#and you’re better than them because the lord rewards suffering

[freakinnefor]

irish/american raised catholic calvin gabriel thank you for listening

[pooma-islam]

𝗛𝗮𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 தமிழில்

It was narrated that Tariq Al-Muharibi (Radi Allahu Anhu) said: “I saw the Messenger of Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala), (Sal Allahu alaihi wa sallam) raising his hands until I saw the whiteness of his armpits, saying: ‘No child should be punished because of his mother’s crime, no child should be punished because of his mother’s crime.’” (Reference: Sunan Ibn Majah 2670, In-book reference: Book 21, Hadith 56, English translation: Vol. 3, Book 21, Hadith 2670)

The sins of the parents should not affect the child. Children are born innocent and in the fitrah state; their deeds and actions will carry them to the hereafter without being blemished by the mistakes of their parents. Never feel as though your destiny has been tainted by another; only what Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala) wills is what will come to pass.

With so much going on in the world now, why does suffering occur and how should we rationalize it? Why do we sometimes go through so much, be it broken relationships, debt, calamities, or pandemics?

Here are the 17 benefits of tribulation that will open your eyes to the Qadr of Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala):

▪️You realize the power of Lordship over you.

▪️You realize your object servanthood and your complete state of resignation and brokenness before the will and power of Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala).

▪️Sincerity to Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala); one has no place of return in putting off or defending against the calamity except to Him. ▪️It makes you sincere because the muhsin is the one who calls on Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala) without any shirk. A moment of ikhlas in this world is enough to save a person.

▪️He returns to Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala) and suddenly is fervent in his desire for his Lord.

▪️It leads to a humbled state before Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala) and it leads to prayers (du’a) that you call on Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala).

▪️You’re forbearing towards the One who has afflicted you.

▪️You forgive the one who has wronged you.

▪️To be patient during the tribulation.

▪️To be happy about what’s happening because of those benefits.

▪️To be grateful for it.

▪️Purification that these calamities have towards peoples’ wrongs and sins.

▪️Compassion that Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala) enables you to show to people who are in tribulation and to help them.

Tribulation gives you the blessing of having true knowledge of the extent of well-being.

Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala) has prepared rewards for the calamities that you’ve borne patiently or with contentment.

What is hidden inside the folds of these calamities are blessings.

Tribulations prevent you from arrogance.

Contentment. Tribulation afflicts the good and the evil (people); whoever doesn’t like it, it’s on him, he’s lost the dunya and the akhira. Those who are pleased with it, it’s because he knows it, because paradise is better than anything in this world and if these tribulations are what it takes for him to get to paradise, then he’s content with it.

May we use each trial and tribulation as a means of reaching closer to Allah (Subhanahu wa ta’ala).

பெற்றோரின் பாவங்கள் பற்றிய ஹதீஸ்

தாரிக் அல்-முஹாரிபி (ரழி அல்லாஹு அன்ஹு) கூறியதாவது: “நான் அல்லாஹ்வின் தூதரை (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா), (சல் அல்லாஹு அலைஹி வ சல்லம்) அவரது கைகளைக் கையில் எடுத்து, அவரது கைகளின் வெண்மை தெரியும் வரை உயர்த்த���யதைப் பார்த்தேன். அவர் கூறினார்: ‘ஒரு குழந்தை தனது தாயின் குற்றத்திற்காக தண்டிக்கப்படக்கூடாது, ஒரு குழந்தை தனது தாயின் குற்றத்திற்காக தண்டிக்கப்படக்கூடாது.’” (குறிப்பு: சுனன் இப்னு மாஜா 2670, புத்தகத்தில் குறிப்பு: புத்தகம் 21, ஹதீஸ் 56, ஆங்கில மொழிபெயர்ப்பு: தொகுதி 3, புத்தகம் 21, ஹதீஸ் 2670)

பெற்றோரின் பாவங்கள் குழந்தையை பாதிக்கக்கூடாது. குழந்தைகள் நிர்ப்பாவமாகவும், பித்ரா நிலையில் பிறக்கின்றனர்; அவர்களின் செயல்கள் மற்றும் செயல்கள் அவர்களை மறுமையில் அழிக்காமல் கொண்டு செல்லும். உங்கள் விதி மற்றவரால் கறைக்கப்பட்டதாக உணர வேண்டாம்; அல்லாஹ் (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) விரும்புவது மட்டுமே நடக்கும்.

இப்போது உலகில் பல நிகழ்வுகள் நடக்கின்றன, ஏன் துன்பம் ஏற்படுகிறது மற்றும் அதை நாங்கள் எப்படி நியாயப்படுத்த வேண்டும்? நாங்கள் ஏன் பல நேரங்களில் உடைந்த உறவுகள், கடன், பேரழிவுகள் அல்லது தொற்றுநோய்கள் போன்றவற்றை அனுபவிக்கிறோம்?

அல்லாஹ்வின் (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) கத்ர் பற்றி உங்கள் கண்களைத் திறக்க 17 நன்மைகள் இங்கே உள்ளன:

▪️உங்களின் மீது ஆண்டவரின் அதிகாரத்தை உணருகிறீர்கள்.

▪️உங்களின் அடிமைத்தன்மையை உணருகிறீர்கள் மற்றும் அல்லாஹ்வின் (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) விருப்பம் மற்றும் சக்திக்கு முன் முழுமையான ஒப்புதல் மற்றும் உடைந்த நிலையை உணருகிறீர்கள்.

▪️அல்லாஹ்வுக்கு (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) நேர்மையாக இருக்கிறீர்கள்; பேரழிவைத் தடுக்க அல்லது எதிர்க்க திரும்பும் இடம் அல்லாஹ்வைத் தவிர வேறு எதுவும் இல்லை. இது உங்களை நேர்மையாக ஆக்குகிறது ஏனெனில் முஹ்சின் அல்லாஹ்வை (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) எந்த ஷிர்க்கும் இல்லாமல் அழைக்கிறார். இந்த உலகில் ஒரு இக்லாஸ் தருணம் ஒரு நபரை மீட்க போதுமானது.

▪️அவர் அல்லாஹ்விடம் (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) திரும்புகிறார் மற்றும் திடீரென தனது ஆண்டவரின் விருப்பத்தில் தீவிரமாக இருக்கிறார்.

இது அல்லாஹ்வின் (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) முன் ஒரு பணிந்த நிலைக்கு வழிவகுக்கிறது மற்றும் இது நீங்கள் அல்லாஹ்வை (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) அழைக்கும் பிரார்த்தனைகளுக்கு (துஆ) வழிவகுக்கிறது.

▪️உங்களைத் துன்புறுத்தியவரை நீங்கள் பொறுமையாக இருக்கிறீர்கள்.

▪️உங்களைத் தவறாக நடத்தியவரை மன்னிக்கிறீர்கள்.

▪️துன்பத்தின் போது பொறுமையாக இருக்க.

▪️அந்த நன்மைகளால் நடப்பதற்காக மகிழ்ச்சியாக இருக்க.

▪️அதற்காக நன்றி சொல்லுங்கள்.

▪️இந்த பேரழிவுகள் மக்களின் தவறுகள் மற்றும் பாவங்களுக்கு சுத்திகரிப்பாக உள்ளன.

அல்லாஹ் (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) உங்களை துன்பத்தில் உள்ள மக்களுக்கு கருணை காட்டவும் அவர்களுக்கு உதவவும் இயல்பாக ஆக்குகிறார்.

துன்பம் உங்களுக்கு நலத்தின் அளவின் உண்மையான அறிவை வழங்குகிறது.

அல்லாஹ் (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) நீங்கள் பொறுமையாக அல்லது திருப்தியுடன் தாங்கிய பேரழிவுகளுக்கான வெகுமதிகளைத் தயாரித்துள்ளார்.

இந்த பேரழிவுகளின் மட���ப்புகளில் மறைந்திருக்கும் ஆசீர்வாதங்கள்.

துன்பங்கள் உங்களை அகங்காரத்திலிருந்து தடுக்கின்றன.

திருப்தி. துன்பம் நல்லவர்களையும் தீயவர்களையும் (மக்களை) பாதிக்கிறது; அதை விரும்பாதவர், அது அவர்மீது, அவர் துன்யாவையும் அகிராவையும் இழந்துவிட்டார். அதை விரும்புபவர்கள், அது அவருக்கு தெரிந்ததால், ஏனெனில் சொர்க்கம் இந்த உலகில் எதையும் விட சிறந்தது மற்றும் இந்த துன்பங்கள் அவரை சொர்க்கத்திற்கு கொண்டு செல்லும் என்றால், அவர் அதில் திருப்தி அடைகிறார்.

ஒவ்வொரு சோதனையையும் அல்லாஹ்வை (சுப்ஹானஹு வ த’ஆலா) அணுகும் ஒரு வழியாக பயன்படுத்துவோம்.

[phoenixyfriend]

Vader Tries to Help

People encouraged me to share the dead dove concept! Yay! It’s a horrible concept with an undertone of comedic absurdity in the sense that you keep waiting to see what awful, incredibly stupid thing Vader is going to do next. Like it’s horrifying but it’s also very dumb.

By moving forward into the fic, you acknowledge that this is intended to be dark and liable to be upsetting, and that you are taking responsibility for your own engagement with the material.

This AU was helped along on discord by several parties but tbh I’m not sure how many of them actually want to be named.

Warnings: Mutual Extremely Dubious Consent (forced by a third party), drugging, irrational behavior (Vader), nonconsensual body modification, forced pregnancy, imprisonment, threatened torture of a child (not followed through on)

----------

Vader captures Obi-Wan a few years into the Empire. Because Vader is Anakin, but even worse on the emotional bullshit, he decides that he needs to keep Obi-Wan safe but harmless. Vader also got Luke in the whole 'capturing Kenobi' situation, so part of what Vader's thinking about all this is that Obi-Wan tried to protect The Baby and so Vader kind of owes him, obviously.

Palpatine lets him keep Obi-Wan "safe," because threatening Obi-Wan is a convenient way to make Vader shut up and do what he's told. Palpatine can kind of tell that threatening the toddler would make Vader lose his shit and attempt to kill good ol' Palps, so threatening the middle-aged depressed alcoholic being kept in Vader's guest room with Force-nullifying cuffs is pretty good. It's an additional layer of emotional torture on top of the electrocution of Vader himself!

Vader has Obi-Wan taking care of Luke, mostly, because Vader has Obligations and A Job, and Obi-Wan wouldn't hurt Luke, duh. He might try to escape with the kid, but he won't be successful, and Obi-Wan will definitely put Luke's safety first, so that probably won't happen.

This is all fairly normal for a variety of AUs, granted, and not very dark.

But see, Obi-Wan behaves. He's aware of how tenuous the situation is for him and his charge, so he plays nice. And Vader decides to reward that.

By giving him Cody.

There's an implied thought process there that Obi-Wan was fond of Cody, and Cody was fond back, and now that the Jedi aren't around, they can follow through instead of worrying about some silly Code. Vader's nullified the orders to kill all the Jedi, of course, possibly dosed their food with an aphrodisiac so they don't try to talk themselves out of What They Obviously Want.

Now, we’re going to make it a little darker, because why not make things worse by having Vader try to make things better?

Vader somehow twisted himself around to encouraging them to have a baby. This is accomplished through a combination of Sith Magic and nonconsensual surgery, and lots of questionable drugs.

Obi-Wan just wakes up in a hospital bed with a womb one morning, and is informed of the surgery then and there, after it’s already happened. The droid telling him about it is just like "in the Lord Vader's infinite kindness--" and Obi-Wan just.

Anakin.

What the fuck.

What in the actual fuck made you think this was a good idea.

(The Sith Chemicals, probably.)

I feel like Palpatine would maybe even order the pregnancy induction just to torture them by proxy because that's like eight levels of Fuck No and he barely has to do anything except tell Vader that he'd like to see what kind of children a Jedi Master like Obi-Wan has.

Luke needs friends, doesn't he?

Obi-Wan is having some very complicated emotions about all of this because Vader is, in his own absolutely insane way, trying to help.

Anakin wanted babies and Padme wanted babies so clearly, if Obi-Wan and Cody are in love, then they also want babies!

Cody and Obi-Wan very well might not be in love. Anakin definitely could have misinterpreted. It’s probably more angsty if they're just friends who ended up in this bullshit together.

(He's taking baby fever to new and somewhat horrifying heights, because... he would adore Obi's kids.)

(His family button is suprisingly large for a mass murderer.)

Vader Kindly Informs Bail That Obi-Wan Is Alive And Unharmed. Bail was a friend of Obi-Wan's, telling him this is only helpful and will keep Alderaan from getting more rebellious out of personal insult. Obviously.

Vader is almost offended when Bail implies he might hurt Obi-Wan. He kept his son safe, he owes him. Speaking of, don’t you have a child? How old is she, again? It would be Good for her to make friends, wouldn’t it? :)

Palpatine is just like... sitting back and eating evil popcorn as Vader runs around, ruining people's lives by trying to be less of The Worst than before.

Palps barely has to do anything, Anakin's fucking it up on his own!

Could have been just a sly "Kenobi is so attached to young Luke, but now that you've been reunited with your son, perhaps he'd be happier with a child of his own?" Come at it from both "make Obi-Wan happy" and "protect your relationship with Luke" angles.

Vader: I can't have babies anymore due to what you did to me on Mustafar. Obi-Wan: So you're punishing me by forcing me to have them instead? Vader: No! Children are a gift that you have been cruelly denied by the Order that held us in its chains! Obi-Wan: ...oh, right, you're insane. Forgot about that. Somehow.

Big dramatic speech about how the Jedi Order spent so long making them take lives, he’s giving Obi-Wan a chance to create it! To put something good and bright into the world!

Poor Cody is like. "General, I am very fond of you but I'm having a million panic attacks at the same time because of the mind control, and also Vader is under the impression that we're in love and I need to be your stud? I wasn't aware you could have children--" "I can't. Or at least, I couldn't, but Anakin is... creative." "...what."

I don't want to actually objectify Cody in the narrative past the point that Obi-Wan himself is, because nnnnngh racism and clone stuff, so I'm going to say Cody was in love with Obi-Wan, and would have been okay with at least discussing the whole baby schtick if not for the absolutely horrible circumstances.

Like if the war had ended normally, and Obi-Wan had expressed a desire to retire, unlikely as that was, then Cody may have suggested a dinner, and they could have gotten married and then eventually adoption...

(Cody had a lot of fantasies he didn’t let himself think about too hard.)

But no. It's this... weird Vader-inspired bullshit.

I'm just so invested in Vader trying to help but making things legitimately a million times worse.

He wants to help :) Oh god, he wants to help.

Why aren't people more appreciative of how hard I'm helping them? - the Anakin Skywalker story

With less time to stew and also getting handed what he wants, Vader could absolutely flip on a dime the second he saw Luke being protected, and go from “I hate you” to remembering that Obi-Wan said he loved him, and now he must keep Obi-Wan safe out of debt and he just... he’s playing house. 

Vader throws Obi-Wan a baby shower after the pregnancy is confirmed. Bail is invited, because Obi-Wan doesn't have a lot of friends still alive. Vader decides Bail is top of the Obi-Wan’s Friends List.

This is the first time they've seen each other in two years. Obi-Wan is heavily pregnant despite Bail knowing full well he didn't have the plumbing for that before the Empire rose. Cody is there and emotionally exhausted but more lucid than most troopers. Luke is running up to Leia because New Friend!!!

....there may be MORE of the 212th and 501st at the baby shower, with “kill all Jedi” orders revoked, of course. But it will keep the children safe!! And Cody and Obi-Wan can see their surviving friends!!

Cody: I'd be much happier to see my surviving troopers if they didn't all still have chips in their heads. Obi-Wan: I feel much the same. Vader: [404 error]

Bail and his family might be there at blaster point, but aren't you happy to see them, Obi-Wan??

Obi-Wan's endless trauma is honestly somewhat curtailed by the incessant need to facepalm at Vader’s bullshit

Obi-Wan and Cody both outwardly have a very "there are much worse people I could be stuck with in this situation but obviously I wish I'd had a choice, no hard feelings" attitude at each other.

Internally, Cody is suffering because this is NOT how he wanted his crush to be realized, and Obi-Wan is just suffering, period.

Cody: How did he even choose which of us ends up pregnant? Obi-Wan: He thinks I need to be protected, and that he needs to keep me safe. Cody: ...he does realize that you're better at-- Obi-Wan: Cody, he's completely lost it. No! He doesn't realize!

I feel like over the course of the year or two this plot unravels towards Palpatine getting murder-deposed and Anakin getting locked down, part of the driving force to Vader not being Vader anymore is that Luke actually really loves Uncle Obi and always starts fussing and going "Ben's sad" whenever Vader dismisses what Obi-Wan wants in favor of what Vader thinks Obi-Wan wants, and Vader can't deny his child anything.

Luke cries because Palpatine Feels Wrong like, once or twice, and Anakin goes “oh, okay, assassination time.”

[hasishtardoneanythingwrong]

Interlude: Alter

~The Moonlit Lake Told Me~

"Why did you want to save this country? Why did you want to bring salvation to these people? Knowing that they were the ones who spit on us, betrayed us! I will not be fooled again. I will not be betrayed again. I no longer hear the voice of the Lord.”

“That’s–”

“So what, you’re gonna burn France to the ground because of what happened to you?”

“Exactly! And for your reward, you’ll be spared the suffering of having to watch it happen.”

Jeanne d’Arc Alter raised her banner, her wyverns tensing up in preparation to take flight.

“W-wait, hang on!”

“What for? All that is left is for you to burn, as I did!”

“Jeanne d’Arc didn’t die angry, though!”

The Dragon Witch spat at that.

“And you were there? You knew what I thought?”

“The stories said you wanted to see a cross as you burned, you never went back on your faith even to the death.”

The air grew tense, and Val could feel Mash and their Jeanne, waiting for the tenuous ceasefire to end.

“That’s all they were, then. Stories. I died cursing the Lord, and cursing the nation that left me to die!”

“Jeanne d’Arc was a saint. A martyr, beloved by France. I might be new to this, but if you were summoned, that’s what you would have been summoned as, even if that wasn’t your life. You can’t be Jeanne d’Arc, so who are you?”

For a moment, the banner faltered. A knot formed in the throat of the Dragon Witch. Then, she raised the banner high, her voice howling with rage.

“I AM THE SCOURGE OF FRANCE! I AM THE RAGE OF THE MAIDEN OF ORLEANS, HERE TO PURGE THIS LAND OF THE SCUM THAT WOULD SEE ME BURN! HEAR THE ROAR OF MY HATRED!”

The wyverns took flight, and Mash threw Val to the ground, shielding her Master from the onslaught of claw and fang that was now atop them. Amidst the chaos, those words rang through her head, like the solution to a question she hadn’t known needed an answer.

~When You Think Your Words Don’t Sound Like Your Own~

“You intend to summon reinforcements? I’m hurt that you don’t think that I would be enough help on my own...is what I would say if we weren’t in desperate need of additional allies! Alas, if we are to bring an end to this singularity, you will need all the help you can muster.”

Val rolled her eyes at the Archer of Shinjuku, then returned her focus on the summoning process. She couldn’t try summoning a specific servant, not without a catalyst, but she still tried to clear her mind and focus on what was needed. Shinjuku was a singularity where evil was the law of the day. More than someone who would fight it, she needed someone to understand it. Someone who wouldn’t run off saving people. Someone who wasn’t just going to trust everyone around them. She had almost fallen for that trap herself, better to find someone who could help with that.

It was slower without a leyline or Chaldea’s reserves, but pulling mana from the environment would work with enough time, at least in theory. She circulated the mana through her mystic code, through herself, through anything she had that could contain it, until she had amassed enough. Finally, she recited her incantation, releasing the mana into the summoning circle. Energy crackled from her, as glowing blue sigils rose from the circle, circling in the air before her.

Then, in a moment that felt like her stomach was being twisted inside out, the lights went out with a crack. Their glass shattered, and the room grew dark but for the sigils, now glowing an angry red. They spun faster and faster, blurring together until they became a halo of crimson light. With a flash, the spell finished, and Val fell to her knees before the servant she had summoned.

