology Building’s pristine hallway, looking incredibly confused and narrowly avoiding being trampled.

“Dr. [Name]!” You whirl around, squinting at the young man who strides up to you, a smirk forming.

“Marius!” You give him a quick hug, guiding yourselves out of the worst of the foot traffic, ending it with a clap on his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you’re lost, Doc,” Marius teases.

“It’s not my fault the Phycology Building’s built like the little rat mazes y’all like so much,”

“Nobody does that anymore,” He says with an indulgent little smile and a roll of his eyes. “You looking for Vyn’s office?”

“Guilty,” You shrug.

It’s always weird hearing “Vyn” instead of “Dr. Richter” or “your-annoyingly-show-off-and-smug-about-it partner” (not that Marius calls him that). He always makes sure to add Doctor to your name, though – “diversity hire,” he had joked when you’d joined the team. You think he does it to piss Vyn off, but you can’t ever tell if it’s working or not.

“Did he give you directions?”

“Yeah,”

“But you weren’t listening,” Marius sneers.

“I was. I just didn’t take notes,” Marius laughs.

“Well, for starters, you’re on the wrong floor.”

“What? Well, shit,” He chuckles.

“I can walk you up, if you want,”

You glance down at your watch.

“Nah. I’m a big person. And don’t you have somewhere important to be or something?”

He checks the phone in his hand. “Well, shit.”

You laugh.

He gives you a wave, talking over his shoulder. “It’s down the hall and up two flights of stairs on the right!”

“Thanks!”

“Yeah! Bye, Doc!"

ii.

After only a few turnarounds, you reach Vyn’s office.

It’s predictably neat, clean enough to be reminiscent of a museum, save for the occasional accent – the pillow in the chair across from the desk, the papers strewn about the desk, a leaning book to cover for a missing one.

Vyn’s white lab coat lays on the back of his chair. Even now, he’s elegant, chin perched on his wrist, golden eyes scanning the holograph document. He brushes the silver hair out of his eyes slides his finger to turn the page.

“Dr. Watts,” He greets, sitting up straight.

You suddenly feel bad for shattering the little scene of comfort before your arrival.

“Dr. Richter,” You give him a two-finger salute. “You owe me lunch,”

He smiles lightly - the painted, perfect thing. “That I do,”

“Is that a new case?” You ask as he rises from the chair.

“I’m afraid it’s not nearly as interesting,” He says. “Only grading papers,”

“Yikes,” You say, as if you’ve never graded papers.

“I like it,” He says. "It’s interesting to see the generations thinking on a particular matter,”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Of course you’d say something like that,”

He simply smiles.

"And before you ask, no – I don't agree," You say. "They think just 'cause they can build a robot, suddenly means they don't have to have a conscious or empth – Wait… isn't that Marius?"

"And Captain Morgan." The two of you watch for a couple of seconds before he starts to take the handcuffs out.

"Shouldn't we ... stop him?"

"He has the bail money," You cut him a look and start to walk.

"Oh, hi, Rosa," You say, and her face relaxes in relief when she recognizes you.

"Dr. Watts?"

"You know each other?" Marius whines. "You've been holding out on me, Doc?"

"What's going on here, Officer?" Vynn asks. "Marius here is under arrest because he's a person of interest – "

"Of course," You and Marius say simultaneously - you annoyed, Marius smug.

Darius regards both of you tiredly. "For the death of Estelle Marino,"

"Oh damn," You say.

Vyn hums in agreement.

"I suppose we should come with you, considering you were going to call us already, right?"

iii.

"Oh, thank god," You say when you arrive and they already have your stuff out. "Oh, right, you've never seen a Memory Editor in person before,"

Rosa shakes her head. "I've only heard you mention it in court,"

"It's only /interesting/ in court," You say. "Now it's just a bunch of digging in trash cans,"

"They mean investigating," Vyn said.

"Right," You say. "Sure,"

"It's legal," Vyn says to Rosa's shifting.

"I'll help," Rosa says. "What are you looking for … exactly?"

