#and we will never come to concrete conclusion but it will be fun nonetheless

[splinnters]

(guy who just read plato's republic book seven voice) the caveeee...... THE CAAAAVVVEEEEE THE CAAAVVVVEEE

[inkandpen22]

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (10/10) Peter version

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Female!Reader/ Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader Warnings: emotional ending but happy! Word Count: 2.8k Part Summary: As the Pevensies time in Narnia comes to an end, Y/N must decide. There isn’t just one question that needs to be answered... who will Y/N pick? Will Y/N really consider staying in Narnia? A/N: And with that one of my first series comes to an end... it’s both exciting yet sad at the same time as I’ve had so much fun writing it. Thank you to everyone who’s followed the series! I appreciate you so much! SOOOO emotional! I never thought of writing both versions of the ending BUT I’m so glad I did so thank you to whoever suggested it!!! I envisioned Y/N picking Caspian, but this ending is gold :) 

Masterlist 

The whole Talmarine kingdom, as well as Narnians, have gathered in the courtyard for the ceremony. Aslan has made the decision to allow some Talmarines to leave Narnia if they choose. Apparently, Talmarines are like the Pevensies and myself I suppose, they're from our world. They traveled to Narnia centuries ago by accident and made a home here. Caspian speaks to his people with such ease as he encourages them to consider the offer. He's a natural-born leader. He's meant to be Narnia's future king. As I come to this conclusion, I take Peter's hand beside me. He glances down at me, having not expected the action. Nonetheless, he gives my hand a comforting squeeze and offers me a gentle smile of reassurance.

"Are you alright?" He questions in a whisper with a tad of worry resting on his brows.

"I just... when we got here I would've done anything to go back home. Now that the war is over and Miraz is gone, I've come to realize I'm quite fond of Narnia," I explain my predicament.

Peter chuckles lightly, pleased with the news considering how much he adores this place. "I always hoped you would. Whenever I told you about Narnia, I wished I could've shown it to you. I'm glad you came with us this time. Now you understand," he reasons.

General Glozelle and Miraz's wife, Prunaprismia, volunteer first with her baby. In honor of their bravery, Aslan blesses them with a good future. The pair walk toward the tree that Aslan has made part in half. Everyone watches in awe the General and former Queen disappear in a blink. My lips part in astonishment. I don't think I'll ever get used to magic. Gasps fall across the crowd and people begin to question Aslan's intentions. They fear this is all a trick.

Peter slips his hand from mine and steps forward. "We'll go," he volunteers us.

"We Edmund frowns, sharing my expression.

"Wait, what?" I express rather rashly.

In my defense, it's justified. Peter never asked for my opinion. He's deciding for me. Aslan... Aslan made it out to seem as though I had a choice, as though we all would have at least some more time here. "Come on. Our time's up," Peter tells me solemnly, but an ounce of hope lingers in his tone. "After all... we're not really needed here anymore," he determines while approaching Caspian to offer him his sword.

"I will look after it until you return," Caspian assures Peter confidently.

"I'm afraid that's just it," Susan interjects beside me. "We're not coming back."

"We're not?" Lucy pouts with concern.

"You two are," Peter predicts, glancing between Aslan and his youngest sister. "At least, I think he means you two."

"But why?" Lucy struggles to comprehend the purpose behind this news, as do I. "Did they do something wrong?"

"Quite the opposite, Dear One," Aslan voices. "Your brother and sister have learned what they can from this world. Now it's time for them to live on their own." Aslan comforts each of us with his wisdom.

Though, frankly, I'm finding it hard to swallow this harsh pill. But all things have their time.

"It's all right, Lu," Peter tries to ease Lucy's mind as he takes her hand gently. "It's not how I thought it would be...but it's all right."

Peter directs his attention to me and holds out his free hand for me to take. "One day you'll see, too. Come on."

He offers me a weak smile, not one that shows genuine happiness, but contentment. I ease my hand out to glide it into his, but something stops me. A feeling in my chest telling me not to settle as Peter as with his decision. I shift my head toward Aslan to ask the lion directly. "And what about me?"

My patience is growing thin. All this back-and-forth yet I haven't heard a concrete answer about where I belong. Aslan is constantly confusing me with his tricky wording. One minute he makes me believe that finding him wasn't my purpose for coming here and the next he's telling Peter that his time here is over. I belong where Peter is, I always have. If his purpose is in our world... then so is mine. Then, does that mean I'm like Edmund and Lucy? Am I destined to return in the future? How far in the future? Narnian time is different from ours, who knows how many years will pass before we're here again. It could be another thousand years in Narnian time. "Your course is not as clear-cut as theirs," Aslan states with uncertainty. "You still have much to learn from here, as do Edmund and Lucy. Going back means one day, you will return, as will they."

"So I am to go back," I hope to clarify.

All I want is an answer, to know my path.

"Returning to your world will bring you back here someday, yes, that is a course you may take," Aslan nods calmly.

So, after all this time, after all the back-and-forth, Aslan is guiding me toward Peter. He made it sound as though I had to make this life-altering decision. The first few days we were here, I would've given anything to go back home. I never wanted to be in Narnia. Now that I have my chance to get out and everyone is rushing me out the door, I'm digging my heels into the dirt begging for a moment's pause. All this time Aslan has been pressing me to make a decision, why do I feel as though he's making it for me? It's suffocating.

I glance between Aslan and Peter nervously. Aslan wears his usual gentle and patient smile while Peter is confused with furrowed brows. His hand remains out to me, lingering for mine to join it. I whip my head around and my eyes land on Caspian. His features fall as he comes to terms with my departure. I approach the future King solemnly. All I can keep thinking is 'more time! More time! If only we had more time!' I can't visualize who the 'we' is exactly. When I say it, all I can think of is the riverbank in the forest. I see myself lying beside the river in the plush green, flower-covered, grass. The warmth of the golden sun scatters over my skin. I spent time with both Peter and Caspian there. What I would give to return to those moments. Whether I'm hoping it's with Peter or Caspian, I can't see. Each of them matters to me, on what level I can't decide.

"I'm glad I came," I tell Caspian whole-heartedly.

"I wish we had more time together," the prince sighs, taking my hands in his.

His hands are warm. Mine are always cold. I never noticed that before now. I'll miss that.

"I'm not entirely sure I belong here," I confess timidly, still unsure of my thoughts and Aslan's advice.

"Why not?" Caspian frowns as if my words are nonsense.

"I’m not of this world and if the Pevensies are 1,300 years older than you so am I," I shrug with a hint of a smile as I comprehend how old I am. I'm not a Narnian or a monarch of Narnia. Aslan said I was meant to come here with the Pevensies, but our time is up and I've yet to find this purpose he speaks so much about.

Caspian expresses a faint smile, amused by my humor, but too solemn to fully be happy. Both of us pull the other into an embrace. The words continue to repeat in my mind. 'More time! More time! If only we had more time!' I feel as though I'm standing on the edge of the cliff overlooking a deep trench and I'm stuck wondering whether I should jump. Caspian and I part from one another. It's painful. I feel safe with him, more secure and understood than I ever have before. I don't want to let go, but at the same time, I'm yearning to cling to Peter.

Peter meets me halfway and wraps an arm around my waist, leading me toward the tree trunk. The Pevenesies begin toward the tree as well, ready to go on.

"It’ll be okay," Peter whispers in my ear as he brings me into his side.

I feel safe here with him. Peter is home for me. For years, he's been my rock, my strength. Through the war, losing my dad, through all the bad, Peter has been my guiding light.

He continues to comfort me. "Everything will be as if we-"

"Peter, no wait... " I shake my head as my steps come to a halt.

It takes a second for Peter to react. He comes to a halt a few steps ahead of me. Turning over his shoulder, he gives me a confused look.

"I can’t go back," I voice, but my volume is weak. "At least not yet... not until I know that I've done what I must do."

"What do you mean?" He frowns.

"I... I think I’m still needed here..." I stammer with uncertainty. "At least... At least that’s what I think Aslan means. He speaks like a fortune teller and it’s confusing!"

Peter switches his now crossed expression from me to the lion. "Aslan, is that true?"

"Y/N’s future is not set in stone as your four’s is in history. She has known that she has to decide her course of action for some time. The clock is dwindling," Aslan explains steadily, looking to me to decide.

Lucy steps forward from behind Peter. "You mean you have to stay here?"

"It means I have a choice," I do my best to word it less harshly to the little one. "Staying here or coming again later. I’m assuming the next time will be with you and Edmund. Either way, I’m needed here. I just know it." I try to explain, but how do I explain a feeling?

"Neither choice is wrong," Aslan injects as he moves to stand beside Peter and me. "Going back to your world would mean you would return with Edmund and Lucy. After that, your life will be as you've always envisioned with who you envisioned. Staying here would be as you've envisioned as well," Aslan explains, giving me a knowing look. "You will prosper in both worlds, in whichever you decide."

Does Aslan know that I haven't been able to stop thinking about the riverbank? Is that what he's referring to? Does he mean that if I stay in Narnia I'll be with Caspian? If I return to England Peter and I will be together? Choosing a world also means choosing between Peter and Caspian.

"But why?" Lucy pouts.

"I don’t know," I struggle to say as my eyes begin to well up.

"I do," Peter voices.

"What?" I mutter.

"I didn’t understand it at first, but Aslan told me something earlier today. He said, ‘as much as we wish we could, sometimes we can’t choose who we love, the world chooses for us.’ You’re needed here. This is why you were brought here with us. When Caspian called for us with the horn, he unknowingly was calling to you as well."

I switch my gaze between Caspian and Peter frantically. Both of them meet my gaze with eagerness, wondering what I'll choose, as does everyone else.

"So I will return with Lucy and Edmund in the future if I go home?" I clarify with Aslan, hoping for a direct answer.

"Yes, if that's what you decide, Child," he nods.

I press my lips together as my throat becomes strained from holding back tears. "Peter I- "

"It’s okay," he assures me as his hand glides up to cup my cheek. "Everything is as it should be."

I can tell he's doing his best to stay strong for my sake. Tears flow from his eyes silently and the sight pierces my heart.

"If this is how it should be, why does it hurt so much?" I mutter, my tone shaky with emotion.

Peter shakes his head as his eyes become glossy. "It won’t forever. We’ll both grow and find that which we were destined to. I always thought we would find that together," he chuckles softly, it's bitter-sweet. "But this is right," he speaks with certainty.

"But I’ll never see you again," I comprehend the harsh reality of it all. "I... I don't want that! I can't imagine my life without you in it! You've always been there and I... haven't I lost enough people already? How many more goodbyes must I say?"

"We mustn’t think like that. One day we'll be together again!" Peter thinks optimistically.

This isn't fair. None of this is fair! In choosing Narnia, in choosing a different life for myself, I'm losing my best friend. I'm losing the one person who kept me going, who gave me a reason to survive.

"I love you," I cry.

Peter grins at my words, a faint and joyful chuckle escapes between his teeth. "And I’ve always loved you, perhaps I always will. We’ll never lose that, even across worlds."

I nod repeatedly, holding onto every syllable. I pray and hope, that he's right. Peter pulls me into his chest and I wrap my arms around him for dear life. I grip the fabric of his loose shirt in my fists. His hand cradles my head as he plants a kiss on my forehead.

Do the ones we love ever truly leave us? Is the memory of them strong enough to keep us going in their absence? I doubt a day will pass by where Peter doesn't cross my mind or any of the Pevensies for that matter.

Now that our time has officially run out, I say my goodbyes to each of the Pevensies. I'm not just saying goodbye to Peter's siblings, each of them has become family to me. Lucy and Susan cry with me as the three of us hug each other. Edmund does his best not to show emotion, but I can see behind his stone-hard expression that he's holding back. His tight embrace is enough evidence as well.

When the moment comes for the Pevensies to return to London, I hold onto Peter's hand as I approach the tree with them. His siblings walk a step ahead as Peter walks backward to face me. Until the last second, we hold on.

"Someday," I nod, as though I'm making a promise that one day we'll see each other again.

He nods, agreeing to the vow. "Someday."

Our hands begin to slip as Peter backs away toward the cliff between the tree halves and my breath hitches in my throat. I stare into his sea-glass eyes and the seconds travel rapidly by. In a blink, he's gone, disappeared from my world.

A gasp escapes my lips at the sight. My arm falls to my side as tears glide down my cheeks. My heart sinks as reality hits me that I'll never see Peter ever again as long as we're alive. An arm wraps around my waist, supporting me. Caspian appears in my peripheral vision as my eyes remain locked on the open space beneath the tree.

"It’ll be okay," he reassures me as he rubs his hand up and down my back.

I swallow hard, my face becomes blank other than the tears falling down my cheeks. A deep sense of emptiness consumes me inch by inch starting from my heart.

"As long as you've done what's right by your conscious and your heart, you could never be wrong, Dear One," Aslan advises smoothly.

I stare ahead at the tree, waiting for Peter to reappear though I know he'll never come. Have I done wrong? If this is what's meant to happen, why does it hurt so much? This is agony.

Caspian tries to usher me away, "come, Y/N, we can go back to-"

"No!" I blurt out suddenly, making him halt.

My eyes search the tree in a panic and then I turn to Caspian. "I'm sorry... I... I can't do this!"

The prince's features fall as he processes my words. "But..."

"I'm so sorry Caspian," I cry. "I love Narnia and I'm so glad that we've met but..." I glance over at the empty space where Peter last stood with a deep sigh. "I don't think I can be truly happy here if a piece of me is elsewhere."

Caspian swallows hard, clenching his jaw to withhold his emotions. "You love him," he determines.

Knowing that in choosing Peter I'm hurting Caspian is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Yet, it wasn't until Peter vanished from my sight did I come to realize that the answer to my million questions was right there in front of me this whole time. It's Peter, it's always been, Peter.

I lean up and plant a kiss on Caspian's lips, one last kiss. He deepens the kiss and it's a bitter-sweet farewell. When we part, he wraps his arms around me in an embrace. I wrap my arms around him tightly, holding onto the hope that Aslan is right and one day we may see each other again.

"One day," I mutter against his chest. "One day I hope we're reunited."

