#arthur's true identity

[mamanbou]

i joke about ociel thinking he's his dad's age a lot but like really he does. something so heartbreaking about the fact that whenever ciel references his own age it's like he's making an inside joke- dryly reminding the dinner party in book of murder that children have early bedtimes, for example. as if his age is a mere technicality, it's inaccurate on some level but is still a loophole he can exploit when convenient. Feigned innocence.

Because in kuro youth primarily functions as an axis of powerlessness. Ciel can't act his age or he's delegitimized. It's just another wall he's built between his persona and his actual self. To be Earl Ciel Phantomhive The Queen's Guard Dog he buries his age, his name, his illnesses........ idk it just always gets me that he isn't only borrowing from his brother, but his father as well. Anybody but himself. He really believes it, too, that any lie can become the truth with enough dedication and hard work.. He's so good at deluding himself. But he's not a grizzled 34 year old detective :( hes just a baby :(

[geraldofallon]

Fallen London’s True Identities

Prince Arthur William Patrick Albert as the Bellicose Prince

[flying-fangirls]

Not to be an English major, but my genuine favorite part of Malevolent is how it handles its themes. Overall Malevolent tackles such profound and interesting ideas to chew on, but it's specifically the approach it takes to those ideas that really gets me going.

For example, one of the major themes across several seasons and characters is identity. The podcast asks pretty standard questions like "How do you define yourself?" and "How do others define you?" But it doesn't choose to stop there! It constantly expands on that idea, and it also asks things like "Which of those definitions is the 'real' you?" and "Are any of them right, are any of them wrong?" and "Is there even a singular definitive version of you?"

Malevolent works out from one idea and poses all these rich lines of discussion and questioning, and then just. Doesn't provide an answer! Or, at least, not a single, one-size-fits-all answer. Instead, it gives us multiple possibilities:

John's arc tells us that your identity is what you make— what you say, what you decide— and no one else's definition of you matters. Arthur's arc tells us that you can get stuck in a rigid, self-deprecating personal identity, so you need others' perspectives to help you see and love the real "you." Larson's story tells us that you do not have the right to selectively accept/deny parts of your identity and actions, and that others can see the whole of "you" whether or not you take accountability for it. Noel's story tells us that you can choose what parts of your past define you, and that leaving behind all the other versions of yourself can be beautiful and empowering. Kayne's story tells us that leaving behind other versions of yourself is akin to murder, killing off the pieces that you don't like and pretending like you've evolved past your own self. Yellow's arc tells us that your identity is fluid and can easily be influenced or manipulated by what others tell you, and by that point you've changed your own self-definition to something entirely new that can be just as true or untrue as the old you.

With all of these characters and with every other character throughout the show, we get a unique answer to the question "What is identity?" And if you look further at all the characters, you can break down their different arcs over the seasons and find even more answers just within that one character's development and story. And some of the answers we get correspond, and some of them contradict, and none of them are the right answer, and all of them are the right answer.

Malevolent takes one idea, and then it crafts an incredibly nuanced and humanistic exploration of said idea that adapts with respect to whatever situation or character it is applied to. And it uses this approach with all of its themes: identity, morality, guilt, grief, love, hope, etc.

Malevolent knows that life is messy, that people are complicated and contradictory and diverse and ever-changing, that no part of the universe or humanity can ever be explained or defined in a simple manner. Malevolent knows all that, and it wants to help us understand that too.

Malevolent shows us that nothing can ever be easily understood or answered, and it shows us that that fact is beautiful.

[russellsppttemplates]

I thought you didn't want to tell anyone (Charles Leclerc)

It appears that the Leclerc family is growing

Note: english is not my first language. I got this request from @myheartgoesvroom a good while ago and I finally had the time to write it!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions pregnancy symptoms, feeling sick, being bothered by warm temperatures/heat

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Are we all ready to go?", Charles checked with everyone inside the jet, seeing the nods and Charlotte, Lorenzo's girlfriend shrug her shoulders, "I slept funny last night, it's just tiredness", she said, closing her eyes and resting her head against the seat, "I'm going to sleep for a little bit".

Charles told the pilot they were ready, sitting next to you in the three seater, his mother sitting next to you on the other end, "I hope you are all going to take this time to rest", Pascale looked at all of you, "if I see any of you checking work e-mails, I'll swat your phones myself", she chuckled, seeing Arthur shake his head and Charles grab your hand in his, "if I see you in your phone, I'm locking it", you threatened, "you need to rest, amour, this season has been pushing you too much", you mumbled, kissing his cheek as Carla started talking about something she had seen on the news.

When you arrived at the airport, it didn't take long until you were in the van that was taking you to the hotel you were staying in, "well, these are some winding roads", Carla said, opening the window to get a little bit of fresh air, "we're nearly there, miss", the driver smiled apologetically, "but it is true, these roads are not the the weak".

"I'm usually fine, but motion sickness is bothering me a lot today", she muttered, taking big and deep breaths as she looked out the window, "it's that one there right? Looks really good!".

The check in was done seamlessly and everyone was given a card key before you headed to the villa, the staff members that helped you with the luggage also explaining a few of the amenities and how the services worked for you since you were staying in a villa and not in the hotel building.

"We have to go see about the rental cars, and the boat, too", Charles put his hands on either of his brothers' shoulder, "which one of you guys want to come with me?".

"I'll join you, and we can stop by the supermarket to get some snacks, yes?", Pascale suggested, grabbing her bag as the boys grabbed their wallets, "do you need us to go?", Charlotte asked, "no need, chérie, they can go and get the cars and we'll do the shopping. Go rest for a little bit, yes?", Lorenzo said to his girlfriend, kissing her forehead and leaving the three of you to unpack.

"The rooms are all pretty identical. The suite is bigger and has a bigger balcony, but they all have a bathroom", Carla pointed out as she opened the door to exemplify, "it has a bigger bed, but Charles will sleep glued to me, it's not like a bigger bed would make much of a difference", you blushed, "so if any of you guys want it, go for it. Or we can leave it for Pascale", you suggested, seeing the other two girls nod and go to each of the smaller rooms, leaving the one closest to the suite to you and Charles.