“Servant, Avenger. Summoned upon your request.”

Val looked up, in shock at the impossible servant standing before her.

“...What’s with that look? Come on, here’s the contract.”

With a sneer, Jeanne Alter took her Master’s hand and dragged her to her feet.

—

“...The hell do you want?”

Val sat next to her servant on the edge of the roof, looking out over the city skyline.

“I–”

“What, kicking my ass in Orleans wasn’t enough, so you wanted to come up here and rub it in?”

“...Well, that answers one question. Anyway, can’t say I do. I just want to know why you would, yknow, come here to help me after all of...that.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one that summoned me, dumbass, I should be asking why YOU thought summoning ME was a good idea!”

“...Because I can’t pick who I summon? And servants can choose to reject being summoned if they don’t want to?”

“...”

“...Fine, I won’t push, just-”

“Not like I could really say no. It’s like you said back then, I’m just “the dark parts of that holy bitch”. That fish-eyed fuck made me a goddamn puppet, what am I supposed to do besides play on your fucking strings?”

“Nnnnnot exactly what I said, but whatever. Is that really what you think though?”

“Why the fuck else would you do with someone like me? The fuck else does someone need the leftover hatred of some goody good saint? So fuck off until you need somebody torched.”

Val sighed, a tired grin on her face.

“Heh, I guess I got what I asked for, didn’t I?”

Before she knew it, Jeanne Alter was dangling Val over the street by her shirt collar.

“The fuck does that mean? Thought you said you couldn’t pick who you summoned? Want to try that again, or are you looking to eat the pavement?”

Despite grabbing tight at the wrist holding her, Val somehow looked like she wasn’t afraid of being dropped.

“I said I can’t pick, but I knew what I needed to summon. Guess I didn’t think through wanting someone who didn’t trust easily, though.”

“...Why the hell are you so calm? You think that’s good enough that I’m not gonna toss you?”

She shook Val to reinforce her point.

“I mean, if you wanted to do that, wouldn’t you just burn me?”

Jeanne Alter snarled, and after a second tossed Val back onto the roof. Wincing, Val brushed herself off and got up, walking back over to the Servant.

“Look, I...well, I can’t say that I get it, I’m not a living embodiment of hatred created by a crazed asshole to exact revenge on the country that killed the beloved leader he based me on in order to destabilize and ultimately destroy history.”

“...”

“Still, so what? You’re the physical embodiment of Jeanne d’Arc’s repressed anger. Who says that’s gotta be the end of it? If that’s all you were, you’d probably be a phantom. I wouldn’t be able to summon you, and we wouldn’t be here right now. So if you were made to be a puppet in the shape of Jeanne d’Arc, I say fuck that. You can be more than that.”

Alter stared out over the city lights, and a moment of silence passed.

“...Get the fuck out of here, I’m done listening to your bullshit.”

Val sighed, turning around and making her way back inside. At least it could have gone worse.

~Your Words Will Never Make Me Disappear~

“...The hell are you staring at?”

“Not that I’m complaining, but…do you really want to keep walking around in your swimsuit? Even if it were still summer, this is Antarctica. Bit cold outside for that, isn't it?”

Alter just stared at Val as black fire wreathed her arms.

“...Point made. Still, can’t help but feel like something’s up.”

“...”

Alter opened the door next to her, a small meeting room. Two staff members were eating their lunch, but quickly realized they had important business in other places doing things that didn’t involve angry women with swords. Val followed her in and closed the door, making sure to turn on the “Room Occupied” indicator.

“So...”

“I’m not going back.”

“Going back?”

“My Spirit Origin. I’m not going back to my old one.”

“Sure, okay.”

“...That’s it?”

“Yeah. I mean, maybe see if you can register that other outfit you had to this Spirit Origin too, just in case you don’t want to set yourself on fire all the time, but otherwise why not?”

“Because I’m stronger as an Avenger! Because these bullshit singularities keep cropping up and you’ll want the firepower!”

“Are you saying you’re not strong enough right now?”

“Fuck you.”

“Exactly. So whatever reason you’ve got, good enough for me.”

“And you’re not gonna ask what those reasons are?”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready, I’m not gonna push.”

Alter muttered something.

“What?”

“I said I’m sick of it. Being an Avenger, being nothing but that fucker’s hate-on. I’m tired of being his goddamn puppet. If I’m gonna hate something, I want it to be my hate, not his. This? I chose this. It’s my rage. This is me, and I’m not going to go back to being his.”

“...Damn straight.”

Alter stared at Val, like she was waiting for an argument that wasn’t coming. Slowly, as it became clear that nothing else was happening, her face softened to a satisfied smile. She opened the door, stopped, then turned around to drag Val out with her.

“Wh-”

“We’re celebrating, don’t even try saying no.”

“...Wouldn’t dream of it.”

---

A/N: Gilles de Rais Get Fucked Challenge. Yes this was inspired by Smell of the Game, it's a song about Alter and I will not take criticism on this

[theadventuresofamuslimrevert]

Losing a loved one is one of the major trials of life many of us will encounter. Grief from that loss is a natural reaction that takes a different trajectory for different people. Some people describe grief as a dark fog that is difficult to shake, others speak of the suffocating regret and anxiety that often accompany those feelings, still others speak about grief as waves that rise up and subside at different points.

“And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient, Who, when disaster strikes them, say, “Indeed we belong to Allah , and indeed to Him we will return.” Those are the ones upon whom are blessings from their Lord and mercy. And it is those who are the guided.” [Quran; 2:155-157]

Sometimes people are expect to follow a particular timeline of grief, but the reality is that the journey of grief is different for everyone. Counsellors and bereavement supporters often speak about the five stages of grief that were popularized in the famous book On Death and Dying by psychiatrist Elizabeth Kubler-Ross namely: denial (as you begin to come to terms with the reality of the situation, denial begins to fade and difficult feelings may begin to surface), anger/anxiety (anger is the body’s natural reaction to threat and, oftentimes, there is no greater threat than the loss of someone you love or the loss of the way you envisioned life would be. Anger can also feel powerful during times when we feel powerless. You may experience nervousness, heart palpitations, restlessness, irritability, and/or difficulty breathing), bargaining (this stage often includes “If only…” statements due to the feelings of regret that come up with loss. This stage is characterized by an overwhelming desire for life to return to the way it was), depression (you might feel down and cry more often than you usually do. It may also feel like you have less motivation and find less enjoyment in activities you used to love. This stage can feel as though it’ll stretch on forever) and acceptance (it involves accepting the reality that this person is physically gone and that this new reality is the permanent reality. Acceptance does not mean that you’re “ok” with what happened. The loss of someone you love will likely never feel ok. The goal in this stage is to learn how to live with this loss and create a new normal despite the huge piece that is missing). However, recent research and understanding has concluded that grief can be an individualized and unpredictable experience and no two people’s experiences will be the same.

Let us look at some advice in the Quran and Sunnah to help us cope with grief and the loss of a loved one:

Shed tears as much as you want, but don’t let the tongue say what may displease Allah

Our Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) experienced grief at many points of his life, often at the loss of loved ones. During these experiences he taught us that grief is a natural emotion and that Allah does not hold us accountable for expressing sadness and pain in a permissible manner. Sadness does not negate the acceptance of Allah’s decree which is the very center of a believer’s journey in grief.

Narrated Anas bin Malik: We went with Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) (p.b.u.h) to the blacksmith Abu Saif, and he was the husband of the wet-nurse of Ibrahim (the son of the Prophet). Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) took Ibrahim and kissed him and smelled him and later we entered Abu Saif’s house and at that time Ibrahim was in his last breaths, and the eyes of Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) (p.b.u.h) started shedding tears. `Abdur Rahman bin `Auf said, “O Allah’s Apostle, even you are weeping!” He said, “O Ibn `Auf, this is mercy.” Then he wept more and said, “The eyes are shedding tears and the heart is grieved, and we will not say except what pleases our Lord, O Ibrahim ! Indeed we are grieved by your separation.” [Hadith; Sahih al-Bukhari 1303]

We see the intensity of these emotions in the Prophet Yaʿqub عليه السلام when he was separated from his son Yusuf عليه السلام and he grieved so deeply that his eyes turned white (it’s said that he lost his sight) due to the extent to which he cried. His intense grief is expressed in the Qur’an (after all those years of losing his son) yet he was called to have beautiful patience (sabrun jameel):

And he turned away from them and said, “Oh, my sorrow over Joseph,” and his eyes became white from grief, for he was a suppressor. [Quran; 12:84]

Accept that all of us belong to Allah and all of us will return to Him

As we see from the hadith above where the Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) was coping with grief, patience in Islam does not mean that we do not cry and that we do not express our emotions. What is forbidden is wailing and slapping one’s cheeks which was the culture at that time (the Arabs – women in particular – used to scream and wail during funerals or at someone’s death). As the Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said the eyes shed tears and the heart is grieved but the tongue only says what is acceptable to Allah.

Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said, “The example of a believer is that of a fresh tender plant; from whatever direction the wind comes, it bends it, but when the wind becomes quiet, it becomes straight again. Similarly, a believer is afflicted with calamities (but he remains patient till Allah removes his difficulties.) And an impious wicked person is like a pine tree which keeps hard and straight till Allah cuts (breaks) it down when He wishes.” [Hadith; Sahih al-Bukhari 5644]

Make dua for yourself

As human beings, we attempt to cope with negative emotions in different ways. We often attempt to push away difficult emotions because they make us feel uncomfortable as it’s a painful process to sit with these feelings. We may try to distract ourselves or put on a fake smile. Some may even self-medicate through the use of drugs or alcohol to alleviate the pain they are feeling. When we are unable to grieve fully and an experience becomes a source of trauma, we are thrust into survival mode, which shuts down the executive functioning part of our brain and prevents us from thinking clearly. This is why we may react to situations in unhealthy ways or do things during times of stress that we would not have done during times of ease. This is one reason why some people struggle to worship Allah during times of extreme stress. When the “danger activation center” part of our brain is dominant, there is a decrease in self-awareness, our capacity to self-evaluate, and our ability to establish goals. All of these require advanced thought processes, which are very difficult to sustain during times of extreme stress. In order for any activity to help, our brain needs to register it. Research has shown an association between prayer and the ability to re-engage the “thinking” part of our brains.

Umm Salama, the wife of the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ), reported Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) as saying:If any servant (of Allah) who suffers a calamity says:” We belong to Allah and to Him shall we return; O Allah, reward me for my affliction and give me something better than it in exchange for it,” ‘ Allah will give him reward for affliction, and would give him something better than it in exchange. She (Umm Salama) said: When Abu Salama died. I uttered (these very words) as I was commanded (to do) by the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ). So Allah gave me better in exchange than him. i. e. (I was taken as the wife of) the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ). [Hadith; Sahih Muslim 918 b]

When I lost my baby son Hamza, I remember one of my close friends messaged me this dua and reminded me to keep reciting it. I had not really known that dua at that time but I am so grateful for friends who guided me to the right words to say at such a confusing and overwhelming time when I almost lost my faith as a revert.

Stay among people who love you and would support you through this difficult journey

It is quite common to be engulfed by grief with the death of a loved one. However, one must not dwell in it much heaven knows i did but i soon realised this sends an invitation to Shaytan to become your company. Let the death of a loved be a lesson of detaching from Dunya and to hold Allah (glorified and exalted be he) in your heart above all others.

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) visited Sa’d bin ‘Ubadah during his illness. He was accompanied by ‘Abdur-Rahman bin ‘Auf, Sa’d bin Abu Waqqas and ‘Abdullah bin Mas’ud (May Allah be pleased with them). The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) began to weep. When his Companions saw this, their tears also started flowing. He (ﷺ) said, “Do you not hear, Allah does not punish for the shedding of tears or the grief of the heart, but punishes or bestows mercy for the utterances of this (and he pointed to his tongue).” [Hadith; Riyad as-Salihin 925]

Remember that your patience is being rewarded more than you can imagine

These are words you should say even when you feel sad at the memory of a loss you faced in the past or when you miss your loved one or the life you had planned with them.

Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said, “Allah says, ‘I have nothing to give but Paradise as a reward to my believer slave, who, if I cause his dear friend (or relative) to die, remains patient (and hopes for Allah’s Reward). [Hadith; Sahih al-Bukhari 6424]

Stay away from questioning Qadr of Allah (asking: why me? or if only!)

Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: ‘A slave (of Allah) shall not believe until he believes in Al-Qadar, its good and its bad, such that he knows that what struck him would not have missed him, and that what missed him would not have struck him.” [Hadith; Tirmidhi 2144]

Often one of the ways, Shaitan attacks us at times of calamity or a loss is to overwhelm us with questions of what if and why me? How did this happen? Would it have been prevented if I had just done this or that or gone to the hospital earlier or taken this or that medical intervention?? I blamed myself for my sons death so much over the last year (he passed away 25/07/2020) but after reading the following in last few weeks I've become to realise there was nothing I could do to prevent it as it was Allah's will.

“The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: ‘The strong believer is better and more beloved to Allah than the weak believer, although both are good. Strive for that which will benefit you, seek the help of Allah, and do not feel helpless. If anything befalls you, do not say, “if only I had done such and such” rather say “Qaddara Allahu wa ma sha’a fa’ala (Allah has decreed and whatever he wills, He does).” For (saying) ‘If’ opens (the door) to the deeds of Satan.'” [Hadith; Ibn Majah 79]

These are some of the words my midwife told me to say when I heard the news of my baby passing away in my womb after 25weeks of pregnancy I am forever grateful to her for reminding me this at that trying time. Reminding ourselves we all have a path and a time to meet Allah and it is not the time be battling with the what if questions you are bombarded yourself with. I am grateful to Allah (swt) for giving me people in my life who were able to remind me of the right words to say and the right approach at such a difficult time. Remind yourself: whatever happened was decreed by Allah and nothing you or someone else did or did not do could have changed it. Focusing on the factors within your control, rather than on regrets and a desire to return to the less painful past, can help you to get through this stage.

But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah Knows, while you know not. [Quran; 2:216]

Turning back to our deen and our belief in Qadr is what helped us accept the death as something Allah had decreed at this exact time and this exact situation and there is nothing we could have done to have changed that. Changing the past is not feasible so channeling our energy into something unchangeable is a recipe for intense pain. Instead of “What if…” Focus on “What is…”: The one thing we consistently have within our control is what we choose to do with the present moment. Shifting our focus away from regrets of the past and worries about the future allows us to take advantage of the present moment. Allah (swt) talks about this attitude of remorse in the Quran:

O you who have believed, do not be like those who disbelieved and said about their brothers when they traveled through the land or went out to fight, “If they had been with us, they would not have died or have been killed,” so Allah makes that a regret within their hearts. And it is Allah who gives life and causes death, and Allah is Seeing of what you do. [Quran; 3:156]

Instead, turn to Allah and open your heart to Him

Death can serve as a reminder to those left behind about the temporariness of this life and the importance of working for our next lives. It forces us to reflect on what is meaningful and what is important. Turn to Allah and pour your heart out to Him, talk to Him about your pain, cry out to Him and ask Him to calm your heart and heal your pain. Ask Him to reunite you with your loved one in Jannah. Ask Him to give you strength and peace. When Prophet Yaqub (عَلَيْهِ السَّلَام) cried so much that he lost his eyesight after all those years of losing his son, his elder sons said:

They said, “By Allah , you will not cease remembering Joseph until you become fatally ill or become of those who perish.” He said, “I only complain of my suffering and my grief to Allah , and I know from Allah that which you do not know. O my sons, go and find out about Joseph and his brother and despair not of relief from Allah . Indeed, no one despairs of relief from Allah except the disbelieving people.” [Quran: 12:85-87]

Turn to Allah in sincere dua. No one else can heal your pain and give peace to your heart.

اللَّهُمَّ مُصَرِّفَ الْقُلُوبِ صَرِّفْ قُلُوبَنَا عَلَى ��َاعَتِكَ

Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said: “Verily, the hearts of all the sons of Adam are between the two fingers out of the fingers of the Compassionate Lord as one heart. He turns that to any (direction) He likes. Then Allahs Messenger (ﷺ) said: 0 Allah, the Turner of the hearts, turn our hearts to Thine obedience.” [Hadith; Sahih Muslim 265]

Journal to face and deal with your emotions so you don’t become hopeless

Writing to process your feelings is another helpful technique to help deal with your emotions and your grief ive found this out this week from advice from a sister who lost her father recently. She said that Writing out your thoughts and confusions will help sort them out, journals about your feelings from day to day, use gratitude journalings to focus on the blessings even at such difficult times, write letters to your loved one as if you are talking to them. All of this helps deal with the emotions and grief just as talking or counselling does as well.

“And that to your Lord is the finality. And that it is He who makes laugh and weep.” [Quran; 53:42-43]

Find meaning / gratitude in your life again and create the required changes

Grief expert, David Kessler says, “meaning comes through finding a way to sustain your love for the person after their death while you’re moving forward with your life. Loss is simply what happens to you in life. Meaning is what you make happen.”

It was narrated that Ibn ‘Abbas said: “When a young daughter of the Messenger of Allah was dying, the Messenger of Allah picked her up and held her to his chest, then he put his hand on her, and she died in front of the Messenger of Allah. Umm Ayman wept and the Messenger of Allah said ‘Oh Umm Ayman, do you weep while the Messenger of Allah is with you?’ She said: ‘Why shouldn’t I weep when the Messenger of Allah is weeping.” So the Messenger of Allah ﷺ said “Verily, I am not weeping. Rather it is compassion.’ Then the Messenger of Allah ﷺ said: ‘The believer is fine whatever the situation; even when his soul is being pulled from his body and he praises Allah, the Mighty and Sublime”‘ [Hadith; Sunan an-Nasa’i 1843]

Finding meaning cannot erase your grief; pain is a natural reaction to intense loss. However, it can help you move forward. The loss of someone or something dear to you can often lead to reevaluating your priorities in life. Allowing this loss to push you toward positive changes in your life is one of the most profound ways of creating meaning. Gratitude is one of the qualities of a believer. Gratitude is tied closely to the concept of patience. The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said: Strange are the ways of a believer for there is good in every affair of his and this is not the case with anyone else except in the case of a believer for if he has an occasion to feel delight, he thanks (God), thus there is a good for him in it, and if he gets into trouble and shows resignation (and endures it patiently), there is a good for him in it. [Hadith; Sahih Muslim 2999]

Gratitude is also an attitude during adversity. Although difficult to see, there are always blessings that accompany a difficult time. Look for the blessings and ease that Allah has brought with this difficulty. May be things were easier than they could have been, may be there were eases in other areas of your life, may be this test drew you closer to Allah (swt), may be it allowed you to reflect on the reality of your life and allowed you to give more in charity, may be it became a means of wiping away your sins and earning you reward.

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, “When a man’s child dies, Allah, the Exalted, asks His angels, ‘Have you taken out the life of the child of My slave?’ and they reply in the affirmative. He (SWT) then asks, ‘Have you taken the fruit of his heart?’ and they reply in the affirmative. Thereupon He asks, ‘What did my slave say?’ They say: ‘He praised You and said: Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un (We belong to Allah and to Him we shall return).’ Allah says: ‘Build a house for my slave in Jannah and name it Baitul-Hamd (the House of Praise).”‘ [Hadith; Riyad as-Salihin 922]

Know that sadness doesn’t last forever even if the memories do

“For indeed, with hardship ease. Indeed, with hardship ease.” [Quran; 94:6]

Remember this promise of Allah. Remember that every moment of sadness and pain, no matter how overwhelming, is a part of the process of healing. Instead of focusing on the stretch of days ahead of you with this loss feeling like a looming storm cloud over your future, focus on the one step you can take today to get through the day. When experiencing feelings of depression, putting one foot in front of the other can make a huge difference. Get adequate sleep and eat healthy. Your body and well-being are an amānah from Allah that you need to take care of. Find time to decompress, however that might work for you. For some people this may include praying, making dua, reading, art, working out, or engaging in a hobby.

