#all i am belongs to you | aramis

[prismatica-the-strange]

Amélia finding out she's pregnant just after the end of season 2 (for aramis's storyline) and he comes back to her having a young daughter and completely short circuits when he pieces together that she's his.

[prismatica-the-strange]

My Aramis?

ANOTHER F/O REBLOG GAME!!!

hello. okay. I had this idea and I can't get it out of my mind and it'll haunt me if I never do it so I'm doing it

reblog with a picture of your f/o and I will assign them something random. like. like a mystery box of options. you don't know. you'll never know until you do it

pr☆ship/c☆mship dni >.< pwetty pwease...

[entangledmuses]

"I don’t want you to think of me as your personal sex toy.” Aramis to Anne of Austria

Anne's eyes widened as she looked at Aramis. How could he think that she thought of him like that.

The Queen checked that they were truly alone, that no one could over hear them.

"Aramis.. How could you think that those are my thoughts of you?" She asked quietly. "I do not consider you a personal...." She paused. "Sex toy." She whispered. She felt it was a word that should never pass her lips, and honestly, as she said those words, her cheeks went red and she could feel the heat radiating from them.

"What we are.... goes far deeper than that." She breathed softly. Her hands took his, cupping his hand in both of her tiny delicate hands. "Aramis, You have my heart and soul among all other parts of me. I wish to spend every minute I can with you, and not only in the bed chamber." She said softly. "You know me better than anyone, better than my own family, better than the King." She breathed.

"I never want you to think that I am using you for only one reason." She said softly. She knew what that felt like. She was a Queen only to provide an heir.

One hand lift from his, and touched his cheek tenderly. "Any time I have with you means the world to me Aramis. I have never had the chance to feel what I feel for you, to feel like you are my other half." She smiled softly. "I wish you to know that. That I do not want you only for carnal pleasure, but I want you always, mind, body and soul." She breathed.

"I hope you believe me my dear Aramis." She then said, her eyes looking straight into his to show that she was saying the truth. "You have my heart, it belongs to you only."

[o-avosetta]

20 questions for fic writers

(tagged by @blackcoffeewrites63) (Anyone who follows, feel free to fill up also, and just tag me if you do. 😊)

ETA: My fics, including the ones I've linked here, have been restricted to registered AO3 users because of AI scraping. Sorry if that stops someone from reading; hope you give AO3 a chance anyway.

How many works do you have on A03?

seven (7)

What’s your total A03 word count?

354,288

What fandoms do you write for?

Video games; mainly Stardew Valley, with forays into Dishonored, Transistor, Potion Permit, and Skyrim.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Hmm, the answer to this doesn't spark joy, so I'm going to skip it.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to get to all of them. I'm just happy people reach out.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I would say my Skyrim fics. Since I've moved onto writing more comforting things, I don't really like to think about them (hence my skipping the kudos question).

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I guess the cutest ending would go to Only if You're Free, and the ending I've been most satisfied with belongs to The Lost Wardens.

Do you get hate on fics?

Haven't yet. Hope it never happens.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nah. I'm too shy.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've written one, the Dishonored/Transistor crossover where Jessamine lives.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No. Again, hope it never happens.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone recently reached out to me about this! I am waiting to see what they do.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Tried once, but we kind of wrote ourselves into a corner. Wouldn't mind trying again sometime, though.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Don't really have one. Since I write in video game fandoms, the dominant pairings are usually NPC/PC.

I guess I am a fan of the canon Corvo/Jessamine, because the power on her side and age on his side makes for interesting dynamics in the hands of some really good writers. And I like Corvo/Daud or Corvo/Jess/Daud when the writer treats Daud's asexuality thoughtfully. There was also one post-canon Corvo/Aramis/Hypatia fic that was really interesting and sensitive as well.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I only think of something as a WIP if I know how it ends and am dedicated to getting it there. If I start something and don't end up finishing it, I demote it to writing exercise.

What are your writing strengths?

People have told me that my food descriptions make them hungry, to the point that one friend gets a snack before reading anything I've tagged with Food. I am kind of proud of that.

In general, description is one of my favorite things to practice.

What are your writing weaknesses?

"Write what you know" is kind of a crutch for me. I second-guess whether my characters come off as authentic whenever there's something I don't have direct experience with.

It's funny, though, because I also struggle to write anything set in my own country/culture. In this case, I'm afraid of coming off as too middle-class and/or too Americanized.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Only in the languages I know, or if I know a native speaker who can double-check for me.

First fandom you wrote for?

X-Men Evolution. None of the fics are published anywhere. My friends and I wrote and traded them on floppy disks.

Favorite fic you’ve written?

So far, it's The Lost Wardens.

[groundcontrol21]

The Handkerchief(s) of Aramis (M)

In the 1978 musical movie adaptation of The Three Musketeers, Aramis complains about going to England and says (and I quote) “It’s damp in London, and I only have twelve handkerchiefs.” Naturally I went insane (see this post for evidence).  Unfortunately, given the events of the book and therefore the movie, Aramis never makes it to London to put these handkerchiefs to use. So here I am, changing the plot around a bit to remedy that :) 

Title taken from the actual title of one of the chapters in the book that punched me directly in the k!nk.  

******

Waving the bundle of letters he had just received from Captain Treville, D’Artagnan swaggered into the stable yards where Aramis and Porthos were, reclining against the wall and munching on apples that belonged to the horses. Athos was absent from the scene, though it was just as well; he was recovering from a slight infection to his shoulder wound, and as such, the road was not the place for him. 

“I must go to London to deliver these letters to the Captain’s brother-in-law,” D’Artagnan told the two. Upon seeing their eyebrows raise appraisingly, D’Artagnan added. “Congratulations on his graduation from the academy, nothing interesting.” 

He unhooked his horse from its post, narrowing his eyes when his two friends were slow to do the same. “I trust you two will accompany me?”

“London?” Aramis clicked his tongue and shook his head, letting the apple fall to the ground. “It’s damp in London, and I only have twelve handkerchiefs on my person.”

“Twelve?” D’Artagnan repeated incredulously with a shake of his own head. “We’ll only be gone a week. I should say that number would more than hold you over.”

“Not quite so, Gascon,” Porthos added. “Our Aramis has all the constitution of a delicate flower. Get him a bit too wet and he’ll be out of sorts for weeks.”

This was all news to D’Artagnan, for Aramis seemed far from frail and sickly. The man wielded a sword with prowess and could shoot a fly from the hair of a horse; in fact, D’Artagnan suspected that, after himself, Aramis was the fittest of their coterie. Doubtful, he looked to the man in question for confirmation, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for his two friends to begin laughing at him. 

But Aramis just nodded sadly. “Alas, I cannot even venture too far into Normandy in the autumn.”

“Put him in Bretagne in December, and he’ll come down with pneumonia.”

Aramis pretended to faint against his horse, his dainty hand covering his eyes as he swooned. “Oh Porthos, don’t remind me!”

D’Artagnan tapped his foot impatiently, still unable to shake his initial suspicion that the two men were having him on, or at the very least, trying to malinger. “So will you accompany me or not?”

“Of course,” Aramis said decisively, before swinging himself into the saddle with a flourish. “I am only warning you that your handkerchief may need to be sacrificed for my efforts.” He clamped a hand to his heart, looking suddenly stricken. “Tell me at least, D’Artagnan, that there are no women who await us in London. I could not bear the thought of any fine English ladies seeing me so indisposed.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes as he mounted his own horse, hearing Porthos do the same behind him. “There are no women unless you count Treville’s brother-in-law among them.”

Aramis surveyed D’Artagnan critically. “Is he a bachelor?”

D’Artagnan blinked. “I believe so?”

Aramis considered the answer for a moment, face inscrutable, before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Very well, then.” He kicked his horse forward and raised his hat in the air. “To London!”