The room was decorated in a minimalist way, tones of white, beige and light brown complimented by the sunlight coming from the window to the balcony. While the girls unpacked, the boys and Pascale got back and discussed the plans for dinner.

"I can get them to deliver the food to the door, no problem", Charles said as Charlotte admitted that she was hoping for an early night, her headache still bothering her, "we just have to set the table and they'll bring anything we want", he showed them the menu, "I'm not picky", you said, "but if they have that local dish, you know the one with the chicken we had last year in that restaurant? I'll have that", you said to your boyfriend, getting up and heading to the kitchen with his mother, hoping you'd be able to find all the cutlery, cups and plates that you needed.

When the food arrived, everyone helped set it up in the table, "I'm just going to wash my hand quickly and I'll be right back", Charles mumbled, kissing your cheek as he held out his hand that seemed to have some sauce on it.

.

The first full day began with a walk along the beach since you wanted to get to know the area and Charles didn't mind joining you, walking hand in hand along the wooden decking, "it's really warm today", you pointed out, fixing your cap and adjusting your sunglasses, "yes, last year wasn't so warm, right?", he said, "it's a good thing we always have the time and the opportunity to come here year after year, specially as a family.

"They won't say it out loud, but I know maman, Lorenzo and Arthur, and girls, too, they consider you family already. The guys specially, I think they've always considered you part of our family and Pascale Leclerc herself has never failed to mention how much you and I were made for eachother since I was old enough to understand what that meant", he kissed your knuckles.

"I'm very grateful for that, I'm very grateful for you", you whispered, almost like you were telling him a secret even though you made conscious effort to let him know how much you loved him and cherished him everyday, not wanting him to ever entertain the idea that you didn't feel those things towards him.

The walk was going well until the heat started getting to you, "can we go walk along the water, please?", you caught Charles' attention, "I think it's getting a bit too warm for me, I'm nearly tripping over my steps", you giggled as Charles pulled you to the warm sand, "do you want me to carry you? Get some water? Look, there's a bar", he pointed, walking with you to the beach bar and getting a bottle of water, "here, amour", he handed you the bottle.

"I think it's the heat", you blushed, "and I admit I could be more diligent about my water intake", you admitted, holding Charles' hand in yours and pulling him towards the water, the freshness from the water in your feet helping you cool down.

Walking back to join the rest of the group, you noticed Charlotte in the water with Lorenzo and Pascale while Carla and Arthur stayed in the sun loungers, "I see Charlotte is feeling better, that's good", you smiled, arranging your towell and laying down on it, "can you reapply my sun block, please?", you asked Charles since he was still up.

"Sure", he grabbed the spray bottle, rubbing the product on your skin, "and are you feeling better?", he asked, "I think my mother always has a hand fan with her, I can go a look for it in her bag", he offered.

"Are you feeling okay?", Carla checked, emphasising you, "I'm fine, just bothered by the heat, I was not made for these temperatures", you chuckled.

"Oh, I just remembered that really hot summer in Monaco where you had to stay inside because the heat outside made your face go tomato red in less than a minute!", Arthur teased you, "Hey!! I was about eleven, I was going through puberty and, like I said, I wasn't made for these temperatures", you added, "Carla, if you want to to hit your boyfriend for that one, you have my blessing".

By the time the rest of the group came back, lunch time was approaching and you made your way to the villa, deciding to make something for lunch since you had the fully equipped kitchen. The boys were on the grill and Pascale was seasoning the fish, "you have to make sure it's properly cooked", Lorenzo explained to his younger brothers, assertive that no raw fish would end up on the table, "do you guys need help? Y/N is just finishing the salad, Carla went upstairs and Charlotte also went up to wash the salt off of her skin".

"She's okay, right?", Arthur asked, the worry in his voice noticeable, "I think so, yes, she said something about cream for her shoulders, I think", Pascale quirked her brow, "her skin was slightly red when we walked back here", Charles pointed out, still not convincing his youngest brother as he walked upstairs to check on his girlfriend.

"I don't want that towell, I want this one", Carla stated, swapping the identical towells on top of the sun loungers after everyhting was tidied and you decided to spend the afternoon by the pool, "sure have that one", Arthur smiled charmingly, "do you want anything else?", he asked her, "I can go and get if for you", he said as he saw her negative nod, moving to the lounger next to her, "I'd like a beer, actually", Lorenzo called for him, "then you can get up and go get it yourself, brother".

.

After you arrived back from dinner, Charlotte went upstairs so she could rest, Lorenzo excusing them and wishing everyone a good night before they went up, leaving you, Charles, Arthur, Carla and Pascale in the outside area, sitting in the sofas as you talked about the plans for the next day, "are we still up for the boat?", Charles checked.

"Do you feel better?", Arthur asked his girlfriend, rubbing her shoulder, "yes, I told you it was just the road. I'm not used to winding roads like that, not all of us can be fine at all that speed and turns and bumps", she nudged her boyfriend, "are you sure? We can just sit it out", Arthur insisted, "I'm fine, Arthur, let me go on the boat with my favourites. You'll also be there, but that's a pain I have to deal with", she teased him.

By the time Pascale asked for your intake on something, you were already asleep, holding one of the pillows, "Oh, bless her", she smiled, catching Charles attention to your figure, "I should take her to bed", he stated, getting up and storing his phone on his pocket.

"How do I...", he mumbled to himself, trying to find the best way to move you to the bedroom without waking up, "you can just wake her up, Charles, like usual", Pascale noticed her son's dilemma, "she needs her rest, she's... she needs all the help she can get from now on", he said, sliding his arm around your back and the other under your knees, successfully holding you safely against him, "Good night everyone, see you tomorrow", Charles said lastly, heading to your bedroom.

When he laid you down on the bed, you stirred a little bit, opening your eyes, "hey, beautiful, I did my best not to wake you up", he cooed, softly touching your cheek, "you can go back to sleep, amour, here", he nodded, taking his t-shirt and shorts off before laying down next to you, pushing you to lay on his chest, "have a good sleep, my loves", he kissed the top of your head.

.