It was narrated that Ibn ‘Umar said: “I was with the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) and a man from among the Ansar came to him and greeted the Prophet (ﷺ) with Salam. Then he said: ‘O Messenger of Allah, which of the believers is best?’ He said: ‘He who has the best manners among them.’ He said: ‘Which of them is wisest?’ He said: ‘The one who remembers death the most and is best in preparing for it. Those are the wisest.’” [Hadith; Ibn Majah 160]

Go through happy memories you experienced with them and remember your loved one in good words

Narrated Abu Al-Aswad: I came to Medina when an epidemic had broken out. While I was sitting with `Umar bin Al-Khattab a funeral procession passed by and the people praised the deceased. `Umar said, “It has been affirmed to him.” And another funeral procession passed by and the people praised the deceased. `Umar said, “It has been affirmed to him.” A third (funeral procession) passed by and the people spoke badly of the deceased. He said, “It has been affirmed to him.” I (Abu Al-Aswad) asked, “O chief of the believers! What has been affirmed?” He replied, “I said the same as the Prophet (ﷺ) had said, that is: if four persons testify the piety of a Muslim, Allah will grant him Paradise.” We asked, “If three persons testify his piety?” He (the Prophet) replied, “Even three.” Then we asked, “If two?” He replied, “Even two.” [Hadith; Sahih al-Bukhari 1368]

Remembering the happy times you had with your deceased loved ones can be a bittersweet experience. Many will talk about how this can have a healing effect, others mention how it rekindles the pain in their heart. Sometimes different reactions may also depend on where you are on your grief journey. Remembering the good times you had with your loved one can help you in dealing with the grief and with slowly learning to remember them without always feeling the pain of separation. Reminding yourself that you still have hope of reuniting with them in the hereafter is another way to help you process the pain you are feeling.

It was narrated that ‘Aishah said: “Something bad was said in the presence of the Prophet about a person who had died. He said: ‘Do not say anything but good about your dead.”‘ [Hadith; Sunan an-Nasa’i 1935]

Make dua for your loved one and give charity on their behalf

Messenger of Allah(ﷺ) said: “A man will be raised in status in Paradise and will say: ‘Where did this come from?’ And it will be said: ‘From your son’s praying for forgiveness for you.'” [Hadith; Sunan Ibn Majah 3660]

Channel your grief in a productive way and think about what you can do for your loved one now. One of the ways we can benefit our deceased loved ones is by making sincere dua for them. We can also benefit our deceased loved ones by giving charity on their behalf.

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, “When a man dies, his deeds come to an end except for three things: Sadaqah Jariyah (ceaseless charity); a knowledge which is beneficial, or a virtuous descendant who prays for him (for the deceased).” [Hadith; Riyad as-Salihin 1383]

Seek help and support others

Seek social support, go to counselling and therapy, talk to friends about how you feel. Attend a bereavement group if you can so you can see how others in your situation are coping. Check Children of Jannah or Eternal Gardens for bereavement support. One major indicator that someone needs professional help is if they demonstrate an impaired ability to function in their day-to-day life with their family, at work, socially, emotionally, and sometimes spiritually. Again, this doesn’t mean that the person is mentally ill, but that they would likely benefit from talking to someone with expertise in the field of mental health.

Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said, “A Muslim is a brother of another Muslim, so he should not oppress him, nor should he hand him over to an oppressor. Whoever fulfilled the needs of his brother, Allah will fulfill his needs; whoever brought his (Muslim) brother out of a discomfort, Allah will bring him out of the discomforts of the Day of Resurrection, and whoever screened a Muslim, Allah will screen him on the Day of Resurrection.” [Hadith; Sahih al-Bukhari 2442]

The aim of ta’ziyah is to strengthen the broken-hearted and give them hope at a time when their hope may be waning; it is to lighten the load of the bereaved. After the intense sadness of losing someone you care for deeply, you have the unique ability to empathize with the struggles others face in similar circumstances. Here are some things you can do for grieving families: Spend time with them without imposing yourself as a guest and expecting them to host you with food and drink. Offer to help by buying groceries, doing household chores, or watching their children.

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: Prepare food for the family of Ja’far for there came upon them an incident which has engaged them. [Hadith; Sunan Abi Dawud 3132]

Do what helps you through your journey of grief. Remember no two journeys are the same, so listen to your heart and give it what it needs. Sometimes you may need time to be alone, sometimes you may need to be around others you love. Sometimes you may need to talk about them, sometimes you may just need to sit quietly with your own thoughts. May Allah heal your pain, calm your heart and reunite you with your loved one in the hereafter.

I hope this helps who ever needs it see this right now...

Rest in peace my beautiful son Hamza until we meet again in jannah 🤲🤲

[sarahslilcorner]

Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatahu

A COMFORT REMINDER TO THOSE GOING THROUGH HARDSHIP SITUATION 📌📌📌

بسم اللّٰه الرحمن الرحيم

There will be days when you feel you cant carry on. Broken dreams and pain. But you have to carry on. Dont lose hope. Put your trust in الله

If you’re stressed, take a deep breath and release those cares to Allah. He can handle everything that concerns you.”

أَلَيْسَ اللَّ��ُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَه؟

"Is not Allah sufficient for His servant?"

•[39:36]

When you feel like you’re constantly in the dark, know with full trust that Allah is preparing you for something filled with Light.

For those of you who are currently struggling with your hardships, always remember there are so many beautiful things to live for.

Sabr through the day while walking around with that suffocating feeling in your heart that makes you want to leave this dunya

For every pain that you feel in this world, there’s a reward for it in the next.

Trust Allaah when things don’t work out the way you want. Allaah has something better planned for you.

If Allaah wants it for you, it will be yours. Don't stress out so much.

يؤتكم خيرا مما أخذ منكم

He will give you something better than what was taken from you. #Quran 8:70

Sometimes we make duaa for a door of dunya. When it doesnt open, we cry. Not realizing that Allah has instead opened a door of jannah for us

When you feel frustrated with the way things are going in your life, — That's your faith being TESTED. Focus on the outcome, not the obstacles.

Different people get tested in different ways. Allaah is Just, He will only try you with what you can bear. If it's stopping you from getting closer to Allaah, then you need to let it go.

but I promise you there's always beauty in the struggle. Allaah ﷻ will never burden you beyond your ability, you’re strong enough to fight.

This pain in your heart was created to make you yearn less for this life and to yearn more for Jannah.

How sad is it to pray next to someone who you know is going through this world with a broken heart and seeing them stay in Sujood for a few extra moments, only because this is probably the only comfort they ever find themselves in anymore.

If you're ever feeling astray from Allaah, keep holding onto Him, never lose hope in Him, and call out to Him.

Reach out for help because sabr isn’t suffering in silence.

You must remind yourself that He is with you. He watches with love as you go about the rest of the day.

He knows there are things that are making your heart feel heavy. Stop despairing. He hasn’t left, He never does.

Call on your Lord when your heart is brittle, that is a time when it’s in pieces and the Light of Allaah can fill the gaps.

Do your part by getting help if you need it, by making dua to Him to ease your situation. He will do His part.

That is why Allaah is with the broken hearted

To all the aching souls right now:May Allaah (ﷻ) mends your hearts.

May gentler and warmer days come your way.

O' Allaah! Remove this hardship from our souls and revive it with joy and happiness from nothing but You.

O' Allaah! Lift our souls, relieve our burdens, and make us of those who put their trust in You for all their affairs.

Ameen Allahumma Ameen

Share it with your family and friends :)

[antiloreolympus]

8 Anti LO Asks

1. as a mythology buff, i honestly think it was really weird of rachel smythe to take Hecate, a goddess who helped Demeter search for Persephone after she vanished and heard her screams and shared in Persephone and Demeter's joy after reuniting... and then just make her into Hades's like... total bro who plays aggressive matchmaker to h/p to the point of trying to break up Hades's current relationship. but honsestly i refuse to believe rachel smythe did literally any research before making this comic judging by how she depicts the mythology she's taking inspiration from so honestly im not suprised

2. I don’t know if anyone on here has discussed this, but LO very much plays into the idea of “good victim vs bad victim”.

A “good victim” has suffered many things, but despite it they still remain cheerful and happy and pleasant, they do not put others out or lash out at them even if they are triggered, they do not become petty or angry or hold onto negative emotions. They, in essence, ��get over it”. Thus, the narrative rewards them: they get many friends, a love internet they’re happy with, and a happy ending. This is what Persephone is. She’s the “good victim”. Despite her many hardships, we know she will not suffer in the end. She will get everything she wants and more. 

Then there is Minthe, the “bad victim”. They too have gone through many hardships, but they’ve become cold, angry at the world, they lash out and have trouble opening up and connecting to others, they even hurt others, themselves victims to the toxic pain they can’t get rid it. They do not and have not “gotten over it”.  Thus, the narrative punishes them, even when they try to better themselves. It’s never good enough. These characters often are lonely, the cast are large do not like them if not outright hate them, and they more often than not end up dead. This is what Minthe is. She is not a pleasant person, she’s a victim of a manipulative older man and a cruel, unjust society and system, and we know how her story ends. It’s in pain, her maiming/possible death framed as a joke and not even a genuine hint of sympathy towards her fate. She was a “bad victim”, she “deserved” what she got.

Now, you only often see this in fandom, since the actual works that deal with victims of trauma and how they react will often try to give more nuance to every shade of victim they may have on cast, but it’s very disturbing to me that Rachel seems to eagerly play into this idea, like she gets joy out of punishing a victim she created and watching them suffer even more at her hands. It’d be one thing if she kept Minthe a shallow, one dimensional character who was just evil for the sake of it, fine, but her showing us her actual complex nature and the very real struggles, trauma, and manipulation she went through, especially at the hands of our supposed “heroes” of the story, just to have her demise framed as a win for Persephone and a joke for the audience to laugh at? That’s highly disturbing to me. It’s one thing for fans to act that way, but the writer themselves? It’s very dark, to say the least. 

3. "I'm invested in working with fairy tales and folklore for my next project" oh no no no oh god please no. Fairy tales have been through enough hot takes and modern "betterments", they really don't need Rachel "Apollo is bad, actually" Smythe to add to it

4. Quick question

Greek Mythology is mostly incest.

So what if someone who is actually good at writing and storytelling and consistent artwork

Kept it in

For example Zeus and  Hera arguing like the married couple they are

And Hera uses older sibling card

With Zeus dumbfounded face

I don't know why but I want it but would it be weird since it's incest

Most fanfics always keep it out. Just keep it in if you want it to be closer than the actual methods you know

Hera is youngest daughter of Cronus and Rhea and older than her brother Zeus, who was also her husband.

I want to do it but like I have no clue how to start a webtoon so you know💀

5. Oh god, Hades not needing therapy because Persephone's "love" is enough? To quote my lord and savior Kennie JD: "not the p*$$¥ being therapy!"

6. uuuuuh sexual trauma warning.?

So I was writing a comment on the "Re: bpd" ask and i had a realization about persephone

She reminds me of how I was about the idea of sex

I'm demisexual and have sexual trauma and the idea of sex excited me but I wasn't able to like, do it. Me and my partner would mess around but because Mctrauma i couldn't do it cuz I hadn't exactly worked through my trauma and i wanted to get through that because i was finally experiencing sexual attraction.

Kinda reminds me of Persephone. The problem is at that point it had been 6-7 years since my trauma occurred and persephone's happened like last month.

Considering how everyone talks about persephone being a self insert i think Rachel has some things to work through

Also made the realization literally as im typing that Rachel's attitude towards asexuality could be because she's demi and doesn't fully understand what that is or means

becuase if you're ignorant enough you can 100% end up describing demisexuality as "being asexual and then like, slowly turning gay."

this ask weirdly personal so fuck it this is gonna be anonymous feel free to delete if it makes u uncomfy 

7. That’s also a part about Hubris Rachel clearly doesn’t get: it was always committed by rich, often people in high authority, NEVER lowly farmers or the poorest of ancient society. They always knew better. Niobe was a queen! Minos was a king! Arachne was the rich, spoiled daughter of a really successful merchant. Sisyphus was a cunning king. The trojan war was kicked off by royal drama. The list goes on and on. You have to notice these things and genuinely study the myths or you become like Rachel, who seems convinced the poorest people would be stupid enough to not only defy their bosses, but the gods themselves? They would be the last people to do such a thing! They don’t have the ingrained sense of entitlement and arrogance like the rich and powerful to even dare act like that towards the gods, as is the case with hubris. Because of this, Rachel ends up creating a narrative that the rich and powerful (literal GODS) are the real victims to those cruel, uppity poor people, going as far as to say in comic they deserve to be slaves for hades’ benefit and they’re wrong for ever hating Persephone for, you know, murdering them because she had a bad day! They should know their place! It’s absolutely insane that she doesn’t actually seem to realize what she’s writing. Unless she does, which is an even bigger issue, and shows a really dark look into how she views the world and society and how it should be run. It’s all a bad look. 

8. Have you seen the "The demon, is here in the room right now?" meme

Welp, that's literally Persephone and her "feeling"

I legit saw that video about a dude faking a mental illnes (and seeing a demon that made him do bad things) after he commited a crime and that was so cringy and I can't stop thinking about Persephone confessing her AOW like that

[officialgomezaddams]

Morality

I honestly dk what this is but its set in AOTC kinda want to turn this into a little series $wag also shout out to my fellow nihilists this is for you bb

Palpatine had always kept watchful over her but never loomed. It would have been too obvious. When he met Anakin, it was like a breath of fresh air, a realization that this little boy was destined to restore the balance in the force and his daughter, Y/n, would be the one to defeat him. He had begun the idea of his daughter once he joined the Darkside, already knowing that the possibility to be overthrown was something he couldn’t let happen. The dark energy, the power, was simply too much to let go of. The moment he saw the nine-year-old boy, the lord was happy to know that the power would stay on the dark side. 

Dooku trained Y/n as a padawan, and when he left the order, he took Y/n with him, kidnapping her into the night. When she asked why they were leaving the temple as he dragged her into a ship, he simply replied, “Sometimes when politicians can’t do their job, we must do something ourselves.” Over the years together, he would open up more, telling Y/n about the death of Qui-Gon and every step that drove him to leave. 

“The Jedi rely on selflessness. To strip one’s ability to have connection and emotion. They lose themselves in conformity. We need to take control of the life we’re given. Emotion, passion, drive. Those are how we will be victorious. Corrupt politicians pull the Jedi around like kites on strings. You can not try and save a house that its lousy foundation has torn down. Tear it down and build a new one.” 

It was her job to ensure just that, a new foundation set within the heart of the Darkside. Relentless training to mentally and physically defeat the chosen one. Palpatine would often tell her that her destiny was a part of the Sith Two, that the strongest one of the two would survive, and it was to be her. Darth Sidious found comfort that his creation would take over the Darkside once she had killed him and the Count. The most decisive Jedi ruling on the side of the night. 

She didn’t quite understand it, but to stay on the Darkside made the most sense to her. It wasn’t about power. It was the lifestyle. Why be selfless if there was no personal gain? Why spend a life living for something else? Shouldn’t one live their life for themselves? Everyone, she determined, had to want something. As long as she did what she wanted, it was enough. It had to be. Because without drive and her idea of what was truly right and wrong, how would she get anything done? 

She rationed that it all didn’t matter. She would never know who was right because, in her mind, the concept of being right varied too much. The Jedi thought they were right, the sith thought they were right, the politicians who voted against their people’s needs thought they were right. She had to suffer through Palpatine’s long lectures about how awful the senate was and now terrible the Jedi Order is. But who was to say he was right? That was only his opinion. Who was to say the Jedi were right because a frog that was almost nine hundred years old said so? 

“I’m just…” Anakin went on, pulling a piece of grass out of the ground. “I mean, I don’t know. Padmè is beautiful and wonderful. She’s everything that could make someone perfect: marriage, it’s so permanent. I know I’m supposed to be excited, which I am, of course. But what if we were not supposed to be together.” 

His speech made her frown. “Sometimes, it’s better just to dive in and see where you land.” She offered. The dreams with Anakin were a peaceful escape to a Jedi’s life. Neither knew why their dreams brought them together or what they even meant. Neither of them bothered, living the same training life on opposite sides. A sweet dream was the perfect reward. “And who are you going to be with then, me?” She teased back. 

The setting of the dreams was in the meadows of Naboo. The pastel-colored flowers stood dim in the moonlight from the starry night above. Anakin laid with his head in her lap as they talked about their personal lives, never going in too deep about what their destinies were. Anakin no longer had the pressure of being the chosen one, and Y/n never had to admit she would kill the chosen one. 

“I wish,” Anakin admitted, now looking up at her. “I want so bad to meet you Y/n, not just in my dreams but in real life. If I could have you by my side, all of this would be less confusing. I’ve fallen in love with you, a woman in my dreams. Why can’t you be in my reality?”

“Don’t say that,” She whispered. Whenever Anakin talked about his little girl-thing, Y/n wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what their relationship was, and she always felt a slight nic in her heart. Y/n knew that she was in love with Anakin, but to hear about another woman making him the happiest he’s been in the majority of the years that she knew him, that it wasn’t her, the one sneaking in kisses with him in the shadows. It brought out an ugly feeling of jealousy and possessiveness to Y/n that she didn’t know she had. 

“I promise, one day, I’ll be with you in all the ways you want.” She spoke with a smile. She would often daydream about what life would be like to meet him real-time. They would run up to each other and crush each other in a hug. She imagined it all.

“Tell me about it,” Anakin edged on, closing his eyes as if it was going to play out in his head.

“Well, I want to go somewhere like D’Qar, somewhere quiet where I won’t have to worry about neighbors or anyone I don’t want finding me. Or us, because you’re coming with me no matter what your soon-to-be wife says,” You teased, making him laugh. “Maybe- Sometimes in my dreams, there’s no Padmè, it’s just us, and every so often there are kids, but it’s just us. Tucked away where we can be together, and nothing can bother us or stop us from being together.”

The silence that sat in between them began to scare Y/n, “Is that a future you would want with me?”

His eyes met hers, a peaceful moment in the chaos of their lives. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, behind her ear. “If I were able to, I would.”

“And why can’t you? Why can’t you have the things you want, Anakin? Is it wrong to be happy?” 

Waking up from the dreams was always the most challenging part, the reality of it not being a reality. Y/n woke up already in a bad mood, mentally kicking herself for pushing too far in. Of course, he wouldn’t want to. He’s getting married to someone else. You’re too late. It had always been Y/n’s plan to end up with Anakin in some way or another. From the first dream to now, she decided to leave the Sith once she had killed the chosen one. Somedays, she would pace around, impatiently waiting for whoever held the title to cross her path so she could just finish the job and take the next ship to wherever Anakin was. 

She tore the necklace he had given her off her neck, clutching the carven japor snippet in her hand with a grip so hard she could have cracked it if it wasn’t made out of stone. She was squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to cry. Anakin had given Y/n the good luck charm when they were at the age of thirteen. Y/n was upset that once everything was over that he may not want to be with her, the reputation of her choices would drive him away. 

“Well, you can’t be that bad,” He commented, pulling out the carved stone from his pocket and shyly handing it to her. “I made this for you,” Anakin explained as she put it around her neck, “So that when good things happen, you can think of me. It’ll be my way of keeping you safe, and in return, one day, you will come to me safely.”

She opened her eyes and stared at the carvings, remembering how Anakin said he made it just for her, so she better not lose it. Y/n wanted to break it, throw it away, and never see Anakin again. She wanted more than just the dreams. She wanted the sunsets and the early morning and the rainy days - all of it. Maybe they were wrong, they weren’t supposed to meet, and it was just a nice dream. 

She couldn’t do that. She at least owes him a simple greeting, and then she can get rid of him. Putting the necklace back on and wiping her face to make sure she wasn’t crying, Y/n walked out of the room, ready for whatever the sith wanted her to do. 

“Just be patient,” Her master told her as they waited outside the still open ship. Geonosis was overrun with battle, the sith fighting tooth and bone to claim the planet as its capital, the major droid foundries, and its Mandalorians. Nothing could be more perfect for the sith. The two force signatures caught Y/n’s attention. Looking up at Dooku, she told him, “Well, let’s make it quick then.” 