Porthos followed suit. “To London!”

D’Artagnan urged his own horse to a gallop and followed after the two Musketeers, still feeling distinctly like he was caught in the middle of some elaborate joke. He gave himself a shake and resolved to deal with it later; for now he would focus on the road that lead them outside Paris and beyond, into the countryside and later to the sea. 

********

“Eh’KESHHH’uhh! Ach, this damn rain. Snf! ITCHIEW!” Aramis massaged at his head with a pale hand, the rings on his fingers glinting as the movement made them catch the candlelight in the tavern. The first wrenching sneeze, after riding just half a day in the misty English air, could have been a joke, but the seeming thousands that followed certainly were not. They reached London as Aramis was doing naught more than alternating between shivering and sneezing, and Porthos had given up his own riding cloak to drape around the man’s shoulders. 

It had been drizzling, even raining, since they set foot on the island, much to the chagrin of the poor, suffering Aramis, for they had no choice but to ride on. They three could waste an entire month waiting for the London sun to shine. Papers delivered, they turned back at once, eager to get Aramis back home and to bed, but the foul weather had turned even fouler, and now they were hunkered down in an inn some miles still inland from the port that would take them back to Boulogne, awaiting a break in the downpour. D’Artagnan leaned his head on his hand, listening to the sounds around him: the low hum of the other travelers who were presently seeking solace from the storm, the fierce lashing of the rain against the window panes, Aramis’s completely waterlogged sniffling. 

Porthos returned to the table with a mug and slid it across the table. “Here’s another hot wine for you, Aramis.”

With a grateful inclination of the head, Aramis pulled the mug closer. “Th-heh-thank you, Por–Heh’KSHIEW! Por–heh’ih’HISHH’ooo!” He buried his nose in the folds of his handkerchief, shutting his eyes as he paused a moment, as though too tired to do anything but wait for gravity to drain it and do the work for him. “Ugh, snf!” He blinked rapidly and lowered the handkerchief. “Porthos.”

D’Artagnan’s cheeks colored; it was, for all intents and purposes, his fault that Aramis was feeling this terrible in the first place. He tried to hide his disgusted wince as Aramis emptied what must have been every liquid in his body into the handkerchief. He forced what he hoped was a sympathetic slant to his visage. “How are you feeling?”

“HESHH’uhhh!” The cloth did not move from his nose as he spoke; Aramis merely regarded D’Artagnan with bleary, tired eyes over the top of it. “Snf! Need you even ask?”

D’Artagnan reasoned he deserved such a snappy reply to what had been a rather foolish question. It was plain to see how Aramis was faring, from the way he buried his head in his hands with a soft moan whenever he glimpsed a reprieve from his nose, to the way his voice was low and thick with congestion. That was, of course, to say nothing of the wet sneezes and drippy sniffles that assaulted him with a dogged regularity, leaving his nose a terribly sore and chapped mess. 

D’Artagnan turned his attention to the water splashing against the windowpane with a muttered curse. “If only this rain would let up a bit, we could continue on our way back to Paris.” Aramis coughed and Porthos rubbed his shoulders. D’Artagnan felt himself soften. “At least get you to France where you can be ill in a place with a civilized language.” 

On account of one of Porthos’s old mistresses being a cloth merchant’s wife from Dover, he was the only one of them with any knowledge of English, however rudimentary. Between fragments and hand signals (and Aramis’s quite noticeable ailment which transcended both language and culture), he was able to get Aramis a few things to ease his symptoms, but the going had not been easy. Porthos had nearly got the three of them kicked out when he slammed his fist on a counter hard enough to crack it in his frustration at the innkeeper’s inability to understand his request for “wine with miel… you know, from bzz bzz” and the associated insect-related gesticulations. 

Aramis scoffed, the sound scraping at his throat. “A bit! Ahh’TSHIEW! Snf! Oh… Hihhh’TSHHH!” He mopped his nose miserably. “If it lets up only a bit then I am back in the a-a-ccursed–Ahhh’KSHIEW!--accursed damp that got me in this–snf–situation in the first place! HESHHIEWW! Ehh’KSHHH’uhh! HEPTSHIEW! Oh…” He pinched at the bridge of his nose, his eyes fluttering shut, though he kept the sodden handkerchief close at hand. “Better this way, as I am at least warm and d-dry–Ihh’SHHH!”

Aramis folded the cloth a few different ways, turning it this way and that in search of a dry patch, before dropping it to his lap with a scowl. “Pff, it is no use, this one is completely–Eh’KSHH’oo!”

“Take another,” Porthos said kindly, tapping the satchel in which the cloths were kept.

“Ahh’KSHHH’uhh!” He caught the sneeze in a cupped hand, his other outstretched and waiting for Porthos to place a fresh one within it. “Four days yet, at least, from–snf!--from Paris, and I am already on number…Eh…Snf! Hehhhh… eleven. Snf! HITSHIEW!!” He blew his nose again, muffling a moan into the folds of the cloth at the simple pleasure of its dryness.  

Once finished, he fixed the Gascon with a watery approximation of his usual cheeky grin. “We did warn you, D’Artagnan.”

Porthos merely shrugged and nodded in agreement as Aramis continued sniffling and snuffling into his penultimate handkerchief. For his part, D’Artagnan was slightly chagrined that he had not taken the warning seriously, for all that now stood between the one handkerchief he owned being well and truly sacrificed was the twelfth handkerchief of Aramis and that of Porthos. 

“Heh’TCHOO!”

And at the current rate, D’Artagnan knew the two articles would not be able to withstand the siege for long. This time, he could not altogether hold back his wince as Aramis made prodigious use of the handkerchief to clear his nose, for all D’Artagnan could imagine was his one lone handkerchief in its place. No matter how many washes it was subjected to, given the sheer ferocity of Aramis’s cold, D’Artagnan would never, ever be able to accept the defiled piece of cloth back should Aramis attempt to return it. So he resigned himself, as he listened to Aramis sneeze and sneeze, to buying himself a new handkerchief immediately upon their arrival back in Paris and, if money allowed, perhaps a couple more to fortify Aramis to avoid this sort of situation should they ever be required to go back to England in the future.

[carol-effing-danvers]

the scent of a man 

(yes this is about BIlly’s cologne)

Alright, so last week I reblogged a post about Billy’s cologne after an impulse purchase of both items and since they have arrived and I’ve actually worn them each for an entire day, I feel ready to discuss them For Real. 

Firstly, I enjoy scents. I have a decent nose, and a minor talent for stringing words together. I am not, however, an expert on perfume-making. I am a novice at best. 

Also, in the interest of self-honesty, I will admit that I was initially enthusiastic about Aramis and more skeptical about the Paco Rabanne

These were both somehow exactly as described and very different from what I expected, and they both have a very strong, kind of cheap alcohol top note that thankfully disappears quickly after spray/application. And since fragrance involves chemistry, the scent will also change depending on your own body chemistry - which is why you might really enjoy that perfume strip you smelled at Victoria’s Secret but realize you hate the way you smell 2 hours later when you get home. 

Aramis was the second one I tried, but it is depicted as Billy’s ‘main’ - you know, the one he wears like an actual human instead of rubbing it all over his dick like a fucking animal in heat. But I really have to level with you guys: you cannot convince me that Billy picked this shit out.

How do I describe this smell? 

Familiar, was my first impression, actually. Followed immediately by the horrified realization of why it was so familiar, even though the person this reminded me of has been dead for nearly twenty years. If you blindfolded me and told me “this is the canonical cologne choice for one of your favorite male characters” before I knew this belonged to Billy, my real honest answer would have been “...Steve?”

Not Steve Harrington. STEVE ROGERS. 

“...Steve? Steve, right? This is Captain America’s cologne?”

Because, theydies and gentlethems, this smells like my fucking grandfather. 

Come here, come in close. Let me describe the man who wears this to you. 