"Are you sure you're okay?", Arthur asked Carla again for what felt like the tenth time in the thirty minutes they had been on the boat, "if anything feels wrong, you tell me and we will go back to the port?", he nudged, "yes, amour, I will tell you", she told him, looking at you and silently questioning if you too thought this was a bit much, her quirked brow showing her own confusion, "he's just being caring, I guess? It would be worse if he didn't care about you", you reasoned, grabbing your bag and finding a spot to lay on.

"I have your water, amour, to make sure you actually drink more that the average for a little kid", Charles said, walking to meet you in the deck with two big bottles of water, "I have ice cold and room temperature, depending on how you're feeling", she smiled, sitting next to you and placing a tote bag down, "I also have snacks if you get peckish", he said, "we just had breakfast, Charles".

"I know, but of you get peckish, it's okay, it's normal, so you have your snacks here if you want them", he added, laying on his stomach as his arm wrapped your body near your waist, his hand rubbing small circles and shapes on your tummy.

.

"Lorenzo just called me to check if I was okay. Am I being inconsiderate if I think this is too much?", Charlotte confided with you, "don't look at me, Charles suggested I sit this paddle game out 'and take the opportunity to rest, amour', like that's not what I have been doing", you reasoned, seeing Carla walk in with a pharmacy paper bag, "Arthur asked someone from the reception to bring me this, and then he texted me saying that 'they're safe' for me. Isn't medicine safe anyway?", she took a box from the bag, "those are anti-sickness pills", Pascale recognised after reading the box.

"We all believe something is wrong with them, don't we?", Charlotte was the first to point it out, verbally you soon after found out, as Pascale shook her head as he laughed, "something has been wrong with them since this holiday started. I know I raised attentive boys, but neither of them have let either of you out of their sight, I mean, yesterday I heard Charles tell Y/N that he was going to use the bathroom and he would leave the door semi open so she could call him if she needed anything", Pascale offered, seeing you roll your eyes, "that was true, I was hoping no one heard it", you blushed, "no worries, the walls are not that thick, chérie, and Charles didn't exactly whisper either", she rubbed your shoulders.

"So they're treating us like we are made of porcelain and no one knows what is up with them?", Carla asked, "a couple of nights ago, Lorenzo told me he would wait until I was ready to tell him", Charlotte shrugged, "I just let it slide because I didn't know what he was talking about and, honestly, I was closer to dreamland than I was to here, so I didn't pay it too much attention".

"What would you tell him, though? And it seems like they haven't talked about whatever is going on between them either. Was it something they saw?", you reasoned.

"We have to try and think like they're thinking so we can figure out", Carla said, "a hard task at hand considering how they think", Pascale retorted.

"They've been very caring with us, more than usual, and it's each one of them with each one of us, and not with you", you pointed to Pascale, "do they think we're ill? We're not mad at them, right?", you looked over, "so, it's, like a health thing, something that requires changes in the long run and- Oh no", you pitched in, sure that if you were a cartoon, the light bulb would be lit up on top of your head.

"I think my card is not working properly, I'm going to the front desk to see if they can sort it out or give me a new one", you informed Charlotte and Carla as you closed the door before you. When you went to the front door to grab the towells one of the staff left there, you weren't quick enough and let the door close, and when you tried to ring your card in, it didn't work.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience", the man at the front desk apoligised, "it's okay, these things happen. Thank you again, have a good day", you smiled at him, grabbing your new card and walking back to the villa.

The house had three big bedrooms, the suite, a big living area connecting the kitchen to the living room and the outside was even bigger. You had direct access to the patio where you had a big table and barbecue area, as well as a pool and a big garden with a small gate at the end that led to the beach. Overall, it was the perfect place for you to spend your holiday and you had been looking forward to spending time with family.

You were taking in the view and enjoying how the warm air surrounded you when you stumbled on someone, "I'm so sorry, are you okay?", you asked, looking at the whole situation and seeing a few games on the floor and a small box you recognised from the pharmacy.

"I'm good", a shaky voice said, "I'm sorry I ran into you, I have to admit I was distracted", a young woman around your age apoligised back to you, "I work with kids all day, why would I be so nervous to be pregnant?", she blurted.

Sensing her nerves, you thought you could help her, "do you need help with that? I'm pretty good in a crisis so I can be a sound mind of you want to", you attempted.

"Would you, actually? I really need to vent it all out", she cringed, "I'm staying right here, let me just tell the girls", you opened the door, "Carla! Charlotte!", you called, seeing them join you in the hall, "this is Ana", you introduced, "these are Carla and Charlotte, we are all dating brothers, different ones, I mean", you chuckled, "and Ana here could use our support because she has to take a pregnancy test", you smiled.

"It's very nice to meet you, you can use this bathroom, here", Charlotte said warmly as she opened the door of the bathroom by the stairs.

After reading the instructions, you left Ana to do her thing before she opened the door again, "so,", she smiled nervously, "is this your first time here?". "Yes, we've never been here. Last year we stayed somewhere else. So far, so good", Carla responded, "pardon my question, but are counting on a certain result?".

"My boyfriend and I have been together for a long time, and we've not been not trying, I guess?", she chuckled, "it's just nerve wracking you know? I work with kids, that's why I have all of those games, I work at the kid's club", she explained. The phone with the timer beeped, catching her attention and making you rub her back soothingly as she got it and read the results, "you're pregnant, Ana", you smiled.

"She must've put it in the trash and they saw it, let me check", you said as you walked to the bathroom, "there it is! She put it in the trash and they all saw it", you reasoned.

"Well, that surely explains a lot of it. I have seen Charles, particularly, dote on your like your a porcelain doll, but even these last few days were unusual for him", Pascale chuckled, "the way he helped you up the stairs? That's when it clicked for me that something was really different".

"Well, the things is that there's nothing different", you stated, "and Lorenzo and Arthur too, then!", you rubbed your temples, giggle alongside with the rest of the women in the room, "Pascale, with all due respect because you've raised these men impeccably, sometimes they're not the sharpest", Carla touched her shoulder, "should I be offended because I followed their train of thought?", you wondered.

When the boys arrived back from their paddle game, you and the rest of the group stayed in the living room as they headed up for showers, claiming you'd prefer to stay in for the night since you weren't feeling well, earning all of the three boys' approvals without further questions.