“The chosen one will be here,” he whispered back. “I’ll leave that one to you.”

“You’re gonna pay for all the Jedi you killed, Dooku,” A familiar voice said as you both turned around in unison. “Y/N?” A pit dropped in her stomach. It was him, Anakin. Anakin’s blue saber was pointed at the ground, more focused on her than the older man. 

The necklace he gave her burned her through her robes. Anakin was finally there in front of her. This Anakin was different from her dreams. He stood with more pride and confidence. He was also the chosen one. “I-I didn’t expect to meet you like this,” She told him, knowing full well once on the ship, she would be interrogated about her knowledge of the boy. 

“Why are you with him?” The venom in his voice almost made her feel guilty about being who she was. “Are you-? Don’t tell me Y/n-” He couldn’t find the words to express his confusion and disappointment, “You’re a Sith. How can you be with them? You lied to me! Can’t you see what they’re doing to you? Can’t you see what they’ve done!”

“The Jedi know no facts,” She spoke, looking over at the Count, waiting for his head nod and sign of approval to ignite her orange saber. The whole weapon was made for destruction, a perfect saber to kill the chosen one. Its orange glow was representing strength. The curved hilt that matched hers of her masters was perfect for duels and close fights. “Only assumptions.”

It hurt her to have him looking at her in disgust. As if she was suddenly less than him because of her beliefs. “Anakin, you need to calm down,” She warned him as he charged towards her, only for Dooku to step in front of her, raising his hand to send bolds of electricity into the boy’s body and fling him into a rock wall. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Her master spoke before walking up the platform of the ship. 

Y/n only had seconds to understand that not only her master had abandoned her, Anakin was also lying limp in a pile of rocks, and the other Jedi was making his way towards her. She pointed her saber straight ahead at him, taking careful steps around him, trying to think about how this all would end. Was this it? When is supposed to kill the chosen one who happened to be the boy Y/n had fallen in love with over the past ten years? She knew that once she killed Anakin, she would have to kill the two sith above her, starting the two over with her as a master. 

“I heard the little green guy talks highly of you, Kenobi. What a pity it will be when I kill his two strongest men.”

Obi-wan shook his head, “You’re not Dooku’s apprentice. You’re just an assassin to him. Y/n why would he elect a child to be his successor?” He spoke as if he could read her mind, his blue eyes pleading with her. 

“You don’t know anything!” Y/n yelled, making the first strike. His saber skills were advanced, but quickly she was able to disarm him and left two marks on him, one on his arm and one on his thigh. She walked up to him, the two staring at each other. Was she about to kill this man? She had never killed a human before. Taking down droids and other creatures were casual to her. Humans? This man was edging her on with his eyes, both understanding that she wasn’t able to drive her saber into his neck. She couldn’t just kill a man who had done nothing to her. That would be wrong, right? But if it was so bad, why was she encouraged to do it? 

Before she could thoroughly choose, Anakin came at full force again. This time his master had tossed him his saber, making the fight two against one. “Why won’t you join our site, the right side?” Anakin asked, swiftly dodging her but failing to make any advancements to disarming her. 

“I don’t believe in any right sides.” She told him, knocking the green lightsaber out of his hand, evening out the fight. “I believe in one thing. Power of human will.” 

She walked into the ship quietly, ignoring the little green Jedi behind her. She didn’t care about the older man, Yoda or Count Dooku. She walked past the sith and made her way right to the pilot’s seat before sitting down. 

Dooku followed her, giving her space as she sat down. Crossing his arms like a disappointed parent, he asked, “Well?”

“I cut his arm off,” Y/n spoke, taking out the necklace and looking at the charm in her hand. She left right after, watching him lay unconscious against his master, missing apart of his right arm. She had hurt him, and for a moment, when she was looking at the injured pair, the padawan’s master had the same look on his face as before. An eyebrow raised as if to say, Do it, kill us. I doubt you’ll do it. 

“I’m disappointed in you.” He said. Y/n could have done it. She would have just pictured them as droids and slice the two in half. It would have been quick and painless. She could have plaid her life out, kill the chosen one, rule the sith, and live her life. Why didn’t you? She kept thinking as she admired the gift. 

Looking at the charm, the future she talked about seemed too far away, especially now. The end with the boy she loved, Anakin, who also was the boy she was supposed to kill. But for right now, she thought to herself. She wouldn’t kill him, at least not yet, until she knew for sure that her fantasies with Anakin were just wild dreams. It was her own life. Why couldn’t she have the things she wanted? 

[tanadrin]

I suppose because politics is what means I have no future of any kind left, so it's hard to be silly about it. And I seem to have landed myself in a sector of social media filled with people who are very smug about how smart and nihilistic they are, and I hate all of you with the hatred that only a miserable, powerless person can feel.

I don’t buy it. Unless you are quite literally scheduled to be executed at dawn, “no future of any kind left” because of politics is catastrophizing. People in very dire circumstances the world over often manage to build some kind of life for themselves; it may not be the life they want, and the suffering they endure because of the circumstances they are limited by should not be dismissed, but to say that someone in such adverse conditions has no future is to infantalize them and deny them the agency they do have to shape their life to some extent.

And this is an insight I’ve found important when dealing with depression in myself: even if one’s catastrophizing is not irrational (say, you’re a queer person stuck in an extremely homophobic environment, at minimum for the next 5-10 years), that does not mean it is useful. To put it another way: circumstance might justifiably make you angry and sad and frustrated. That may be rational. Deciding, in the face of that anger and sadness and frustration, to surrender to it is not rational.

So--assuming that you are not a political dissident due to be executed, nor suffering from a terminal illness which somehow for political reasons cannot be cured (if either of these things are true, you have my sincere condolences)--I have to say, this ask reeks of someone who’s depressed. If you are depressed, you will always be able to come up with reasons why happiness is unattainable for you, due to circumstances entirely out of your control. This is not a crazy thing to think, because if you are depressed and not treating that depression, most if not all the things you try to do will not solve your unhappiness because they are usually orthogonal to what is making you unhappy. Your very ability to accurately imagine future happy states and what might bring them about is suppressed by depression; for instance, you might, if you are depressed and you know it, rationally understand that exercise often helps with your depression, but be unable to motivate yourself to exercise because the intuitive link between if I do X I will feel better is broken by an internal forecasting system that refuses to spit out predictions other than “nothing I do will help with anything.”

A depressed state is not a psychotic break--it doesn’t cause you to lose touch with reality--but I think depressed people would sometimes benefit from treating it like one, because it does subvert your ability to accurately model the world, and therefore you can’t trust your own ability to reason or intuit about certain topics. I have both experienced this from the inside, and seen it from the outside: friends whose depression causes them to believe they are unlovable, and thus that nobody loves them, even when told (and shown) repeatedly that they are very much loved, and very important to the people around them.

In fact, you remind me of this post: depressed and anxious people who notice politics is depressing and anxiety-inducing, and that depressing and anxiety-inducing problems confront the world and society, and therefore conclude that their depression and anxiety are a rational and reasonable response to the world. But that doesn’t follow at all! A lot of responses to a depressing and anxiety-inducing environment are more useful that shutting down and withdrawing, or letting yourself be paralyzed; and even if there are negative external factors in the world affecting your life, if you have nothing in your life that is a sufficient source of joy to offset these things at least somewhat, then you have problems sufficiently severe that I don’t think your depression or anxiety can be laid at the feet of the world at large alone; more likely, you’re dealing with shitty personal circumstances, and these are far more likely to be tractable to your individual capacities than, like, all of climate change. And if you do have some sources of joy in your life, you can cultivate those further.

To put it another way: humans are very bad at reasoning about things on large scales or over large timelines. One reason we’re slow to solve problems like climate change is that we tend to be pretty blasé about remote and impersonal problems, which is actually often useful as well--because it means we’re capable of adjusting our hedonic barometer to create joy even in catastrophic circumstances. If you are constantly worried about big issues like climate change or the Trump presidency to the point where you can never do that, then the conclusion you should draw isn’t that you’re a uniquely rational human being with a uniquely accurate worldview, it’s that your brain is broken and you should not trust your intuitition.

Emotional states are not rational models of the world. They are tools our brain uses to motivate certain kinds of action. They probably have their origin in our social evolution, but this means they are extremely untrustworthy when it comes to complex, large-scale, philosophical, or impersonal issues, because these are not scenarios our brains evolved to handle before the advent of high-population, highly-stratified societies.

Now, I realize it’s hard to convince someone they are depressed and/or should seek treatment by rational argument (lord knows I’ve tried in the past!), because after all, if we were being perfectly rational, we would not feel depressed. We wouldn’t feel anything; again, emotions are contingent tools, not highly rationalized responses to the world! So I won’t belabor this point any longer. Instead, now I’m going to get annoyed with you.

Because here’s the other thing depressed people do--and I have done myself. They see people who are not depressed, whose hedonic barometers are functioning normally, and capable of experiencing joy even in arguably (or inarguably!) shitty circumstances, and they get mad at them. How dare you be capable of laughing at a joke, or sharing a meme, or having a nice day, when everything is so bad!

This is a common response, not only from depression, but also I think from grief, or fear, or trauma, or lots of other things. But it’s bullshit. I’m sorry, but you don’t get to demand that everyone feel your suffering as acutely as they feel their own. You don’t get to demand that just because you’re a pessimistic ball of frustration and anger that everyone else be, too. You get to--and ought to--demand that people treat you with empathy and respect, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get to make jokes about topics you find depressing as hell. Yes, even topics that personally affect you, and may not personally affect them (though, of course, a lot of times people assume the person making the joke isn’t personally affected by the topic, when in reality they are and the joke is a way of relieving stress and coping with frustration).

That calvin and hobbes meme I reblogged is an extremely generic political compass meme; the only relevance it has to the world today, I suppose, is acknowledging that, like, politics is a thing that exists. If you’re upset by that--how dare people laugh at politics, the source of all my problems--you’re being a dick.

And this leads my to my final point, which is this: while we are all of us owed compassion, we also owe others compassion. And people caught up in their own anxiety and depression and anger often don’t see the way their emotional states impose costs on the people around them. They often treat the people around them badly--worse, at any rate, than they normally would--and react defensively if this is pointed out to them.

I’ve done this. I have friends who have done this. I get it. It doesn’t make someone a horrible person! It doesn’t meant they deserve to feel the way they do. But it does create the second half of a twofold moral obligation. You see, I believe that the, call it “utilitarian selfishness” view, is essentially correct: if all humans are of similar moral worth (they are), and you can only help one person (often true), and that person is yourself, it is no less moral to help yourself than it is to help someone else. This is usually framed as a grant of permission: “you are allowed to be selfish sometimes.” But it’s also an obligation: “you should not be a dick--even to yourself.” You have a positive obligation to care about your own suffering! And you have a positive obligation to try to reduce the costs your suffering--your bad mood, your depression, your anxiety--imposes on the people around you.

Because I’m not a smug nihilist. I actually believe, with embarrassing intensity, in a large number of abstract principles. And while I believe circumstance or injustice can conspire to make people feel miserable and powerless, and I have the utmost sympathy for you feeling that way, no one is so omnipotent as to be able to truly excise our power to do something with our life that is rewarding to us, no matter how modest. Your subjective feeling of misery is not license to be a dick to people, or to misrepresent them or their motivations. And if reading my tumblr (or anyone else’s) makes you miserable, you have a positive moral obligation to stop, because you’re being a dick to yourself, which is no more justifiable than being a dick to me. And being a dick to me because you don’t like my Tumblr, because you’re miserable and I’m not, is pants-on-head stupid.

I, too, have been so convinced of my misery and powerlessness, and so utterly convinced of my inability to make improvements in my life, that I have yielded utterly to the feeling of myself as a despised, helpless, wretched thing. You can spend years in that state. A lifetime, even. I suppose it relieves you from the burden of having to try, which is a tiny shred of comfort when the climb up the hill seems so steep. But I have found that in the long run it brings no other relief; there’s no regression to the mean, just an endless prolongation of misery. It required some courage, and not a little determination, to try to climb out of that pit. Sometimes you struggle. Sometimes you fall back in. Sometimes it’s easier to believe there’s nothing beyond that place of unhappiness. But there is, and you can get there, and the choice of whether or not to reach it lies only with you.

[absynthe--minded]

on Fëanáro and Fate

based on this post by @finelythreadedsky who is wonderful and you all should follow her like right now

okay so I’m going to make a brief way too long aside to say: this is specifically about fate in the Silmarillion. fate in The Lord of the Rings is actually a fairly positive thing, way moreso than in the Silm - this is perhaps best demonstrated in a series of choices and interactions that Frodo has over the course of the books. Gandalf, in Fellowship, tells him essentially that since he has the Ring, he was meant to have it, and this is an encouraging thought because all their actions are foreordained by a presumably benevolent power acting in their best interest. Frodo is at first not comforted, but does find himself feeling better in the next book when Sam basically says “hey, we’re in a story, and look at these heroic legendary figures who were ALSO in stories who did way more dangerous shit than we’re doing and who made it out okay!” he takes comfort in the idea that Beren and Lúthien snuck into Angband and stole a Silmaril, because that means that by virtue of still being in the same story as they were, things might work out okay. (”Do the great tales ever really end?” no, they don’t, they just echo back on themselves) you could read Frodo's rejection of arms and armor in Mordor as his ultimate acceptance of the fact that he’s a creature of fate now - he has no real agency, he’s driven on by dooms beyond his control, and he rejects things that give him the illusion of being able to change that. but. like I said, fate in LotR is a good thing, and so Frodo is rewarded for his acceptance with rest and restoration and healing.

anyway. fate in the most famous fantasy trilogy of all time, and being part of a greater narrative with limited agency and little control over one’s actions and ending? this is a good thing, probably because JRRT was a Catholic and God being in control is a good thing.

I tell you that so we can talk about everybody’s favorite walking dumpster fire, Fëanáro “Fëanor” Finwion. this is supposed to have a cut, so if it doesn’t, I’m So Sorry Mobile Users. this was also written in a fatigued haze so I’m Sorry In Advance For That. no sources we die like the Eldar.

I’m actually gonna open with something that @yavieriel brought up in a series of DMs, which is the opening to the 2000s anime Princess Tutu and its arc words of “Those who accept their fate find happiness; those who defy it, glory.”

I do that because glory in Tolkien is a double-edged sword - glorious people go on to die in glorious ways. they usually don’t have long and happy lives. the wisest members of the cast are crotchety old souls who want Zero Adventures Thank You and who get dragged along on greater stories because that’s what must be done to make the world a better place. but this is a good contrasting point between Frodo and Fëanor (I’m going to call him that bc that’s what he’s called in the Silm, hopefully we all know my feelings on Sindarinized names by now) because Frodo does accept his fate and find happiness, and Fëanor... well.

I’m making this post at all because the Great Fate Post (called the GFP going forward) pulls a lot of examples from Western literature of characters being aware they’re in a story but being unable to do anything about it, or being guided to an inevitable end. and it’s a great post! it talks about Hadestown and Hermes and it’s a good post. I agree with everything in it. except for the fact that the quote from the Silmarillion that was used to showcase this sense of greater acceptance of one’s limited agency (even through terror/being driven on to a bad end) was an excerpt from this line: 'We have sworn, and not lightly. This oath we will keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.'

Now. The guy saying that is Fëanor. Currently, he and all his people are in deep shit with the gods because they committed kinslaying. Like, serious kinslaying. we never get an in-universe body count but it’s severe enough that everyone even tangentially involved gets cursed by the resident god of death. this is called the Doom of the Noldor, which is the ethnic group whose members committed the atrocity. it’s a big fucking deal. it essentially says that you’re doomed, you will die, and all your works will come to nothing, and the gods will not look on you with pity, and thanks to your stupid choice to do the murder thing you’re all going to come to sorrows so great that the tears you shed will be unnumbered due to their ubiquity. and for a race with no natural death, being told outright “you’re going to die” is terrifying! elves are so immortal that the halls of the dead aren’t actually an underworld you stay in they’re a respawn point - you go, you heal from the pains of life, and then you get a new body and you get to go forth into the world again. the only way you opt out of this is either by opting out of the summons to the halls of the dead or by opting out of leaving entirely, both of which you can totally do. and being immortal and knowing that all your works and efforts will ultimately be destroyed and meaningless? well fuck.

Fëanor’s response is the above quote. He says this immediately after his people have been told by a literal god who can see the future “hey, assholes, you’re fucked.” He’s staring down the barrel of the gun marked “fate” and he says “actually, you know what? no. you’re wrong. even if you’re right about some aspects of this, I still have control, I still have agency. We will not be forgotten, our works will not come to nothing. History will remember us, and only history can judge us.” And it’s interesting to examine this in the greater context of the GFP because unlike other characters that are cited there, and even unlike his own sons, Fëanor doesn’t feel the weight of doom upon him. He assumes he’s the protagonist of this story, and as a result anything and everything he does will turn out okay. He’s perhaps the smartest incarnate being to ever have lived. He’ll think his way out, or demand his way out. It’s worked before and it will work again.

And the signs are there that he’s wrong, even as they’re subtle. It’s a bit like playing on long-abandoned train tracks. Someday, there will be a train, even if you’ve never seen one yet.

Fëanor dies in a spectacularly disastrous fashion almost immediately after this. Like. It can’t be more than a year later, and for immortal elves, that’s a blink of the eye. he’s the only elf, really, to have this defiant “fuck you” approach to doom. everybody else who comes under the weight of it either accepts it without causing a fuss or tries to resist it before ultimately failing and giving in. elves are bound to the world, to its circles and its story. they cannot jump the track of fate, they must ride the train to the station, regardless of whether or not the bridge is out.

and ultimately, despite his defiance and his frustration, Fëanor is no different from any of them.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

Hello! I was hoping to add a bit to your thoughts on Bloodraven. I agree wholeheartedly with you that Bloodraven is a terrible person and made terrible decisions. But I disagree with you that he’s rewarded for it. The novels do quite a but to frame him as an evil person. Yes he’s a magical greenseer and has a lot of magical power, but he’s also a scary tree person with roots growing in him. He lives in a dark cave he can never leave with creepy elves that have probably killed Bran’s friend. There’s also a lot of theories that Bloodraven drove Euron crazy when testing Euron for magical abilities like he tested Bran. GRRM looks to be setting him up as a dark twist to the wise mentor trope while the show treated him like Gandalf.

Hello, Anon! Bl00draven as a villain is actually a very controversial opinion/theory in tumblr fandom, (which is why I misspell his name and use his anti tag) with at least some considering him a straight-up hero trying to save the world, or an anti-hero who commits atrocities to achieve “noble goals” (including, if I remember correctly, the same person who wrote at least part of the theory that Euron is Bl00draven’s ex-student). I believe Bl00draven is “a terrible person [who] made terrible decisions”, but I’m probably in the minority, (you’d probably find a better discussion with people who think he’s a hero in your analysis of how his character is framed), but you haven’t indicated why you don’t think he’s rewarded for his actions. 

I have written about how the narrative protects Bl00draven from the consequences of his actions in the post you’re responding to, in a response to warsofasoiaf, and a response to godihatethisfreakingcat. In summary:

The two times BR suffers any setback (losing an eye; being sent to the Wall for high treason), it ends up working out for him in the end (not being affected by monocular vision at all if he held his own in a second duel against Aegor Rivers, getting a “scary” reputation and possibly greenseeing powers; having 200 of his personal guard and Prince Aemon accompany him, getting to keep the only Targaryen ancestral sword when he’s supposed to be punished, getting elected Lord Commander despite his horrible tenure as Hand, and deserting the Night’s Watch to become an immortal greenseer despite desertion being a death sentence)

When it looks like BR is going to suffer other setbacks, they magically go away (he and Baelor have a dispute over how to treat the defeated Blackfyre rebels, but Baelor dies before he can become king; he mocks Maekar in front of his own son and unsubtly threatens to kidnap Egg, but is said to have become Maekar’s Hand; his spy network fails to capture Aegor Rivers multiple times and couldn’t keep an eye on his ship as it made way for the Wall, but he isn’t punished for failing to do the one job he promised to do)

BR never had to work to gain anyone’s trust or his positions of authority, despite being terrible at his job (his mother was a friend of Da3ron II’s from birth; he was granted an ancestral Valyrian sword as a teenager despite not being the best swordsman; he gets his first Small Council position by age 20; Da3ron II trusts him enough to start a war on his say-so; Aerys makes him his Hand over his more competent brother Maekar; Maekar keeps him as Hand despite resenting him for decades; he’s made Night’s Watch Lord Commander). Maintaining so much power either undermines your claim that the narrative frames him as a villain (if he’s so untrustworthy, why do the supposed protagonists keep giving him jobs?), or it makes the characters who’ve granted him this power into idiots (at least 2 of whom are lauded as intelligent or clever).