This man opens your car door for you. He has tea with your mother and talks to your father about fucking...baseball or stocks, or whatever will get him chatting. He helps your younger sibling get their merit badge for making their own campfire. He fingerbangs you like a goddamn champ but won’t fuck you in his car because he wants it to be ‘special’ for you. He lets you wear his own jacket on chilly nights and this is what that jacket smells like. I would suck this man’s dick with genuine enthusiasm and would have to immediately ghost him afterwards because he’s very sweet and a real catch, but he has stars in his eyes about marriage and three kids with a house and that shit gives me hives.

In other words, this is not our local disgusting feral rat king. Like...I love him so much but he is not That. 

This was kinda confusing to me, because it’s somehow spicy and ‘cold’ at the same time. ‘Spicy’ notes in scent are generally associated with a ‘warm’ vibe - cinnamon, clove, etc. This is not. Actually, having him wear this at night in winter is absolutely correct, because it has exactly that vibe. But in no way do I believe that Billy knowingly picked this particular fragrance out of his own agency.

I have two theories about this and you can select whichever one you like depending on how much pain you’d like to cause yourself. 

Either this was 1) a random bottle selected from a shelf - possibly because it was discounted, maybe he liked the appearance of the bottle - and Billy is not in an economic bracket to be able to just throw away perfectly decent cologne OR 2) this was originally a gift from his mom and Billy either can’t bring himself to get rid of it or maybe even purchases it himself now out of habit.

The Paco Rabanne - the dick cologne - on the other hand, I really, really enjoyed. Curiously, this had one characteristic I REALLY hadn’t expected, especially considering that this literally has ‘pour homme’ (for men) in the name. 

The intended gender for this fragrance is not readily apparent. 

I mean, gender is a construct, etc, but generally, fragrances are classified for marketing purposes. There is a decent amount of them that are explicitly not categorized on the binary, though. But this one is not supposed to be one of them - again, it says ‘for men’ in the name.

I enjoyed both but kind of thought the Paco Rabanne suited me better as a female presenting person, since Aramis is more distinctly and traditionally male - even more interesting implications there since as I pointed out before, Billy literally rubs this all over his genitals. (Almost as though Billy wears the Aramis as a mask concealing what’s really going on at his...center...) 

From the description, I was expecting something more fresh and herbal, maybe even ‘watery’ but this was actually something kind of woody and spicy, almost smoky, more subtle than the Aramis (again, more interesting implications there). 

It also wears off much more quickly - or maybe my own body chemistry just doesn’t blend with this as well? I will say I really, REALLY enjoyed the way that the Aramis combined with my natural chemistry on the dry down - about six hours after application, it was a sweeter almost nutty spice smell, like brown butter toffee - I loved it, it was EXCELLENT. But the Paco Rabanne just becomes slightly more powdery and creamy, almost soapy, and a little more piney - picture a quiet dark forest at night, in the dead of winter.

On the standard approval scale for male fragrance, would I suck this man’s dick? Yeah, but the fucking slut would tell all of his friends afterward.

Alright guys! Hope that was interesting/helpful for you, I’m gonna go finish my coffee and pray for the weekend to arrive.

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Dearest Nemo, please tell me all about the Bonfires of France (what an amazing title) 💕

Hello hello there, dearest Susie!!! <3 I am so happy to find your question here in my ask!! <3

so, in regards to "The Bonfires of France".

"The Bonfires of France" is an idea I had back in March of this year (gods already 9 months? Time flies so fast).

It's about a story that take place in the years between 1620 and 1640 in France, around the time when our beloved Musketeers were around having all their adventures, and it follows the shenanigans of Isabeau and Quentin De La Serre, (originally Gabrielle and Antoine, before I decided to drop those names) , siblings that belonged to the Templar Family of the De La Serre and decided to run off before their induction, because neither wanted anything to do with what their family was up to and neither of them wanted to marry the people that had been chosen for them. So, this brother and sister ended up becoming a duo of brigands whose path would cross that of Athos, Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan.

As you can imagine from their name, this is very much set in the Assassin's Creed world, only in a period of time that has not been explored, and like any good explorer (seriously, I could be Lara Croft, in another lifetime), I decided to take it upon myself to do so!

Also, because I love to reconnect all I do to my own other works, both Isabeau and Quentin are ancestors to someone: Isabeau is the ancestor of my own Antoine and Mathias, while Quentin is Elise's ancestor!

Also, just for the sake of this post, allow me to share with you the two faceclaim I decided for them.

This be my Isabeau

and this be my Quentin

(please, do forgive me, for they are not the most historically accurate, time-wise, but their faces do express *exactly* what I was looking for when I created them).

How can I classify it? Original/Crossover/Fanfiction/lethalmixup??

I wouldn't be too sure!

Point is, It's in my WIP and it's probably one of my favourite stories among the one I drabbled.

thank you so much for your ask, if it weren't for you, I probably would have never shared it anywhere! <3

So thank you so so much! <3

--Nemo

[general-du-vallon]

I find it really bizarre how there are multiple story-lines in the BBC Musketeres about slavery where the slavers are treated sympathetically. By which I don't mean that all slavers should be inhuman, because people who were part of the slave-trade were human and were like us (I'm white), we have to see ourselves in them, I think it's really important that we see ourselves in them and see ourselves as part of that history. So having Bonnaire who is charming, likeable, interesting, entertaining character who I like and then am horrified at myself for liking, that's great, that does something interesting with the narrative of 'slave traders are all evil and souless' and reminds us that, no, slavers are us, we can still easily perpetuate those sorts of systems.

(racism and slave-trade content warnings, as you'd imagine)

This is long, so basically it'll be - Bonnaire and the season one episode, Pierre Pepin and the season two episode, and then a little bit on Bonnaire's return in season three.

I haven't rewatched for this random splurge of thoughts, but I think the Bonnaire episode in season one is an okay arc. I could probably say something about how I think it's not necessarily bad, but definitely worth interogating the ways the writers give the majority of the story and character beats about slavery to the mixed-race Porthos character. But really what I think needs interogating is two things.

First, the way the episode tries to balance this heavy subject with Athos's history, which is more important to the series-long arc. It ends up (accidentally?) drawing uncomfortable parallels.

There isn't really a good way to compare or contrast a white man's guilt and grief over his (white) wife who was executed (by him). There's never a graceful way to push aside generational trauma from the ongoing slave-trade, or a black man's grief over discovering a man he looked up to is a slaver. Especially not when you're trying to juggle staging that grief and trauma with the white characters' trauma and grief, and most especially when it's the white stuff that turns out to be the main narrative drive of the series and the rest just gets put aside not to be brought up again. It's just bad. There's a lot more to say and think about, but that's a starting point.

Secondly, Paul Munier. Paul fucking Munier. Guys! He's part of the slave-trade too! framing him as an honest merchant is fucked up. He's not the good guy. We can't go 'okay so Bonnaire is bad, but the things he has got through the slave trade, those belong to Paul Munier, who bought them, and is honest and good'. The slave-trade was a triangle - you go to Africa and you kidnap and enslave hundreds of human beings, you take them on ships to America and plantations, you force them to produce sugar-cane and rum (rum is what Bonnaire is drinking on that wagon, when he's telling Porthos dreamy stories). Sugar and rum, those are like, bywords for 'slave-trade'. And then you sell those comoddities and you buy whatever the fuck you want to sell to fuckers like Paul Munier and bring it back to France, and then you go to Africa again. Paul Munier is part of the slave trade. He might not buy and sell human beings, but he supports and props up Bonnaire, and he benefits from the slave-trade.

He might be a good guy, I dunno. I odn't think it's a black and white issue of he's a merchant therefore he's the bad guy. But I think it's worth interogating and thinking about who gets to be innocent in this story.