Charles was the first to come down, hair still wet as he walked to you, kissing your forehead, "do you need anything, amour?", he asked and acknowledged your negative answer, sitting next to you and cuddling you to his chest, "have you been feeling good today?", he brushed your hair and pulled it behind your ear. On your end, you were trying your best to keep a straight face, "yes, I'm fine, got all the rest I needed", you smiled, kissing his cheek and allowing him to place his hands under your top you were wearing and touch your tummy.

A little while later, Lorenzo walked dowstairs too, stopping by the kitchen to grab a bottle of water for him and another for Charlotte, checking if she was feeling better while Arthur also joined you in the living room.

"I'm just ordering dinner", Charles said as he typed on his phone screen, "they say they can put everything with eggs on the side and separately, and there are no raw ingredients, everything is washed and I-", he was interrupted by Carla's loud laugh.

"I'm sorry, I can't do it, not when I know where all of this is coming from", she continued as Charlottle broke down, too.

"What do you mean?", Charles said as the confusion on his face became clear, "Charles, amour, look at me", you called, "do you think there is something wrong with me? That my health status has changed?", you questioned honestly.

Charles fumbled with his words, "I mean, amour, I- do you want me to say it out loud or whisper in your ear? I didn't know of you wanted to tell anyone because you haven't told me either, and that's okay! But do I say it now?", he yelped, "you're pregnant, Y/N", he stated.

Arthur and Lorenzo got up as if on cue, both belting out "Y/N's pregnant, too?", before looking at their girlfriends and seeing their giggles, "you think the three of us are pregnant?". The brother's looked between them, "I saw the test in the trash bin, and Carla had just been in the bathroom, so I assumed we were having a baby", Arthur reasoned, "Charlotte hasn't been feeling well, it's her test", Lorenzo offered, "are we talking about the same test on that bathroom or has that bathroom been the 'pee on the stick and find out you're pregnant' Station?", Charles argued back.

Chuckling you got up and cupped Charles face with your hands, "it happened once and it's Ana's test", you smiled, "the girl from the kid's club. She was scared to take it and we gave her some support, that's all", you smiled, "no one's pregnant here", you finally said.

The boys made a collective "oh" noise until Arthur spoke, "you were not feeling well and I just thought that it was yours", he said to Carla, accepting her hug, "same goes to you, you kept saying the food tasted funny and I connected the dots, that apparently weren't so clear", Lorenzo said to Carla.

Charles had shifted on his feet a couple of times before he turned to you, "I thought you didn't want to tell anyone, that's why I didn't say anything. If you did not feel comfortable in telling it, it was because you wanted privacy and I respected that. I thought you'd eventually announce it when you were ready so I didn't push for it either, I just wanted to be there", he admitted. You kissed his jaw soflty, "well, there's no baby in here, the test does not belong to any of us".

"It's a good thing to know, though. Whenever the time comes, I'm having enough grandchildren to spoil to my heart's content", Pascale clapped, getting up and heading to the outside area, "Oh, look at that sunset, it's beautiful!".

"So, no baby...", Charles trailed off, holding your hands in his, "I have to admit that, in a way, I'm relieved, because that would change up our lives a lot, especially with three babies in the family", he chuckled, "but when things are more settled, in a few years surely, we can start our family if you want to", he smiled charmingly, "of course, whenever the time comes. I love you, Charles, I love you so much", you smiled, "but, please, whenever that happens, don't coddle me like I'm a porcelain doll", you attempted, "Oh, that will have a to be another negotiation I'm afraid, amour".

[dollopheadedmerlin]

What if, when Arthur returns, he sees Merlin as he remembers him, thirty something summers old, short hair, clean face. But everyone else sees the quiet old man, kind but lonely, with a long white beard and a new young man who steps on his heels throughout town as though he's known him. Arthur wonders why Merlin strokes his chin so frequently whilst others see him clearly comb his fingers through his beard. Despite claiming that no one knows his true identity, people constantly call Merlin sir and speak to him with some subtle underlying respect of sorts. Arthur looks at him sideways as he scratches his cheek, or grunts as he climbs to his feet. And it takes a long few months for them to realize that something is off, that Merlin has two faces. One of them is from a time long forgotten, but familiar to the one man who knows his name. The other shows the years that have passed between then and now, and allows him to slip into the background of the modern world.

[the-marshals-wife]

New Horizons (Arthur Curry x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Requested by @dantes-devil-huntress. I can't believe this is my first Aquaman fic! This was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Premise: Trying to figure out his place in the world as the newly crowned king of Atlantis, Arthur meets someone who may just help him find the answers he looking for.

Description: Arthur Curry/Aquaman x Fem!Reader (Human), meet-cute fluff! | Warnings: alcohol, mild language | Setting: AU w/o Mera endgame, before The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 3,468

Edit: here's my Orm Marius x Reader fic for my fellow Orm girlies ;)

Gif credit: user jasonmomoaonline

Imagine Arthur giving you shelter when you're stranded in a storm, and discovering his true identity

Getting stood up for your date had been the worst part of the night, until the moment you got into your car. Instead of the engine turning over and sputtering to half-life like usual, it only stalled.

"You have got to be kidding me," you say, gripping the steering wheel and turning the key until you thought it might snap, "Come on, come on, come ON!"

Throwing open your door, you pop the hood and stumble back out into the chilled night. You mutter curses under your breath as you survey the labyrinth of steel and hoses before you.

"At least nothing's on fire this time," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

You step back and stare at the bucket of bolts the salesman had called "like new." Besides coming to this bar, buying this car was quite possibly your biggest regret. It wasn't quite a lemon, but it wasn't a Rolls either. And most of all, it was all you could afford.

You exhale, glaring up at the flickering light of the bar's neon sign. The last thing you wanted to do after waiting nearly two hours alone like a fool was show your face inside again. You retrieve your phone from your back pocket, just to see the blinking bars in the top corner. No service.

"Wonderful," you groan.

Like a bad joke, thunder rolls in the distance. You look up to see the lightning flashing on the horizon across the bay. The brisk, salt air rises up from the water and cuts right through you.