While the two of them go across the apartment, you walk over and boot up the machine. It's not hard, but it's a long process, and there are a lot of little settings that could mess things up along the way.

"There we go," You say. "Now we wait,"

"Do you have to wait a lot?" Rosa asks. "I mean, I try to be forgiving, considering it's resurrecting memories from scrach, but yeah,"

Rosa looks between you and the machine. “Dr. Watts?”

“Hm?”

“What does it … “

iv.

“…Feel like?”

Like … being thrown into a pool. But it’s not a cold pool - it’s warm. But not, like, the weird kind of warm, either. And all the little bubbles rushing up are, like, feelings and - memories instead. And when you open your eyes to peer into the depths …

Who am I?

You are a beautiful woman.

Or not.

Fuck if you know.

You’ve got dark hair that falls effortlessly over your shoulders and thin blood-painted lips. A grand necklace with jewels reminiscent of the pools reflecting the night sky, held together with diamonds rivaling the constellations sits upon your slim and perfect neck. But your eyes are bloodshot and puffy and your dark mascara is smudged. You delicately raise your manicured fingers to eyes that are not yours -

“Dr. Watts -“ You jolt.

“Jesus,”

“Dr. Watts,” The voice glides over your senses like a clear stream and you swallow, hand on your chest. You are alone in the bathroom. “The time of death approaches. It will likely be gruesome,”

“No shit Sherlock,” You grumble, shaking your hands into the sink and palming at one of the plush towels. “Poisoning sounds, like, super uncomfortable!”

“Shh,” The voice reminds you, and you unwittingly clamp your mouth shut with a frown. “We wouldn’t want to alert your husband, would we?”

You toss a glare at the wall, try not to sputter over his choice of words. You brush your perfectly manicured fingers over the magazine cover, a dull feeling half love half anguish blooming in your chest. It’s sickening. Your husband is smiling, but his eyes are distant. The silk-gloved magician he is playing isn’t far from his role in your secret married life - disappearing and reappearing, disappearing and reappearing.

I’m sure you just wanted to tell me to shut up. Idly,you hover over the chocolate box given to you by that young upstart. He’s cute, but he has nothing on your man - even if said man thought so.

There was never anybody else.

There never could be.

There is no reply from the voice, but you know him - you can see, clear as day, that annoying little coy quirk of the mouth he makes that’s so frustratingly -

“Hmm?” He hums. You roll your eyes and throw a chocolate into your mouth. You can’t place the aftertaste - it’s strange. Sour. Citrus zest? No… You start to grasp at your neck. The necklace is too tight. You keep gasping for air and coming up empty.

“Help!” You’re screaming, banging on the door, but it isn’t enough.

“Help! Janus!” You’re clawing at the shared door between you and your beloved husband.

“Help! Janus! Please! Janus! I can’t - “ The hard-wood of the door peers down at you.

“Help!” You screech, falling to the floor. “Help! Vyn! Help me!”

You can’t swallow - you can’t - it’s getting dark.

Why would your husband not hear you? Isn’t he just on the other side?

It hits you, right as your vision fades to black and the door creaks open.

Ah. That’s why.

You inhale deeply, eyes darting around.

Who am I?

V.

“[Name.]” Vyn has you by the elbow and you swallow harshly.

Rosa is absolutely terrified, big eyes blown wide.

“Uh,” You say, wetting your lips with your tongue. “That doesn’t normally happen,”

“How do you feel,” Vyn asks in a voice you know he only uses for patients and the bereaved.

“Rosa,” You try to move your arm but he doesn’t let go. Then, he does. “Can you go get me some water? Poison tastes as bad as you would expect,”

“Sure,” Rosa says, standing and smoothing her shirt. She seems happy to have something to do.

You start to stand up but Vyn stops you. “I need to check if I set something wrong - that’s not suppose to - “

“Breathe,” He orders.

And you do.

“We can talk about it now,” He says. “Or we can talk about it later,”

“There isn’t much to talk about,” You say. “I probably messed up a setting and - “

“You called my name,” Vyn says.

“And,” You say, sharply.