Caspian parts from me and expresses a weak smile as he brushes his hand against my cheek, wiping away the remaining tears. "I'll count the days until your return."

“I pray it’s soon,” I confess. “I fear I’ll miss you more than I can bare.” 

In choosing Peter, I lose Caspian. In choosing Caspian, I lose Peter. Neither choice is painless. 

I glance toward the lion, "so am I right about this?"

I can’t leave without being sure. 

"You were never wrong," he smiles.

I switch my gaze to Trumpkin, the crowd of Narnians, and Telemarines. All of them await my next move. Swiftly, I plant a kiss on Caspian's cheek, preparing to rush after the Pevensies. I turn toward the tree with a smile, knowing in my heart this is right. I turn my back to the tree and begin to back away from Caspian as Peter did to me. I hold onto the Prince's hand until the last moment. Our fingertips barely touching.

"Goodbye for now," I phrase lightheartedly with a soft grin.

"Farewell-"

Caspian's words are cut short as my vision changes from the courtyard to a chaotic train station. I'm standing in the middle of the platform as people move about me. The peace of the courtyard is replaced with deafening noise. I blink rapidly, piecing together what's happened. I glance down at my clothes and I'm in my school uniform again. My hair wisps around as a train flies through the station. I'm back, I'm back in London! Peter. I need to find him!

Frantically, I shift between people, rushing through the station to find the Pevensies. They have no idea I'm here. It'll be like a needle in a haystack with everyone dressed in the same uniforms. Perhaps they're where we left for Narnia, by the bench! As the idea pops into my mind, I begin to run. I scan each head, each face, all looking for one. Then, in a flash, I spot the blonde speckled hair I've been longing to see. Peter paces in front of the bench, his eyes on the floor and his hand rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are red and his eyes bloodshot. His sisters and brother are huddled together by the bench, likely discussing their departure and my decision to stay. Little do they know...

"Peter!" I shout impulsively.

Peter whips his head around, searching the crowd for me. His glossy eyes are wide with surprise and his lips are parted. The other Pevensie children appear just as shocked. Then, he finds me. Amongst the crowd and chaos, his sea-glass eyes that I've been longing to see again since the moment he left have found me.

"Y/N?" He mouths breathlessly.

Peter begins to shove through the crowd, leaving his stunned siblings behind. I glide between bodies, excusing myself along the way. The seconds feel like hours as the distance dwindles but feels miles long. All I keep thinking is 'get to him! Get to him!' Before, I envisioned the riverbank. I longed for it. I couldn't see who was with me there in my visions until now, Peter. We were at peace, happy even. I believed the whole reason behind my want for those moments was to stay in Narnia. Yet, I've come to realize that it doesn't matter where I am, as long as it's with Peter.

In an instant, Peter's arms wrap around me and he frantically cradles my head, pressing it to his chest for dear life. He parts from me, cupping my face with astonishment.

He shouts, "what are you-"

Ignoring his words, I press my lips to his. Since the moment he disappeared all I wanted was to be with him again. At first, he's taken aback by my action, but after a second he comes to kiss me back. He cups my cheek and deepens the kiss. It’s salty, a mixture our of tears coming together. The world around us goes silent and nothing else matters. Despite everything, the war, the pain, the loss, this is where I'm meant to be. We part only to catch our breath.

"You came back?" He pants, lingering inches from my face. Now, tears of joy fall from his eyes. "But you're needed in Narnia! Aslan even said-"

"Destiny is a funny thing I've come to realize," I chuckle lightly with joy. "Everyone always speaks of it as though it must be an action or place. What if it's a person?"

The edge of his lips curl upward with pleasure, yet his brows scrunch together in confusion. "What happened to someday? You had the chance to be Queen! Grow old in Narnia! Caspian..."

"I was standing there, milliseconds after you left and I realized that none of it made any sense!" I explain breathlessly. "My world wouldn't be my world without you in it. Life wouldn't be worth living."

He gleams, overjoyed at my words. "So it's me?!"

"Oh silly boy, it's always been you," I giggle lightheartedly.

Peter releases a breathless laugh, emotional yet over the moon. He nods and swiftly brings his lips back to mine, holding my face in his hands longingly. No matter the world or time, I will follow him anywhere.

It's him. It's always been, Peter. Now, we have forever.

_____________________________________

Masterlist 

Tags: @blackbirddaredevil23​ @rangergranger11 @hyperactiveravenclaw @whiskeywinter89​ @i-hav-no-life​ @damalseer​

[gaarfielf]

Not to be that guy but here’s an analysis on LGBT characters/rep in the lupin iii universe nobody asked for. I’m gonna cover Twilight Gemini, Harimou’s Treasure, Angel Tactics, TWCFM, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 5

Twilight Gemini is arguably one of the least popular films of the series pretty much based on the fact it’s just not a good movie. But this ain’t a movie review that’s just the facts. Anyway the villain’s henchman, Sadachiyo, is gay and the movie does not skirt around it at all. Lupin makes several “jokes” about the character being gay and the character is written to be very perverted and evil (obviously because he’s a henchman) but nonetheless very stereotypical to downright offensive (his character wearing lipstick is a little uh). Ultimately, Goemon returns at the very ass-end of the film to stab him directly in the chest and that’s where that story ends. Now, there isn’t much to say about this character because he really was only around for Lupin to make jokes that weren’t funny before dying. Gotta love them yep huh /eye roll/

Harimou’s Treasure gave us the double whammy of not only a bad joke against intersex people and trans women, but also a nazi joke! hooray. The film uses a slur that some may argue “wasn’t a slur back then” but nonetheless leaves the film to have aged terribly. The character...../sighs/ Herr Maphrodite /SIGHS LOUDER/, is once again a huge offensive stereotype and coincidentally, another villain. By the end of the film Fujiko manages to take him down by.... kissing him.... and he’s so repulsed.... that they just... win somehow. It’s really just an unpleasant scene. But luckily the film isn’t hugely popular (in comparison to Secret of Mamo, Cagliostro, Fuma, etc).

Angel Tactics threw in a new idea with a bisexual woman........... who is also a villain. Detecting a pattern yet? Her name is Lady Joe /HUGE SIGH/ and she is shown to be pretty masculine which there isn’t necessarily anything wrong with until you consider that TMS might have argued otherwise, but the film eventually reveals her “true form” (???) where she’s actually really perverted and her outfit changes to be very revealing and “sexy” (TMS wouldn’t know sexy if it bit em in the ass tbh). It’s almost as if TMS associates being gay with being evil and perverted? Wild.

TWCFM is a split audience in this aspect, with a gay character that some believe is pretty accurate representation and others believe is just another TMS classic gay stereotype. Personally speaking, the fact that Oscar was designed to look like a woman (the same head shape, wide hips and skinny body as Fujiko) and also being notably... /excited/ around Zenigata, I disliked the representation. However, other people (gay people specifically b/c why would I ask straight people how they felt about him lol) believe that he’s actually really speaking to them as a gay character. I mention this because I didn’t personally finish TWCFM so I don’t wanna throw him under the bus as a character, but I will say, he is still a villain in the series as made apparent by his strict hate for Fujiko (presumably out of jealousy).

Part 2 gave us a fast one with the Rose of Versailles episode. It was a crossover episode between the two series and TMS decided to do a very interesting take on it where Lupin literally falls in love with a character disguised as a man. In the episode it’s very apparent he has no idea that the character he’s in love with is actually a woman and actually convinces Jigen and Goemon later that it’s not a big deal. Jigen and Goemon by the by, are not cool with their relationship but eventually grow more neutral about it as the episode progresses. Speaking bluntly, this episode is a very wild outlier in Part 2 as an episode which literally outright confirms Lupin as bisexual (or pan, or any degree of not-straight that tickles your fancy). However, it’s often not acknowledged for ??? reasons. Alongside this in Part 2, there is another episode Lupin disguises himself as a woman to seduce a man for his money, only to find that after revealing himself that the man... doesn’t care. They get married in the episode. I don’t know how this goes over peoples head. Granted, Lupin was in it for the money but I think Lupin of all people could’ve come up with a different plan if he really didn’t want to legally marry a man.

Part 3 also gave us something new with various episodes that imply Jigen might swing that way too. Bear with me here but Part 3 delivers /a lot/ of secluded scenes with Jigen outwardly upset that Lupin ditched him for a woman. Scenes where he looks away from women that Lupin are talking to/about, scenes where he leaves the room when there’s women, scenes where he refuses to look at Lupin when he’s with a woman and just generally more outwardly not interested in women compared to previous Parts where he more-or-less ignores them. Previous Parts, Jigen might not be crazy about women but there isn’t really as many strong visuals as their are in part 3 that suggest he’s explicitly attracted to men (though there are scenes in Part 1 and 2 where he quite literally goes into hysterics over Lupin, thinking he’s dead, though take it as you will). Speaking of more visuals surrounding Jigen specifically related to being gay, I’ll bring up the obvious one being the classic Play Bohz scene, where Jigen is very visibly reading a muscle magazine (a kind of magazine that was specifically popular among gay men in the 80s as a more ‘discreet’ way of essentially reading filth) and I mean. That’s pretty concrete. But there’s also other nods to it like him and Lupin smoking under a billboard with two men kissing on it, Jigen telling Goemon he looks cute in women’s clothing, etc. Part 4 even gives us Fujiko implying that Jigen is jealous at Lupin and Rebecca’s wedding which Jigen.... doesn’t respond to.

Part 5 is where TMS reverts back to its old ways. Actually it’s new ways because part 2 and 3 were the 70s and 80s and all these outwardly homophobic movies happened in the late 90s through the 2000s. But nonetheless we get....another... gay.... villain. hooray. again. His name is Albert in case you haven’t watched it yet. Not only that but he is mentioned offhandedly to be gay in one (1) episode before it’s never mentioned again (not exactly what I’d call representation) and the series also doesn’t shy away from gay jokes that purposely make fun of fans for shipping the characters and just in general make fun of gay people. TMS, it’s 2018, can we stop making gay jokes? They aren’t funny. Zenigata pulling his gun on Lupin for making the joke wasn’t funny, Jigen attempting to kick Lupin’s phone out of his hands wasn’t funny, and even the article claiming they were dating wasn’t very funny because it was deadass a joke made at the expense of fans. A wacky gay joke accompanied with hating your fans is a funny way of writing, huh?

In conclusion, why is it that the 70s and 80s somehow handled hinting at these supposed “controversial topics” better than it was in movies made in the 2000s and then rinsed and repeated again in the year 20 fucking 18. I think if Part 2 can have an episode where Lupin deadass flirts and falls in love with a man, Part 5 should have been capable of not writing homophobic characters. and thats the hot but true take of the day.

NOTE: if y’all try to message me to argue keep in mind 1) theres literally nothing straight about Lupin falling in love with a man and Jigen reading a muscle magazine literally known to target gay men and 2) theres nothing you can do to convince me otherwise so you best be ready to swallow that pill and 3) Don’t @ me with ‘bUT lUPIN lIKES wOMAN’ because yeah. no shit. read up on what being bi means before opening your mouth.

[foxofthedesert]

RQ OUaT FF | OGA: Ch 8

Chapter 8 – A Bitter Draught

An uneventful month meanders by after the destruction of the garrison at the border. In the interim, Regina has spent her nights much the same way. Tonight no exception is made to the routine that has played an integral role in maintaining an even keel through the undulating seas portentous of a tempest about to blow in from the southeast.

The entire morning was spent embroiled in mostly monotonous meetings, one after another spanning a broad assortment of topics ranging from lumber industrialists bitching about deforestation protocols to a presentation chock full of charts, graphs, and illustrations given by an appallingly boring magistrate from the southerly regions regarding the 'dire threat' posed to her local waterways by wildlife run amok. Apparently overzealous beavers and moles alongside unusual upsurges in foxes, deer, and other agricultural and animal husbandry endangering critters pose as severe a threat as a witch hellbent on the kingdom's destruction – an elucidation for which Regina was ever-so-thankful. The highlight of the morning, and the entire day really, was a girl's chorus from the vicinity of Perrault who visited just before midday to finalize booking them for a gala to be thrown in Red's honor. Regina was so besotted with their cherubic enthusiasm for celebrating the upcoming birthday of the Queen they all adored that she allowed them to lunch with her.

Unfortunately, the proceeding afternoon and evening hours sapped all of the positive energy of that delightful hour. Drafting budget proposals for the council to review was not her idea of fun, nor was reviewing the repairs to the western wall nearing completion after a series of delays. All the same, those things had to be done lest the nobles had cause to question her commitment to the kingdom's financial health and the citadel's security. So after seeing the girl's chorus off, she sequestered in her office, hunkered down and scribbled figures until the wrist and fingers of her right hand ached. Several hours later, she emerged only to spend the next two meticulously inspecting stonework and newly dug rainwater management culverts in the midst of an autumn chill rolling through the area.

By the time Regina trudges up the corridor to her bedchambers, she is weary to the marrow of her bones. Pausing at the door, she fondly recalls how Red had returned from a similar visit to the western wall the month before. Coated in sweat and mud, Red had stank something awful but was nonetheless the picture of simple satisfaction at having broken Queenly protocol to help the workers haul rocks, mix mortar, dig trenches, and pour concrete to fill said ditches so that the new section of the wall had stable foundations. Regina's nose turns up at the memory of the smell wafting from her filthy wife, but then she melts at Red's happy smile at having exhausted herself in hard, honest work that paid objective dividends she has personally witnessed. The wall is now twice as strong as it was before repairs were undertaken. Several times during her review, she was approached by workers and offered thanks for Red's unnecessary but greatly appreciated aid.

I'm just glad it was her that pitched in with the grunt work and not me, Regina thinks, smirking down at her pristine clothing. If Red wants to break her back getting down in the mud with what she insists will always be her sort of folk, she can have at it. As for me, I'll be staying clean and dry. Like mother said, 'That is what servants are for, Regina, and we pay them well enough for their labor. Your job is to ensure that labor is not done in vain.' She wasn't right about a lot, but that's one point I'll agree with her on.