"Could this night get any better?!" you lament, an angry shriek escaping your lips as you kick the front tire.

"Excuse me, Miss?" a voice from behind interjected.

You jump and turn to see a man approaching, nervous smile on his bearded face. You appraise him wearily: tall, dark, and not at all lacking in style, clad in both leather and jewelry. He looked a sight better than the drunken fishermen you'd observed stumble about the bar, which you concluded was about ninety-percent of the clientele. Even from where he stood, he certainly seemed to smell better.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but you sound like you might need some help," he offers hesitantly.

Despite your initial scare, something about him puts you at ease.

"Oh, um...yeah, actually" you smile embarrassed, tucking your hair behind your ear, "My stupid car won't start. Again."

"Mind if I take a look?" he asks, pointing.

"Would you? That would be great, honestly," you say, folding your arms against the cold, "I just had it in the shop last week. I have no idea what's wrong now."

He pats the fender as he circles around to the front, "Let's see what's got you all clammed up here, buddy."

"Your guess is as good as mine," you say exasperated, stepping to stand behind him a ways.

He chuckles and pushes up his sleeves, ducking underneath the hood. You take note of the intricate tattoos, realizing this friendly stranger was becoming more interesting by the minute.

"Hmm, nope. Not that," he says, craning his neck, "Not that either."

You bite your lip and sway on your feet, silently praying he could find the source of the problem. Any easy fix was probably too much to hope for, but your fingers stayed mentally crossed nonetheless.

"Ooh, maybe- no, definitely not," he says, followed by a clinking sound, "That should not be there."

"I really appreciate this," you say after a moment, peering over his shoulder, "I can change the wipers and put on a spare if I have to, but that's about the extent of my car expertise."

"No shame in that," he grunts, his voice strained, "Oof, now that might be a problem."

"Did you find something?" you dare to ask.

"These spark plugs are kaput. Like, 'not even a necromancer can bring them back' kind of kaput."

"The guy said they were fine!" you exclaim, "I knew I shouldn't have gone back to that place. Probably just took my money and laughed."

The man finally stands up and winces.

"And your alternator is on its last leg," he says with a grimace, "Even if you could get it to start, I wouldn't go more than five miles in this thing."

"Great. That's just wonderful," you sigh, shaking your head, "Well, thank you for looking. It'd have taken me forever to figure that out. Google only goes so far."

"No problem, wish I had better news for ya," he says, wiping his grease-tinged hands on his jeans before extending one towards you, "I'm Arthur, by the way."

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Nice to meet you too."

Despite your frustration, you couldn't help but grin. As Good Samaritans go, he was quite a handsome one. Something in the back of your mind whispered that you had seen his face before, but you couldn't place when or where.

Before you could speak again, a bolt of lightning strikes just across the harbor, followed swiftly by a crash of thunder.

Arthur looks off to the darkened horizon, his expression souring with concern.

"Storm's coming in fast," he observes, the sea breeze blowing through his long, sun-kissed hair, "Do you have someone you can call to come pick you up?"

He turn back to you, and only now do you notice just how rich and golden eyes his eyes are. For a few dizzied seconds, you forget to answer.

"Uh, not really. I'm pretty new to the area. I don't know very many people," you reply, feeling shy all of a sudden, "I can just call a Uber or something. If my service ever picks up."

"Yeah, definitely," he nods, clearing his throat, "They have a phone inside."

"Thank you again for helping me, Arthur," you say, starting to walk towards the door.

"I didn't really help, though..." he trails off, disappointment in his voice as you step past him.

Your hand is almost on the handle when he pipes up.

"Uh, look I know you don't know me, but my dad's place is just down the road from here. He's the lighthouse keeper. Him and my mom are actually away on little retreat, and I'm watching the place for them," he explains, "It's dry, warm, and definitely has a lot less drunk guys. You could wait there while the storm passes, if you wanted."

You turn back to him, trying to conceal your renewed hope, "I couldn't impose on you like that."

"Oh you wouldn't be. It's just me and the dog. He's probably getting sick of me at this point. He could use a visitor," he chuckles, "But I understand if you'd rather stay here. Strange guy at a bar invites you to a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night. Sounds like a horror movie, I know."

You laugh, and so does he, bringing some much needed levity.

"I'll bring you right back if you change your mind, just say the word," he adds, sounding truly sincere.

Almost everything in you was saying not to trust a man you'd just met, but your gut was telling you otherwise. There was more to the warmth in his eyes than just the color.

"Well, it does sound like the dog could use some company," you say thoughtfully.

Arthur smirks. "Oh yeah. There's been a Hell's Kitchen marathon on for days, and I'm pretty sure he's sick of listening to my Gordon Ramsay impression. I can't resist, love that guy."

"I might have to hear that for myself."

"Let's get you out of this weather, and we'll see what I can do about that, then," he says with a wink, "My ride is just over here."

Not even the chilled wind could overcome the warmth of your cheeks. The excitement in your chest grows with every step as you follow him across the sandy lot. The ride in question, however, soon comes into view, and the knot in your stomach tightens all the more.

"Oh boy," you say, staring at the motorcycle.

"You're not scared of bikes are you?" he questions, stepping alongside it and reaching into the black saddlebag.

"Not exactly," you hesitate, "I've just never been on one before."

He pulls out a red, half helmet and offers it to you.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall off," he replies, amused.

You look between him and the headgear a moment before taking it.

"Besides," he says, swinging his leg over the seat, "All you have to do is hang on."

With no argument to make, and rain drops beginning to sprinkle down, you pull your hair back and fasten the helmet on. You nearly lose your balance trying to throw your leg over, having to grab his shoulder to steady yourself. He didn't seem to mind; you could have sworn you heard him snicker. You settle into the seat, heart racing from being so close to him. More anxious than ever, you lightly place your hands on his back.

"All good back there?" Arthur asks, a smile in his voice.

"All good," you repeat, unconvincingly.

"Alright then," he says, turning the key.

Seconds later, the motorcycle roars to life as he revs the engine. Arthur eases the bike back slowly, pivots out of the lot, and eases it up to the main road. The instant he accelerates, the force kicks you backward. You throw your arms around his torso, pulling yourself against him. Over the noise of the machine, you weren't sure if the rumbling in your ear that followed was thunder or laughter, but you figured was the latter.