I know Bonnaire comes back in series three but I'm ignoring that for this second. The other narrative around slavery I think about is actually the one in season two, where the king and d'Artagnan are kidnapped by slavers. Sigh. What are we going to do about this one, huh? there is a lot. I'm gonna put aside the whole 'white slaves' thing because I don't know what to do with that. It took me a few times watching this show to realise 'oh, right, yeah, Milady is a slaver'. Between series one and series two, she made money by selling humans. I know she's moraly ambiguous but I think that gets brushed aside and reframed very quickly. I don't think any of these characters are really framed as slavers. I forget their names, I think Stephen something? The brother who gets gutted by Rochefort in the palace. Yeah, he's a slaver too.

Other than the writers quickly forgetting that these characters are committing attrocities (it's not THE slave trade, so it is different, which I guess might be where the white slavers thing comes in, which is still, no, I still don't know what to do with that). I think the main issue with this narrative arc is what you'd expect the issue to be - the black character. Pierre Pepin.

Where do we begin with that? That was just a lot of bullshit. Pierrre Pepin is a black man in shackles,which is always a questionable choice when you're thinking what to put on TV to be honest. Especially when you then go about killing the him, and wow do you ever want to have second thoughts about having him die for the white royal. That's just not good. I don't like that he's against the king's systematic opession based on class and race, then he does a little turnaround when he meets the king. I guess the 'becomes a royalist when he sees that the white dude is nice' is necessary for the 'willing to die for his king' thing. I'm gonna go with a big nope for all of this.

There's a slave-narrative in each of the three seasons; there's Bonnaire, then there's Pierre Pepin's story, and then Bonnaire returns. He might not be a slaver anymore in season three, but the episode deals with Porthos's reaction to him, so it becomes that - the damage he did is not erased by him being quirky and funny. Again, the very real generational trauma that the slave-trade still inflicts is pushed aside for another character's past and current grief. I know Santiago Cabrera is Chilean and is brown, I'm not saying he should be pushes aside either. Just noting that in each episode Porthos's grief is set up in competition to another character's grief, and it's interesting I think that it's one of the other's backstories in each case. I don't have a conclusion about that, I'm just observing I guess. Anyway, each season has these slave-narratives, I think it'd be interesting to pull these out more and think about the ways the slave-trade is referenced and written about in the series, and why it's done in these ways.

I said it was bizzare how these narratives treat the characters who are perpetuating and benefiting from the slave trade, as well as the characters who are explicitly slavers. I also think it's definitley a choice to shove in multiple storylines about white people, in these narratives. Again, I know the Santiago Cabrera isn't white, but whatever Aramis's friend in that episode is called, is.There is the scene in that episode where Constance (a white woman) has a go at Porthos for the way he stitches Bonnaire, and Bonnaire is largely treated sympathetically in that episode. The characters on the periphery of the slave-trade are barely acknowledged as such, and characters like Milady and Stephen Mautrim (name is off the top of my head I'm not sure) are pretty much absolved of that, and I think we mostly just forget that part of Milady's story. And Pierre Pepin. God, I still don't really know where to start with his story.

I think it's worth thinking about these narratives and interogating this, because the slave-trade was a real historical event and a real trauma that still has impact today. The way we write about and consume stories about it is important. It's also important to remember that Porthos's mother was written as a freed woman because Alexandre Dumas's grandmother was a freed woman. It's a very real and very close history that's being used for these narratives, and it's heavy, you know? You've got to give it space to be heavy. It's a heavy part of this fandom, too, because it's not just something that's in the show, it's something that's in our fandom spaces. The racism and white-supremacy that makes these narratives what they are is part of our fandom.

so... those are my random thoughts on that .

[kuningannasansa]

A Musketeers rewatch (that nobody asked for) 1x01

(If you like annamis, steer clear)

I had legit forgotten Dartagnan was a farm boy in this! 

His father is played by the guy who played the wolf general is Sharpe

“I was told the musketeers were honourable men,” says Dart’s father. “I see that I was misinformed” – BOY AND HOW!!

After all these years, I still love the credits so much! Capaldi and his cape turn! Milady and Constance with the pistols! 

Also, Athos’s first scene remains my favourite ever character introduction in any show. It’s so perfect!

Oh right, we’re in 1630. So the 30 year war should be ongoing… and is not. Whatever, I don’t demand perfect historical accuracy as long as the spirit of the show is faithful to the period and the writing makes sense.

PORTHOS!!! Am I the only one who believes he probably did cheat?

“Confidence, I like that in a man” – oh Porthos! Is that why you like Aramis? I can think of no other reason...

OH, HE DID CHEAT!! I’d forgotten! xD

Athos re Aramis: “Tell me he’s not that stupid” – HA! Ha HA Ha HA HA!!

ADELE!! Poor Adele! I read somewhere that in an earlier script which didn’t air she was actively working with the musketeers against Richelieu, instead of just sleeping with Aramis? But I can’t remember much about it. Anyone want to enlighten me?

This is also a very good introduction scene for Aramis thou! And so was Porthos’s come to think. All these first scenes are very good.

“You love her, or you love stealing what belongs to the cardinal?” – WRECK HIM ATHOS!

I hate that all black leather outfit on Richelieu, it’s just so massive it completely swallows him.

So, Richelieu killed the missing group of musketeers and struck back against the regiment because they were going behind his back to talk to Spain and weakening his influence with the king. Seems reasonable to me. Remember when this show had a nuanced antagonist with motivations that made sense. 

Oh Adele! Why did you keep the pistol!!

Adele/Richelieu >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Adele/Aramis

“Trust me, he won’t wake up” – Oh Milady! Her sense of humour is my favourite xD

Contance’s introduction is also great! And reminds me oh how D'artagnan met Kitty in the Russian version (and also the novel? i last read it like 10 years ago so idk) 

Constance’s 3 older brothers will never be mentioned again

Dartagnans inigo Montoya moment is just the perfect amount of on the nose and I love it a lot! xD

Athos in chains is my kink!

Dartagnan made a clever deduction, pointing out that the dead “musketeer” had two bullet holes in his coat and only one in his body. Good, clever puppy!

“He was a bad lover and a terrible bore” – Milady de Winter ladies and gentlemen. Also, she makes a great point. Mendoza betrayed Spain, he would have betrayed Richelieu as well. My girl is smart! 

“Did you enjoy killing Mendoza? Did it give you pleasure?” – Armand now is not the time to indulge your kinks. He really does see her as this vampy seductress/murderess lol, only goes to show she’s playing her role well. And she doesn’t correct him or anything. Makes me sad for her thou.

“Spain must not be allowed to dominate Europe, that is France’s destiny” – OH ARMAND!

Lol, Richelieu really needs to be needed. He organized all this so the king would come crawling to him.

The Musketeers are threatening to torture a guy. Not that I’m complaining, I’m enjoying the moral complexity, but just pointing that out for the people who go on about how the sun shines out of their arseholes.

“Good? He’s the best” – Porthos really loves Aramis guys! Idk why, but whatever makes him happy. I can deal with Aramis as long as he stays away from women. Him aiming the pistol at that guy was quite sexy tbh.

“Are you one of those religious nutcases?” – that classic musketeer humour! Bless!

I can’t tell if the guy playing fake!Athos is hot or if he just has a sexy leather villain costume. Probably the costume.

Athos is so ready to die, like mood.

And Milady watches. It amuses me how she accuses him later “you didn’t watch, did you?”. She is not that weak, she will look at the consequences of her actions.

ADELE ☹☹ Not gonna lie, on first viewing I struggled to like Richelieu for a long time because of this. And I have since come to love him but this is still awful. I wish they had written it with her being actively a spy for the musketeers, then it wouldn’t leave that bad taste of domestic violence in my mouth. He even tells her “you are a traitor and a spy” so probably a dropped plot thread there.