Other villainous characters have done less harm than Bl00draven, but are punished for it while he gets to keep his power:

The infamously corrupt High Septon was torn apart by starving King’s Landing smallfolk during the bread riots of 299

The corrupt Rego Draz, who levied high taxes and tolls on the smallfolk (abuse of the smallfolk amidst a humanitarian crisis? sounds familiar), was stoned to death by a starving mob during the harsh winter and plague of 59

Rhaenyra was believed to have murdered Helaena Targaryen, and her husband did arrange for the murder of Helaena’s son (a parent and two young sons murdered in cold blood? sounds familiar). Thousands of smallfolk rioted out of desire for justice for the three, which caused the death of 5 dragons, Rhaenyra’s remaining son Joffrey, and Rhaenyra’s own flight from the capital. She never regained the throne again

Mysaria of Lys, explicitly compared to Bl00draven as Mistress of Whispers, also arranged for the murder of Helaena’s son Jaehaerys, informed on Nettles to Rhaenyra resulting in a warrant for her death (informing on someone to a monarch baseless rumors resulting in a warrant for their arrest? sounds familiar), and may have contributed to Helaena’s suicide that the riots were about. When King’s Landing fell, she was stripped naked and whipped to death as she was forced to walk out of the city.

Tyanna of Pentos, similarly mistress of whispers like Mysaria, tortured the king’s nephew to death (after having him imprisoned? sounds familiar), tortured dozens of men and women including rumored lover Alys Harroway, kidnapped children to ensure their mother’s good behavior while being repeatedly raped, and allegedly poisoned her fellow queens in order to be Maegor’s true wife. She was brutally murdered by the man she sought to influence, her heart thrown to the dogs

Bl00draven deliberately shot 2 unarmed 12-year-olds in front of their father to win a war, ordered the smallfolk back to their lands during the midst of a drought and after the Great Spring Sickness, caused the death of a young man under suspicious circumstances, threatened to keep the son of his rival a hostage, killed a man he promised safe passage to, denied critical aid to the crown’s vassals during ironborn raids, and created a reign of fear and paranoia that resulted in the deaths of innocent smallfolk. Bafflingly, while there are apparently riots and violence and rebellion, he makes routine trips into Flea Bottom to keep the people in line (yes, the smallfolk in King’s Landing are so complacent to authoritarian rulers as I just mentioned) and survives all of them (relatively) unscathed. Not only does he keep his position as Hand, or gained a new position as Lord Commander, but he lives to a ripe old age before running away to the cave to be an immortal greenseer with infinite knowledge. My point in comparing the actions and consequences of characters similar to Bl00draven is that if the smallfolk or the Targaryens were written consistently, he would’ve been horribly murdered for corruption or insubordination long before he ever met Bran. I understand he would have to live into canon era to be Bran’s mentor; but GRRM broke the rules of his own universe by letting Bl00draven get away with too much to be believable while giving him even more power. It is inconsistent writing that makes his survival due to authorial fiat than any skill or allies. That’s why I consider him possibly the worst-written character in the series.

Bl00draven has not committed enough good deeds to be a hero (in my opinion; other people consider keeping Da3ron’s progeny on the throne for a few generations longer to be heroic). But neither has he suffered for the consequences of his actions like a villain. We know that the Freys and Boltons will face comeuppance for their atrocities in the Red Wedding and at Winterfell because it’s already clear they have sown the seeds of their own destruction; the Freys’ violation of guest right contributed to the breakdown of the rule of law that made honorable parley impossible, and their murder of Catelyn Stark led to Lady Stoneheart in the Riverlands killing Freys with the Brotherhood, and their murder of Wendel Manderly led to his father Wyman orchestrating some of their deaths; the Boltons’ role in the Red Wedding led to nearly universal hatred among the northern lords, and caused the mountain clans to ally with Stannis to get them out, and Ramsay’s rape of who they think is Arya Stark just gives them further cause to resent their traitorous overlords. I don’t have to explain how Tywin’s cult of Lannister supremacy doesn’t survive his death as he’s offed in the most humiliating manner by the son he despised, since Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion are either imprisoned, enslaved, or in a trial for their life by book 5. Contrast Bl00draven, because the family he most wronged (the Blackfyres) are either no longer around or are uninterested in seeing him brought to justice; he certainly sowed the seeds of destruction, but he never reaped them himself (if anything, he got more powerful); instead the Targaryens did. I don’t see how he will be getting any personal comeuppance in the future, unless he is somehow unplugged from the weirwood network and executed as a deserter to the Night’s Watch (the Starks do have a pattern of executing those guys, so maybe it will be Bran’s turn). Until then, I don’t foresee him being a good asoiaf villain either.

[sabraeal]

Desert & Reward, Chapter 10

[Read on AO3]

There’s someone in his room.

The windows are shut against the night air-- Yori, and by that he means Morel, has ideas about air flow and general health that he can’t wait for Miss to hear-- but a faint whisper skates across the stillness. It’s not his own breath; that’s been trapped in his chest since he flinched awake, fully conscious of the shade lingering in the shadows.

How gauche to kill a groom before his wedding night. Everyone knows corpses are only fashionable when found fresh on their marital bed.

But style is the least of his concerns right now. With a conscious effort, every tense muscle eases, his limbs flopping out like a limp starfish. Miss might complain about his sprawl after spending a cold night curled at the edge of the bed, but it was the perfect posture to imply a solid, dead to the world sort of unconsciousness.

There’s only one way to really sell this perfect deception: a snore. Not a dainty, fake one, oh no, but a wall-rattling, chest-and-throat-involved extravaganza of sound. There, obnoxious and oblivious: the perfect victim.

The sound of rustling cloth is muted beneath his act, but Obi hasn’t lasted this long by being a slouch in the perception department. His hand slithers under the pillow, clasping his fingers around a hilt. He hopes his murderer is enjoying the show; it’ll be the last thing they ever see, after all.

“My lord.”

Obi winces. That’s-- that’s much closer than he would have thought. His grip tightens, back tensing--

“My lord,” his attacker whispers again, beleaguered. “Get up.”

“Yori?” His eyes slit open, the dark room viewed from behind the cage of his lashes, and-- ah, there. Yori, his hair oddly askew, shirt glowing white in the dim. Ah, what did he always say? Assassins and domestics.

Obi rolls over, blinks. His valet is half-dressed. “Did you get in a fight?”

“A--? No, my lord.” He sighs, straightening from his servile crouch. “If my lord would be so kind, I’d feel better if you weren’t poised to attack me with cutlery.”

His grip loosens, blade dropping back to it’s place on the mattress. “It’s not cutlery.”

“Well, it’d certainly be more at home in a kitchen than the bedroom,” his valet huffs, hands wrapping around his hips. Mrs Carre will be so pleased to know he was getting a proper scolding even out of her care. “If you’re plan to keep that habit back home, then I’m going to start asking for hazard pay.”

He makes a sound half laugh, half snort, and entirely derisive. “Ah, come on. It’s not like it’s a new...”

His well of words dries up as Yori stares at him, head cocked and curious, arms crossed like a mother waiting for a weak explanation, and--

He hasn’t at Cacciatore. Purposefully, at first; there’s no better way to root out a traitor than to play into the expectation of a hapless lord. But then...

Well, the bedside drawer is just as good a hiding place as a pillow. One the maids were less likely to find, at least. Lili would take a discovery like that with her usual aplomb-- in his experience, Tanbarun made their ladies particlarly unflappable-- but any of the others...

Well, he could only imagine the sort of dressing down he’d get if one of Mrs Carre’s girls cut themselves changing the linen. He might be lord of the manor, but Obi’s under no illusions about whose house he lives in.

“What time is it?” He squints toward the widows. It’s impossible to tell; night’s faded from black to a thick blue, but his room faces west, not east.

“Early,” Yori replies, shirty. “You need to get up.”

Obi groans, throwing his arm over his eyes. If he closes them now, he might have a chance of slipping back into sleep. “We’re in the city, Yori. We keep city hours.”

“I understand, sir, but however--”

He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. “Wake me up when breakfast is here.”

Yori heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Although there’s nothing I would like more than being able to ignore my duty and return to bed, my lord, there’s a message for you.”

“It’ll keep.”

“Sir--”

He opens a single, dubious eye. “Is something on fire, Yori?”

“No, but--”

“Then it can wait until morning.”

That should be the end of the conversation; it always was when he tried to pester Master-- Zen into action in the wee hours. But instead Yori shuffles, put-out, at the edge of the bed. “It’s from the gate, my lord.”

Obi’s never been one for pulling rank-- it stuck him as a little uppity to expect sirs and milords when he’d been dragged out of the gutter-- but oh, he’s tempted to now. If even the gate guards think they can rouse him in the middle of the night on a whim, it seems prudent to cultivate at least an inkling of noble bearing. “And?”

“Someone’s waiting for you.”

They take the servant’s corridors; the palace’s halls might be empty this time of night-- or morning-- but these are what Obi knows best. He might have a title now, but back in those days, he’d been an up-jumped gutter rat. Even with his shiny messenger tag, the court rested a little easier if the riffraff didn’t sully their air by breathing it.

It’s an advantage now; with no guards to ask their their business, they’ll make better time. From chambers to Starlight and back again, in bed before he can lose his beauty sleep.

“I hope you are aware, my lord--” if only Yori could teach him how to infuse so much derision into a title, Obi would die a happy, if thoroughly stabbed, man-- “that a man of proper breeding would submit to the whole of their toilette before even thinking of stepping foot out of their--”

“You got this robe on me.” A testament to Yori’s powers of persuasion, considering what an eyesore it is. “Don’t push your luck.”

“A banyan is the least you could do.” The crisp cut of his words channels every last stuffy inch of Mr Morel. “You might as well be walking around in your drawers.”

“Aw, come on.” He grins, letting the robe gape; even the peep of pajama brings a frown to Yori’s face. “You know better than anyone that I don’t wear any.”

His valet could teach a master class on sighs. “For someone so devoted to their line of their trouser, you might wear ones where it matters.”

He clucks his tongue. “And ruin the mystery?”

Something utterly intriguing ripples across Yori’s face, pinching his mouth and furrowing his brow, leaving him more Morel than man. “My lord, the trappings of the court may not suit you, but I beg you to concede to at least some form of propriety.”

He glances back at him, waggling his brows. “And why would I do that?”

“Your wife.”

Ah, now that stops him dead in his tracks. “My...?”

Yori squeezes a steeling breath through his nose. “It may have escaped you, my lord, but you are going to marry in the morning.”

All at once, he’s aware of how much his body aches. Last night-- no, only hours ago-- is...foggy, blurred by the patina of alcohol, but he could never forget the warm weight of Miss on his back, of the sweet way she clung to him as they flew through the air-- nor the sickening crack his bones made on that landing. Miss may be light, but unlike snow banks, balconies are hell on the knees.

Miss, who he was only carrying because she was too drunk to walk. Who was only drunk because she’d been at a hen party. Who was only at a hen party because it was being thrown in her honor. An honor she only had because she was due to get married in the morning. The same wedding he’d be having because they were marrying each other.

He needs a minute. A long one. His death grip on the wainscoting isn’t going to be enough to hold him. “It is morning.”

Yori’s mouth pulls thin; not the way Morel’s can, but close enough. “When it is more morning.”

There’s no blush of dawn linger at the horizon, only the mist of its breath, but oh, that is...more than enough. His Majesty sprung this impossibility on him only days ago, and now--

Well, he’d better enjoy his bachelorhood while he can. In a few short hours, he’ll be Miss’s ball and chain.

“And to a margravine,” Yori continues, sulkily keeping pace. “I know you’re content to hide away in the country for the rest of your life, my lord--” a lie, if Obi ever heard one-- “but your wife’ll want to keep a presence at court.”

He tries to picture it, tries to think of Miss weighed down by a dress so bejeweled it practically has its own economy, wearing a courtly mask for every occasion, talking of nothing but the latest fashion or the most shocking scandal and not hating every minute of it--

But it’s impossible. Tanbarun’s king can slap a title on her, but not even Master could make her enjoy it. She might come when a crown calls, but they’ll be prying her out from between the pages of a book.

Yori’ll learn all that soon enough. Or he would, if Miss came to live at Cacciatore. Which she wouldn’t; no reason to halt all her actual, important work for a fake marriage that’ll be nothing more than ashes in the pan in a handful of years anyway.

But Yori doesn’t know that-- can’t know that, if he wants to keep Miss away from whatever plans Tanbarun has for her. So he lets his mouth tilt, lets a sly smile creep up the curve of his jaw. The first rule of being a good gambler is never telling a man when he puts his money on the wrong bird. “You don’t say?”

“Of course I do.” His valet glances at him, cheeks puffed and brows bent, and tells him with all the undue confidence only an umarried man could, “If you’re to be married, sir, you might learn about the wants of women.”

He doesn’t laugh. When all this is over, His Majesty should put a medal on his chest for it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yori.” Obi blinks, eyes adjusting the the brilliant flare of the lamps. “This isn’t Starlight.”

His valet sighs. “No, my lord. It is not.”

“But you said there was a message for me--?”

“At the gate,” Yori confirms, beleaguered. “Poet’s gate.”

Obi would rather die than admit it but-- he’s starting to regret the banyan. Well, he’s always regretted the banyan, but the pajamas beneath it--

Well, he’s definitely under-dressed. For whatever this is.

Not that it looks like much. A coach idles at the foot of the stair, paneled all in black, but the rest of the courtyard is empty. Well, save for the swarm of footmen buzzing around, combing the carriage for every last hair of the lord that abandoned it. What sort of sadist arrives in the wee hours, Obi can’t say, but he’s glad all their wedding guests are accounted for, otherwise--

The door shuts, and there, staring him dead in the eye, is the horned hind of Forenzo.

“Obi!” Long limbs flail out from the swarm, and in the first blush of dawn, one of the footmen resolves into more inches than sense.

“Suzu?” He tries to tell himself to walk forward, but his legs stall numbly beneath him. The past three days have felt like a dream-- a nightmare, really-- but the sort he can control, the kind he can choose to wake up from.

“What...?” A foxish face looms just over him, grinning lazily. Suzu’s here now, and it’s all suddenly real. “What are you doing here?”

“I came with Lata,” he says, as if that explains anything. “He had an invitation.”

“Right.” Of course he did; not that Obi had ever expected him to use it. “But what are you doing here?”

“Oh, well, we figured if he was coming, we should go too.” One large hand sweeps over the ill-fitting Forenzo livery. “So here I am.”

Obi blinks. “And Lata just...let you?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.” He shrugs, sending arms everywhere. “He told us it would be a cold day in Yuris before he let a single one of us show up as his plus one.”

That sounds right, at least. “Mmhm.”

“So we played roshambo for it,” Suzu continues, “and I told him I’d be his servant or whatever.”

“And that...worked?” Maybe this was all still a dream. It’s following the same sort of logic, at least.

“Yeah! Actually--” Suzu rubs at his chin, just the way Shidan does, only with far less reason or facial hair-- “he seemed happy not to have to go and interview people for it.”

That made sense, at least.

“You’re Lord Forenzo’s valet?”

Suzu glances up, blinking at where his own stands, just three steps up from where they’re talking. “Yeah, that sounds like what he said.”

Yori, for his part, looks politely horrified. Obi can’t blame him; Suzu doesn’t give off the air of being in charge of himself, let alone another person, especially one expected to participate in a toilette of some kind.

Still, that’s not the part that bothers him, personally. “But why?”

“Well--” Suzu sucks in a breath, hands hooking around his hips like Yuzuri does right before she lays into him-- “my guess would be his complete lack of social skills--”

“No, not that.” He doesn’t exactly need a primer on Lata Forenzo being a misanthrope. “I mean why did you bother going through all that trouble?”

Obi’s come face to face with a fox once, years ago now. He’d been doing the long walk of shame that came from country kills, no trees to help him along and no reason to hurry back to his cramped quarters, when two foxes darted across his path. Or at least one did, scurrying across into the long grass in a rusty streak. The other--

The other sat there, right in front of him, one paw raised. Like he couldn’t be seen if he didn’t move. Or maybe that the scarecrow staring down at him couldn’t attack as long as he kept him in his sight. Obi had to turn his back before the thing dared to dart away, and only once his friend let out an eerie whimper.

But for that moment, amber burned into gold, and the gulf between human and fox seemed so, infinitesimally small--

Well, it’s what he thinks of as Suzu stares at him, those sharp angles of his cheeks limned in the dawn’s light.

“C’mon.” Suzu’s mouth curls into a sure smile, one fist tapping him on the shoulder. “The best man can’t miss the wedding.”

“Ah...” Obi rubs at the back of his head. “About that...”

“Prince Zen is Marquis Conti’s best man,” Yori offers, strangely bitter. “You know, the second prince.”

Obi cranes his neck back with a scowl. “That’s not my name.”

Yori, with not a contrite bone in his body, says, “Apologies, my lord.”

Obi turns back, a much more sincere apology brewing behind his teeth, but Suzu is too busy frowning over his shoulder to appreciate it. “Who is this guy?”

“Ah...” Obi had left Lyrias with a jaunty wave and a promise to be back before the next snow; he’d thought that a royal reward consisted of a fancy title and some cash, a quick trip down to sweat in the capital before coming back to freeze at the castle.

And then, well--

“I am my lord’s personal valet,” Yori informs him, giving Suzu’s slapdash livery a perusal that could only be described as scathing.

“Oh!” Suzu’s mouth parts in a grin that usually means he’s about to get punched. “You have one of these too? Am I going to get one?”

“Ancestors forfend,” Yori mutters at the same time Obi adds, louder, “I think only lords get them.”

Suzu hums. “Well, I suppose I can’t mind being second fiddle to a guy that is, you know, a prince.”

“It’s political,” Obi assures Suzu with a grimace. “Not personal. If I ever get married for re--”

His teeth clack shut. Ah, so many months out in the country have dulled his edge. Or at least loosened his tongue.

“It’s all right, man.” Suzu’s gaze darts pointedly over his shoulder. “I’ll forgive you this time. I still get to come, right?”

Yori steps in. “The tables are already--”

“Yes.” For the first time in what feels like days, Obi actual smiles. “I’ll make sure there’s room for you.”

He deserves at least one real thing on his wedding day, after all.

“Great!” Suzu’s mouth stretches wide. “I’m famished.”

[captainscanadian]

Love Me Blue | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Janmashtami)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: When you were younger, you had always dreamed of falling in love with someone who would love you like Lord Krishna loved Radha. A dream that once felt as though it was silly no longer felt that way. 

Word Count: 4400+

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tamilian!Hindu!Reader

Warnings: MINIMAL TAMIL SONG LYRICS (I’m more than happy to translate!) & TAMIL CULTURE, References to Hinduism, PTSD, Insomnia, Endgame References.

A/N: This is my entry for @bucky-smiles​‘s 3K Diversity Writing Challenge! My prompt was to write a fic with a Hindu reader. I decided to write this fic with a Tamilian reader because I am Tamilian. I was born in Sri Lanka and my mother’s side of the family are Hindu. Although I consider myself an agnostic theist, I do enjoy reading the epics of Mahabharata and Ramayana. I hope everyone had a wonderful Janmashtami. Along with Lord Krishna himself, it’s also @jalapenobarnes​‘ birthday this weekend so please go shower Saran with all the love. This one’s for you, my chellam! <3 Pics are off of Pinterest! 