With the bar now behind you, and the rain coming down harder with the increasing speed, you bury your face into his back and hold on tightly.

♆

The lighthouse comes into view just as the skies open up. Arthur maneuvers the bike up the slippery, sand driveway and quickly shuts it off. He gives you his hand as you climb off and leads you toward the house.

The helmet offers some protection from the downpour, but the wind blows the spray into your face as you squint to see. Lightning above illuminates the world like daylight as you scramble up onto the porch.

Arthur throws the front door open and lets you in first as you stumble inside the dark house. You take a few blind steps forward as he slams it shut behind him, thunder making the windows rattle.

"Man, someone must have really pissed off Thor," he laughs. His relief, however, is turned to exasperation as you hear a clicking sound followed by a sigh.

"Power's out. Awesome."

Still trying to catch your breath, you pull out your phone, struggling with wet fingers to use touchscreen. Finally the flashlight turns on, and Arthur throws his hand up over his eyes as you accidentally shine it right at his face.

"Sorry," you pant, pointing it down.

"No worries. That's a good idea, actually. I always forget about this thing," he remarks, grabbing his own phone and doing the same, "One second, I think Pops has some candles in the kitchen."

You nod as he disappears into the next room. Now remembering the dripping helmet on your head, you release the strap with your free hand and set it down on the mat beside the door. A shiver goes through you from your soaked clothes. You point your phone about the shadowy room to get your bearings, admiring the otherwise cozy living area. As you sweep the light downward, something large and metallic glints on the coffee table in front of the sofa and catches your eye. You move closer to get a better look, and then your heart drops to your feet. Lying beside a bag of jerky and the TV remote is a massive, gleaming trident of gold. A memory flashes through your mind of an article you'd seen weeks ago, with a fuzzy photo of an alleged aquatic hero holding a weapon just like it. The pieces come together all at once as you realize the identity of your host.

The very next second, you hear Arthur's approach. He returns with a lit candle in each hand and a blanket under his arm, only to find your expression of complete and utter shock.

"You...you're..." you stammer.

"Oof, I knew I forgot to put something away," he cringes, "My bad."

"You're the Aquaman," you gape, finding the words.

"Surprise," he says in a sing-song voice, flashing a nervous smile, "Yeah, I never really know how to bring that up.

You stare at him dumbfounded as he places the candles on the coffee table. "I can't believe it. Aren't you supposed to be like...well, in Atlantis or something?"

"I was, earlier this morning. Just about died of boredom in council meetings," he says matter-of-factly, proceeding to talk as if he had a desk job, "I'm kinda part-timing right now, between land and sea. It's complicated. I'm still new to the whole 'king' thing. Don't have all the kinks worked out yet."

"I'd imagine," you breathe, your mind still reeling.

"Here, figured you need this." He holds out the blanket, completely unphased by the previous subject, "Do you drink tea? I can make some for you."

You take the blanket and chuckle in bewilderment. "Um, sure. That would be great," you answer, "Thank you."

"One tea coming up," he smiles, "Uh, just make yourself comfortable, I'll get the fire going here a minute, after I find the dog. Pretty sure he's hiding under Pops' bed upstairs. He's terrified of storms. Ironic right? Lighthouse keeper's dog afraid of a little water."

"I don't blame him this time," you say, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, "I think you were right about Thor."

As if on cue, another boom of thunder shakes the walls. You both burst out laughing.

♆

A few minutes later, you find yourself sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire with a warm mug in your hands, finally beginning to feel dry. Having been unsuccessful in coaxing the dog into joining him downstairs, Arthur settles down beside you crossed-legged, damp hair tied up, trading the tea for a can of Guinness. Your thoughts rage like the storm outside as you stare into the flames, agonizing about what you should say.

Arthur speaks a moment later, saving you the trouble.

"Sorry about the power. I'll call you that cab as soon as it comes back."

"That's okay, I'm not in a hurry," you reply.

You look over at him hopefully, meeting his piercing gaze for as long as you can. Mere seconds pass before you bow your head, heart racing while you repress a smile.

"I'm uh, sure you've got some questions about all this," he ventures, rubbing the back of his head.

"Honestly, with the night I've had, meeting 'Aquaman' is par for the course," you smirk.

"I didn't mean to spring it on you like that. I guess you can understand why I don't lead with the whole King of Atlantis thing. Kinda makes it hard to keep a conversation going once people know you 'can talk to fish.' They don't really see you the same after that."

"Yeah, I think I'd probably keep that to myself too," you agree, the awe returning full-force, "Still, it must be amazing. I mean, you're basically ruler of the ocean, right? Or is it just Atlantis?"

"Eh, I mean there's the other kingdoms-"

"There's more?!" you blurt out, wide-eyed.

"Oh yeah. Xebel, the Fishermen, the Brine, a couple of defunct ones no one wants talks about. We got a few."

"And you're the ruler over all of them?"

He shrugs. "More or less. I mean, they each have their own ruler. But then I'm also over them? Kinda? I'm still figuring crap out, they didn't exactly give me a rule book on my first day. Plus I have to answer to this royal council and they've got sticks up their butts about everything I do and say," he groans, rolling his eyes, "I like to consider myself more of a 'protector of the deep' than a ruler. Sounds more cool, and less like an old fart with a crown."

You giggle, hanging on every his every word.

"And with this bad boy right here," he says, reaching behind him and patting the trident, "I command all life in the sea. The animals anyway. Between you and me, that's the best part."

"You definitely have a cooler job than me," you beam.

"It definitely has its perks. But most of the time, I'd rather be here," he sighs, punctuated by a swig of his beer.

A visible sadness washes over him as he looks into the fire.

"You aren't from Atlantis?" you question.

"No, I was raised by my father. My parents met on accident. My mother was queen of Atlantis, and she ran away from her not-so-nice guy fiancé. She got lost in a storm, and my father rescued her. They've always said it was..."

Arthur stops and turns his gaze towards you, realization in his eyes.

Your heart skips as you understand. "Fate?"

He nods thoughtfully. "Something like that."