There is a part of Regina that cringes at how snobbish that sounds. Fortunately for her, it is not big enough to make any notable impact upon her conscience. The last time she let the stark disparity between the haves and have-nots bother her, she was a young and criminally naive fool who believed in concepts that will never harmonize with reality – such as the idiotic assumptions that love will always triumph over hate and good over evil. Daniel's death was a slap to the face curing her of those delusions, one that she has yet to recover from and probably never will when five years of marriage to a hopeless romantic has only made a tiny dent in her condescending streak. Besides, if Red can put up with her occasionally sneering down her nose at the common man, why should she be bothered to change any more than she already has? And it isn't as if she is the same callous tyrant who constantly abused the impoverished lower classes during the Dark Days.

Since she fell in love with Red and that hopeless idealism her mother tried to destroy flickered back to life into a quaint but undeniably extant ember, the plight of the rank and file has conclusively improved. There is still destitution, yes, as there always will be in a world as cruel as theirs. But there has been steady upward progress. Salaries of workers all over the citadel, and indeed all over the country, have reached record highs under her audacious agenda to redistribute some of the gross wealth being hoarded by the nobility. The program has not boosted her popularity among the effected noble houses, although even the hardest hit among those most wealthy individuals cannot argue with the wholesale economic benefits produced by a proletariat that is increasingly awash with disposable income. Merchants are especially reaping the harvest of this marked upturn in consumerism, and their nearly universal support of her measures has offset any intransigent defiance from the excessively privileged aristocracy.

So no, Regina does not feel bad for still being a bit of an arrogant, pompous, egotistical asshole. And why should she when Red admittedly finds that side of her...oddly arousing? The answer to that question is self-evident.

As Regina loiters outside in the hallway, the manifesting temptation to provoke Red's attraction to her nasty side is quite potent. Yet as enjoyable as the lengthy, highly energetic romps with her wife invariably are, she is not really in the mood tonight. Unusual as that is, all she wants is to settle in for a relaxing evening in the company of her favorite person in the universe. Red's consistently reliable warmth and devotion is more than enough to take her mind off of the sinister looking storm clouds always a nagging pace ahead of her stride. Storm clouds that thunder the ominous promises of the witch that murdered Robin in front of the whole court and wiped the garrison at Tamerlon off the map.

Prior to entering the chambers, she preemptively sets a number of wards over their door to match those she applies to her wife's person each morning since that terrible day they watched helplessly as one of their dearest friends died. She cannot be too careful since the witch threatening her life also made that lewd comment about Red. Expressing an intent to kill her is one thing, but implying untoward intentions toward her wife is another altogether. So Regina ignores Red's limited amount of snarky griping about her paranoia as she carefully applies the wards, and does not feel a bit bad about doing so. There is no length to which she is unwilling to go to prevent such an indignity being visited upon the only person she has ever known who deserves to live a free, peaceful, and happy life.

Thus far there have been no assassination attempts, much to Regina's equal relief and consternation, which is why she has not immediately recalled Mulan from her task shoring up the southern border with Drakkenhall. It also comes as no great shock since there have been no further sightings of the witch, though she wishes that were not the case. Were there actionable intelligence, she could be out there doing something about the threat. As is, her frustration only grows with each passing day and it feels more and more like the introductory theatrics at the garrison and with Robin were a pot of water hung over a lit fire. Now whatever malefic brew is being prepared has been left to simmer, and once heated to a rolling boil, the concoction will be poured out, no doubt inciting mayhem within the kingdom. To Regina, the waiting is far less preferable to the attack sure to unfold any day now. At least in open conflict she can retaliate. Right now all she's done is sit on her ass, hands tied behind her back, powerless to strike out at an enemy who has yet to reveal herself save through veiled taunts. Psychological warfare is being conducted, and having it waged upon a person of action such as herself is beyond aggravating.

The only comfort through the interminable period of peace before the storm is her nightly ritual with Red. Relaxing together before bed, sipping the finest vintage, and talking about their days helps to unwind the massive knot of frustration that is her entire body and mind of late. Somehow, Red is able to stay calm whereas Regina's self-control is fraying at the edges, and when they are together that inner serenity soothes her irritated nerves as if seeping in via emotional osmosis. After the destruction of the garrison and Robin's death, she's been constantly itching for a fight that refuses to present itself. Red, though, is eerily composed, able to go about her daily business without thoughts of their close friend's abrupt demise hindering or entirely paralyzing her. Whether she's just being brave for Regina's sake or has simply stowed away her grief until the current crisis is over remains uncertain. Regina is too selfish to ask which is the case. Right now she needs her wife's unshakable devotion, quiet strength, easy-going companionship, tender reassurance, and dependable affection – perhaps more so than she ever has.

"Hey, hon! You look beat," Red greets upon Regina's entry.

"I am," Regina says. "It was a long day."

Approaching from where she was perched at their vanity, reading the latest in a long line of epic romances gifted to her by Belle, Red offers Regina a compassionate smile. "I heard. Lots of meetings, huh? And drafting the yearly budget proposal on top of that. I don't envy you."

Regina hums her acknowledgement. Red had spend her day in the town that sprung up beneath the looming shadow of the castle almost immediately after construction was completed some two centuries ago. Referred to now as Eisentor as much due to the easily defensible layout teeming with choke points around the base of the mountain as to the massive steel-reinforced gates, manned around the clock, that bar entrance to the sinuous access road carving a path up to the precipice upon which the Dark Palace sits. In Eisentor, Red is a regarded as somewhat of a fixture, as she can be found there as oft as permitted by the many duties incumbent upon a sovereign.

Today Red paid a visit to the bakery Regina once spied upon and learned of the shifting opinion of her people regarding her rule. Red does not say anything to indicate where she went, nor does she need to; Regina can see the burn marks on her fingers and forearms from greedily plucking hot pastries out of the oven because she was too impatient to wait for them to be safely removed. Ennis and Hanna, the baker and his wife, permit Red to have her run of the place. The indulgence isn't surprising since Red is their Queen, although Regina does not think that factors into their overly kind allowance. Red has a way with people that disarms them almost instantly then has them reduced to so much putty in her palm within a few more minutes. The proprietors of the bakery, all four of them, did not last even that long before they were not only letting Red have her pick of the fresh-out-of-the-oven goodies but were letting her design – and hand-make! – her own confections. The first time that happened Red came back home with flour on her face and dough on her dress, which was a costly garment to have produced. Fortunately for her, the gingersnaps dipped in white chocolate she had baked were delicious. Had Regina known Red had a talent for baking she might not have resisted bedding her quite so long as she did.

In any case, Red's day was far less strenuous than Regina's, thus the reason for her being extra sympathetic. Which she most certainly ought to be as she probably had Ennis and Hanna's absurdly attractive children pawing all over her while she was flitting about their establishment like a butterfly perfectly at home in an environment that decorum would expect her to avoid appearing too comfortable in.

"As well you shouldn't. How are Rina and Alfred, by the way?" Regina asks, unable to keep the venom out of her question. She is still uncomfortable with how much time those two funny and kind, extremely gorgeous, and very single siblings spend around Red.

"Doing good," Red says, smile shifting with longsuffering affection for Regina's irrepressible jealous streak where those two are concerned. "You don't have to keep saying their names like a dirty word, by the way. They're just friends who know I don't have eyes for anybody but you."

"Maybe so, but I'd still feel better if they both got married already," Regina grouses, mood souring further when Red chuckles at her discomfort. "Yuck it up, buttercup. Mock my concerns. But answer me this, what are two highly attractive and eligible individuals like them doing unmarried in their mid-twenties? Huh?"

"Waiting for the right person just like I did," Red calmly answers, ever the diplomat. "The see what I have and want it for themselves. And you know what? I don't blame them one tiny iota. Everyone should be as lucky as me to have found somebody like you."

Eyes dancing, Red sidles over to Regina and pulls her into an embrace without permission. To Regina's frustration, she allows the uninvited move, even appreciates the motive behind it and the comfort it gives her. Ten years ago, she would have incinerated anyone who dared such boldness. Instead she melts into the embrace and accepts the kiss pressed gently to her lips.

You've turned into a pathetic sap, Regina. But who can blame me? These arms are the safest, most loving place in the world. And those kisses are worth all the gold in the kingdom. I may be a sap but at least I'm a happy one.

A chuckle reverberates through Red's chest as Regina loops her arms behind Red, hands joined at the small of her back. "You've been jealous of Rin and Alfie for years for absolutely no good reason. How many times do I have to remind you that neither of them are interested that way in girls?"

Regina pulls away, brows arched. "I thought the same once. Before Leopold's death, I held to my mother's puritanical view of same sex attraction. And then I..." she trails off before mentioning her introduction to Maleficent, not wanting to put Red in a bad mood as well.

Red does not care very much for Mal. Never has really since their introduction almost seven years ago. She insists it is because of the ancient hatred her kind harbors for the race of dragons. One of few historical contributions Anita made to her daughter's thirst for knowledge about her roots was an oral tradition passed down for untold generations which holds that the dragons created werewolves and then enslaved them as a labor force they then exploited mercilessly to erect their great castles and earthworks, some of which exist to this day. That enmity is apparently ingrained into werewolves, which might explain why Red is on constant alert whenever Mal is around for the week or so she visits two or three times per year while her daughter Lillian is with her father. It might, that is, if were not for the scathing glances Red often cast at Maleficent, whether Mal was paying attention or not, only occurring when Regina was present. Among other trustworthy sources, Iris has informed Regina that Red acts perfectly normal when alone with Mal, and that they even seem to get along rather well without Regina between them as she oft is to the keep the peace. Obviously, Red's loathing for Mal is just her own jealous, possessive streak rearing her ugly head – and it is a her, as there is no question the source is the wolf, who thought of Regina as her mate long before her human half did.

So, while it is true Mal was her first foray into the boundless pleasures of a woman's intimate touch, naturally she avoids speaking such a truth aloud to prevent any consequential effusion of blood. A fight between a dragon and the most enormous werewolf on record would not only result in one of the participants being seriously harmed, but there is no telling what damage those two would cause around the citadel tussling in their bestial forms. And as much as Regina enjoys Red acting irrationally possessive and territorial, she does not want her pleasure to come at the expense of innocent bystanders. Or worse, at Red's. Strong as Red is in her fur, could she really take on a dragon as big as a small castle and escape the encounter unscathed? Regina doesn't think so, and thus keeps her trap shut.

Plus, if Mal hurt Red...? Well, then Regina would have to hurt Mal, and she really does not want to do that. She has precious few friends as is that accept her for who she is and not who they want her to be. Mal is one of those, and the oldest at that. It would be unspeakably tragic if Regina lost their deeply embedded camaraderie because she was no better than Snow White at keeping a secret, even if it was her own and not that of another.

"Well," she amends after clearing her throat, "then I learned differently. Such revelations can sneak up on you, as you well know."

Red nods, nibbling her lip bashfully. Unlike Regina, Red had no prior sexual experience with another woman when they became lovers. Her innocence in the matter was as precious as it was exciting. And not only in that aspect, but Red was a virgin as well, having never been brave enough to breach that momentous threshold with Peter before his horrific demise at Red's unwitting...paws. Those crucial details made their first time a priceless gift twice over, so lovingly and trustfully offered by Red and accepted by Regina with all due reverence. Regina will never forget a single detail of that night. Every delightful moan Red let loose, every delicious shudder of the taut muscles in her flawless body, the keening encouragements as Regina's lips, tongue, or fingers discovered all the right spots she never imagined could make her feel so good, and even the whimpers of pain as her maidenhood was delicately torn – all are recorded for posterity within the vault of Regina's memory. Honestly, if she hadn't already known, simply being allowed to observe Red's first time while caught in the throes of some euphoria induced out-of-body experience would have convinced her she was indeed a bisexual woman with a clear preference for the fairer sex.

Getting to be Red's first in two distinct facets almost made her regret giving away both of hers, one to Daniel – a secret Leopold kept for her, one of his few commendable kindnesses to her during their marriage – and the other to Maleficent. Almost. But then she remembers Maleficent breaking her in, how the older dragon had made sure she felt immense waves of almost unbearable pleasure before being allowed to attempt reciprocation, and then how she was expertly guided in the particulars of bringing a woman to orgasm. Under Mal's diligent tutelage, Regina became an expert in her own right and was thus able to impart her wisdom to Red, who proved as eager a student as she once was.

The point, however, is that their fateful encounter on the mountain pass when Regina was hunting down Snow was the first time Red ever experienced attraction to a woman. The intensity of their connection, as she confessed to Regina during their initial and somewhat awkward dinner, had taken her completely by surprise. The fact of the matter is that when confronted by the right circumstance or person, attractions can spring up previously thought absurd if not downright impossible. And if it happened to Red, it could also happen to the baker's offspring. Even Alfred and Rina's preferences are as stated, they would not be unique in questioning them for Red's sake. More than one noble lady with a husband has let slip that they would be receptive to overtures from Misthaven's junior Queen. Hell, Regina herself has been propositioned by seemingly heterosexual women. As unlikely as such as turnabout is, it is not outside of the realm of possibility.

And so even if Regina knows she is being silly, knows that Red is being sincere when insisting she is a one woman gal, that she couldn't be happier in their marriage, and that there is no one else who could ever stir her heart or her passions the way she can, Regina cannot help but feel these irrational surges of jealousy. They aren't Red's fault by any means. No matter how much she has matured emotionally since meeting Red, she is still an inherently possessive woman who finds the concept of others wanting what is hers utterly infuriating.

And Red is mine, dammit. Mine!

"True," Red says, rubbing reassurance into Regina's back between the shoulder blades, like she can sensing Regina's troublesome thoughts. Which is not unusual. Damn werewolf senses. "And maybe they are attracted to me," Red goes on. "Just a teeny tiny bit. If so, they aren't the only ones, and that's not me being boastful. I've had to deal with roving hands and leering eyes since I first grew breasts and developed a figure that didn't more resemble a twig than a girl. That's partly why I made Gran teach me how to shoot a bow and Peter to swing a sword. But that also means I have a lot of experience ignoring that kind of unwanted or unrequited attention. At least the eyes, that is. Hands get slapped."

"Or cut off," Regina growls, remembering one time when a drunk stumbling through town groped Red's chest. On instinct, Regina drew her sword and relieved the man of the offending appendage. Red was not pleased.