“Everything I do I do for the good of France” – and he does, which is the scary thing about him.

Who would take a suspicious cup of wine from Richelieu in a lonely prison cell thou. That red guard is a moron.

Poor Milady, she goes to confession and the priest gets all judgey. Idk, I’m not a catholic, but shouldn’t the priest not judge?

“I’m not looking for absolution, I want revenge!” – same, after season 3  

[prismatica-the-strange]

Silly Idiot man admiring the decorrrr

[kostlasdoce1984-blog]

In a vacuum I could care less about the business of some Taoist dance troupe. But I think it's important to call out the PRC for their domestic oppression and foreign propaganda efforts. Reminding people that non Party chinese movements/ideologies are regularly brigaded by PRC propagandists hardly makes me a shill for whatever downtrodden group is the subject of the conversation. I considered this, but I actually don use any actives at all, much less those with glycolic/lactic acid. The only thing that is applied before shark sauce is Thayer original witch hazel or rose witch 군산출장안마 hazel. I haven pH tested it myself, but from what I found, both are around 5.5 6. As long as you taking care of yourself (which applies to all aspects, mental health included, not just physical) and continuously putting yourself out there, you be fine. Work on your confidence. Approach guys you find attractive. Meantime the young woman continued to advance, counting the houses and windows. This was neither long nor difficult. There were but three hotels in this part of the street; and only two windows looking toward the road, one of which was in a pavilion parallel to that which Aramis occupied, the other belonging to Aramis himself.. Can be costly but you can do it as cost effectively as possible by going with Ikea or any other pre fab system rather than a custom designed kitchen solution you can even find them second hand on eBay or Gumtree, which can be a rich source in second hand cabinetry. Can also paint the existing doors to get uplift. Duo also suggested painting over tiles in old kitchens or bathrooms, which can have a effect on a home overall appearance.. They may also use other technologies (such as cookies, JavaScript, or web beacons) to measure the effectiveness of their advertisements and to personalize the advertising content. HubPages does not provide any personally identifiable information to these third party ad servers or ad networks without your consent. However, please note that if an advertiser asks HubPages to show an advertisement to a certain audience and you respond to that advertisement, the advertiser or ad server may conclude that you fit the description of the audience they are trying to reach. I considered for I Knew It people who might have more experience or are in general technically cleaner. Rapwise clearly I say ChoiBit (I love that name btw) should go to Maze. Yoonseo or Hyowon are also rappers we could send to one of the more intense rap groups. What happens if there was a tornado and it chucked said tree at your car, and you couldn find the original property it came from? What if some jerk kids destroy your car with baseball bats? Is the car supposed to run away from vandals or something? All cars won necessarily be self driving either, you 군산출장안마 still have regular cars on the roads for years. If they hit you and then bail, yet you have no insurance (and of course your car has been chucked into some other car out of pure momentum because these cars don defy physics), what then? If your car is involved in an accident with an uninsured driver, your insurance has to pick up the cost initially. You still need some sort of insurance. All I am saying is this is a slippery slope. It a be careful what you wish for thing. And I have to reiterate: if you feel like your time is being wasted, your goal should not be to return Destiny 2 to its darkest place. I guess we just have to focus on travel to Mars(Come on Elon. Take us to Mars!!!). That will be our next escape until all the advertisers come there too and start setting up their billboards.

[bricnuscricpai1983-blog]

I 38 and because the American medical system is a joke, haven had the surgery again and it something you have to have done regularly. I am finally getting it done this year. Every doctor wanted to just treat me with hormones and that wasn something that worked bc hormones made me insane. It could have some effects on the stats of the character, exposure to the mysterical magical materials could lead to an increase in his magical abilities, maybe grant a certain power that only the dragon had. But the char does not master it (and never will) so it some kind of risky business to use it. What magical power? Just select something that you think would fit into the book.. Okay so that is an Opuntia cactus, maybe O. Humifusa or 'Baby Rita' the new pads should always be 옥천출장마사지 very flat and round. When a cactus receives too much water compared to how much light it's getting, it will grow very stretched out, and skinny, and very pale green. What I hope goes away is this culture of automatically assuming that by not being relatively lightweight, you not attractive. I have no science to back this up, but I really do believe this is a cultural thing and not a biological thing. I do think we are generally moving away from pressure to be with someone who meets the current standard of beauty. I guess at the end of the day, it doesn make much difference to me. I not fear mongering so much as I explaining what I have seen out there. I warn people about what they can come across in terms of disembodied beings and desperate dead people that are everywhere and how much more susceptible you are to being manipulated by these influences while tripping. This time Aramis was not angry, but assumed the most modest air and replied in a friendly tone, "My dear friend, do not forget that I wish to belong to the Church, and that I avoid all mundane opportunities. The handkerchief you saw had not been given to me, but it had been forgotten and left at my house by one of my friends. I was obliged to pick it up in order not to compromise him and the lady he loves. Even if she doesn post on social media about it, it public information which competitions she will 옥천출장마사지 be participating in. I feel it a similar situation. The insurance is 100% in the wrong here and I hope they lose the case.. High on the list of perks of Tasmanian life is getting to the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra. The world class orchestra travels all over the state playing everywhere from fancy concert halls to dusty old barns. If you visiting Launceston, Burnie or Hobart, make sure you find out which night they playing in your and go along. But now it was different. Excited by the day long pursuit of him, swayed subconsciously by the insistent iteration on their brains of the sight of him fleeing away, mastered by the feeling of mastery enjoyed all day, the dogs could not bring themselves to give way to him. When he appeared amongst them, there was always a squabble. Professional photographers usually favor areas with natural sunlight, so plan to snap a few photos with your wedding party outdoors. Depending on the time of year your wedding takes place, the weather could be cool or warm, so be sure to dress accordingly for the best results. Beware of direct sunlight, as it can distort facial features and wash out your skin.

[ofimaginarybeings-archive]

28 ( tothedevilsshow - anne & francis lmao

i love you drabbles - no longer accepting !  

all of the good men die it seems like. the war took them all away and she was left with a numb feeling settled somewhere deep inside of her. she had gone through this before, that cold realization that a part of you is gone. she hadn’t been there with him in the end. she hadn’t been able to see if there was anything at all to be done. his body had been returned to the states, a full funeral for him as well as a medal to his surviving family. she wasn’t family yet and so she was granted none of his personal belongings. but she had his memory, she had the child inside her and she had the ring she had left with him.

all the good men are gone. he had loved her in spite of everything, taking what she gave him and allowing them to create something that otherwise would have fallen apart. he was the best person she knew the way he had loved her, the way he had bypassed everything he knew as truth and told her that none of it mattered. what mattered was the chance they were giving one another, the child they had made together and the life ahead of them once he returned from the war. only he hadn’t returned. she is neither wife nor widow and all she feels right then is a cavernous  hole that refuses to be filled.

she has yet to see anyone since the news had been given to her, after the funeral. not her friends, not her father, not even Aramis. she’s in her small apartment, her roommates all gone, and a small box in her lap. here lies everything she has left of him. a few photos of him, them together, the ring that she’s wearing, a small stack of letters and the necklace she had given him before he had left. there are a few articles of clothing that he’d left behind and while he’d been gone she’d gone out to buy the record of the song that had played during their first actual date. it seemed a lifetime ago. too long ago.

it hurts. that’s all she knows. he was more than simply the man she was to marry, out of circumstance is what her friends keep reminding her of. he was her best friend, he was the one person who knew her the most. how was she to do without him? tears fell from her lashes, her hands shook lightly as she closed the box. carefully she tucked the box to her chest, her hand feels weighted with the ring and she breathes out his name where it otherwise feels strangled in her chest. “ I love you, Francis. “ she whispers against the lid of the box, incapable just then of letting it go. “ I love you. “

When I am dead

[veneataur]

Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Day 7 of 24

Title: An Unexpected Houseguest

When Athos steps in the door with Porthos and Aramis he immediately senses that something is different. It’s far too quiet for d’Artagnan. He gives the other two a serious look, silently relaying his concerns about the lack of noise. As far as they all know, d’Artagnan is supposed to be home working on a term paper due tomorrow.