You blink, letting him go on.

"Anyway, I know I have a calling to the sea, but the land is always going to be a part of me, you know?" His expression softens. "Here, I've always found everything I need."

His words linger in the air between you. You look down at your hands, your chest pounding.

He clears his throat. "Sorry, I know that was a lot of info."

"Just a little bit," you reply teasingly, "But your secret's safe with me, Arthur. I promise. I've got no one to tell anyway."

"Don't worry, I trust you," he says, waving his hand, "It's actually nice to have someone else to share it with."

"I'm honored that you did. I know it's not the same, but I do understand what it's like to feel that you don't belong," you confess, "I didn't fit in my 'kind' either. Moved out here to start over. I guess you could say I'm still trying to figure some crap out too."

He pauses in thought second before responding, "Do you mind if I ask you something, Y/N?"

"After everything I've asked you? I'd say it's definitely your turn," you chuckle, taking a sip of your forgotten tea.

"I saw you at the bar before you went outside. I couldn't help but notice that you were there by yourself..."

"You noticed correctly. I was supposed to meet someone for a date, but after saying he was on his way, he never showed. I tried to text him, but he blocked me. I don't even know why."

"Nothing like being stood up at some backwater bar," he concludes, frowning, "Well, screw that guy. He's a bum."

"Yeah, I figured that out too late," you agree, then give him a knowing look, "The evening wasn't a total loss. I did meet you, after all."

"That's true," he concedes, playfully stroking his beard, "I may be a half-breed rookie king, but I'm not a bum."

You snort and gesture to the television set on your right, "So much for your marathon though, huh?"

"Ah, that's alright. They were all re-runs anyway."

You raise your eyebrow. "Think I could still hear that impression?"

He holds a finger to his chin in mock deliberation, "Hmmm, have I had enough to drink for that?

"I don't know, have you?" You lean in with anticipation.

He flashes a sly grin. "Of course I bloody have," he declares in the most hackneyed attempt at a British accent you'd ever heard, "And you better listen up, because I'm about to tell you everything there is to know about how to cook a bloody good flounder."

Your sides ache with laughter as he continues to go on a tangent about how to properly sauté shallots and season the perfect demi-glace. The voice sounded nothing like the infamously tempermental chef, of course, but you still thought his attempt was cute. By the time he was yelling at his invisible staff for serving him raw fish, the storm outside had passed, and neither of you noticed.

As Arthur went to light the stove to warm up some "gourmet" SpaghettiOs, still boisterously carrying on as Chef Ramsay, your excited thoughts returned to the story about his parents. You couldn't help but wonder about your own stormy night, the man you had met, and how much of a hand fate had played in it. The horizon seemed so much brighter than before, and for the first time ever, you were grateful to have bought that car.

[15-lizards]

It fucks that there are so many characters that are an antithesis to one of The Seven while still embodying their traits and technically representing them. Cersei is the Mother in that she only has love for her own children, but no mercy or any sense of nurturing. Tywin represents the Father’s protection, his justice, but that justice is always unfair, and serves only him, not even his own children. I have a Rolodex of all the knights that warp the values of the Warrior. Jamie and Arthur have to break one vow to stay true to another. Sandor is vile and cruel and dishonorable, but still protective of the innocent. Tyrion does his best to mend the broken city and protect its people like the Smith would do, but is also actively destabilizing things and fucking shit up for his own personal gain. Margaery had managed to maintain being the idea of the Maiden while being married three times, and hiding her plotting under the guise of innocence and virtue. Bran is a young Crone, his wisdom and foresight forced upon him instead of being obtained naturally through age. And Arya is a wanderer with no identity, a killer who takes life at random. But unlike the Stranger, Arya is still Arya, no matter how she tries to hide herself. She is a scared girl with a bias, not killing unthinkingly but rather in order to enact her revenge and seek justice, the opposite of what Death would do. Anyways these kinds of foils absolutely fuck

[comicaurora]

Following off of, but moving away slightly from all the Fate talk: If you were to write a ‘King Arthur but female’ story, how would you go about it? What would you look for in such a story?

I can think of a couple ways I'd do it!

First, the easy part. Sword in the anvil/stone, whosoever draws it forth is the rightful king of England. Well shit, that little peasant girl just pulled it out like it was nothing. Hail to the king, any objections can be directed to The Indomitable Soul Of Albion Herself.

Or, if ancient England accepting a lady king is too much of a stretch, Merlin has a habit of helping people out with magical disguises. If necessary - and if it would be fun from a story standpoint - our peasant girl of Secret Noble Heritage could get a magical disguise that lets her appear male. Could even go full fairy tale and do something like having her appear as her true self at night, and King Arthur during the day. If we really wanted to blend it, we could let her female identity be Morgan le Fay, Merlin's student with an affinity for dark times. However, doing that would spoil the potential gay drama of letting Morgan be a powerful villainess who learns Arthur's true identity early on, and that might be too good to pass up. And since Arthur's eventual destiny is to be taken to Avalon by Morgan to sleep until England's greatest hour of need, that gets Cool Layers if we let them have a whole enemies-to-lovers thing going throughout.

Arthuriana is extremely loose in the canon department anyway, so while there are touchpoints I'd want to hit, we'd have a lot of freedom of movement in how we'd hit them. This would basically just add layers of characterization to how Arthur would handle the various adventures she gets into - especially if she feels the need to obscure her identity from some or all of her knights. There's a surplus of damsels in various folktales that could be Arthur stuck in her secret identity due to Magical Hijinks.

Unfortunately, Guinevere's foundational role in the story almost always involves her sleeping with dudes who are not Arthur, and since the overall story of Camelot is a tragedy whose downfall is brought on by a schism in the royal family, we might need to keep that for thematic consistency. And it takes on layers if we stick with the "Arthur's public identity, at least at first, is a Dude" thing, because - shocking as this may be - some people actually aren't even a little bit gay, and if Guinevere ended up politically wedded to Arthur only to learn that her husband is in fact not her preferred gender of lover, she might not be jazzed about that.

Other than that, let the cool swordfights and quests remain unchanged and I think you've got a good recipe for episodic character drama.