"Let's not go there," Red says, nose wrinkling as if remembering the same thing. She then shakes her head, clearly finding the direction their discussion was heading odious. "In fact, let's just drop this topic altogether and meander over into safe waters."

Regina nods curtly. She had not liked the subject any better than Red. "Agreed." Silence then descends in the absence of a topic, not pleasant although not exactly unpleasant either.

"Have you heard anything else from Mulan?" Red asks a moment later.

Knowing this avenue of discussion is in many ways more stressful than the one they'd just been on, Regina indicates towards the plush sofa pushed against the far wall right next the bay window. "Let's sit first." Red's agreement comes by silently allowing Regina to grab her hand and pull her over to the sofa. Only once they are both seated, hips touching, Red leaning into Regina's shoulder, does Regina finally give a proper answer. "Yes, I have heard from Mulan," she says, as Red listens intently, Regina's tightly clutched hand sandwiched between her own in her lap, legs crossed, body angled inward toward Regina. "I received a letter yesterday. There have been no further attacks in Drakkenhall since the two last month. She seems to believe this lull in activity is indicative of an imminent strike. Called it the calm before the storm."

"And you agree with that assessment?" Red asks, looking every bit as worried for Regina's safety as she had the night after they buried Robin.

"I trust Mulan, so yes," Regina says, her tone betraying her own concern. "Also, I have heard reports from my spies of troubling rumors spreading through the lowlands between Snow's realm, Stefan's, and ours. Rumors of armed men being spotted in the dense forests, never long enough to identify numbers before disappearing into the shadows like ghosts. All attempts to scout out these interlopers have come back empty-handed. I'd ordinarily regard them as poppycock, but the locals have long claimed there are secret tunnels criss-crossing the region, remains of ancient works built during the Great Ogre Wars an age ago. Perhaps there is some truth to these rumors and some clandestine force is gathering right under our noses. Or this information can be dismissed as of no consequence because they are ludicrous. Frankly I'm not sure which is the case, though I am inclined to side with the latter over the former."

"Is there not anything we can do to find out for sure? Maybe send some troops to check it out?" Red asks, voice hitching with trepidation that has nothing to do with fear for her own safety or having to don the armor of war. Red is a fearless fighter, has proved so on many occasions. But the thought of sending her people out to battle, to fight and die on her behalf against an enemy whose strength is unknown, is to her an intolerable one. And, more than anything else, she is ever-aware of the witch's threat on Regina's life.

"Not with our forces already stretched thin since the corps stationed nearby was redeployed to Mulan's command on the border." That decision had come a week after Mulan's letter announcing two more villages on Stefan's side had been obliterated by their elusive magic-wielding enemy. It hadn't been an easy one to make, as those troops had standing orders to keep a close eye on Snow and Charming's realm. And if there was any chance those two self-righteous morons might be up to something nefarious, the time to instigate those plans was right now when Regina's eyes were elsewhere. "Best to address the foe we know for a fact is operating in Drakkenhall than to waste resources on what may or may not be a real threat. If you'll recall, we made that decision together," she points out, and not unkindly.

Regina is spared Red's response by a knock on the door that she answers by straightening in her seat before bellowing an affirmative command to enter. Iris strides in seconds later, a little behind schedule, looking slightly harried. In her hand is a silver tray holding two large bell-shaped wine glasses that each contain a generous portion of the castle's finest vintage.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Your Majesties," Iris says, sounding as atypically out of sorts as she looks. "I bumped into someone in the hallway, a redheaded woman I'd never seen before, and nearly lost the tray and it's contents." Her fair face darkens almost imperceptibly. "I stopped a while to question her. Turns out she's new, just got hired onto the custodial staff. Anyway, that's no excuse. I bet your pardon once more, my Queens."

"It's alright, Iris. No harm, no foul," Red says, demeanor warm and accommodating for the maid she would insist is not just that, but her friend.

Both Regina and Red accept their wine with smiles and thanks, though Regina's response is slightly strained by Iris' explanation as to her tardiness. She knows of no new hires amongst the staff, but that is not unusual since Red encourages her to trust more in those to whom she has delegated responsibility instead of micromanaging everything as she is apt to do. Iris, to her credit, says nothing about Regina's reaction except to inquire whether she can be of any further service other than the delivery of their nightly wine.

"No, thank you, Iris," Regina says, still sitting primly while in company other than family or friends as Red nervously worries the surface of her glass. As fond as Regina is of Iris, she cannot seem to lose the distinction between servant and friend ingrained into her from a child by Cora. "You may go." When Iris gives a curt curtsy then immediately begins to leave, Regina feels Red's eyes cut into the side of her head. She sighs. "Wait." And when Iris halts to turn back, adds, "Take the rest of the evening off and don't bother coming in until the afternoon tomorrow. I'd like a lazy morning for once. Both of us could use one, I think."

"Definitely," Red says, looking much more pleased than she did a moment ago. "Have a wonderful evening, Iris. And give John our love, won't you?"

"I will, my Queen," Iris says with effusive gratitude that makes Regina feel a bit better than it probably should. "Thank you both." Whereas Regina nods politely, Red offers Iris one of her big, toothy smiles that could light up the whole castle if she stood in the right place.

With Iris gone, Regina sinks into the cushions of the sofa and blows out a breath. "I'm sorry about before. If I sounded upset or harsh, that wasn't my intent."

Red softly squeezes Regina's hand that she has still yet to surrender. "I know. And I wasn't going to argue. I agreed with your suggestion just like you said and nothing since has changed that. I'm just concerned is all. A witch burning villages in Drakkenhall, rumors of strange men lurking in the lowland forests. I don't like the feel of this one bit."

"Me either," Regina agrees, then takes a sip of her wine. The full texture and smooth flavor go down easy, warming her from the inside out. "Believe me, I wish that underhanded she-devil would just come out swinging already. I'm sick of the games. The waiting is intolerable."

"I know what you mean. There's a tension in the air all the time now. I hate it. It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only when it does, I can't help but feel I'll wish it hadn't."

"As much as I agree, we can't afford to think that way. Negativity breeds defeat, and I'm not about to let this uppity sorceress, whoever she may be, beat me on my own turf. When it comes to fighting fire with fire, I don't lose, darling. You know that."

"Ah, my heroic Midnight Queen!" Red sings, using the title she'd given to Regina long ago. "There is no foe in heaven above or Hades below with whom she will not stand toe-to-toe and prevail."

"Damn straight. And don't go forgetting that any time soon." Smirking, Regina tips her glass to Red, who clinks hers against it with an airy laugh.

"As if I could," Red says after they both take a luxurious drag of their wine. "You're not exactly timid or humble about your martial prowess. Never seen anyone best you with sword or spell, and we have a lot of good fighters and magicians in our arsenal."

Head swirling pleasantly from the alcohol, though it has hit her a little harder and faster than usual tonight, Regina grins darkly. "I just look forward to defending my undisputed title in both against the bitch who killed our friend."

"Hear, hear," Red says, then raises her glass. "To justice for Robin."

Approving of the gesture, Regina raises her glass as well, smile fading into an expression of iron resolve. "To justice for Robin. May it come swiftly and violently. And preferably at the business end of my sword or your furrier half's maw."

"I'll drink to that," Red says, and then they take another gulp of the delicious vintage Iris delivered.

The rest of the evening passes with amiable conversation and a few easy silences that see them leaning against each other while basking in their mutual adoration. They also sneak in more than a few kisses, most of them chaste, though a few get heated, one so much so that Red winds up in Regina's lap before they come to their senses. All too soon, however, the wine collides with Regina as if a sledgehammer descending upon a brittle clay pot, obliterating her senses. Vision blurring, hearing obfuscated, heart suddenly pounding in her ears, she rises unsteadily and nearly collapses straight into the floor.

"Wow," Red says, helping her to stay upright. "That wine sure hit you hard. Weird. Didn't do anything for me." Regina thinks, but is not sure, Red pulls a suspicious face. "Musta just been 'cause you're tired. Let's get you to bed so you can sleep it off."

Regina does not remember much else that comes next except for being wrangled onto the bed, her clothes stripped down to the underwear, and Red's wryly chuckled comment as she is tucked in, "Good thing you gave Iris the morning off. You'll be sleepin' late for sure." Then sheets are pulled up and tucked around her shoulders and all at once, before she can even manage to part her lips to speak, the lights go out.

Once the irresistible darkness claims Regina, she remembers no more.

[boldtendencies]

Reflection on white cube spaces and ‘Unearthed Underground’ by Liz Glynn

From reading everyone else’s entry on the field notes, we all seem to make the same realisation that Liz’s  ‘Unearthed Underground’ has a way of invoking playfulness in all ages. This, I think is also due to the spatial context of this work. It's placed in a non-traditional gallery space, open with no walls, just air. It offers no separation between the bar and the art or to the world (reality). This has allowed a relaxed and fluid feel in how we behave towards an art object. 

I think we’ve all, at least once, criticized the white cube and Bold Tendencies is the antithesis of an indoor squared white room. At Bold, there is no barrier between in and out, life and art, just as Duchamp’s attempt in bringing the everyday to the gallery only expanded what the white cube can contain. But as I invigilate and tell people coming in, “yes, they can enter the tunnel”, I do wonder if that’s enough. I think in a gallery setting, people know that the objects are art and therefore are treated like art. You do not necessarily need context to appreciate an artwork. Unlike in a white cube gallery space, where the visitor is required to remain a silent and thoughtful observer, at Bold Tendencies we can see the genuine interaction between the art and the individual.

I guess maybe that’s where we step in, as invigilators, our role to invoke something deeper; to explain and to have a discussion. I feel like I'm always at a crossroads when I make art: am I doing enough to communicate my message? Whether or not it will be considered art? And is it even important since we’ll never have full control over how art is perceived and understood?

Addition since the last thought:

I’ve learned to lock up all the art works using barriers. This method oddly is not as efficient as we think. People still went under them as if they were merely an added fun to the installation. This would’ve never happened in a white cube; there you’d even be afraid to breathe too loud. Artworks vary in impact according to its audience and environment. But the events of today reminded me how much spatial context is a part of communicating art. Or I wonder if the visitors are oblivious of our presence, vigilating these artworks, which otherwise would’ve been inherently obvious in a gallery setting. I think this brings up an interesting thought experiment in how people would interact with art without anyone invigilating in a gallery.

Reflection since then:

I’ve been reading my newly purchased book, ‘fiction as method’. The topic of fiction as a part of daily life is mentioned as a means to help ‘oil up’ the systems that exists in the everyday. These systems include the financial market, superstitions and the all-important institutions. As we have learnt from previous mentor talks, institutions are important in educating the public about art. Their funding comes from sponsors and/or grants, and can be partly funded by the government. These funds are distributed in the hope that it will enrich society. So it becomes self-evident that institutions are heavily associated with the arts. In that case, maybe we can let the commercial galleries off the hook with their pristine interior, clean as a surgery room can be intimidating, but on the other hand, these spaces allow the general public to appreciate art for free.

I think the problem arises when people hold the belief that art should exist within the confines of the white cube gallery space. This idea of art becomes integrated into art culture and then into ourselves. This thought echoes the second wave of critique of institutions; the first wave regarding the economic and political aspects of institution. The second wave comes with the conclusion that we cannot escape the institution. In Andrea Fraser’s words ‘because the institution is inside of us, and we can’t get outside of ourselves’. The institution has become embedded in the culture of art, and so that is how we have come to understand and interact with art. I am interested in the popularisation of the white cube and how it became such a dominant force in the art world. As I’ve mentioned in my previous paragraphs, invigilators can also be seen as the factor that is partly to blame for promoting a feeling of discomfort among spectators. 

We can approach Liz’s work with the understanding of the ‘institution inside of us’. I think the reason why some people choose to ignore the art at Bold Tendencies is due to the fact that the artwork is not presented in a traditional manner. There is no confined environment, no room to delimit the environment, rather the art is on a rooftop and exposed to the elements. On countless occasions we have pointed out to visitors it's significance as an art work, however more often than not this property is overlooked and dismissed. Instead, visitors find themselves subconsciously reverting to child-like behaviour with the artwork. 

Let’s take a closer look at the idea of public art. Personally, when someone mentions public art, more often than not, the first thing that comes to mind are street performers and sculptures and figures dotted around the city. Which is why the idea of free artwork exhibited on a carpark is not as familiar to the general public. This is partly due to the hurdles an institution like Bold Tendencies has to overcome to acquire such as a space - it is very difficult to acquire permission and satisfy various health and safety requirements, and it is difficult to determine beforehand how the public will react to such a space. The artwork is not protected by the walls of a gallery, it's out in the open where people belong. 

Perhaps another reason as to why people seem to disassociate Liz’s work as an art work could be due to its external appearance. The grey facade of the artwork blends into the concrete surroundings of the car park, and the entrance tunnels evoke a sense of play, inviting the visitor to explore. I’m trying to understand the perspective of someone who’s just stumbled onto the car park, and to view the artworks in more ambiguous manner. I am wondering if people understand Liz’s artwork as a functional piece, such as something you might see at disneyland or at some theme parks, like a decorative interior rather than an artistic  installation.  

It has been interesting to observe how the public interacts with the art. I have developed an new understanding of the interaction between art and its spatial context, and its effect on its immediate environment. Working at Bold Tendencies has also raised the question of whether or not we always have an authentic engagement with art. For instance, although Tate aims to ensure visitors interact with the exhibits with as little constraints as possible, the artworks are nonetheless presented in a closed and vigilated area. 