Then Athos hears a noise that he doesn’t believe he’s hearing, a panting, clinking of metal, and then a loud bark

“d’Artagnan,” he yells. A second later said young man comes running around the corner chasing a furry tan colored dog about two feet tall. Unsurprisingly, the dog evades d’Artagnan’s grasps and, with his tongue at the ready for licks, the dog jumps, getting all four paws off the ground onto Athos, who, under the sudden force and weight of the dog, steps back unsteadily. Porthos and Aramis move quickly to steady him as he holds the dog. d’Artagnan, wisely, skids to a halt several feet away, a guilty look on his face.

“Wh…” Athos tries to speak around the dog’s excited greeting. He has not only the dog’s tongue in his face but also the long fur getting into his mouth and tickling his skin.

“I know what you’ve said, Athos, about dogs, but he was a stray. I couldn’t just leave him on the street.” As d’Artagnan is making his case, Porthos takes the dog from Athos. Having grown up with dogs, Porthos is more than comfortable with having the medium-sized dog in his arms and the dog settles down, after some initial greeting, thanks to Porthos’ calm demeanor.

“d’Artagnan, much as I would love to keep this dog here, surely you understand that we can’t have a dog, not with our work schedules. It’s not fair to the dog,” Athos says.

“I know, but he was just sitting there on the sidewalk in the rain, shivering. I couldn’t leave him.”

“Did you check to see if he belongs to someone around here,” Aramis asks, sneaking his hand behind Athos’ to pet the dog and give it a bright smile.

“I know what you’re doing behind me, Aramis,” Athos warns. “And we’re not keeping him.”

“I just asked if d’Artagnan had looked for his owners. I said nothing about keeping him.”

“I know you better than you think I know you. And you to Porthos,” Athos adds without a glance at the man.

“He has no tags and the vet said there’s no chip,” d’Artagnan says.

“You’ve taken him to the vet already? How long have you had him here?” They were gone for a long four-day weekend for a work conference and from the sounds of it, the dog had been in the house for most of the time.

“I had to make sure he was okay,” d’Artagnan says defensively.

“How long, d’Artagnan?” Athos feels like he’s dealing with one of Treville’s kids at the moment, though they never tried to evade questions like this, except Meg of course. That was Aramis’ doing, though the man claimed it was quite unintentional.

“Friday after work.”

“We left that morning. Why have you kept him here since then?”

“Where am I supposed to take him, Athos. I don’t want to just dump him off at some shelter where he might never get adopted or worse,” d’Artagnan nearly yells back. He can’t help the rising emotions.

“We can’t keep him here,” Athos says firmly.

“Where’m I supposed to take him?”

“I know of a place,” Aramis says, taking a step forward before the arguing can continue.

“You do?” Athos and d’Artagnan speak at nearly the same time and look to Aramis.

“You’re thinking of that no-kill shelter over in Libertyville,” Porthos asks. He’s stepped forward with the dog still in his arms, now relaxed and enjoying the attention.

“Yeah, but it’s closed by now. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to take him over there,” Aramis says.

“Excellent. One more night with him.” d’Artagnan looks too pleased with this news.

“You’re responsible for him,” Athos says.

d’Artagnan nods. “Of course.”

“He stays off the furniture.”

“Naturally.”

“And he sleeps in your room.”

“Not a problem,” d’Artagnan says.

“You give him a bath,” Aramis asks.

“Yeah. Friday night. He was shivering so bad and then he started smelling.”

“You did clean up after that, right,” Athos asks. d’Artagnan is a responsible young man, but he’s not known for picking up after himself.

At d’Artagnan’s long pause, Athos sighs.

“Alright, Porthos and Aramis will look after the dog for now. You’re going to clean the bathroom.”

“I thought I was supposed to look after the dog,” d’Artagnan counters.

“That is part of looking after the dog. Clean up the mess and then you can take care of him.”

“Fine,” d’Artagnan says, turning to trudge upstairs. “It’s just a dog, Athos,” he calls back, halfway up the stairs. “I don’t see why you have to be a Grinch about him.”

“Isn’t it enough that I’ve already taken three strays in,” Athos says, a lilt in his usually flat voice. “I can’t afford to take in a fourth.” He smiles and turns to pet the dog in Porthos’ arms. “Let’s get him fed and then when d’Artagnan’s done we’ll be able to go out back and play with him for a while.”

A/N: The prompt for this day was astray, so I made it a stray.

[graphicallyill]

Honey and Wine and Unspeakable Atrocities

Part 1: Black Tar and Burgundy Sheets

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11455362

This first one is set immediately after Nicias returns from Ahnmik the first time. It's kind of a fix-it, kind of just filling in the gaps. You can read here if you like, but my AO3 link is at the top

My breath caught in my throat as I pushed back the burgundy curtains to enter the dark, warm guest room. Brightly colored silks adorned the walls and chaise, soft woven rugs across the floor, and a plush bed, covered in luxurious pillows, decorated the inside. These rooms, found throughout the palace in Wyvern's Court, were often used for serpiente guests, usually of the Dancer's Guild. It was exactly the environment they would make for themselves in the Wyvern's Nest, and before at Sha'Mehay. However, the current resident was not a dancer, or a merchant, or even a friend.

Nearly the entire Cobriana line in one room, all for one visitor. Lying all but dead to the world on the burgundy bed was a young woman, maybe five or so years older than I. She had lighter skin than the avians I grew up around, but darker than the falcons who had delivered her. Her hair looked almost identical to my own taut black curls long and splayed out around her head like a halo. The only difference there was the shimmering red highlights dyed by magic. It looked like a fire scorching across smoke. She had been called Hai.

Every bit of her was Cobriana, except for a few things here and there, and one big thing. Her wings lay broken and battered behind her back, stained and dripping with an endless black tar that seemed to vanish a few moments after it dripped in huge clumps against the ground and bed. The tar kept bubbling to the surface of her angry, fiery wounds. I imagined she must be in incredible agony, awake or not.

Diente Zane and Tuuli Thea Danica, my parents and the only people whose advice I wanted most in the world, stood stoically in a far corner of the room. A united front, as always, perfect mixture of both worlds. Mother looked wonderingly at the form on the bed. Among the serpiente, she always made a conscious attempt to display her emotions freely. My Aunt Irene leaned lazily against Zane, anxiously running her fingers through her long, black hair. The melos tied around her waist, along with the revealing emerald green dress she wore, told me she'd run straight from Wyvern's Nest. I wondered idly if Salem was following close behind.

I crossed the room to stand next to my parents, opposite Kel and the falcon who called herself Darien. As I got closer, I examined Hai's face. She had the features of the gods and goddesses, demi or otherwise, associated with stories I'd heard the serpiente tell. I'd come to associate those features with falcons, with Nicias and Kel. My own face was more angular, more avian. My cobra parentage rounded my face more than my mother's, but Hai's looked like it had come straight from paintings or mosaics depicting Kiesha's days. I watched, as if an optical illusion, as her face changed emotion with ever angle- from serene, to angry, sadness, frozen in fear, and, amusingly, a smirk. I shuddered.

Magic unnerved me.

“Anjay and I were lovers,” Darien began her explanation. Irene snorted loudly, interrupting. Darien turned her head crisply towards her.

“Yes, I gathered that much,” she retorted. I resisted a chuckle- despite the obvious falcon wings, folded behind her broken and burned, Hai was as Cobriana as I was. My uncle, Anjay, was the only cobra to ever be a guest on the White Island of Ahnmik. It wasn't hard to figure it out.