Bucky Barnes watched curiously as he sat cross-legged on the tiled floor of your living quarters, splashing a handful of water on the bright green banana leaf that you had laid out in front of him. 

Even though your apartment had a designated dining room with an oak wood table and chairs, he wondered why you preferred to be eating on the living room floor. Not to mention the way you had chosen to serve him on a banana leaf than a plate. 

As much as he found it bizarre, he was also curious about the traditions that you seemed to follow. Not just through the way you ate your meals, but also the way you honored your dead best friend and the way you had filled your apartment with idols and paintings of your Hindu God. It came as a surprise to him that someone as young and well-educated as yourself could even hold onto the traditions that you had been raised with despite having settled away from your home for years. 

Bucky had been surprised to find that as the decades had progressed, traditions had evolved with the emergence of a post-modern society. The way people had practiced religion had also evolved with time, but the way you practiced yours seemed to be the same as the way his own mother had practiced hers back in the day. 

You did not conform to modern life for the sake of it, and he found that inspiring. The old Bucky who had always been fascinated by all that science had to offer would probably disagree with you. But having lived a whole century as one of HYDRA’s science experiments made him wish that he could return to the pre-modern society that he had been born into. He hated confirming with the status quo as much as the next guy, but seeing you made him realize that he did not need to force himself to confirm either. He could be himself, as long as he could figure out who exactly he was meant to be. 

“According to my grandmother, eating off of a banana leaf is a lot more healthier than eating off of a plate. Apparently the nutrients in the leaf can mix with the food.” You explained to him as you served him some of the rice, careful not to overcrowd the banana leaf. You knew that he was unfamiliar with the dishes, but also appreciated that he was willing to try out a new cuisine at this witching hour. “She said that it’s good for the immune system, prevents intestinal ulcers, skin diseases… soothes the stomach, helps with digestion and prevents kidney stones.” 

He nodded, understandably. “Right…” He agreed, not having the heart to tell you that the super soldier serum in his body ensured that his cells would constantly regenerate and prevent him from falling ill. Nevertheless, he found your endearment quite refreshing. You really did treat him like he was Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th and not the Winter Soldier, and he was grateful for that. 

“We’re used to eating off of the leaf during special occasions or when we have guests.” You added. “There’s a Buddhist and Hindu philosophy... Atithi Devo Bhava. It literally means that the guests must be given the same respect as you would give to your Gods. And since you’re my guest tonight, you get the banana leaf.” 

“I’m no God, Y/N.” Bucky clarified, sighing as he ran his metal hand through his greasy hair. “I’m a human being, a brainwashed assassin, a weapon of destruction who brought so much pain in people’s lives. I don’t deserve to be treated with so much respect.” 

“Bucky…” You frowned at his words before shaking your head. “As the one who spent most of my life studying the life of Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th, I beg to differ. I know that you have a lot of internalized guilt about those days and I don’t blame you for that. But you can’t let the Winter Soldier define who you are. You’re more than who you used to be when you were brainwashed. It wasn’t who you were.” 

“To be honest, I don’t even think I know who I am anymore…” He admitted, a truth that he hadn’t told anyone else at the compound but felt that he could trust you with.. “But I know for sure that I don’t deserve to be respected like you respect your God.” 

“You should let me be the judge of that. My concept of God is actually quite different from the Abrahamic religions that you happen to be familiar with.” You protested with a soft chuckle, crossing your legs to sit across from him. “My grandmother once told me that Lord Krishna… being the God of love and compassion, he’s always present in one’s heart. Wherever there’s love, he’s always there. If there’s love in your heart, he’s there. And that makes you just as Godly as anyone else.”  

“I’m the world’s longest prisoner of war who spent most of my life imprisoned in a cryofreezer. There’s nothing Godly about the life that I’ve had to live.” He shook his head. “If anything, I’m a symbol of pain and suffering.” 

“Well, Lord Krishna was born in prison.” You remarked. “His life was meant to be filled with so much love… It started on Janmashtami, in a prison cell where his parents were locked up by his own maternal uncle. Even in all that pain and suffering, the betrayal that Lord Krishna’s parents had to face… they were blessed with a child who was the incarnate of the supreme God himself. All that pain and suffering led to some kind of reward, and I’m sure you’ll get yours in due time. Sri Krishna never discriminates, and he forgives those who are truly remorseful of their sins. He’s the God of compassion after all.” 

Bucky could not help but chuckle softly at your words. For every word of self-hatred that came out of his mouth, you had your own rebuttal that was rooted in your faith. He was left with no choice but to accept his defeat and give in to being treated as your guest for the night. It was the least he could do other than make use of that computer he had been given to catch up with the world by looking up Lord Krishna. “So, what’s on the menu for tonight?”

“Okay!” You exclaimed, pointing to the rice dish that you had placed in the center of the leaf. “Ven pongal, basically made from rice and yellow lentils. It’s also got some peppercorns, cumin, turmeric, ginger, curry leaves and cashews that I fried in some clarified butter. That’s why it smells so good. Don’t worry about the spices though. This is probably the mildest dish I’ve ever eaten in my life.” 

Bucky nodded as he looked up at you. “Do you make this often?”

“It’s a traditional breakfast food in South India, but it also makes for the ultimate comfort food when I’m missing home.” You replied with a shrug of your shoulders before grabbing the bowl of sambar and pouring it over the rice. “Now this might be a little spicy for you. But it’s the side dish of all side dishes. Sambar, basically a mixed vegetable stew with lentils and spices. Great with most South Indian breakfast foods.” 

“And what about the rest?” He asked as he eyed the remainder of the delicacies that you had laid out before him. He could not deny that the warm aroma that wafted up his nostrils made them much more appetizing. Despite it being past midnight, he was starved. 

“Medhu vada… deep fried lentil fritters, coconut chutney to dip ‘em in… and kesari, dessert made from semolina.” You pointed to the items as you placed them on the banana leaf. “I hope you don’t mind eating with your hand. We don’t really use utensils and I kind of forgot to pick some up. If it makes you feel any better, the right hand is commonly used to eat so…” You motioned towards his hand. “Dig in?”

He raised his eyebrow at your words. “I guess that was very convenient for me.” He joked before looking down at the food and back at you. “Aren’t you going to eat with me?”

You chuckled softly before shrugging at his question. “It’s alright, Bucky. I can eat after you. It’s not polite to eat before the guest.”

“Y/N, come on… you just said that you made all of this food because you were feeling homesick. I can’t eat all of this without you.” He clarified with a smile. 

You looked down at your lap in embarrassment as you felt your cheeks heat up. “I kind of only bought one banana leaf because I thought I would be the one eating all of this food.” You told him, shamelessly. “I didn't think I would have company, not that I don’t want you here or anything. I invited you to eat but… my grandmother says it’s rude to eat right out of the serving bowls if you’re going to be serving the food to someone else. I don’t mind waiting until you’re done and helping myself to your leftovers.” 

A part of him could not believe how bound you were to your grandmother’s words, especially when it came to your dining etiquette. Despite the fact that your grandmother had been someone to hold you back from your potential, he admired that you still respected her enough to follow through with the culture that she had taught you. 

“Fine, then if you don’t mind…” He reached down to grab a dollop of the pongal and sambar with his thumb and two fingers, carefully holding his hand up towards your mouth. “Let me at least feed you.”

Your eyes grew wide at his gesture and you found your cheeks heating up in embarrassment once again. “Um…” You gulped, not knowing how to react to that. A part of you wanted to accept his offer, but the pitter patter against your heart mimicked the rain against your window and caused you to become very nervous. 

As much as you had denied it when you were around the rest of the team, you knew that you did have a slight crush on Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th Infantry Regiment when you had first watched through the archival footage from the war. After all, who wouldn’t. At that time, you had believed that he was dead so it didn’t mean much. But now he was very much alive and sitting right before you. He was certainly a good looking man who’s smile could light up the world, and unbeknownst to you he had just lit up yours. 

You had spent years studying his life, along with the rest of The Howling Commandos, in the name of academic curiosity. But you could not deny that now seeing him in person changed how you really felt about this man. Not many people who studied historical figures had the chance to see them face to face. But this had happened to you twice now, and it still felt surreal. Bucky Barnes really was sitting on the floor of your living quarters, about to feed you a bite of your most favourite South Indian comfort food. What kind of idiot would you be not to accept it? 

You accepted the bite of food that Bucky had offered you, bringing your hand over to cover your mouth as you chewed. Your lips curling into a small smile as your eyes glazed over, you looked down at your lap. 

For some reason, eating from this man’s hand had made you miss your father quite so much. Seven years it had been since he had passed away. You never even got to say goodbye, the last time you had spoken on the phone being an argument that you had ended abruptly by hanging up on him. Had you known what was going to happen just hours later, you would have done things differently. You would have cherished the last moments you got to share with your father. Hell, you would have even prevented him from dying the way he did. But it was all too late now. 

Perhaps you suffered from internalized guilt just as much as the super soldier who sat before you, for you did feel partially responsible for your father’s death. Being an agent who was meant to save the world and all, you couldn’t even manage to save your own father. While this did once make you doubt your skills as an agent, you could not deny that you would give anything to be able to do right by the man who had raised you to be anything more than a typical Indian farm girl. But for now, all you had to do was exist for the sake of existing and accept the position that you had been given. Do the right thing, just as your father had taught you. 

When you had been five years old, your grandmother had told you the story of how Lord Krishna was married to more than sixteen thousand women. She had told you that he married every woman who loved him. He loved them back just as much too, being the God of love after all. But the woman he loved the most, he hadn’t even been married to her. Radha Rani was the love of his life. She was his soulmate. Despite not being married, their love for each other was so pure and eternal. 

It was then you told your father, in your childish little voice, “Appa, I want someone to love me like Lord Krishna loved Radha.” 

Now as you swallowed the bite that Bucky Barnes had fed you, you couldn't help but look over his broad shoulders. Up on the wall behind him you had hung one of the many paintings of Radha and Krishna that you owned. But in that particular one, Radha and Krishna were affectionately gazing into each other’s eyes while feeding each other. 

It didn’t seem like a sign to you then, but you prayed for some things to be made clearer in due time. After all, you were going to be here for a while. If Lord Krishna was really going to bless you with the kind of love that makes you blue after all of that pain and suffering, then you might as well accept it like you had just accepted that bite of food from Bucky. 

“Tell me the truth, Bucky.” You looked over at the man who sat next to you on the couch, his legs crossed as he leaned against the armrest. “Why are you even up at this hour?” 

Bucky Barnes looked over at you and let out a sigh, not knowing if lying to you about his insomnia would sell. After all, you seemed to know him better than he knew himself despite the fact that you had met just yesterday. While he feared that admitting the truth would cause you to become weary of him, he knew better than to lie to the woman who was in a position of authority. He had to be transparent with you, mainly because he didn’t have the heart to lie to you. 

“I can’t sleep.” He admitted, biting down on his bottom lip as he sat up straight, his elbows resting against his thighs as he covered his face with his hands. “I haven’t slept properly in a while, ever since I moved into the compound really. Every night I go to bed at a reasonable time. But I still end up waking up at this strange hour because of some nightmare.” 

Leaning over to rest your hand on his shoulder, you wanted to give him a squeeze. But you were quick to realize that his left shoulder was vibranium, so instead you moved your hand to rub his back. “Have you talked to Sam about it?” 

Not that you would assume that his friendship with Sam was anything like his friendship with Steve. As someone who had your own demons, you knew that it was not that easy to confide in someone about something like this. But you were well aware that Sam had some experience offering support groups to veterans who suffered from PTSD during his time working at the VA back in DC. He seemed to be much more equipped to handle something like this than you were, no doubt about that. But since you were now the boss around here, you knew that something needed to be done to address the mental health of your heroes.  

Bucky shook his head. “He’s always been weary of me, Y/N. I don’t think I should worry him about this. The last thing I want is for anyone to think that the Winter Soldier is still in me when he’s not.” 

“Sam can be an asshole at times… but he means well. He cares a lot about his friends, and that includes you and me.” You admitted. “But I know what you mean. What you’re going through, it’s not easy. You’ve had to deal with a lifetime’s worth of torture under HYDRA, along with the whole thing with the blip. The world has changed so much that it’s not all that easy to keep up with anymore.” 

He looked up at you and frowned. “I feel so lost, you know? Like I don’t know where I should start. I’ve missed out on seventy years of… life. The life that I knew before the war is gone and the life that I had since then… is full of torture and bloodshed. I’m just lost in the midst of it all.”

“Bucky, you do know that… if you ever want to talk about anything that has to do with history or what happened in the world during those seventy years, you can just talk to me about it, right? I may have a Master’s degree on The Howling Commandos but I do know a thing or two about what happened in the world after the war.” You offered, finally cracking a smile. “I can definitely help you out with catching up with times.” 

He chuckled softly at your words. “Is that how you and Steve… became friends?” 

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at the mention of Captain America, a man whom you had respected and aided in the recovery of until Natasha had decided to set the two of you up on a date. It was a brief fling while the two of you had worked together in DC. But once you had realized it wasn’t going to work, you had ended things amicably. While you had remained friends and you had helped him catch up with the world, things had changed so much around you. 

“Yeah, I guess.” You admitted with a shrug. “He needed someone to catch him up to the world and Fury realized that he hired a history major. I think it worked out for all of us.” Looking back now, you only felt blessed to have known Steve Rogers. He was not only an inspiration, but also one of your closest friends. “And that’s why I’m offering to help.”

“But how could you help me, Y/N?” He asked. “What can you possibly do to help me come to terms with who I am?”

“Well, I had Steve read through the Internet a lot and make a list of all the things he wanted to try… like Thai food and Sherlock Holmes. I know that you’re not going on any missions right now. You’re just hanging around the compound and trying to kill time, right? I’d say… make use of the computers we have here, learn as much as you can. We can talk about it. But don’t ever think that you’re alone in this.” 

The Internet was a great place to start learning, right? Surely, Bucky had been apprehensive about taking that step. But he needed to be given a little push. Thankfully, he now had you for that. “I guess I can do that.” He gave in, for he was starting to get bored of the facility’s gym. 

“There is something that needs to be done about your nightmares though.” You pointed out. “This compound needs an on-site therapist. I need one. You need one. Wanda needs one. We all need one after all this crap that we’ve had to deal with.” You made a mental note to make some calls in the morning, but for now you knew that your attention should be on the super soldier. “But right now, you really need to get some sleep.” 

Bucky shook his head in defeat. “I can’t seem to fall asleep in my bed, Y/N. Believe me, I’ve tried… for many nights. I guess I just have to suck it up and kill time until the morning.” 

You raised your eyebrow at his words before crossing your arms against your chest. “What? Do you need me to sing you a lullaby or something?” You asked him, teasingly. 

He laughed at your question before shaking his head. “As if that’s ever going to work on me…” 

“Is that a challenge, Sergeant Barnes?” 

Bucky Barnes had no clue how it even happened. Just twenty-four hours ago, the two of you had been strangers who had nothing in common except for the fact that you both shared a past that had been perfectly entwined somehow. But now you were sitting against the headboard of his queen sized bed in the living quarters adjacent to yours, his head resting against your lap as he shut his eyes. 

Your soft hands running through his silky dark hair, you sang the words that you had pretty much memorized by now. It was a lullaby that your grandmother had sung to you when you were younger, written about how Lord Krishna himself had fallen asleep after a long day of playing around his village. 

Ayarpadi Maaligaiyil

Thaai Madiyil Kandrinai Pol

Maaya Kannan Thoongugindraan, Thaalelo

Ayarpadi Maaligaiyil

Thaai Madiyil Kandrinai Pol

Maaya Kannan Thoongugindraan, Thaalelo

Avan Vaai Niraiya Mannai Undu

Mandalathai Kaattiya Pin

Oiveduthu Thoongugindraan, Aaraaro

Oiveduthu Thoongugindraan, Aaraaro

Ayarpadi Maaligaiyil

Thaai Madiyil Kandrinai Pol

Maaya Kannan Thoongugindraan, Thaalelo

Pinnalitta Gopiyarin Kannathile Kannam Ittu

Mannavan Pol Leelai Seidhaan Thaalelo

Pinnalitta Gopiyarin Kannathile Kannam Ittu

Mannavan Pol Leelai Seidhaan Thaalelo

Andha Mandhirathil Avar Uranga

Mayakkathile Ivan Uranga

Mandalame Urangudhammaa Aaraaro

Mandalame Urangudhammaa Aaraaro

Ayarpadi Maaligaiyil

Thaai Madiyil Kandrinai Pol

Maaya Kannan Thoongugindraan, Thaalelo

Bucky Barnes had no clue how it even happened. But as he listened to the melody of your lullaby, he had drifted off into a deep slumber. When he woke up the next day, he found that you were gone. But he knew that you were the one to thank for helping him sleep after many months of waking up from nightmares. 

As the weeks went by, you and Bucky had become quite close. As most of the team were gone for days at a time because of their respective missions, the two of you often found yourselves being the only ones remaining at the compound. Despite your loneliness, you somehow found comfort in each other. 

Your free time was usually spent cooking up a storm in the common kitchen, and Bucky found himself frequently joining you for your meals. He had taken quite the liking to South Indian cuisine, but he had also kept his promise of making you a completely vegetarian Wakandan meal - something that he apparently prepared by video-calling the Queen Mother of Wakanda herself and asking her for recipes. 

“Does this mean you have diplomatic immunity? Being the adoptive child of Queen Ramonda and all…” You had joked. “They call you the White Wolf, don’t they?” 

“Did you ever have to use your diplomatic immunity?” He had asked you mockingly. “Being the daughter of an Indian diplomat after all.” 

“Bucky, could you please give Queen Ramonda my regards? Let her know that Agent Y/L/N, the daughter of Ambassador Y/L/N, sends her regards and thanks the royal family for all of their help.” You hadn’t been all that familiar with the Wakandan royal family during the reign of King T’Chaka, but it was only after his death did you have the chance to work closely with them. After all, you understood the pain that they had been dealing with all too well. 

Bucky was not familiar with why you seemed to know them so well. He had just assumed it must be because of your career in diplomacy before you became an agent. He did not think much of it though, at least not until he had told Shuri that you gave their family your regards. 

While the truth behind your relationship with the Wakandan royal family had certainly shaken him to his core, he did not make it known that he knew about it. After all, it was a huge part of your own personal life and you were just his boss. He did not feel the need to let you know that he knew something about you that you might not have wanted you to know. But instead, he continued to learn more about you and the culture that you were raised in. 

The Internet was a great place when it came to catching up with the world. He had read just about everything he could get his hands on, from history to literature and science. While he tried to keep up with how much the world had changed, he had also read as much as he could about your religion. 

He often joined you on your visits to the temple in the city after noticing that you made it a habit to go there every Friday. When Janmashtami came around, Bucky had offered to help you paint footprints from your front door to your shrine of Lord Krishna. 

According to your grandmother, the tradition of painting baby footprints was done believing that Lord Krishna would follow them and enter your home. You had been doing that every single year on Janmashtami for as long as you could remember. But that year, you just knew. It was the first year that Krishna had entered your home for real.

[mythicamagic]

Relax I'm here now

AN: Takes place after canon. Warning: some mild gore

---

Sighing, Kagome wiped the sweat from her brow, suffering under the harsh glare of the sun. Kaede had requested that she deliver some medicine to one of the neighbouring villages, so she'd set out alone. 

The old miko had neglected to mention that it was miles away. 

Hearing the sound of hoves drawing closer, Kagome stopped on the path, glancing at the road a little ways to her left. From around the corner of greenery, many men on horseback approached, banners swaying in the breeze. Kagome swallowed. That might not be good. I mean this is the warring states era.

Captain Shinrai had been tasked with collecting and returning cargo back to the armies base. He sighed from atop his horse, in a sour mood. Of course, the General was out there fighting the southern scum, gaining all the glory. Meanwhile, he was stuck leading a group of men with horses and carts across the countryside. He'd rather pick up some extra money for the trouble.