“And we need to talk about it. If not as colleagues, as … “

“Whatever it means to call out to somebody when you think you’re dying.”

You hate how hard it is to read his face. “…Yes,”

“I can tell you now - I don’t know Vyn.”

“You don’t have to,” He says. “But we have to talk about it.”

“We have a case,”

“That is true,” He said. “But if we don’t talk about it - I’m suspending you.”

[world-of-stone]

Expectations, pressure and performance

I have a thesis: None of the current German A-team will ever win the 4 Hills (excluding maybe Consti and deffo Hille).

And here's why: The German media, German fans, Germany as a whole only care for Ski jumping when it's the 4 Hills or the Olympics. (The World Cup barely gets a mention in the Sports pages of most newspapers but currently they're covering the tour with long articles every other day). When they do though, all they care for are results. It's as if they believe they're owed success. They have expectations, they want wins. It was like that last year (then probably exacerbated by Karl going into the tour wearing the Yellow Jersey). It was like that at the Olympics (and then they weren't even satisfied with the two bronze medals we got). And it was like that again this year simply because it's been 21 (?) years since the last time a German won.

All of them, except Hille I guess, are probably carrying these expectations, this pressure. I obviously don't know what media coverage and public opinion and expectation are like in other countries. Did Norway expect a win because it's been 16 years since the last one? I have a feeling it is a German thing to always have to be the best. They don't accept 'your best', they want you to best everyone else. And I don't think (all) professional athletes need that added pressure. Most are already highly motivated in themselves - they all obviously want to do well. I really, really dislike the notion that someone owes it to their country to deliver or win. I think it's not helpful at all, it might even be harmful.

Look at who's doing well at the moment - I'd say it's those that not a lot of people were thinking of as favourites. I don't think many had Halvor on the list to win even just a few weeks back. (Look at Marius who was Norway's superstar, kind of, last season, and who's not performing the same way this year.) After last season, probably not many people had the Polish team down as serious contenders.

Less pressure = better performances? I'm sure there are other factors responsible for Germany's current problems as well. But yeah, I believe this mindset (that I perceive as very German) is one of the reasons.

I'm totally in favour of always striving to do your best. But your doing your best and being your best doesn't have to equal being better than everybody else.

Thoughts?

[neverregretthyfall]

AcTUM's Les Misérables

A few days I made a post about our local university adapting Les Mis for stage. Yesterday I went to watch the premiere and I really enjoyed it! It was super good and very engaging, the actors were fantastic and you could feel that they definitely read the brick as well. Unfortunately the pacing moved very fast and I think those not familiar with Les Mis might have gotten a little bit lost on occasion. All in all, I can definitely recommend going to the other two performances (June 17th and 18th) if you want to experience it for yourself.

Check out their website or their Instagram for more information (all in German).

Below you will find extensive notes on the stage play, keep reading if you’re curious ….

Technicalities: Modern AU, unspecified locations (just capitol city, smalltown, etc.), duration 2.5h (incl. intermission). The main message of the play was acceptance, tolerance and to show kindness to others.

(I will not rehash every plot-related detail that remains unchanged from the book, because otherwise this would get thrice as long)

‘Montreuil-sur-Mer’ (the smalltown) arc

We opened on JVJ being the mayor. He is the boss of a soup kitchen and to ease us into the story he talks to a new worker about his past. Unfortunately I cannot remember now if he really opened up about his own experiences or if he claims this happened to ‘a friend’.

Fantine is a recovering drug and alcohol addict and now works at JVJ’s soup kitchen. Due to her addiction she was forced by the court to give up Cosette into foster care (to the Thénardiers).

A letter sent to her by the court reveals her past to the colleagues and forewoman and Fantine is subsequently fired.

As she is now out of a job she turns to do illegal sex-work; they used some real cool shadow-play to show that, really enjoyed that part!

During this time she gets sick and is then caught by Javert, who wants to send her to jail for illegal prostitution. Fantine really panics then because she fears with a prison-sentence the court will never allow her to see Cosette ever again (!!)