Ultimately, it should be up to the artist to assess whether or not the interaction between the public and their art is in line with their original intention. This highlights the idea that space in itself plays a huge role in the understanding of the art. Nothing is a blank space, not even the white cube; as they automatically suggest a status and context to the work. However, maybe there is an interesting idea in creating an installation around the idea of heavy surveillance and confinement. Rather than imposing a certain behaviour around the artwork, an artist can look to create an installation/artwork that seeks to emulate a typical environment of a gallery.  This reminds me of what Andrea Zittel mentioned in her book ‘Lay of my land’, in which she talks about the Spiral Jetty and how it is not a work to be experienced on site but rather through the medium of photographs. This is because photographs allow for greater contextualisation, by referencing to the specific sites and to the land. Over the course of my traineeship with Bold Tendencies, I have come to realise on-site and experience-based artworks present more of an interaction between the visitor and the artwork compared to a traditional white-cube space. We actively crave interaction and this means we have to think about the kind of interaction we are looking for in these works. I hope this idea helps anyone to think more about their work and how it communicates/interacts with their audience. It certainly did for my own practice, which I am now re-thinking. Surprisingly, I am leaning more towards imposing my artwork on the audience, rather than inviting an interaction as I initially thought I wanted with my work. If anyone is interested in my work, it’s a parody online instagram account that sell dildos made of twigs. The shop @the_kosm_, was made there because I thought I wanted a more ‘real’ interaction with audiences different from those found in galleries. But I think it is more about wanting to be seen, wanting to impose on the mass rather an interaction. This thinking has revealed what I was truly wanting for my work. 

Toward the end of her traineeship, Narumi created this app prototype in relation to her reflection and Unearthed Underground :  https://xd.adobe.com/view/9924327d-3697-4cdf-72ff-3adeecbb1eaf-ef15/  (better display on phones)

By Narumi

[ahiddenrealitystory]

Chapter 1

The Beginning of Something Amazing

After being caught sneaking out, Elise urges Aria to accompany her the following night. Aria complies and follows Elise and her friends only to find something rather peculiar. 

The neighborhood was quiet for the most part. The sound of a sprinkler was the only sign of life for at least ten minutes, so it seemed. Sunshine lit up the community and a feeling of comfort embraced it. It was nearly time for school to let out.

As a few more minutes passed, the sound of footsteps on the concrete could be heard. A girl with hair as dark as the night sky and a serious expression that masked anxiety appeared. The blue plaid skirt and beige sweater gave away her enrollment at the prestigious high school down the block. All she wanted was to sleep at home.

“Back from school, huh, Aria?” a voice asked. The voice belonged to her sister, Elise.

“You’re just here to rub your absence in my face, aren’t you?” Aria chuckled, opening the front door of her house.

“Maybe,” Elise replied, “Anyway how was it today?”

“Same as always. Would be nice if people didn’t only use me for answers,” Aria sighed.

Elise plopped down on the living room couch. “That’s what happens when you’re an honor student. Anyway, you make any friends yet? It’s been about a month now.”

Aria winced a little. Companionship was never Aria’s strong point. For a good portion of her life, Aria spent her time alone. She avoided group projects like the plague. She isolated herself every chance she got. The continuous isolation concerned Elise and she wanted to help in any way she could.  

“Don’t worry about that. It’s not like I go there to make friends anyway. I’m only there for an education,” Aria muttered. She started making her way to her room.

“Hey come on. Friends are important, y’know. You gotta have some fun there!” Elise suggested, placing herself in Aria’s doorway to prevent her from moving.

“I said don’t worry about it,” Aria snapped. She snaked her way around Elise and shut the door behind her.

Aria collapsed on her bed. Looking up at her ceiling, it felt like everything was spinning. Aria was not fond of yelling at her sister, but she was tired. Tired of everyone intruding on her life. If it was not necessary, it did not intrigue her - and friends fell into this category. In reality, Aria was unsure of how to make friends. Her attempts almost always fell through and it disappointed her greatly. She had such a difficult time with socialization that, eventually, she gave up on it. She deemed all future attempts at friendship to be inevitable failures and avoided them.

She attempted to brush the thought away because it only served to crush her self confidence. Even so, she still felt dizzy. Sleep seemed to be the only solution and it slowly fell upon Aria. Within a few minutes, she was sound asleep.

What was supposed to be a brief nap turned into a twelve hour deep sleep. Aria awakened to the sound of doors opening and people shuffling. It was three in the morning, why would anyone be awake?

Aria’s curiosity was piqued so she quietly stood up and tiptoed out of her room. She looked side to side before deciding it was safe to proceed. As she made her way to the edge of the hallway, she could see the front door open. Illuminated by the moonlight, Elise’s face could be seen exiting the house. Tiredness paralyzed Aria. All she could do was sleepily whisper, “Elise…?” Her voice was too quiet, though, and the door closed shut before she could receive an answer. Confused yet smug, Aria turned around and made her way back to her room. Crawling back into bed, Aria snickered a little. Oh the things Elise was going to hear in the morning.

As the final hours of night-time passed, sunlight shown through Aria’s curtains, brightening up the room. The beeping of her alarm clock could be heard and Aria opened her eyes. Fighting the urge to fall back asleep, Aria slowly sat up and stared at the wall. Despite the early hour, thoughts were racing through her head yet she could not make out a single coherent statement. She glared a bit then stood up, making her way to her closet and changing into her uniform. She quickly combed her hair and brushed her teeth, making a few funny faces in the mirror to cheer herself up.

Aria slowly walked down the hallway and into the living room. Elise could be seen sitting on the couch watching television in the corner of Aria’s eye. Aria’s walk came to a halt as the previous night’s event reappeared in her mind, and she walked over to the couch and sat down.

“What the hell were you doing last night? I saw you leave,” Aria yelled in a whisper, lightly slapping Elise’s arm.

“It took you this long to catch on? You really didn’t know I’ve been doing this almost every night for a while now?” Elise scoffed, “To tell you the truth, I’m actually glad you caught me. I want you to come with me tonight. It’s not a party or anything, I swear. It’s actually really important.”

Aria raised an eyebrow and asked, “If it’s as important as you claim, why wouldn’t they pick a much more reasonable time? You really take me for a fool, don’t you? I’ll pass.”

“No, I swear,” Elise pleaded, “Look, you’re going to end up coming at some point. Mind as well come while you still have the voluntary choice.”

A look of ridicule crept up on Aria’s face, but she sensed her defeat. “I have no idea what any of this is or what it means, but fine. Alright. I’ll come with you this time,” Aria agreed reluctantly.

Elise’s look of desperation turned into a smile and she nodded. She jumped off of the couch, grabbed her bag and skipped to the door. Aria decided to skip breakfast to travel together with her sister. Aria closed the door behind both of them and started walking down the street.

It was a breezy day but quiet nonetheless. The nearest big city was far enough away that any excitement was nonexistent in their neighborhood. As the sisters continued on their walk, voices growing in volume could be heard. Laughing, yelling, and simple talking indicated that the sisters had made it to school. Elise looked around then jumped up.

“Oh, I see them! Sorry Aria, I gotta go!” she happily sung before running off through the crowd. Aria chuckled a bit then continued her walk into the building, daydreaming a bit as she did.

The day seemed to pass by faster than usual. Other than a math test, Aria’s day was rather uneventful, which she was grateful for. She walked through the front door of the school and stood waiting for Elise. The light breeze remained, but it felt nice. A few minutes later, Elise spotted Aria outside and rushed through the door to see her. They both smiled at each other before beginning their journey home. The sprinkler Aria heard yesterday was turned off today leaving only silence once again.

After a few minutes, the girls arrived home. Elise fidgeted with the key before opening the door and asking, “Remember the plan?” Aria laughed a little and nodded. Elise jumped up with a smile then ran to the kitchen to find something to eat. Aria, on the other hand, just walked to her room and closed the door.

Aria turned on some relaxing music from her radio below her nightstand then made her way to her desk, opposite her bed. She figured that if she finished her homework now and grabbed a quick meal, she could head to bed to get at least ten hours of sleep.

Aria worked diligently on her assignment for about half an hour before she decided she was done for the night and stood up. Her irritation from that morning gradually turned into determination and thrill. She walked to the kitchen, quickly made some tomato soup, ate, then made her way back to her bedroom. Elise must have been in her room because she was nowhere to be seen.

Closing the door behind her, Aria made her way to her bed and sat down. She sighed with her eyes closed then opened them. She quickly grabbed her alarm clock and changed the time from 7 AM to 3 AM then sat it back down on her nightstand. After a short pause, Aria crawled under her sheets and closed her eyes. Despite the new determination, anxiety still managed to overwhelm her and kept her awake for at least twenty minutes. She had never snuck out before and did not exactly want to change that, but it was for Elise. Bearing that motivation in mind, she slowly fell asleep.

The orange of the evening sky gradually turned to black and a few hours after it did, Aria’s alarm clock started beeping, interrupting her dreamless sleep. The beeping of the alarm clock seemed amplified that morning, perhaps because of Aria’s anxiety. She reached for the clock, turning it off then sitting up quickly. She was still very tired but Elise was counting on her. Aria jumped out of bed and walked over to her closet, changing into a red and black plaid flannel, denim jeans, and black sneakers. She decided against bringing any belongings with her as she was sure she would be back soon.

Aria crept down the hallway and into the living room, looking around for Elise. Looking left into the kitchen, she saw nothing, and looking right into the actual living room, she also saw nothing. She came to the conclusion that Elise had already left and slowly opened the front door. Aria looked back into the house and apologized in her mind, then shut the door quietly and walked to the sidewalk. Elise was still missing. Aria was confused but figured Elise more than likely walked around the corner of the street, as their house was on the corner. She decided that if she still could not find Elise when she walked around the corner, then she would go back to bed.

Walking around the corner, Aria caught sight of Elise and three other people standing next to her.

“You actually came! Yes! Okay, now before we go anywhere let me introduce you to these guys. You’ve probably seen some of them around school so don’t be too alarmed,” Elise explained. Immediately she pointed to a tall boy on the left. He had dirty blond hair and was wearing a simple sky blue button-up shirt and khaki pants. “He’s named Lou,” Elise said. He only offered a half smile and brief wave.

Before Elise could point again, a shorter and more stout boy jumped out. He was wearing a white tee shirt with a design on it, light denim jeans, and a gray jacket. “Hey-o I’m Liam!” he shouted. Elise let out a defeated laugh.

Lastly, Elise pointed to a tall girl with brunette hair put up in a ponytail. She wore a white button-up shirt tucked into pink pants. “My name’s Layla,” she smiled. Aria blushed a bit at the sight of her.

“Alright, that’s over so -- oh yeah!” Elise started, then turned back to the three people, “that’s Aria, she’s my sister. I’m pretty sure you all knew that but hey,” She turned back to Aria, “Alright, you ready?”

Aria took a deep breath before saying, “Yeah, I suppose.” Elise smiled and gestured for her to follow the group.

The group walked down an alley into the direction of some woods. Elise and the three people chatted a bit, laughing occasionally, while Aria kept to herself, looking around the woods in slight fear. The darkness of the 3 AM sky and tall trees made it difficult to navigate the woods. Bits of moonlight snuck in through the tops of the trees, but it was not enough to light their way. Aria had no choice but to stay close to the group to stay safe.

Only a few minutes later, light could be seen on the ground, coming from a source other than the moon. Aria felt panic enter her as she assumed that another person was roaming the woods - at this hour. The group continued their walk to the light, Aria’s heart beating fast. She would have run, but she could not see her way back to the alley. The only option was to keep following and pray that she would be spared.

As they continued to the light source, it was becoming clearer that the light was not coming from a person; rather, it seemed to have been coming from some portal-like object. The chatting continued, but Aria still did not join in. She was far too confused to think about anything other than the portal. Suddenly, she could tell the group stopped.

“We made it!” Elise chimed.

“You mean to tell me you got me lost in the woods to show me some strange paranormal portal? As cool as it looks, I don’t think it’s worth getting stuck in the woods in the middle of the night,” Aria said angrily.

“Oh we’re not standing here to admire this thing,” Lou started, “we’re going in it.” The darkness hid Aria’s frightened expression. Before she could say anything, she felt one of the people grab her arm and pull her into the portal. She shut her eyes in hopes that this would all be over soon.

When Aria opened her eyes, she noticed that she was in a gray brick room with the rest of the group. A pool with only an inch of water laid beneath her. The only light source were two lit torches hanging on each side of the portal. A black gate stood at the front of the room. The movement of the water from the group stepping through it to the other side was the only source of noise for a few seconds.

“I know it must be a little surprising, but it’s important that you stay with us for a bit. At least until you get settled,” Skye assured Aria, calmness and warmth radiated from her.

“Alright let’s go already!” Liam yelled.

The group made their way through the black gate and into the world.

[kolmikavlson-blog]

task 001. character questionnaire

kol mikaelson

BASIC INFORMATION.

what is your name? 

“Kol Mikaelson. Pleasure to meet me, I know. Kol — that’s K-O-L, by the way — isn’t short for anything, though people often seem to think it is for some reason. Father named me, in one of his rare moments of being uncharacteristically domineering, and he once said that he chose my name because I was to be resilient and powerful like the coals of the fire that gave us life. I really only remember this because it’s the only conversation that I ever had with the man...I was four. Mother always used to say that Trouble is my middle name, but I believe you ought to draw your own conclusions about that.”

what is your birthdate?

“Well, seeing as I not only possess many gifts but am myself a gift, I’m inclined to think that my birthday is either on Christmas Day or very close to it, but I don’t know for sure. Datekeeping wasn’t exactly a priority among our people, which, coincidentally enough, explains a lot about my family’s various romantic entanglements over the years. Anyway, the point is that I was born during a very cold winter. Apparently, Mum thought that I wouldn’t make it, but if there’s two things we Mikaelsons are it’s hot blooded and bad at dying. Except for Rebekah, who’s about as cold-blooded as they come and Henrik, who’s done a pretty good job at staying dead until recently, actually...”

where were you born?

“It’s Virginia — an awful little one horse town called Mystic Falls, to be specific — now, but back then it was just called the New World or Our Village. My family had come over from Norway some several years prior, so we were Vikings through and through. Considering that the last time I was home, I burst into flames after some moronic brother-sister act drove a stake through my heart in their kitchen, it’s safe to say I won’t be planning a visit any time soon.”

what is your gender and sexuality? 

“I’m male; not much more to it than that. I come from a time where you didn’t really have the option to be anything except what you were born as and even as things changed, I never felt the need to change myself. As for my sexuality, I’ve preferred the company of women over the years, but have found that this face works on just about everyone.”

are you a supernatural being? 