One of the soldiers in his band of not so merry men was following the group when he noticed a shock of unusual clothing. He choked, frantically finding his voice.

"Ca-Captain!" He shouted, pointing a shaking spear in Kagome's direction. 

Shinrai boredly looked over, before yanking the reins of his horse to stop. "My, my..."

Kagome paused and rose a brow, crossing her arms. "Afternoon, gentlemen."

Shinrai turned his horse in her direction. "Such interesting clothing. Unsurprising for a demoness though," he mused, gesturing in her direction. "Men. Capture the filthy demon, I think I know a good way to earn money from this." 

“Wow, could at least buy me dinner first. And you sure don’t waste any time to be completely and utterly wrong,” Kagome sighed, backing away slightly and warily reaching for her bow and arrows. “Look, I'm not a demon. I'm Kagome. Some people have called me the shikon miko, ring any bell- Gah!”

Two of the men rushed at her with their swords drawn as one on horseback galloped around them, taking out a net. Blue eyes widened and Kagome frantically turned tail, sprinting into the trees.

Needless to say, one does not outrun a horse unless they're used to tactical manoeuvres within the forest, which Kagome was not.

A few minutes later, an enraged miko kicked and screamed beneath a net, her wrists and ankles bound, bow and arrows ripped away.

"Let's get her loaded onto a cart. Mind her claws," the Captain instructed, moving his horse into a walk to continue on. Two soldiers grip her arms and lift her. "Ah, Captain, she doesn't have claws." one remarked.

“That's because I'M NOT A DEMON!” She yelled, trying to bite one of the men. “I'm a priestess. Untie me and I'll show you some damn reiki!”

One of the men backhanded her across the face when her teeth get too close to his hand "Mind yourself, filth," he snapped. 

They carry her to a cart, placing her with the rest of the cargo. Two of them take up seats next to her as the carts start to move again, Shinrai leading the way.

Kagome fell quiet, panicking. They travel for some time, passing through the very village Kagome had been intending to visit, who eye them warily.

The division is called to halt the moment they notice sunset. They make a camp as Shinrai fiddled with something around his neck. Kagome growled while being dragged off the cart. She cried out upon feeling the impact of the ground, having been thrown unceremoniously before their Captain as he sat on a log between two banners in the ground. The net was peeled off her at least, but her hands remain bound.

Kagome grit her teeth. “Untie me, right now. This isn't going to end well for you,” she muttered, tugging at her hands.

Shinrai chuckled and fiddled with the light green whistle around his neck. "Now, now. You should be thanking me. I'm about to give you to the Lord of the West. I think he'd appreciate a kitsune demon like you. I heard fox demons could transform into beautiful women, but this is my first time seeing it."

That certainly got her attention, and she ceased struggling. "Wait...you're going to give me to Sesshoumaru?"

"Indeed. I should think the reward will be something to behold."

"Oh, definitely," she hummed, entire attitude changing. Folding her legs beneath her, she smiled placidly. "Go ahead then, buddy."

He rose a brow but didn't comment. His men watched with varying levels of confidence as he lifted the green whistle up. "The witch better have given me the real deal," he muttered to himself, raising the whistle to his lips and blowing. 

A strange high pitched noise escaped it that no human could hear, spreading out over the camp and carrying over the trees and fields, over the very hills.

Shinrai stopped and looked at the whistle, tsking. "That wench...she must have sold me a fake."

Kagome squirmed, trying to free her hands. A dog whistle? He's going to be pissed.

"C-captain!" One of the soldiers exclaimed.

"Ah? What?" Glancing up, the colour slightly drained from his face.

Mist swept in through the trees worrying fast. It rolled so thick it was as if clouds had been summoned to cover the earth like a blanket. Out of this, a figure clad in white appeared. Long silver hair swayed out, gently teased by a phantom breeze. His clothing bore a red honeycomb design, giving the image of blood spilled on snow. The demon stopped a fair distance from the soldiers, staring at them with intent gold eyes.

Kagome stiffened when they fell on her, and gave an awkward smile. If she could wave, she would.

Shinrai swallowed, trying to find his voice. Clearing his throat, the Captain stepped forward. "I'm glad you came, demon. I take it you're in fact the Lord of these parts? We happen to be passing through. Caught this here kitsune woman and wanted to offer her to you in exchange for a little money, understand?" He asked, trying to be amiable.

The demon's cool gaze remained on him for a moment, smiling slightly to himself and letting winter lashes drift shut. 

"That's three," he uttered quietly.

Shinrai blinked. "Eh?" 

"That is three times you have insulted this Sesshoumaru." Raising a pale hand up and flexing deadly claws, he purred; "One: You have the gaol to offer me a deal without invitation."

His image blurred and a moment later, two of the soldiers cry out as ribbons of blood fly into the air from their open chests. Kagome finally managed to get a hand free from the restraints and quickly pushed the rest of the rope off the other. Untying her feet, she stood back and winced. 

"Two: You offer me a human woman and pass her off as a kitsune," Sesshoumaru sneered and struck out again as yet more men cried out. "Not realising that you have instead captured my mate." 

His pale form tore through them like they were little more than paper, blood clinging to his claws. The rest of the camp were slain in a matter of seconds until only Kagome and Shinrai were left. Sesshoumaru flicked the blood from his claws and gripped Bakusaiga, drawing the sword out and raising it. Shinrai hurriedly took out his own sword.

Sesshoumaru regarded his fear with amusement, watching the blade shake. He advanced forward. "Third: You use a...dog whistle, to summon me. Your audacity and disrespect know no bounds," he growled lowly. 

Shinrai grit his teeth and blocked a sudden strike from the sword, but was helpless against the demons speed, and wheezed, coughing blood as Sesshoumaru's blade slid through his gut and out of his back, impaling him. 

Sesshoumaru then yanked the sword free with a sweep, effectively severing the man in two. A red aura then licks the blood away from the blade. Putting the sword in its scabbard and lifting a hand out- Sesshoumaru let acid rain down from sharp claws onto the whistle. 

He then turned silently and looked at Kagome, no emotion on his face.

"Hi honey," she said softly.

He did not answer, fingers trembling slightly, practically vibrating with palpable rage and blood lust.

Kagome's brows drew together and she crossed the distance between them. Heedless of the blood, she took his blood-soaked hand between her own and kissed his neck. "Relax. I'm here now."

His eyes finally lost their hazy sheen, blinking. A hoarse noise escaped him, Sesshoumaru gathering her closer and inhaling the scent of her hair. Crimson claws gingerly touched her bruising cheek.

"That's my line, foolish miko."

[pfreadsandwrites]

Acquiescence (Part 3/3)

AO3 LINK AND AUTHOR’S NOTES

warnings: angst, fluff, third-person, unnamed female character, 1400+ words

part 1/ part 2

iii. reunion

All the waiting and its anguish is rewarded, and they can both breathe.

Dawn rolls in, though she barely notices. All this time, sat under the windowsill, dragging her legs out then retracting, hugging her knees like a child, feels stagnant. She gave up trying to sleep; experience reminds her that she doesn’t have a hope in hell of that. She never does on nights like tonight. How could she? When they’re all out there, when he’s out there - as excruciating as this is, she knows she’s still the luckier one, if either of them can be considered so.

That’s right. You’re lucky. She’s careful to remind herself, even as her fingers tremble. Even as her lips quiver and her eye sockets ache. Even as watching as nobody at all, nobody, absolutely nobody approach their pathway home, has her heart palpitate so loudly that she thinks it might burst. But still. All you have to do is wait. That’s her duty too, she knows that. And she’s willing to take on her own to accompany his, small as it seems by comparison.

Duty. She doesn’t know what to think about that word, not tonight. It’s a chain on her neck. It demands some people’s lives, or other commensurate sacrifice, and demands others’ acquiescence. Endurance, without reward, or any that seems worthwhile right now.

Shinobi means one who endures.

Kakashi’s words float from the recesses of her mind so clearly that she thinks she just heard him. Almost. He’d said them far too eloquently (and far too indifferently for her liking), in an academy induction speech she’d sat in on. The children had been too excited to take much heed to his words, for which he’d been hesitant - though they weren’t as relevant to them anyway. They won’t grow up like he did, she’d reminded him. He’s suffered enough in their place to ensure that.

One who endures, the words echo again. If there’s anyone who epitomises that, it’s him. His stoicism, resilience, emotional fortitude, whatever you want to call it - it amazes her, she’s not so shameless as to try and deny it. Not when she’s grateful for it, when it’s anchored her. And she knows how crucial it’s been in his work, for the village, how it keeps it falling apart. How it’s kept him falling apart. But there’s a part of it that hurts too. How much he takes it for granted, how normal it is to him, how he just smiles and brushes it off. And she just lets him.

Because, she remembers, with an inhale so sharp that it’s almost a hiss, shinobi don’t have a monopoly on endurance.

(What the hell is this, what the hell is she doing right now, what the fuck is this, if it’s not enduring?)

Either way, neither have it in them to demand acknowledgement, let alone a reward.

After one final, fruitless peek through the window, she gives up. For now, at least. She’s looked through it more times than she wants to admit. With a sigh, and the reticence she prides herself on, that she’s learnt from him, she drags herself up. The natural light is something akin to solace now, at least. It resonates with the warmth inside her, that, as she provides her energy for it to grow, it provides her with the strength and semblance she needs. Maybe even optimism.

(There’s a part of her that hopes, silly and ridiculously sentimental as it is, that something in her - just as there’s something in him - that makes it all worthwhile for them both. That makes him forget he’s spent his life this way, as a tool. An honourable and esteemed tool, a tool that’s saved countless lives, but a tool nonetheless.

Love, home, family - it’s egregious to think of it as a reward, and not a prerequisite. But for a self-described tool to accept it? It’s a miracle. So she won’t doubt it any longer)

Because positivity feels easier now - it’s embarrassing how sudden it is, how sudden it always is - when she feels a familiar chakra approach and the front door creaks open. Green, that’s the colour she’d give it. Determined and withstanding, like moss is. It pulls her back to earth, even as her negativity drags her down, and sometimes even when her dreams fly her too far up. It’s grounding, a soothing, eternal support that doesn’t quite efface everything from tonight, but makes it easier, much easier, to disregard it. She’s already rushing to him, after all. 

He closes the door behind him and slips off his shoes in the same, lazy movement. It’s typical, that he brushes it off like that, pretending that he’s only come back from saving everyone (again), only putting his life on the line (again), but she can hardly complain. Not when he’s back alive. When he’s safe, when she’s safe.

“I’m home,” Kakashi says lightly. Too lightly, she thinks, as she takes quick note of the dirt-speckled silver hair, the blood on his uniform, the tears in his sleeves.  Too lightly.  But though his eyes are worn, the crinkles that etch into their corners are a dead giveaway to how big his smile his under that damn mask.

His voice is husky, and though the exhaustion that laces it is obvious, there’s a comfort, a warmth behind it. A relief. A relief that compels her to his side in an instant. He’s alive. It’s all she can think as her inhibitions dissipate - to let him rest, to check if he’s hurt - and she wraps her arms around him.

He chuckles - partly in surprise, partly to mask the grunt that escapes as she presses against the bruises - and returns her. Suddenly, it’s easy. It’s easy to embrace her, breathe her in with the desperation a hypoxic breathes oxygen. She grants him permission to accept the lethargy - not just from tonight and its fights, but his entire life - and sinks into her affection.

(She’s too kind, this is too big of a burden, he knows it, but he can’t fight everything all the time. Especially not her.)

“Welcome back,” she whispers; a delayed response, but better late than never. She wishes she can sound as unfazed as him. But her voice is shaky, and she can’t maintain her composure like he can. Not in front of him, anyway.

(He doesn’t tell her that her inability to do so is more of an anchor for him than his ability ever could be for her, despite what she thinks.)

She trembles against his chest, and though she’s careful to muffle the sounds, the dampness that mixes now with the sweat and dirt on his clothes doesn’t escape his notice. Kakashi hesitates. Other times he’s quick to comfort her, even in his limited capacity - but tonight, he doubts even that. The proof right in front of him that she suffers as much as he does. That it’s at his hands leaves him all the more helpless.

So he ducks down, murmuring apologies and gratitude into her hair. It’s all he can do. He’s lucky that she endures it at all.

“I’m sorry-” she begins, attempting to find her equanimity, and Kakashi thinks his heart might burst. Like her as it is to apologise despite being the wronged one, it isn’t easy to accept. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Sorry to worry you.” At least he can say it, even if it’s not enough to assuage her pain or his guilt. But still, somehow, she looks up and smiles that genuine, selfless smile. So he can’t dwell on his shortcomings too long. “I should probably shower first. But you look about as tired as I do. Let’s go upstairs.”

She agrees, and pulls at that damn flak vest first. He lets her. She unzips it gently, the motion reminiscent of a more seductive scene that’s happened too many times, but something even more intimate replaces it now. She drags it off his broad shoulders and it slides off his back, dropping onto the floor unceremoniously. The characters for six and fire strike him, still demanding his attention for a split second - but this time, he refuses, and pays it no mind. They melt into the surrounding blood on the fabric instead.

Hokage, Lord Sixth, honourable, hero, and finally, shinobi - the words wash off his back just as easily as the clothes slip off. Fading further, vanishing somewhere far behind them until neither can see it anymore.

The chain on his back loosens and lifts, even if only temporarily, and he breathes a little easier now. They both do.

Just for a little while, but it’s enough.

For now, it’s enough.

[whumpcollector]

Lucas pt.4: Runaways

Here’s another part ya’lls enjoyment. Hope you like it.

Content Warnings: magical whump, escape attempt, self-sacrifice, magical exhaustion, general violence, violent whumper, noncon touch (nonsexual), unnamed character death, killing, fighting, dehumanization, beating, brief/vague alcohol mention, shackles/restraints, brief knife mention, food mention, forced to perform, blood, vague etemo reference, implied future torture

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucas stared at Finch, a mixture of confusion and disbelief on his face. What? Get away from them? What did he mean? Those questions bounced around in his head until he heard Finch call out to him.

“Lucas? You still with me buddy?” Finch asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Oh, yeah. I...I just…” Lucas trailed off, unsure of what he was trying to say. “What...what do you mean get away from them?”

“I mean run away. Be free.”

Lucas continued to stare. Be free? Lucas had always been owned by someone, even before Harold and Devran came along. His earliest memories were of a cold dark room in the cellar of a rich baron he had long since forgotten the name of. 

“I’ve been with my current master for almost six years now. Old bastard has gotten complacent. I’ve figured out where he keeps the key to this thing,” Finch gestured to the collar on his neck before continuing. “I also know this city like the back of my hand. I was planning to escape tonight but the pit fight got scheduled and I’ve been stuck here.” He paused, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “If you want I can come get you and we can escape together.”

Lucas looked at Finch before speaking softly. “Why...why are you offering to help me? We barely know each other.”

Finch leaned forward before placing a hand on top of Lucas’. “Because I know what you’re going through, what those bastards have done to you. And I know that you don’t deserve it.” 

The two of them looked at each other, understanding and weariness in their eyes. Lucas didn’t know what to say. Thoughts raced through his head before a sudden pain shot up his arms. He looked down and saw the magical pathways in his arms flaring up. Finch noticed too and offered a sympathetic smile, rubbing Lucas’ arms gently to try and ease the pain. 

The younger mage stared down at his hands, at the manacles that almost constantly adorned his wrists and the chafed skin that came with them. He saw the angry red lines that marked the ways magic flowed through his body, nearly burned into his skin from constant overuse and disruption. He remembered the pain and exhaustion he felt when Harold “trained” him after he was purchased. He remembered staring hungrily at full tables while he was left to starve for days. He remembered cold nights in the rain and snow, the magic in his body just keeping him from freezing to death. He remembered lashings and beatings from Harold and Devran, and others he couldn’t recall the faces of. He remembered the pain and humiliation he endured on a daily basis and the many times he wondered simply keeling over and letting oblivion take him was better than continuing to “live” his miserable existence. 

Those memories swirled in his mind like a storm. Every torture, every indiginty, every touch of malice rushed to the front of his mind as if bursting from a dam. For his entire life Lucas had known nothing but suffering, and now this man in front of him, Finch, was offering a way out. Lucas remembered, and he made up his mind.

“What do you need me to do?”

Finch smiled, and for the first time in what may have been his entire life, so did Lucas. 

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------

    The two mages had been released from the holding cell back to their masters the next morning, and all of them were sitting in a large room in a nearby tavern. Finch’s master, a portly man named William Cantrov, had rented it out so they could celebrate in privacy. Harold, Devran, and William sat around a large table laughing and playing cards while Lucas and Finch sat on the floor next to them. William was a wealthy man and the payout from the fight was great, and everyone enjoyed a constant stream of food and drink. 

That included Lucas and Finch. Harold had decided Lucas earned some proper food and the young mage happily accepted. A small tower of bowls and plates sat next to the boy, licked completely clean of anything resembling food. Lucas was in the process of scarfing down a bowl of beef stew, the warm broth and tender meat tasting like heaven in his mouth. It had been weeks since he had been allowed proper food, and he wasn’t going to squander the opportunity he had now. 

Finch looked at him amused, currently attending to his own plate of roast pork. He could in no way match Lucas’ speed or enthusiasm when it came to eating and was halfway impressed by how much the small boy had managed to consume. 

“Your mage there has quite the appetite. What's that, his third course?” William said with a chuckle.

Harold returned one and nodded. “He sure does. I tend to keep proper food as a reward, incentivize him to perform better ya know? Whenever he does earn it he always makes good use of it.”

William smiled. “Well he is free to eat as much as he is allowed.”

“Long as you’re paying I don’t care. Kid earned it.” Harold reached down and ruffled Lucas’ hair. The boy winced a little, fighting a grimace and trying to focus on his stew.

“He sure did. The fight was quite spectacular wasn’t it?”

“Aye, sure was”

“Indeed. Well let me get to the point. I’m throwing  a little soiree tomorrow, the other nobles of the city want to get a look at Finch and I’m sure they would be delighted if you were to bring along...what’s his name?”

“Lucas”

“Lucas! I’m sure they would love it if you brought young Lucas with you.”

Harold mulled it over for a moment before nodding. “Sure, why not. Never hurts to mingle with nobility, and I assume there will be good drink involved?”

“My friend, wine will flow like water. I promise you that.”

Harold and Devran shot each other an amused look before Harold answered. “How could we say no?”

Devran dealt another hand as the three men continued to talk. None of them noticed the conspiratory smiles Lucas and Finch shared with each other.

    --------------------------------------------------------------------

William’s manor sat on the eastern side of the city, close to the city square and market. It was a large building, five stories tall with several wings. Lucas stared up at it in awe. He was rarely allowed into taverns or inns he and his masters would stop at on the road, much less the home of a nobleman. 

He was pulled out of his stupor by Harold who dragged him forward by a chain secured to his shackles. They entered the manor’s front doors with Devran following behind them. As Lucas walked through the doorway one of the guards that flanked the entrance stuck out the shaft of his halberd, tripping the mage and causing him to fall to the floor. Harold tugged pulled Lucas upwards with the chain, choking him slightly before he managed to stand back up. They continued on to the ballroom, Lucas taking in the majesty of the large manor as they walked.

The party was already underway. Nobles mingled freely among themselves while numerous servants attended to their needs. To the side was a large table covered in various foods and drinks. The smell wafted over to the trio and Lucas’ mouth began to water. 

“Mister Harold, Mister Devran, glad to see that you have finally arrived!”

William walked towards them, Finch following a respectful distance behind. The men shook hands while Lucas and Finch waved at each other in greeting. 

“Come, come, I have some people who have been waiting to meet you.”

William led the group towards the middle of the ballroom where a small group of noble lords and ladies had gathered. They talked amongst themselves, laughing and drinking until they noticed the group approaching them.

“Lord William, are these the guests of honor we have been waiting for?” asked one of the nobles. 

“Yes, yes indeed they are. Ladies and gentlemen allow me to introduce you to Harold, Devran, and their mage Lucas.”

Pleasantries were exchanged, with Lucas staying silent and bowing his head. One of the noble ladies cooed, cupping his cheeks and making him look up.