The Arras plot is condensed to JVJ monologuing at the hospital with Javert overhearing him. While trying to arrest him, Fantine grabs a vase and knocks Javert unconscious (heck yeah, go Fantine!!). She then passes away from a combination of exhaustion and illness (one of the occasions that probably left non-fans super confused lol)

JVJ takes Fantine’s scarf as a memento and disappears …

Transition of dead Fantine rising and singing a song (aria) to Cosette (it was beautiful and very touching, I was super close to crying)

After getting Cosette from the Thénardiers, JVJ gives her Fantine’s scarf <3

‘Paris’ (the capitol city) arc

In true Marie (aka our Marius) and Cosette fashion they just stared at each other in the park, to shy to talk but really wanting to. Cosette then got called away by JVJ and accidentally left the scarf on the bench. Marie took it and vowed to find her again.

Marie studies law (as expected) and is an orphan (which she revealed super late).

Éponine is crushing hard on Marie, even reading a law book to impress her <3

Gavroche was super cool, he sang, made jokes, got the best one-liners and dabbed lol.

They included all of Thénardier’s aliases and he discovered the advantages of doing the ‘grandparent scam’ lmao.

Amis are introduced by running through the auditorium protesting, whistling, etc.

They are primarily fighting for queer rights (!!!)

Amis Count: 6/9

Named: Enjolras, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Joly

Unnamed: one of the actresses said something very Combeferre-vibe-y, so I just decided that’s her then, lol; the other one I have absolutely no clue, Marie said to her at the barricade that she still owed her some money, which would make me think it’s Courfeyrac but he was played by somebody else, so alas, it shall remain a mystery ….

We got the ‘You don’t believe in anything / I believe in you exchange’.

Grantaire’s red waist coat was replaced by a huge-ass Enjolras-inspired tattoo on his chest, which was absolutely fantastic.

Making Marisette queer really improved the story, and especially Marie’s arc. Now Marie had a concrete reason for joining the Amis at the barricade (fighting for her rights).

We got super close to Cosette actually joining the fight, but in the end she didn’t unfortunately …

Lamarque’s funeral got replaced by a demonstration for queer rights, as expected the demo turns violent due to police brutality.

The Amis sang both a protest song and later – during the barricade fight – a drinking song (very DYHTPS and Drink with Me vibes)

Joly got very bad stomach ache when the fighting started but obviously he would never abandon his friends :')

When Javert got revealed as a spy, Enjolras threatened to shoot him and you could see how badly her hands shook (possibly an easter egg to ‘He could be your brother / He is’ ?)

Amis fought back bravely against heavy armoured police but alas, they did not make it this time either, rip …

permets-tu was fully included, long live the republic and handholding inclusive (!!)

Javert died via gun to the head.

The ending was super hopeful, during the four months Marie recovered in the hospital, queer rights improved and the biggest surprise of it all: JVJ survived!!

End Quote (paraphrased because I cannot remember the exact wording and I also have to translate it to English): “Freedom is a right but it's also a privilege that was bought with the courage of others!”

Various notes on appearances:

Thénardier looked straight outta the 70s (sans hair), fantastic outfit, 10/10

Enjolras wore a lime-green pantsuit and she looked absolutely excellent

The Amis had different coloured fabrics across their wrists, which I am pretty sure combined to the rainbow flag

Joly wore make-up and nail polish

unknown person at the demo: incredible hippie-look, also 10/10

Éponine had her hair up in some super cute buns decorated with violet ribbons <3

Gavroche gave hipster child vibes

Marie wore chic pants and top (she looked both elegant and laissez-faire)

Cosette wore a black pencil skirt, combined with a violet top and the pink scarf

Javert wore a very nice long black coat and a fedora

JVJ blending in with the rest and wearing a simple sweater/shirt combination

Courfeyrac wore simple slacks and a patterend shirt-top

Grantaire had a very revealing thin shirt/blouse thing going on combined with an orange/red scarf

Well, that's it! Thank you for reading up until this point. If you get the chance, please go watch this stageplay or check out their other works <3