Darien continued. “I was going to send word to him, but he was killed before I was able.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted slightly. Anjay had been killed by my mother's brother, Xavier, afer he'd killed my mother's original alistair, for revenge after an avian killed my aunt, Sisal, and her unborn child, after someone killed someone on their side after some killed someone else after so much revenge and bloodshed stretching back a thousand years so that it was untraceable. My family had a rule about not blaming each other, or using strong words. There was too much at stake, and by now we loved each other too much to approach those topics like that. It always felt so odd when others did so callously.

I hardly noticed that Darien had continued talking the whole time. “Shortly after Hai's birth, the Empress branded me a traitor, and I was locked away until Nicias freed me. Quemak, mongrel children, are forbidden to be conceived.”

Mongrel children. I swallowed hard at the description of not just my cousin lying out on the bed, but myself. I wondered how much she and I felt in common, being of two different worlds, yet also of none. It was an ache that no one else could ever understand. At least, I had thought.

My mother stepped forward, extending a hand to the falcon. “Thank you for bringing us to her, of course she is welcome here,” she said warmly, and Darien gave her her hand, smiling wryly.

“Is she?”

It was no secret that falcons made everyone in Wyvern's Court nervous. They were of the same origins as the serpiente, but allied with the avians in the war for years. Since our peace, they had been nothing but nuisance and pain. And regarded us as little more than insects. Still, two members of our Wyvern's of Honor were born falcons, and their son was my best friend. None of us were a inherently mistrustful people.

“Of course,” my father answered, his face a stone mask. It was a trick he'd learned from years mingling among the avian court. They expected everyone to wear one, physically or emotionally. He was far from a master at concealing his feelings, but adept nonetheless. I, however, had twenty years of being his daughter to practice in reading him.

His eyes were trained on Hai's face, unmoving, unyielding. Studying him, I could guess everything he was feeling. He was looking back in time, the last imprint his older brother had left on this world. His last gift, in a way. He undoubtedly felt a strong desire to protect his brother's only daughter. At the same time, he was looking at the previous Arami's eldest child. The only possible threat to his daughter's rule. A potential pretender to the throne- Anjay was beloved by the people. But he was also beloved by my father, and his child would be too.

Salem burst into the room at that instant, pushing curtains aside and practically running over to his mother's side. I noted his long hair tied up in what must have been a time consuming process, his golden yellow melos around his waist, and side-slit pants, I wondered what possible dance he could have been practicing.

He took his mother's hands in his own, asking questions with his eyes only. Irene gestured to the bed, and Salem turned to look.

“Son, meet your eldest cousin, Hai.”

Salem, without missing a beat, took a large step over to the bed, staring quizzically at Hai's Cobriana hair and jaw, coupled with her falcon wings and nose. He glanced up at Darien, still wearing her demi-form wings, for a moment, before back down to our cousin. With his back turned towards me, I couldn't see his face. I wondered if he thought the same thoughts that plagued my father.

As if having read my mind, Darien repeated the same statement she and Nicias had made earlier. “Unfortunately, she's unlikely to ever awaken. Nicias and I have tried everything possible, and she refuses to be pried from her place.” She met eyes with my father, her silver eyes turning violet. “I only hope that here, in this land of freedom and peace and serpents and birds, she has sweeter dreams.”

I shuddered again.

Salem, ever the friendly dancer, smiled diplomatically at Darien. “Of course! She's family, and she belong with the Cobriana.” He stated it like undisputed fact, and I knew we all agreed with him. Salem moved closer to the bed, taking a downy blanket and spreading it across Hai's body. For a moment, she looked serene again.

Salem shouted in pain, jumping back and grasping his arm guardedly. He looked back at Hai, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He let his arm go, and I watched as a slash formed across his bicep, blood beading and beginning to flow slowly down. Irene gasped in horror.

Darien crossed the distance to stand between Salem and Hai. She seemed almost more protective of Salem than her own daughter.

“I am so sorry, I had no clue she would lash out with her magic,” she explained. Before Salem had a moment to protest, Darien grabbed his arm and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they gleamed purple again. She removed her hands from his arm, and not only was the cut completely healed, but the blood seemingly evaporated. Salem rubbed absentmindedly at his arm and glanced back at Hai, whose face was now warped in anger.

“I think the surroundings here are still unfamiliar to her. She has never been around a cobra before, much less every last one left. I'm sorry,” she bowed her head in defeat. A moment later, she turned to Kel, smiling again. “I do have an idea, if you would help me?”

Kel tensed, but nodded. I wondered exactly how well they had known each other, if Darien was the only thing Kel remembered from her previous life.

Darien scooped up Hai effortlessly in her arms, wrapping her in the Cobriana black blanket.

“Royal blood calms her. Would it bother you if I let her stay near Nicias, at least for now?” she asked. I couldn't help but notice the way she bat her eyelashes at Kel.

Kel visibly hesitated around the phrase “royal blood” being used to refer to her son, but agreed nonetheless. She bowed to my parents, dismissing herself to follow Darien as she simply left. I could hear soft, but curt, conversation as they disappeared down the hall.

For a moment, we all stood in pained silence. There had been a lot in such a short amount of time, and we were unsure how to react. Within half an hour, we had found out that we had a missing family member, of parentage that was so foreign it felt like myth, and watched her be carried away. My head was still spinning, struggling to catch up. It felt unreal. Salem was the first to speak up, with a raised voice.

“What are we doing?” he asked incredulously, gesturing towards the empty doorway. “Oliza, that's our cousin. She's every bit Cobriana as you and me! We should be insisting she be at home here, in the palace!”

Me more than you, I resisted responding. It killed me that someone who might understand the feeling of not belonging I had was in the city, but that I might never get to speak with her. My small family somehow felt smaller the second she was taken away.

“Salem, I want her here too, but I don't know anything about what she needs, and her mother thinks it would be better for her elsewhere. I know next to nothing of falcon magic,” I admitted, my throat tight. Nicias was my only real experience with falcons, though my parents had told me of Kel and Andreios'

I think part of why Salem wanted her there so bad was a loneliness he didn't want to admit. Maybe not in the same way I felt, he still had cobra family like my father and his mother, but still lonely. Cobras were incredibly social people. And Salem could be such a hothead.

“Oliza's right. And there's nothing saying she won't be comfortable here, eventually. But for now, we know nothing about how to make her feel at home,” Irene added, reaching out to take her son into her arms. After a warm hug, I reached out to take his hand.

“Come. Let us see if we can't try to find her and Kel. Maybe we can visit her wherever she's staying for now,” I said, pulling him slightly in the direction of the curtains. He obliged, following me close behind. I heard my father and aunt begin talking in hushed whispers as the drapes fell behind us.

-

-

I know it kind of sucked but I decided it made the most sense, chronologically, to be from Oliza's POV and she had the least to feel about Anjay. I think Zane will narrate the next one. I have most of Zane and Irene's conversation after this, I just need to iron out some details. So stay tuned for that.

[zitis-sims-adventures]

Week 1 Part V: Crisis and Failure

The day began as usual for Belle, with preparing breakfast for the house’s non-vampiric inhabitants. Over the years she’d become quite good at that - after all, there had been times when she’d been the only one not on a plasma diet. But being allowed to cook whatever she wanted and not having to pay for the ingredients had been a decent trade-off for lonely dinners.

Of course, these days she had to think more about it, as she had to cook not only for herself, but also her daughter and Lady Edeltraut's younger children, and Alaviv in particular could be a picky eater.

Belle was so busy thinking about breakfast ideas, that she didn't notice Edeltraut at first. When she did, she greeted her with a friendly nod, expecting some instructions for the upcoming holiday. The two women had always had a friendly relationship, despite Edeltraut's prior affair with Fravitta which had resulted in the births of Valentine and Lydia. That was long in the past now and it had never stood between them.