“My family and I are the first vampires in history. We’re the oldest, strongest, fastest and most powerful of our kind. Every vampire in the world exists because of us, and it’s only by our grace that they remain alive seeing as we could tear the heads off every last one of them and still have time for a bourbon before the bar closes. It seems young vampires — especially the local ones — often forget that, but, then, they’re foolish and arrogant. We take no issue with reminding them just who is responsible for their tedious little lives.”  

PERSONALITY.

what are your personality types? (zodiac? mbti? enneagram? animal type? moral alignment? temperament? cardinal sin/virtue?)

“I’ve just got the one personality, actually, and the type is spectacular.” He’s a Capricorn, ENTP-T, type 3, rhino, chaotic neutral, choleric, cardinal sin is pride and cardinal virtue is fortitude YOU’RE WELCOME!!!

what is your default demeanor? 

“It’s been said that I’m unsettlingly jocund for being a complete psychopath which is just bunkum if you ask me. First of all, I’m not a complete psychopath and second of all, I prefer to think of myself as witty or endearingly ludic. I’m usually a lively one, but these days I have my more tranquil moments. It’s probably all the bourbon i’ve been drinking.”

how are you intelligent? 

“School wasn’t really a thing when I was a child, but I learned how to read and write. Mother also taught me a lot about magic growing up as I was a witch and she thought giving me something to do would calm me down — it didn’t, but I loved the magic and I still do, really. I traveled the world for a few centuries after I was turned and studied just about every kind of witchcraft there is. I could give my sister, aunt, and mother a run for their money all at the same time with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back. I wouldn’t even have to try very hard. I’m also quite fond of being sensible although — and don’t tell Elijah I admitted to this please — I tend to be rather impulsive on occasion. That just makes me all the more fun to be around, though, don’t you think? What am I gonna do next? What unbridled brilliance is about to come out of my mouth? Who knows? I don’t even know. I’m like a sentient cereal box and you never know what prize you’re going to get.”

how confident are you?

“Supposedly my ego can be a little much, but that’s a necessary evil if you ask me. My confidence, charm, smarts, good looks, skills, charisma, humor, and roguish yet inexplicably endearing disposition carry this family. Honestly, what would the Mikaelsons have without me? The answer is none of those things — especially not humor. I love my brothers and sisters, but let’s face it: they’re rough. I’m the star of this supernatural three-ring circus and that just so happens to require a certain level of self-assurance and finesse. Is it difficult? Sure. it demanding? Of course. Is it a burden? Sometimes, yes. But, what other choice do I have?”

what do you believe in? 

“I’ve been called superstitious before, but I prefer to think of myself as sensible and open-minded. I’ve been on this planet for a thousand years and in that time I’ve been a witch, a vampire, a ghost, a witch in someone else’s body, an ancestral spirit, and now I’m a vampire again, so I’ve seen things and it’s difficult to believe that anything would truly be impossible — especially with knowing all I know about magic. Over the course of my first life as a witch, I was taught that we were servants of nature, which had been created from the flesh and bone of Ymir the frost giant after he’d been killed by the sons of Bor — sounds like complete hogwash to people these days, but I never questioned it. I still don’t, but it’s not like I go around sacrificing deer and little bunny rabbits to appease the gods. I’ve traveled with a lot of cults, covens, and vampires nearly as old as me over my lifetimes, and most of them were almost frighteningly firm in their personal convictions. I’ve heard lots of legends, fairytales, and scary stories that may or may not have a modicum of truth to them and seriously contemplated just about all of them — but, I don’t think I’ve ever believed in anything, nor could I ever believe in anything else quite like I believe in Davina Claire. Every time, no matter what, my money is on her although if you ask me, that’s just smart thinking. She died. For good. Her soul was destroyed and who even knows what happened to her after that and yet she’s here. I pity anyone who’d be foolish enough to earn her ire.”  

PHYSICALITY.

how do you dress? 

“I think it’s pretty obvious that over the last millennium I’ve really cemented my status as The Best Dressed Original. People occasionally mistake that title for belonging to Elijah, which just baffles me because, honestly, look at him. He’s trying way too hard. Nik doesn’t try at all, and Rebekah and Freya dress fine, but look at me: style, class, elegance, casual yet undeniable roguish sex appeal and I wear a watch. I also have a daylight ring — lapis lazuli, spelled by the talented Miss Davina Claire. I always wear it because not only do I look great in blue, but it’s been my experience that nothing can ruin a day quite like bursting into flames at the worst possible moment.”

how do you carry yourself? 

“I have excellent posture, but I’m not Elijah stiff — admittedly one of my less impressive feats since it’s also been accomplished by every telephone pole, concrete wall, and wooden board that’s ever existed, but one I’m proud of nonetheless. I tend not to take up too much space unless I’m doing it intentionally to annoy someone — probably Rebekah — but, for the most part, growing up in a little hut along with five of my siblings did wonders for teaching me the values of keeping to myself. That’s also why I don’t particularly care for being touched; an entire childhood of my brothers putting their grubby little hands all over me whenever they felt like it didn’t quite endear me to random, unwelcome touches. So, really, my goal is to carry myself as someone who you wouldn’t touch without asking, but who you’d also be afraid to ask anyway.”

do you have any physical or verbal tics? 

“Well, Davina always knows when I’m lying — it’s a little creepy, actually — but I don’t know how she does it. I’ve been told that I’m too chatty, but I think it’s part of my charm. It’s not like I just jibber jabber without purpose. I can’t help that I always have something brilliant and interesting to say. Oh, and apparently my siblings and I have picked up some similar mannerisms over the years, which I suppose makes sense.You can’t spend a millennium with the same few people and not expect to pick up a few things from one another, right?”

how physical are you with others? 

“I don’t like being touched — especially not by strangers — and will happily rip off an appendage that creeps too far into my personal space for comfort.”

HUMAN CONNECTION.

how do you think strangers perceive you?

“I’m a Mikaelson and an Original, so it’s usually in a stranger’s — or anyone’s — best interest to tread carefully and refrain from testing the limits of my restraint. I’m supposed to be on my best behavior these days, but I’ll be damned if some of the insolent sods I’ve crossed paths with recently haven’t made a strong case for why I should try and justify their decapitation to my disapproving girlfriend.”

how do your friends see you? 

“Most of them don’t see me at all because they’re dead, but if they could see me then I imagine they’d tell me to ask those moronic Gilberts if murdering me — and them, by default  — was worth finding that silly cure and making their pathetic lives that much easier to end. Or perhaps they’d tell me to torture them; make them suffer for what they did to us. Surely with the Gilbert’s staunch devotion to their friends, they’d see why I couldn’t deny mine the indulgence of revenge for their untimely, unfair and pointless demises.”

what is your relationship with your parents like? 

“...Oh wow, you’re serious. Well, okay then. First of all, it’s very safe to say that Dear Old Dad wasn’t nicknamed Mikael The Destroyer because he loved cuddles and fuzzy little woodland creatures so much. All I really remember about him from when I was growing up is that he had a terrible temper and spent a lot of time beating the living daylights out of Niklaus. He never paid me much attention but I was terrified of him so I didn’t mind. I spent more time with Mother since she taught me magic. I think she loved me once, but we were never exactly close and Finn was her favorite son anyway, which tells you everything you need to know about how truly awful she could be. It was nice of her to bring me back from the dead, but then she started pestering me and using me like I was her puppet, because, what? That’s proven so effective in the past? She was a brilliant witch, probably the best I’ve ever known, but she didn’t know me at all. There was also the matter of her attempting to kill my siblings and I more than once, but, eh. If we Mikaelsons went around hating every relative who’s tried murdering us just for that reason alone, then none of us would be on speaking terms right now. Anyway, about Mother and Father, they’re dead — in a shocking and totally unexpected turn of events, Niklaus murdered them again. Honestly? I don’t miss ’em much.”

do you have any siblings? 

“No, I’m actually an only child.”

what do you look for in a romantic relationship? 

“Romantic is a very...strong word for any of my past...entanglements. What I used to look for were pretty little witches who I could manipulate into doing my bidding. And blood. And sex. There was never more to it than that for me before Davina. She changed everything as she tends to do and now I suppose we’re dating. Or maybe not? Dating might not be the right word; weird situation. We’re together, I think, but there’s more to it than dating and a little less to it than, you know, marriage. We’re not married — though I did consider trying to pull one over on Marcellus a few days ago by pretending we were, but ultimately I decided that she and I have spent enough time apart and that dying for good would really ruin the April Fool’s joke. Dying’s only funny when it’s happening to someone who isn’t me. Or Davina. Ah — Jeremy Gilbert! I’d laugh if he died; especially if I was the one who killed him.”

who are the most important people in your life? 

“Davina is the most important person to me. My family’s important, too, but if Nik or any of them think that they’re ever going to use her again to clean up one of their messes then they’ve got another thing coming and that thing is my fist. I know she can take care of herself, but it doesn’t stop me from being...overprotective might be the word, but I resent how Elijah it sounds — mostly because if Elijah even looks at her the wrong way, I’ll happily gouge his eyeballs out with his own cufflinks.”

BACKSTORY.

if your life were a work of fiction, what would your role be? 

“Despite the great pains my family has taken over the years to paint me as a villain or enemy of our family, I don’t think of myself that way. So what if I acted a little dodgy while everyone was going bonkers over their imbecilic treasure hunt for that damned cure? Rebekah’s slight personal discomfort was not worth bringing about the end of days so yeah, I threatened to stake her and I’d do it again if necessary. I do what’s best for me because no one else will, so if you’re not Davina Claire then you’re fair game and I’m not sorry about it. That doesn’t make me the bad guy; it makes me sensible.”

which events shaped your life? 

“Hm. Long life. There’s a lot I could say, but is it really necessary? We’ve already gone over just about everything. Original Vampire, loony family, very much in love, extremely handsome, murdered repeatedly. Am I a far more interesting, nuanced, and enticingly complex individual than that brief summary might suggest? Absolutely, which means I haven’t got the time to be repeating myself whilst discussing the finer details of my millennium that I’ve spent gallivanting around this godforsaken rock. You’ll just have to wait for the tell-all book.”

what is your most cherished memory? 

“Something with Davina; maybe the first time I saw her or the night we spent together right after she basically dragged me out of Hell, which is coincidentally where everything went to immediately afterward. Still, it reminded me of why I wanted to be alive so badly in the first place. I wanted to be happy with her.”

which memory keeps you up at night?

“Also something with Davina...that I don’t like to talk about.”

what are your goals for the future? 

“Being with Davina, not dying, spending time with my niece and defending my family. Shoving the rotting, decapitated corpses of Elena Gilbert and her annoying little brother into a dumpster where they belong might also be a good time, but I’d settle for a dark alleyway or nice, deep body of water as well.”

PREFERENCES.

what is your taste in music? 

“I’m quite fond of music, actually. I’ve been catching up on the recent decades that I’ve missed out on and while there’s certainly no shortage of complete tommyrot, I’ve managed to find a few gems in all of the rubbish. I’m particularly fond of jazz or anything that you can dance to, really, but I also like some heavier stuff.”

what is your taste in film? 

“Seeing as I was asleep in a coffin for nearly a century, then murdered, then resurrected, then murdered again, the resurrected again, then put into a deep sleep for fifteen years to keep me from being murdered again, I haven’t really had much time to get acquainted with films and television, but I’ve heard they’re both just a waste of time anyway. I would like to see that one film with the Viking kids and the dragons, though, just to point out any historical inaccuracies...aside from the dragons, I mean, because at least that’s an amusing historical inaccuracy.”

what is your taste in literature? 

“I do have quite the collection of grimoires and other books on magic, but never really bothered with diving too deeply into novels or magazines or — ugh — poetry. There’s only so many hours in the day, you know?”

what are your favourite hobbies or activities? 

“Listening to music and studying magic are my oldest hobbies, but I have other interests. Baseball...murder...the occasional nap. I hate to be bored, so anything that keeps me entertained is usually preferable to doing nothing.”  

this or that: sweet or salty? quiet or loud? midnight or daybreak? cats or dogs? hot or cold? big party or small gathering? bath or shower? amusement park or art exhibit? ocean or mountains? pen or pencil? passenger or driver? cake or pie? leather or lace?

“Let’s see, in order...both, I like it loud, midnight, cats, cold, big party, depends on who’s joining me, neither, mountains, pen, driver, blood, and either so long as Davina’s wearing it.”

SUPERNATURAL.

how did you find out about supernatural forces? 

“I was born a witch in a village full of werewolves, so supernatural has always been about the norm for yours truly.”

how do you feel about your powers? 

“I hated them at first. I’d been a witch — a powerful one, at that — but then I was turned and suddenly had nothing. I mean, I had other powers, but I always missed the rush of practicing magic. I spent the better part of a millennium chasing after that feeling and trying to get it in other ways, but nothing quite did it for me. I was actually glad when mother decided to shove my soul into some nearly useless witch body even though it meant that I was stuck with her and Finn, who had gone completely bonkers at this point, by the way. Then I was murdered — by a pathetic little hex, of all things — and it was...enlightening, I guess. I’d missed my actual body anyway, but after dying from a silly little spell, I couldn’t help but really want my durable, familiar, immortal original body back. At least nothing could kill me as a vampire — well, I mean, obviously something did kill me at one point, but there’s not supposedly not a single splinter of White Oak left in the whole world nowadays. The only thing that kill me now is Marcellus, and while I’m not about to push my luck, I highly doubt he’s going to before Niklaus bullies him into running back across the river with his little werewolf tail between his legs. I like being immortal and thinking about all the trouble that magic has caused me — and people that I really care about — in recent years makes it difficult to remember why I ever used to complain about being a vampire, especially seeing as I’m one of the most powerful vampires who’s ever existed and I can mostly control myself nowadays.”

how do you feel about species other than your own?

“Young vampires — and werewolves, witches, humans...everyone, really...is just so arrogant and misguided these days. Their blind hedonism is loud and frustrating. Regardless, I do have a certain fondness and respect for witches, though the affection is rarely returned. I’ve never really liked werewolves seeing as their kind killed my younger brother — not to mention that I never much cared for dogs anyway — but Hope and Hayley are the exceptions; not Nik, though. I don’t like him most of the time and he’s a prick.”

if you could, would you re-start with a mundane human life?

“Humans are fragile and they die, so no.”