“Oh he is just so adorable, and so well behaved.” The woman squished Lucas’ face like one would a small dog’s. “Look at this little face!”

Lucas himself didn’t know how to react and simply stood there limply while the woman fawned over him. It wasn’t unpleasant, her hands were soft and delicate and it was nice to be touched in a way that didn’t lead to pain. 

“Now Dora, please control yourself,” one of the noblemen said as he removed her hands from Lucas’ face. “We are in polite company after all.”

“Uptight as always I see Arthur, besides I’m sure he didn’t mind.”

Lucas still wasn’t sure how he was expected to act, but decided to speak out quietly. “I didn’t mind at all, really it was fine.”

The woman, Dora, cooed again. “Oh he’s just so polite as well, an absolute doll.” She reached out and grabbed Lucas’ face again, causing Arthur to roll his eyes and put up his hands in mock exasperation. “So you’re a mage isn’t that right sweetie?”

It took Lucas a moment before he realized she was talking to him directly. “Oh um yes, yes I’m a mage.”

“Indeed, just like Finch. I heard you two made quite the stir in the arena yesterday.” Dora gave a dramatic sigh. “Alas I was unable to attend and couldn’t see your skills for myself. I don’t suppose it would be possible for you to give me a little demonstration? Please?”

Lucas was taken aback, pulling himself away from Dora and looking at Harold. The man stepped forward, “I don’t think that's a great idea, while I do have him under control magic is still dangerous and…”

“Oh I don’t think that will be a problem.”

A new voice interrupted Harold and everyone turned to see another small group of three men approaching them. Lucas recognized two of them and his blood ran cold. They were the witch hunters that oversaw the fight yesterday. The boy took a step back, folding into himself slightly and warily eyeing the third man. 

He was obviously another witch hunter, the silver eyepiece and long trench coat giving that away clearly. The man was imposing, standing half a head taller than Harold and clearly well built. A large knife hung at his waist and try as he might, Lucas couldn’t help but stare at it. 

Harold looked towards that man and asked, “You are?”

The man smiled and offered a bow. “Lord Captain Edwin Brauchs. I lead the branch of witch hunters in this city.” He extended his hand towards Harold. “Pleasure to make the acquaintance, Harold if I am correct?”

Harold shook Edwin’ hand nodding, suspicion clear in his eyes.

“Please excuse me for my interruption but I couldn’t help but overhear. I also happened to miss yesterday’s fight, paperwork will be the death of me I swear, and was also curious to see if I could bear witness to your mage’s abilities.”

Edwin stepped forward, grabbing Lucas’ chin and tilting the boy’s head up. Lucas stared up at the man nervously. Every part of his being was telling him to run, but the man’s presence seemed to root him to the floor unable to move a muscle. The witch hunter gazed down at Lucas impassively, no emotion showing in his uncovered eye. They stood like that for a moment, before the man let go and turned to harold.

“I assure you that if he was to get out of control somehow me and my companions would be more than capable of containing him.” 

Harold pondered for a moment before looking at the group of nobles. All of them either wanted to see Lucas’ magic or didn’t care either way, and after another moment he acquiesced. “Well if you insist.”

Harold walked over to Lucas, pulling the key from his belt and undoing the shackles around Lucas’ wrists. There was a very clear unspoken threat in Harold’s eyes. Mess this up, and you’ll regret ever being born.

Lucas flexed his hands, letting the magic flow freely before trying to channel it. He was nervous, but putting on shows was what he was good at. All he needed to do was move some fire around and he’d be fine. The mage took a deep breath and began to channel the magic into his fingers. The familiar burning sensation spread across his hand and soon enough a small flame manifested bove his palm.

The nobles surrounding him let out small noises of surprise and admiration. Dora let out a loud “ooooooo” and stepped forward to look at it closer. Lucas ignored them, focusing on the fire in his hands. He swirled it around slowly, creating small trails of flame in the air.  The small crowd was impressed, and Lucas began to let the magic fade away. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain, and for a moment his magic flared up. 

Lucas heard a scream before being slammed to the ground, hard. He looked back, dazed, only to freeze. The witch hunter captain was kneeling on top of his back, pinning his arms behind him and pointing a silver tipped knife at his face. The other hunters flanked his sides, pointing hand crossbows they had pulled from somewhere in his direction, waiting for a single sudden movement. 

The screaming Lucas heard continued and he looked up to see Dora clutching her face, crouched low to the ground and wailing like a banshee. She must have gotten too close to the fire when it flared up and gotten burned, badly if her reaction was anything to go by. Lucas felt his blood run cold. If the witch hunters didn’t kill him on the spot he could only imagine what Harold would do to him.

“The shackles, hand them over.” The sharp voice of Edwin cut through Lucas’ throughts and he looked back to see Edwin reaching out a hand to Harold. His master was absolutely furious, an ice cold rage that Lucas had never seen before in the man’s eyes. He handed the shackled over to Edwin silently, his gaze never leaving the mage’s own terrified visage.

Edwin took the shackles and secured them to Lucas’ wrists, binding the mage’s hands behind his back. One he was certain they were secure he stood up, pulling Lucas up with him. The witch hunter captain studied Lucas intently. The mage tried to shrink into himself, terrified at what the captain might do.

“Seems like it was a sudden magical flare,” Edwin stated matter-of-factly. He turned to face Harold, “I assumed your mage had better control over himself.”

Harold spoke through gritted teeth, “So did I.”

Edwin nodded and handed Lucas over to his master before turning to the wounded noblewoman. “Lady Dora please let me take a look at it, I might be able to alleviate the damage.”

Harold grabbed onto Lucas’ arm like a vice and dragged him to one of the doorways leading out of the ballroom. Everyone in the room was staring at them and the mage searched desperately for anyone who might offer salvation. His eyes landed on Finch, who could only look at him with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. Lucas just managed to see him mouth the words ‘I’m sorry’ before he was pulled into a hallway and the doors closed. 

“M-mas-”

“SHUT UP YOU FUCKING RAT!”

The man roared angrily as he slammed his fist into Lucas’ face, breaking the boy’s still tender nose and sending blood spraying down his face. Lucas stumbled backwards, bumping to the wall and sliding down into a sitting position.

“Please it was a-”

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

Harold sent a hard kick towards Lucas’ head. With his arms bound he couldn’t try to defend himself and was sent sprawling to the floor, his right cheekbone shattered. Harold continued his assault, slamming his heel into the mage's stomach and causing him to spit up blood and bile. Lucas tried to curl in on himself, tucking his head into his chest as best he could as Harold sent another kick towards his abdomen. Lucas’ ribs shattered and more blood spilled from his mouth, forming a pool next to his head.

“I have been too fucking nice to you, you worthless piece of shit!” He slammed his foot onto Lucas’ left knee, breaking the cap and causing the mage to cry out. “Every single time you fuck up I give you another chance and every single time you FUCK UP AGAIN!”

Harold turned Lucas over onto his stomach and straddled him. He grabbed the mage’s right ring finger and pulled it backwards, breaking it with a sickening crack. Lucas let out a scream that devolved into a hoarse sob, tears falling freely from his eyes. 

“I have been fair, no, MORE than fair with you,” he broke another finger. “I’ve always rewarded you when you’ve earned it, always forgiven you when you’ve failed.”

Harold broke a third finger.

“And EVERY!”

Then a fourth.

“SINGLE!”

A fifth.

“TIME!”

A sixth

“You’ve never learned! You always find a way to embarrass me, always find a way to ruin things!”

Harold stood up, looming over Lucas' quivering form. The mage could only sob and shudder, waiting for what was to come next. He could already feel his magic trying to mend his wounds, agonizingly snapping bones back together and preventing him from falling to unconsciousness. He wanted to beg, to cry and plead for mercy. He knew it wouldn’t do anything but anger his master further. 

“I always told myself things would change, that you’d eventually learn your fucking place. I guess that makes me the idiot huh?”

Another hard stomp, this time aimed at Lucas’ right leg. Another loud crack, another hoarse scream.

“Erm...excuse me.”

Lucas and Harold both turned to the new voice. William was approaching them cautiously, Finch and two armed guards following behind him. 

“Lord William, what can I help you with?” asked Harold as he attempted to regain his composure. 

William fidgeted with his hands nervously, looking off to the side before turning back to the seething man. “Well...you see...your um...actions...have been audible to the entire ballroom and some of the guests are getting a little…uncomfortable.”

Harold blanched at that, anger and embarrassment fighting for dominance on his face. “My, my apologies.”

William offered him a tight smile. “Listen mister Harold, why don’t you leave this...business…for later and come back to enjoying the party? There is still plenty of food and drink left.”

Harold took a deep breath and nodded, before casting another glance at the bloodied mage on the floor. “Where should I put him.”

“Oh, there is a wine cellar you could leave him in. The doors lock from the outside so he won’t be going anywhere. One of my guards can take you there.”

Harold nodded again and walked over to Lucas, pulling him up roughly and dragging him forward. “Lead the way.”

William smiled and gestured for Harold to follow one of the guards behind him. The guard turned towards another hallway and Harold followed behind. The man dragged Lucas with him, bumping past Finch who managed to briefly brush Lucas’ fingers with his own. The young mage looked back, and saw Finch looking back with pain, fury, and sympathy clear in his eyes. The comfort was small, but it was enough to lift Lucas’ spirits by the smallest of increments. 

The trio continued down the hallway. Lucas was forced to hobble on his broken legs as Harold and the guard kept a swift and unrelenting pace. Small cries and gasps of pain escaped Lucas' lips, despite the mage’s best efforts. Thankfully Harold seemed to have cooled down slightly, and didn’t reprimand the boy for the sounds he made. After an excruciating five minutes the guard stopped at a doorway.

“Right down there sir, I’ll lock the door when you come out.”

Harold huffed and opened the door, pulling Lucas into a dark stairway and throwing him roughly to the floor.

“We’re not done yet.”

With that the man turned around, closing the door and leaving Lucas in near pitch darkness. The mage lay on the floor, breathing shallowly as he heard the door lock and two pairs of footsteps fade away slowly. Everything hurt, his face was sticky with blood and every breath was a painful effort. As if on cue the mgic in his body kicked in, slowly and agonizingly beginning to undo the damage Lucas had suffered. 

Minutes passed and Lucas began to shiver. The cellar was unbearably cold, and the frigid air added yet another layer of discomfort to his already haggard condition. Finally, after what felt like forever, the boy felt himself begin to fade away. With one last shuddering breath he let himself slip into merciful unconsciousness.

    -----------------------------------------------------------------

Lucas felt himself being shaken lightly, a dense fog of grogginess lingering over him as he was pulled back into the living world.

“...ucas...Lucas can you hear me?”

The young mage shook his head slightly to clear his mind, and turned to see a concerned Finch crouching over him. The older mage was lightly shaking Lucas’s shoulder trying to rouse him back into full awareness.

“Lucas, come on buddy are you with me?”

With one last shake of his head Lucas managed to bring himself to focus. “F-Finch? What are you doing here?”

“Getting us out of here. Managed to snag the key to your shackles when that bastard bumped into me. You’re not spending another fucking minute with that monster if I have any say in it. Can you walk?”

Finch undid Lucas’ shackles and helped him to his feet. The younger mage took a moment to steady himself. “I-I think so.”

“Good, now come on we have to go.”

Lucas took a few tentative steps. His legs were sore but he could definitely walk and run as needed. He nodded towards Finch and the older mage nodded back before taking Lucas’ hand and pulling him forwards. The duo made their way up the stairs and out of the cellar. The hallway was empty and Finch guided Lucas through the manor, moving from one corridor to the next without stopping. 

The pair didn’t run into a single guard. Whatever Finch’s plan was it was clearly well thought out. In what seemed like no time they had made their way out of the manor into what looked like a pleasure garden. Tall hedges lined the perimeter of the property and Lucas had no clue where they were. Finch, on the other hand, knew exactly where they needed to go and continued to guide Lucas through the garden and off of the property. 

Soon enough they were back in the city proper. The older mage led them down an array of alleyways and side streets almost instinctively. Lucas couldn’t help but wonder how long Finch had planned this escape, it almost seemed too easy. 

Just as Lucas finished the thought the two turned a corner and found themselves face to face with a pair of city watchmen. The two groups stared at each other before one of the watchmen’s face lit up with recognition

“Hey! Aren’t you Lord Wil-”

His question was cut off as three razor sharp shards of ice pierced his throat, reducing his words to pained gurgles. He fell to the floor, a look of surprise frozen on his face as he bled out. The other guard stood there stunned, before snapping out of his stupor and reaching for the sword on his belt. 

Finch acted faster, rushing forward and forming a blade of ice over his right hand. The watchman had barely drawn his sword when the ice mage was upon him, swinging the blade directly towards the guard’s neck. The man barely dodged out of the way, leaping to the side and swinging his sword in an overhead arc towards Finch. The ice mage caught the man’s arm, and a film of ice began to creep up from the guard’s wrist. The guard’s arm was quickly encased in ice, and with a grunt Finch slammed the arm into a wall. The guard’s arm shattered and his scream of agony was quickly cut short when Finch made a quick slash across his throat, blood spraying from the wound as the guard slid slowly to the floor. 

Lucas stared at Finch with a mix of awe of fear. The whole encounter lasted less than thirty seconds, and Finch had killed two armed guards like it was nothing. He thought back to their fight in the pit and the slow clumsy attacks Finch and sent his way. It was true, if Finch had wanted Lucas dead he wouldn’t have stood a chance. 

The second guard had barely finished sliding down the wall when the two mages heard commotion coming from the direction of the manor and a loud bell ringing. 

“Fuck, they must have noticed we’re gone. We need to move. Now!”

With that Finch stood and began to run down another alleyway, Lucas following not too far behind. More shouts could be heard from all around them, and more than once Finch had to quickly pull Lucas behind a stack of crates or into an abandoned building to doge patrolling watchmen. Their grace period was long over and the window they had to escape was rapidly closing shut. After a few more minutes Finch stopped and gestured for Lucas to follow him into a side alley. 

“Ok, we’re coming up on the hard part now. We need to cross the main city street. We’re far away from the central square and market, so we shouldn’t be exposed for too long, but you still need to be careful. Once we’re across, keep following me, I'll get us through the city walls and into the surrounding forest. Once we’re out of here you run like Malfegor himself is chasing you and you don’t stop. Once we’re deep enough into the forest we should be able to lose them and we’re home free. You ready?”

Lucas nodded, determination building in his chest. They were going to do this. 

“Okay, follow my lead.”

The duo crept out of the alleyway and towards the main street. They looked around, ducking back quickly as a guard patrol made its way past them. Thankfully they went unnoticed, and after a minute of waiting Finch nodded and the two broke out into a sprint. The street was only fifty feet across and the two mages covered the distance quickly. As they were about to duck into another side street a loud whistle pierced the air. Finch barely had time to duck before a crossbow bolt embedded itself in the wall right where his head had been. Lucas looked back, and his blood ran cold. A dozen silver masks glowed in the moonlight, all of the wearers armed with crossbows and shortswords. The witch hunters were active, and they had found them.

Lucas was pulled out of his shock when Finch grabbed his wrist. He looked back and saw Finch, for the first time, look truly afraid.

“Run. RUN!”

More bolts whistled through the air and Finch quickly threw up a wall of ice to block them before turning and sprinting away. Lucas followed, fear and adrenaline fueling their mad dash through the city. Any pretense of stealth had been lost, and soon enough guards were closing in on them like flies on a corpse. Finch wielded his magic with reckless abandon, flinging ice magic in all directions in order to keep the encroaching guards away.  

Angry shouts and the barking of warhounds filled the air, spurring Lucas to push past his mounting fatigue. Every step was getting harder and his lungs were screaming for air. Still, the prospect of getting caught kept him moving. The city walls finally came into sight, and Lucas began to believe that they really just might do this.

Finch didn’t slow down as they neared the walls. Instead he simply extended his arm forwards and shot out a beam of near pure arcane energy from his palm. The wall in front of them became encased in ice and as the pair of mages reached the well Finch drew his arm back and sent a haymaker punch flying into the wall. The wall exploded outwards, chunks of stone and shards of ice shooting in all directions. The two mages could see the forest in front of them, and one last burst of energy pushed them forwards faster than ever before.

Lucas and Finch crossed the fields directly outside the wall and broke through the tree line. The shouts from the city grew distant and Lucas almost felt himself laugh. They had done it, the-

“AAGHHHHHHH”

With a piercing cry Lucas fell to the forest floor, red hot pain searing up his right leg. Finch stopped and looked back towards Lucas, and both their eyes found the source. A large, rusted, bear trap had clamped itself onto Lucas’ right ankle. 

“No! Shit!”

Finch rushed towards Lucas, grabbing the jaws of the trap and trying to pull them apart. 

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Lucas, help me get this off of you.”

Lucas himself wasn’t focused on the trap, and instead was staring back at the city. The shouts and barks that had seemed so distant all but a few moments ago were closing in fast. Their window had closed, and there was only one thing they could do.

“Finch…”

“Once we get this off I can freeze the wound over.”

“Finch…”

“It’ll hurt but we’re close, we won’t need to make i-”

“FINCH!”

The older mage looked up, his eyes meeting Lucas’. The younger mage saw that Finch knew what was happening, but he also wasn’t willing to accept it. Not yet.

“You need to leave me.” Those words hurt Lucas more than any beating ever had, but they needed to be said.

Finch shook his head. “No. NO! I am NOT leaving you!”

“We’re out of time,” Lucas reathed past the mourning pain and anguish building in his heart. “It won’t be long until they catch us. You need to go, now.”

“We can still run, we ca-”

“Finch! I can barely walk as I am. I’ll only slow you down. If you take me we’ll both get caught. You know that.”

Finch looked around them as if searching in vain for a better solution to manifest itself. “We...we can fight them off. We’re mages we…”

“Finch, look at yourself.” The older mage’s hands were shaking, and his arms were covered in bright blue lines. Clear signs of magical exhaustion. “If you try and cast any more magic you’ll collapse and I’m still dry from my body healing me earlier.”

Finch looked back at Lucas, tears and desperation spilling from his eyes as it became clear there were no other options.

“Go, be free. I’ll be okay.”

It was the boldest face lie Lucas had ever told, and they both knew it. Finch took a shuddering breath and lunged forwards, pulling Lucas into a tight hug. Their embrace was cut all too short as another round of shouts pierced the air, and the older mage stood up. Finch looked down at Lucas, a new kind of determination lining his face.

“I’ll come back for you. When everything’s blown over I'll find you and I'll get you out. If it means I have to kill everyone on this fucking continent I’ll get you out. I swear.”

Lucas gave a small smile. “Go.”

Finch let out a sigh. “I’m so sorry Lucas.”

The man began to walk away but Lucas called out to him, there was one last thing he needed to say.

“Finch, wait!”

The ice mage turned back, and their eyes met one last time.

“Thank you Finch, for everything.”

The man stared back at him, a million different replies shooting through his mind. In the end he only closed his eyes and said one last, “I'm sorry.”

With that he turned and ran, and Lucas watched the one person he had ever called a friend disappear into the forest. All alone Lucas could only wait and hiss in pain as his focus was turned back to the trap around his leg. It didn’t take long for the men that had been hunting them to catch up, and soon enough Lucas found himself facing a dozen witch hunters and their crossbows. 

Edwin pushed his way past the crowd and loomed over Lucas. His face was impassive but an aura of hatred emanated from his body.

“Where is the other?”

Lucas said nothing and stared the witch hunter captain in the face. He was terrified to his core, but nothing they could do would make him betray Finch. The captain seemed to understand this, and turned back to the search party with a snarl.

“Spread out and find the other one, now!”

The witch hunters departed without gestation, their warhounds barking and snarling as they looked for a scent to follow. Edwin turned back to Lucas, and the boy felt what little bravery he had been able to muster wither into nothingness under the man’s gaze.

“We may not find your friend, but we have you. And when we are done with you, you’ll wish that trap had closed around your neck.”

Without another word the captain slammed his boot into Lucas’ head, and the mage fell to the ground unconscious.

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