Maybe it was exactly because they'd always gotten along so well, that Belle didn't expect what Edeltraut was about to tell her.

“You know, maybe this is your chance to start something new” Melita said with a wide smile. “This has been going on for so long and you’ve been so busy trying to save it. Now you're free and can do whatever you want, no matter what she thinks or says.”

Fravitta sighed and sipped at his Plasma Jane. He knew she was only trying to cheer him up, but maybe it hadn't been the best idea to ask the sister of the man who stole his wife for advice. Then again, he didn't have a lot of other friends. “I don't even know what I want right now”, he muttered. Aside from getting back together with Edeltraut, but he didn't say that out loud.

“How about meeting some new people? You like playing chess, right? Why not find a chess club or something?”

Fravitta just sighed again.

But later, as he walked home alone, passing by red and pink lamps shaped like tiny hearts, he thought that getting to know more people maybe wasn't the worst idea.

Something was wrong with Lydia today. Arishat couldn't guess what it was, but it must be bad, because her girlfriend, usually cheerful and energetic, was quiet and brooding today. Also, she'd been late to school for likely the first time ever. (Usually it was Arishat who had trouble being on time.)

When they returned from school, Arishat stopped in front of the house and looked at Lydia. “Are you okay?” she asked carefully.

Lydia frowned. Her voice sounded strained when she replied “You haven't heard?”

“Heard what?”

For a second, Lydia stared at her, hesitating, like she had to think about how to talk to her. But then she opened her mouth and let out a sound of unrestrained anger. “Your mother,” she growled, “decided to kick me and mom out!”

“She… WHAT!?” Arishat couldn't believe her ears.

“Well, apparently she wants her boyfriend to move in.”

“Huh? What does that have to do with anything?”

“You know that law that only 8 people can live in one house? She wants us to make space for him – we have one day.”

Arishat stared at her in horror. Her parent's relationship had been going on as a kind of official affair for so long she'd never thought they'd actually change something about it. And while Walburga's ramblings about it had always either amused or annoyed her, she'd never thought about how her parents getting married for real might have awful consequences for her loved ones…

“Lydia,” she said softly, “I'm so, so sorry. My mom shouldn't have done that.” In that moment, Arishat made a decision. She'd thought a lot about it, her original plan had been to wait for Love Day tomorrow. And she hadn't even been sure she'd actually do it then. But now she realized Lydia needed her to be on her side. And there was one way to show her she was, one thing she could sacrifice. “I love you, Lydia. I've loved you all my life and I don't ever want to be without you. And even if I can't change that now, I swear this won't keep us apart.”

With these words she drew a ring out of her pocket and took Lydia's hand. “I promise you: Wherever you go now, I'll follow you soon and stay with you forever.” She gulped, suddenly feeling anxious about this again. “If you want me to.”

Lydia stared at her, then at the ring, then at her again. Finally, her lips curled to a smile and the light returned to her eyes. “Of course I want that,” she whispered and accepted the ring.

Arishat let out a gasp of relief. “Hope that wasn’t corny.” “Only the right kind of corny,” Lydia giggled and drew her closer into a tight embrace and a kiss.

Valentine found his mother alone in her room, sitting in front of a strangely fitting portrait of the tragic clown. He didn't think he'd ever seen her in such a bad state, blank expression and empty eyes.

Smoothly he slipped out of his bat form and glided beside her onto the couch. “I just heard what happened, mom. How are you?”

She looked up, her expression barely changing. “I just lost my job and my home? How do you think I am?” “Well, not great probably...”

“Not great!? I feel terrible! I don't know where I'm going to live the day after tomorrow, I don't know how I'll pay for my meals, and I don't know how I can give my daughter the future she deserves! And maybe that's not a problem for you, because you're a vampire and don't have to worry, because they won't send one of their own away, but it's different for me and your sister!”

That didn't go well. “Look,” Valentine said, “I'm not saying Edeltraut is an awesome woman and I don't say this isn't a terrible situation, but… well, I can't really do anything about it.” At his mother's scowl he quickly added, “I CAN however, do my best to help you.” “How so?”

“I have a friend who's selling a house perfect for two people and not too expensive. And I'll ask around if someone knows about job offers – I'm sure we'll find something for you. A job that pays better and a nicer home, how does that sound to you.”

“Well, our cellar room really isn't that nice,” Belle admitted. “And if I work hard enough I might get more money in time. But I'm worried about what happens until then...”

“You shouldn't,” Valentine said with a grin. “Because you still have a grown vampire son who'll help you out in any way necessary.”

Belle smiled at that. “You're such a good boy, Valentine. You're right – I'll get a better life once I get out of here. I should have done that a long time ago.” Valentine held her tight as she hugged him. Now he only had to make sure his words would turn out more than empty promises.

“Come, sit with me by the fire, my love, and delight in the warmth of this fire. That is a thing you mortals love, yes?”

“Yes, darling, that is something most of us like,” Aramis sighed. “After all, we're sensitive to cold, unlike you.”

“Ah yes, 'tis a tragedy that you mortals are so frail -  like little flowers, that bloom for one night and  wither the other if the wind hasn't plucked them out before.” She smiled at him, at his mortal beauty and the thought of seeing it preserved for all eternity. “A tragedy, albeit not without cure.”

Aramis gave her a strange look at that. Maybe she shouldn't tease him so much – he hadn't chosen to be mortal and he deserved to know he wasn't doomed. But she couldn't help it, it just felt so good, finally having found a solution.

“My sweet Aramis,” Edeltraut said, not without pride, “I have cast aside my husband, who no longer deserves to be bound to me. I am free now, free to do as I please and free to be with you in every way I wish to be.”

“Edeltraut...” Maybe her ears weren't working well today, but Aramis almost sounded worried. “Maybe we should-”

“Aramis.” Edeltraut knelt down before him and presented to him a ring made of fine gold. “I may be but a cold, unliving woman, not pleased by the touch of warmth as mortals such as yourself are. But even I can't deny the joy of all heat, because I know my heart is burning for you and shall forever be. Our souls belong together and we should not deny ourselves that sort of happiness. Marry me, my love, and stay with me not just for the rest of your life, but forever. Become one with the night, as I am, and live with me until the world comes to an end, because mortality shall no longer keep us apart!”

For a moment, it seemed like all would be just as she had dreamed. Aramis looked at her in silence, probably in awe of her beautifully chosen words. Any moment now he'd show her his beautiful smile, take the ring, shed some joyful tears and say yes. Then he'd offer her his blood and she'd offer him hers and soon after they'd be wed to the sound of heavenly bells. Only one second…

But that didn't happen. Aramis didn't smile, didn't take the ring, didn't say yes. Instead he looked at her in sadness and gently brushed her hand aside. “I'm sorry, Edeltraut. I can't do that.”

She stared at him, not understanding at first. Then it dawned on her as she kept staring until wet drops began trickling down her cheeks. “But… but why?” she sobbed, wiping the tears from her eyes only for more to follow. “Why, Aramis? I thought you understood! I thought you wanted this too!”

Walburga wasn't looking for anything in particular, when she walked into the sitting room a little later that evening. That's why it was an especially delightful treat for her to find her mother fighting with her lover.

“I thought you loved me!”

“I DO love you, Edeltraut! I really do. I just can't make that kind of decision right now.”

“What is there even to think about? One choice is clearly superior to the other one, so why would you have to think about it if you loved me?”

Walburga couldn't help but laugh at that. “See now, mother? That son of a llama can't even appreciate our way of living. How could you ever think he'd be worthy to be part of our family?”

“Quiet, Walburga,” Edeltraut hissed, her features changing as she slipped into her dark form. “I shall teach him about playing with a vampire lady's feelings!”

At that Walburga replied nothing and sat down obediently. But only because she'd rarely seen a lesson so wonderfully entertaining.