WILDCARDS.

what would one find in your car, in your garbage can, on your nightstand?

“Trash, more trash...a book, maybe, but also some more trash...my phone, and probably a blood bag or two.”

who was your first crush? what attracted you to them?

*imagine a nostalgic dreamy sigh here ok* “Tatia Petrova, the most beautiful woman in our whole village and the B.D. — Before Davina — love of my life. It’s a tragic story. We wanted each other desperately, but she was afraid of her feelings for me so she tried to hide them and even went so far as to settle for my brother...then my other brother. Then she died, which I can only assume is what happens when you fall that deeply into a pit of denial and despair like she did after it became clear that we could never be.”

where do you find yourself dwelling the most: the past, the present or the future?

“These days it’s probably the past, but I suspect that Davina would like to have a future talk at some point — which I’m not really sure that I’m looking forward to, if I’m being honest — but I imagine it’ll at least switch things up for a change.”

is it okay for you to cry? when was the last time you cried?

“Father used to insist that men don’t cry, but I don’t think you can help it sometimes. In fact, I know you can’t. I have nightmares — ugly things. They tend to get loud.”

what is the worst thing that can be done to a person?

“They could die. Obviously.”

what is your deepest, most well-hidden kink?

“It’s not really hidden, but we vampires tend to have a...penchant for bloodsharing. What can I say? It’s a turn on.”

[anxiousavenue]

When your internal processing breaks

Some context before I break into stream of consciousness: It’s July 11th. In the past month I have gone to Brazil with Adam and Anastasia, spent a few days in DC with Adam and Chandini, and come to Fire Island (and went out with Satya).

I’m just, honestly, sad. Confused. Stressed. There is so much running through my mind, and it all seems so disorganized, which stresses me out more- I want to see the themes here, I want to extract some meaning from the jumbled mess inside my brain, but it’s too confusing- I can’t see it when it’s in this tornado form that sucks away thoughts and emotions into a black hole. Like I’m thinking things, feeling things, and then can’t remember or trace back the thoughts and feelings to come to some summary or conclusion of what I’m thinking or feeling- like it’s gone forever. I don’t know if this is a memory problem, or if I just don’t know how to adequately process my thoughts and emotions to a point where I can analyze them after the fact.. I can barely analyze them during the fact. And losing the memory of these emotions, or how they feel, feels like losing some kind of insight into what the actual problem is.. And then I’m left later, struggling to remember, to put all the pieces together. And then it comes together like an unfinished picture, and I have to fill in the gaps myself, and hope that I can then express it in a way that makes sense to someone else even though I can see the gaps in logic coming from a mile away. When I go to explain it, I know it doesn’t make sense. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good reason for feeling the way I felt in the moment. It honestly really upsets me, and makes me sad. Which is an oversimplification, but true nonetheless.

Throughout all of Brazil (on at least 7 out of the 10 days I was there), I had potentially the worst anxiety I’ve ever felt in my 22+ years of life. I felt like my brain wasn’t all there- it was the least mindful, least present I’ve ever been. I had a weight on my chest that just felt like a rock dragging me underwater, like even if I opened my mouth I couldn’t get any sound to come out. I further had zero energy- and I used what little energy I had to force myself to appear sentient and at least physically present, to not alert suspicion that something was wrong- or to at least not hold anyone back from doing things they wanted to do. I tried my best to be invisible, so as to not ruin anyone’s time- I didn’t want to complain about how I was tired, or how I felt like I wanted to stay in bed all day- but at the same time, I also knew I was acting weird and that they would know something was wrong. So at the end of the day, I really just wanted to stay out of everyone’s way, and silently go along with whatever they decided, because at least they were doing things they wanted to do. And it’s not like I genuinely wanted to stay at home in bed either, otherwise I don’t doubt that I could have. I still wanted to go out and explore etc., I just really didn’t have the energy to do it. But still, I went, and I’m happy I did because I really enjoyed everything we did- bike riding through the park at Ibirapuera, going to all the art museums, bakeries, walking through the busy market streets, going to a Festa Joanina and watching the traditional dance they do (and inadvertently seeing a proposal, between 17 year olds).. It was all really, inherently fun. I just happened to feel like crap the whole time.

It was kind of this weird cycle, I think, where I felt anxious, so I didn’t really have the energy to talk or participate in the conversation... and at the same time, the conversation 90% of the time wasn’t something I could even contribute to, and that was perpetuated because I wasn’t talking anyway.. which then made me even more anxious, because of my fear that I’m unmemorable, unimportant, or have nothing to contribute... And again, it had materialized before my eyes. Throughout the whole trip, I felt very unimportant, extraneous, expendable.. Like I shouldn’t have come on this trip, the whole thing would’ve been better without me. Maybe I should just go home, but then not really wanting to do that, either. There was this insane cognitive dissonance going on, on at least 10 different levels, which made it very difficult to parse through then (and now).. Because at the same time, I also knew that me feeling badly and acting this way was putting a damper on their trip, but I figured staying silent about it and trying to blend into the background would at least not actively change anyone’s plans or ruin anything, so at least they could still do what they wanted. Then after I talked to Adam about it, it turns out that he probably felt even worse that I wasn’t feeling good and that I wouldn’t talk about it, because he wanted me to have fun, too.. And I tried to tell him, don’t worry about me, I am having fun... Which I guess didn’t help much, because it didn’t lead him to anything he could do about it. And he was perfectly willing to do something to help, it would have made him happy, even, to know that he helped. 

Anyway. From all of this I have learned: 1) I should speak up and say the things I want, and not feel like a burden 2) I worry about being a burden to other people when I’m not even being burdensome. I willingly suffer without even trying any alternative, because I make the assumption that any alternative would be a burden on other people. This part I kind of knew already, though: I would rather suffer than have other people suffer. I never knew the underlying reason for why I thought this, but I do know that I use it as a subconscious guideline for basically every decision I make.

Now, my other issue, which is arguably even more complicated, comes in with Satya’s insistence that I feel something more for Adam than just friendship- which, while I don’t disagree, is really hard for me to figure out and understand, or explain in a way that is framed correctly. Basically, I don’t think I like Adam in any sort of romantic/sexual way, but I definitely care about him and want his attention more than any regular person (or even more than any of my other best friends). I crave his validation for some reason, and even when he tries to validate me, it never feels like enough. Sometimes I think it could just be the way he’s doing it- verbally, but never the exact words I wish he would say (like, when I say “I love you” and he doesn’t say “I love you, too”)... And then, there was the time that I had to literally be completely wasted (and in danger) for him to tell me that I’m his best friend. And I was happy about it, I was really happy that he acknowledged that I’m his best friend. (I’m sure I didn’t hide this very well, since I was drunk and kind of felt my face twist into a half-smile before controlling it and going back to arguing. But maybe he’ll forget about that).

I do also sometimes wish he would give me more physical affection, to indicate in some way that I’m important to him and he cares about me- and in this way, I was DEFINITELY jealous of Anastasia on this trip, because he is so much more comfortable being physically affectionate with her (since she is also much more physically affectionate with him, naturally, and he mirrors behavior).. Which then would mean, if I started initiating the physical contact, he would reciprocate.. And maybe he would, but I’m not super comfortable initiating it either, because I’m not sure at what level he’s comfortable with me, and I also don’t want to give him the idea that I still like him. But then, I would be comfortable with a much higher level of physical affection, but because of this “mirroring” problem, and that I won’t initiate it, I’m never going to get it. So especially on this trip, where I had to watch him and Anastasia dancing, cuddling, etc., and wanting that same level and not getting it... I felt very unimportant and discarded. Leading me to the point that I’ve also recently been questioning why he’s friends with me, what I could possibly have to offer him. Mostly in terms of intellectual stimulation, I guess, because I feel like I’m less intelligent or that I just can’t challenge him intellectually as much as I’d like to be able to. But without the reassurance, whether it’s physical or verbal, my mind comes up blank. I can’t think of any concrete reasons why he would be friends with me, and I don’t think he could come up with any either. And then I feel guilty about even mildly blaming him for that, because if I asked myself why I’m friends with half of my friends, I couldn’t come up with concrete reasons either. I like who they are as people, and I like spending time with them. And I suppose those are the reasons why Adam is friends with me, too. But for some reason, it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Side note: On this Brazil trip, we did a few different life talk-type conversations, and some things that stood out are as follows: 1) Adam wishes that people knew that he is capable of caring and investing emotionally in people, and to not just assume that he can’t. 2) Adam assumes that the “fatal flaw” in his future life partner will be emotional volatility, because he secretly (or not-so-secretly) craves the blow up fights. 3) Adam has a personal issue where he’s not really sure what his own personality is, and he feels like he just puts on a different face depending on who he’s with (so he never knows when he’s actually being genuine)... This, again, ties into his mirroring problem.

Another life question he’s been grappling with lately is how people derive meaning in their lives; there must be some balance in meaning between the day-to-day, the career more broadly, and personal life.. And what he’s noticed is that most people tend to derive the most meaning out of their personal life, and he feels like he’s mostly focused on deriving meaning out of his overarching career aspirations. Also, he doesn’t think anyone derives any meaning out of their day-to-day- everyone basically hates it, because working is terrible, and the only people who “like working” have just convinced themselves that they have to do it, so they might as well enjoy what they’re doing. Just thought that was worth noting, it’s an interesting concept. I think, as much as I’d try to derive meaning out of my career and feel driven by the importance of what I’m doing, my personal life will still give me the most meaning- by having and maintaining my friendships, whether I’m in a steady relationship or not, staying close (emotionally) with my family. I think that’s the only thing that could give me day-to-day meaning, since the day-to-day of my job doesn’t give any meaning that’s accessible. And having a meaningful career is only accessible in retrospect, once you’ve reached a certain point in your career that you can say your work is making a meaningful contribution to your field... But who can wait 20 years to feel like their lives are meaningful? It sounds like a recipe for disaster- the only other option is to replace that meaning with your personal life, right?

[luminousvision]

profundity

Maybe I'm bored of thought, or maybe I'm just out of thoughts that hold magic. Either way, ideas have simply lost their luster. Ideas are fundamental to purposeful existence, and I still believe that, but no matter how grand the implications, I'm bored by the very fact that these implications never change. Ideas accumulate as schools of thought that may conflict with one another, but ultimately settle together in the mind and eventually fill up the universe of abstract thought. After that point, ideas cease to be innovative. Profound or mundane, ideas eventually crystallize and settle in stasis. So what's the point?

If you stare at them long enough, ideas start to all look the same. The similarities trivialize the differences. It has come to the point where I feel like I spend most of my time going around in circles. Philosophy is just one big loop. And once you've gone full circle about twice, there's no fun in going around again.

I fell in love with ideas initially as a mere consumer of them. I suppose that's how we all start. We take the ideas that the world throws at us, whittle them down to what we hold dear and believe correct, and we act upon them. I had a lot of fun consuming ideas. In fact, I was pretty close to delusional about it, but even in retrospect, I'm okay with that. I grew my thirst for philosophical knowledge by believing in my principles far more than I ought to.

Just imagine: how magnificent do you think it would be if you knew unknowable philosophical truths? Well, just pretend you do for a month. It's a lot of fun.

And then at some point I said, well, I'm done with that. But there was nothing after the delusion that I found interesting. In my boredom I matured into a collector rather than a consumer of ideas. I felt like I accepted the job of museum curator in my constantly expanding exhibition of ideas. I collect, examine, and maintain, but as you might imagine, museum curators are not exactly fascinated by the objects they manage regardless of how amazing and exotic they might have once seemed.

Admittedly, I can't say I'm trying as hard as possible to expand my horizon of ideas, but I'm not entirely secluded from the world either. For example, I'm in the bad habit of reading the news, usually the New York Times. I spend at least half an hour a day reading online, and peruse nearly every substantive article that they publish. I've been doing it for about a year now, and after awhile I realized that they almost never produce ideas. What they call analysis reaches conclusions that anyone with a functional brain would arrive at if they possessed any knowledge of current events and history. Everything else is regurgitating the same ideas over and over again. Well, not everything. I find something worthwhile once every few months at best.

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/12/17/opinion/sunday/arguing-the-truth-with-trump-and-putin.html

This one was good (shame that she isn't a regular contributor to the NYTimes--could use more intelligent people like her there). She made some headway into precisely describing the patterns of journalistic chaos that has engulfed the public and intellectuals alike in recent months. The author should have taken the next step and explained the current behavior as predictable knee-jerk reactions from journalists and thereby justify a stronger and more concrete call to action. Nonetheless, I liked this article because she looked at the bigger picture at a time when I, along with many others were in the weeds moving from one story to the next. Nobody else had done it, precisely because of the reasons she put forth in her article--we were all bogged down with the basics and so engrossed with getting that stuff right that we collectively never made it to the point.

The ideas presented in the article are far too concrete and localized in time to have any philosophical relevance, but I brought it up to illustrate the rarity of truly new and innovative ideas. Ask yourself, what's new in politics? Not much, really. People will be people. Even at an abstracted level, there’s not much new there either. Societies will still be societies. Analyze history and current events all you want, but good luck finding something actually new.

I know I'm just dismissing thousands, perhaps millions, of intellectuals and avid thinkers who find purpose and satisfaction in examining humanity, past, present, and abstracted. I'm sure they have lived, or are living wonderful lives, but I just don't get how they can sustain the profundity in the ideas they find. Profundity is boring, don't they see? The very act of collecting, examining, challenging, and curating the best of human intellect inevitably renders it commonplace. The sad fate seems embedded in human nature, or maybe even fundamental to intelligent consciousness itself.

When I think of people who still truly and intrinsically enjoy the ideas they carry, most of the time I see an immature thinker who hasn't chewed on her ideas long enough to get bored of them. In the rest, I see an intellectual stifled by some creative counter-force like egotism, sentimentality, artistic obsession, among others. It is as though they manage to put their love for ideas in a partial coma to stall the progression of precise and rational thought for as long as possible. They do it simply to preserve the profundity in our ideas so we can savor them. I know why this because that's exactly what I did for myself.

Considering my level of immaturity from just a few years ago, I can't realistically argue that I've completely left it behind. In fact, I'm hoping that, even today, it's my own immaturity that leaves me so cynical, whether that immaturity stems from lack of thought or a paucity of worldly experience. I'm just running off my best reasoning. And rationally, it seems really stupid to stare in amazement at abstract concepts that are big but not so profound that they keep growing. When ideas progress in a straight line, the universe seems infinite, but as we grow up and see ideas bend, curve, and eventually come back full circle, how can we not feel like the world is small?

We are small. And I'm okay with learning to live in our own smallness. But given such a starting point, I feel foolish salivating at the profundity of ideas slightly less small. The entire exercise of intellectual thought serves to try to escape the myopic view of the individual life and generalize it across humanity, but if humanity itself is going around in a small philosophical circle, then how can I learn to love our ideas?

[inkandpen22]

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (10/10) Caspian Version

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Female!Reader/ Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader

Warnings: emotional ending but happy!

Word Count: 2.6k

Part Summary: As the Pevensies time in Narnia comes to an end, Y/N must decide. There isn’t just one question that needs to be answered... who will Y/N pick? Will Y/N really consider staying in Narnia? 

A/N: And with that one of my first series comes to an end... it’s both exciting yet sad at the same time as I’ve had so much fun writing it. Thank you to everyone who’s followed the series! I appreciate you so much! Be warned, you bet I cried a little writing this! It’s so bitter-sweet! 

Masterlist 

The whole Talmarine kingdom, as well as Narnians, have gathered in the courtyard for the ceremony. Aslan has made the decision to allow some Talmarines to leave Narnia if they choose. Apparently, Talmarines are like the Pevensies and myself I suppose, they're from our world. They traveled to Narnia centuries ago by accident and made a home here. Caspian speaks to his people with such ease as he encourages them to consider the offer. He's a natural-born leader. He's meant to be Narnia's future king. As I come to this conclusion, I take Peter's hand beside me. He glances down at me, having not expected the action. Nonetheless, he gives my hand a comforting squeeze and offers me a gentle smile of reassurance.

General Glozelle and Miraz's wife, Prunaprismia, volunteer first with her baby. In honor of their bravery, Aslan blesses them with a good future. The pair walk toward the tree that Aslan has made part in half. Everyone watches in awe the General and former Queen disappear in a blink. My lips part in astonishment. I don't think I'll ever get used to magic. Gasps fall across the crowd and people begin to question Aslan's intentions. They fear this is all a trick.

Peter slips his hand from mine and steps forward. "We'll go," he volunteers us.

"We Edmund frowns, sharing my expression.

"Wait, what?" I express rather rashly.

In my defense, it's justified. Peter never asked for my opinion. He's deciding for me. Aslan... Aslan made it out to seem as though I had a choice, as though we all would have at least some more time here.

"Come on. Our time's up," Peter tells me solemnly, but an ounce of hope lingers in his tone. "After all... we're not really needed here anymore," he determines while approaching Caspian to offer him his sword.

"I will look after it until you return," Caspian assures Peter confidently.

"I'm afraid that's just it," Susan interjects beside me. "We're not coming back."

"We're not?" Lucy pouts with concern.

"You two are," Peter predicts, glancing between Aslan and his youngest sister. "At least, I think he means you two."

"But why?" Lucy struggles to comprehend the purpose behind this news, as do I. "Did they do something wrong?"

"Quite the opposite, Dear One," Aslan voices. "Your brother and sister have learned what they can from this world. Now it's time for them to live on their own." Aslan comforts each of us with his wisdom.

Though, frankly, I'm finding it hard to swallow this harsh pill. But all things have their time.

"It's all right, Lu," Peter tries to ease Lucy's mind as he takes her hand gently. "It's not how I thought it would be...but it's all right."

Peter directs his attention to me and holds out his free hand for me to take. "One day you'll see, too. Come on."

He offers me a weak smile, not one that shows genuine happiness, but contentment. I ease my hand out to glide it into his, but something stops me. A feeling in my chest telling me not to settle as Peter as with his decision. I shift my head toward Aslan to ask the lion directly. "And what about me?"

My patience is growing thin. All this back-and-forth yet I haven't heard a concrete answer about where I belong. Aslan is constantly confusing me with his tricky wording. One minute he makes me believe that finding him wasn't my purpose for coming here and the next he's telling Peter that his time here is over. I belong where Peter is, I always have. If his purpose is in our world... then so is mine. Then, does that mean I'm like Edmund and Lucy? Am I destined to return in the future? How far in the future? Narnian time is different from ours, who knows how many years will pass before we're here again. It could be another thousand years in Narnian time.

"Your course is not as clear-cut as theirs," Aslan states with uncertainty. "You still have much to learn from here, as do Edmund and Lucy. Going back means one day, you will return, as will they."

"So I am to go back," I hope to clarify.

All I want is an answer, to know my path.

"Returning to your world will bring you back here someday, yes, that is a course you may take," Aslan nods calmly.

So, after all this time, after all the back-and-forth, Aslan is guiding me toward Peter. He made it sound as though I had to make this life-altering decision. The first few days we were here, I would've given anything to go back home. I never wanted to be in Narnia. Now that I have my chance to get out and everyone is rushing me out the door, I'm digging my heels into the dirt begging for a moment's pause. All this time Aslan has been pressing me to make a decision, why do I feel as though he's making it for me? It's suffocating.

I glance between Aslan and Peter nervously. Aslan wears his usual gentle and patient smile while Peter is confused with furrowed brows. His hand remains out to me, lingering for mine to join it. I whip my head around and my eyes land on Caspian. His features fall as he comes to terms with my departure. I approach the future King solemnly. All I can keep thinking is 'more time! More time! If only we had more time!' I can't visualize who the 'we' is exactly. When I say it, all I can think of is the riverbank in the forest. I see myself lying beside the river in the plush green, flower-covered, grass. The warmth of the golden sun scatters over my skin. I spent time with both Peter and Caspian there. What I would give to return to those moments. Whether I'm hoping it's with Peter or Caspian, I can't see. Each of them matters to me, on what level I can't decide.

"I'm glad I came," I tell Caspian whole-heartedly.

"I wish we had more time together," the prince sighs, taking my hands in his.

His hands are warm. Mine are always cold. I never noticed that before now. I'll miss that.

"I'm not entirely sure I belong here," I confess timidly, still unsure of my thoughts and Aslan's advice.

"Why not?" Caspian frowns as if my words are nonsense.

"I’m not of this world and if the Pevensies are 1,300 years older than you so am I," I shrug with a hint of a smile as I comprehend how old I am.

I'm not a Narnian or a monarch of Narnia. Aslan said I was meant to come here with the Pevensies, but our time is up and I've yet to find this purpose he speaks so much about.

Caspian expresses a faint smile, amused by my humor, but too solemn to fully be happy. Both of us pull the other into an embrace. The words continue to repeat in my mind. 'More time! More time! If only we had more time!' I feel as though I'm standing on the edge of the cliff overlooking a deep trench and I'm stuck wondering whether I should jump. Caspian and I part from one another. It's painful. I feel safe with him, more secure and understood than I ever have before. I don't want to let go, but at the same time, I'm yearning to cling to Peter.

Peter meets me halfway and wraps an arm around my waist, leading me toward the tree trunk. The Pevenesies begin toward the tree as well, ready to go on.

"It’ll be okay," Peter whispers in my ear as he brings me into his side.

I feel safe here with him. Peter is home for me. For years, he's been my rock, my strength. Through the war, losing my dad, through all the bad, Peter has been my guiding light.

He continues to comfort me. "Everything will be as if we-"

"Peter, no wait... " I shake my head as my steps come to a halt.

It takes a second for Peter to react. He comes to a halt a few steps ahead of me. Turning over his shoulder, he gives me a confused look.

"I can’t go back," I voice, but my volume is weak.

"What do you mean?" He frowns.

"I... I think I’m still needed here..." I stammer with uncertainty. "At least... At least that’s what I think Aslan means. He speaks like a fortune teller and it’s confusing!"

Peter switches his now crossed expression from me to the lion. "Aslan, is that true?"

"Y/N’s future is not set in stone as your four’s is in history. She has known that she has to decide her course of action for some time. The clock is dwindling," Aslan explains steadily.

Lucy steps forward from behind Peter. "You mean you have to stay here?"

"It means I have a choice, staying here or coming again later. I’m assuming the next time will be with you and Edmund. Either way, I’m needed here. I just know it." I try to explain, but how do I explain a feeling?

"Neither choice is wrong," Aslan injects as he moves to stand beside Peter and me. "Going back to your world would mean you would return with Edmund and Lucy. After that, your life will be as you've always envisioned with who you envisioned. Staying here would be as you've envisioned as well," Aslan explains, giving me a knowing look. "You will prosper in both worlds, in whichever you decide."  

Does Aslan know that I haven't been able to stop thinking about the riverbank? Is that what he's referring to? Does he mean that if I stay in Narnia I'll be with Caspian? If I return to England Peter and I will be together? Choosing a world also means choosing between Peter and Caspian.

"But why?" Lucy pouts.

"I don’t know," I struggle to say as my eyes begin to well up.  

"I do," Peter voices.

"What?" I mutter.

"I didn’t understand it at first, but Aslan told me something earlier today. He said, ‘as much as we wish we could, sometimes we can’t choose who we love, the world chooses for us.’ You’re needed here. This is why you were brought here with us. When Caspian called for us with the horn, he unknowingly was calling to you as well."

I press my lips together as my throat becomes strained from holding back tears. "Peter I- "

"It’s okay," he assures me as his hand glides up to cup my cheek. "Everything is as it should be."

"If this is how it should be, why does it hurt so much?" I mutter, my tone shaky with emotion.

Peter shakes his head as his eyes become glossy. "It won’t forever. We’ll both grow and find that which we were destined to. I always thought we would find that together," he chuckles softly, it's bitter-sweet. "But this is right," he speaks with certainty.

"But I’ll never see you again," I comprehend the harsh reality of it all. "I... I don't want that! I can't imagine my life without you in it! You've always been there and I... haven't I lost enough people already? How many more goodbyes must I say?"

"We mustn’t think like that. One day we'll be together again!" Peter thinks optimistically.

This isn't fair. None of this is fair! In choosing Narnia, in choosing a different life for myself, I'm losing my best friend. I'm losing the one person who kept me going, who gave me a reason to survive.

"I love you," I cry.

Peter grins at my words, a faint and joyful chuckle escapes between his teeth. "And I’ve always loved you, perhaps I always will. We’ll never lose that, even across worlds."

I nod repeatedly, holding onto every syllable. I pray and hope, that he's right. Peter pulls me into his chest and I wrap my arms around him for dear life. I grip the fabric of his loose shirt in my fists. His hand cradles my head as he plants a kiss on my forehead.

Do the ones we love ever truly leave us? Is the memory of them strong enough to keep us going in their absence? I doubt a day will pass by where Peter doesn't cross my mind or any of the Pevensies for that matter.

Now that our time has officially run out, I say my goodbyes to each of the Pevensies. I'm not just saying goodbye to Peter's siblings, each of them has become family to me. Lucy and Susan cry with me as the three of us hug each other. Edmund does his best not to show emotion, but I can see behind his stone hard expression that he's holding back. His tight embrace is enough evidence as well.

When the moment comes for the Pevensies to return to London, I hold onto Peter's hand as I approach the tree with them. His siblings walk a step ahead as Peter walks backward to face me. Until the last second, we hold on.

"Someday," I nod, as though I'm making a promise that one day we'll see each other again.

He nods, agreeing to the vow. "Someday."

Our hands begin to slip as Peter backs away toward the cliff between the tree halves and my breath hitches in my throat. I stare into his sea-glass eyes and the seconds travel rapidly by. In a blink, he's gone, disappeared from my world.

A gasp escapes my lips at the sight. My arm falls to my side as tears glide down my cheeks. My heart sinks as reality hits me that I'll never see Peter ever again as long as we're alive. An arm wraps around my waist, supporting me. Caspian appears in my peripheral vision as my eyes remain locked on the open space beneath the tree.

"I've got you," he assures. "It’ll be okay."

I know..." I swallow hard, my face becomes blank other than the tears falling down my cheeks. "But for right now it's agony."

"This too shall pass. You did right by your heart today, be proud," Aslan encourages.

I glance toward the lion, "so I was right?"

"You were never wrong," he smiles.

"I can’t believe you stayed," Caspian confesses beside me.

I look at the boy with a sigh of relief. "I can't either, but it feels right," I smile softly.

Despite everything, the painful goodbye, the uncertainty, I know I'm where I'm meant to be now. I couldn't leave. I wasn't sure until Peter was guiding me to the tree. I would've done anything to stay.  

"Now we have all the time in the world!" Caspian gleams, over the moon.

Seeing him so happy eases my emotions. He's right, now we have all we could ever need, more time.

"That’s all I ever wanted," I grin.

His lips part as his eyes scan my face. Gently, his hand brushes across my cheek, and I lean into his touch as my eyes fall shut. Now, when I close my eyes and envision the riverbank, he's there beside me. It was him all this time.

"Y/N? My Love," he mutters.

"Hm?" I hum contently as my eyes flicker open to meet his jet-black ones.

"Marry me," he states with certainty and determination.

Bewildered, my eyes widen. Marry him?! Be...Become Queen of Narnia?! 

A sea of gasps and murmuring travel across the crowd. I shift my eyes to them, analyzing various faces. Then, I glance at Aslan. The lion narrows his eyes at me as he wears a soft smile. He wants me to make this decision for myself. He's certain I make it on my own. His words repeat in my mind, 'you were never wrong.' Is this the purpose he speaks of? Is this why I was called here? 

Destiny is a funny thing. 

Blinking rapidly, I inhale sharply and turn my attention back to Caspian who awaits my answer eagerly. He smiles brightly with raised brows. Our eyes meet and I decide instantly, perhaps I already knew my decision.

"Yes,” I answer without a moment’s hesitation. 

Caspian releases a sigh of relief, his grin never fading. In a moment of impulse, I extend my neck and bring my lips to his. My fingers glide to the back of his neck, bringing him in closer. He deepens the kiss as he cups my face urgently. I smile into the kiss and he does the same, both of us over the moon. 

Finally, we have time, something we thought we’d never have. Now, we have forever. 

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