[sexy-sapphic-sorcerer]

1: Magic is a Metaphor < 2: Morgana is a Lesbian < 3: Merlin is Gay < 4: Arthur is Bi

Do you remember when you were bullied in middle school? Because if you're reading this, I think it's fair to assume that you were. And your parents would say to you, 'that boy is just being mean to you because he likes you'. That's what this is.

Arthur is just so repressed. He has really bad daddy issues, and he doesn't know how to express his emotions, and he's really uncomfortable with physical intimacy, especially with other men, especially with Merlin. And this isn't me trying to psychoanalyse away his heterosexuality. It is a very evident part of his character.

And another big part of his character is that he has inherited all of these bigoted ideas about magic from his father that he has to work to overcome. Because, of course, Arthur himself is born of magic, but his dad is so ashamed of it that he hides the true circumstances of his birth from Arthur. Honestly, I don't know exactly how that would fit into this whole metaphor. I do have a half-formed theory that it could be interpreted as an allegory for intersex identity, I know that a lot of people headcanon Arthur as trans, so idk there could be something there. But regardless, it is only through his relationship with Merlin that he is able to overcome this magicphobia, because he realises: how could it be wrong when everything about Merlin is so right. And I just feel like there's a metaphor in there somewhere.

Of course, I have to mention this iconic quote from the audio commentary of the final episode: when the executive producer refers to Arthur taking off his royal seal to give back to Guinevere as passing over "the last vestige of his heterosexu- oh sorry, I mean his marriage." So, they knew exactly what they were doing.

I also thought I would just draw your attention to the fact that at one point Arthur says, "I only care about my men, they're more than friends, more than brothers." Now, I think we can all agree that out of context, that is a very gay thing to say, and yet somehow the context is even gayer, because Arthur is pretending to be talking about the Knights of the Round Table, but he's actually talking about Merlin, how Merlin is the only person he cares about, more than a friend. And then Merlin responds, "I understand. I wish I didn't, but I do." It's barely subtext at that point. This of course, brings me to my final argument:

Arthur risked his life to save Merlin at least eight times. It could be more than that, I genuinely lost count. And you have to keep in mind that Arthur is the King of Camelot and he doesn't have any heirs. It is quite important that he stays alive. And yet anytime that Merlin is in the slightest bit of danger, he will just drop everything to protect him.

And it's really only in those moments where he's faced with the thought of losing Merlin that he shows him genuine emotion. Such as in this scene (which was cut out of 4x02 purely because it was too gay) where Arthur is planning to sacrifice himself to protect Merlin, again, and he gives Merlin his mother's sigil, the only thing he has left of his dead mum and he wants Merlin to have it as something to remember him by. Also, apparently in medieval times giving someone your family crest was basically a marriage proposal, so that's pretty gay.

You know what else is pretty gay? Telepathically communicating with Merlin and then immediately leaving Gwen in the middle of an active war. This is literally the last time that Arthur and Gwen ever see each other. Poor Gwen.

In conclusion, Merlin is the story of gay sorcerers and bisexual knights getting into love triangles. Everyone in this show is queer and you cannot tell me otherwise.

[thegambitgazette]

The Reluctant Ruler Trope: A Philosophical Inquiry into Unwanted Power, Responsibility, and the Burden of Leadership

WC: 3,489

Index

Introduction The Reluctant Ruler in Literature and Folklore The Existential Dilemma of Unwanted Authority Political Implications and the Burden of Responsibility A Special Case or a Universal Relatability? Closing Words

Introduction

“The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will. You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture? You don't know. You are tired of being steady. You dream of feeling alive. Not that you aren’t, but, sometimes, it’s hard to remember that there is a heart between your ribs.” —“Are You A Soldier, Poet, or A King?” quiz by @atlanticsea

Does anyone here remember the “Soldier, Poet, King” quiz that went around about a year or so ago? When I initially took it, I expected “Poet;” you can imagine my surprise when the “King” result absolutely obliterated my mental health.

As I’ve found, a common theme in my writing is the Reluctant Ruler trope, where either 1) a character is thrust into the role of a savior, hero, or king/queen despite not having any wish to lead people or 2) a character assumes the role of a leader without the full understanding of the morally corrupting demands of the job.

The narrative trope of the Reluctant Ruler has long captivated the human imagination, resonating across cultures and epochs. From mythical tales of kings and queens reluctant to ascend the throne to contemporary narratives of reluctant heroes and leaders, this archetype speaks to fundamental questions about the nature of power, responsibility, and the human condition. But what makes this trope such a tragic and believable character? How do we, as an audience, end up relating to and debating the conflicts and moral dilemmas that these characters face? Today, we embark on a philosophical inquiry into the Reluctant Ruler trope, aiming to uncover its deeper meanings and implications within existential and political philosophical discourse.

The Reluctant Ruler in Literature and Folklore

The archetype of the reluctant ruler is deeply embedded in the narratives of literature and folklore, transcending cultural and historical boundaries. Across diverse traditions, tales abound of individuals thrust into positions of leadership against their will, grappling with the weight of power and the burdens of governance.

Shakespeare’s “Hamlet:” One of the most iconic depictions of the Reluctant Ruler can be found in William Shakespeare's timeless tragedy, “Hamlet.” Prince Hamlet, the melancholic protagonist, is suddenly confronted with the task of avenging his father’s murder and assuming the throne of Denmark. Despite being heir to the throne, Hamlet is plagued by doubt, indecision, and existential angst. His famous soliloquy, “To be, or not to be,” encapsulates the profound existential crisis he faces, torn between the demands of duty and the desire for personal authenticity. Hamlet’s reluctance to embrace his role as king stems not only from fear or cowardice but from a profound skepticism about the legitimacy of authority and the corrupting influence of power.

The Arthurian Legend: In the rich tapestry of Arthurian legend, the motif of the Reluctant Ruler is exemplified in the character of King Arthur himself. According to some versions of the myth, Arthur is initially unaware of his royal lineage and is raised as a commoner by Sir Ector. Upon discovering his true identity and rightful claim to the throne, Arthur reluctantly accepts the mantle of kingship, guided by the wise counsel of Merlin and the moral imperative to uphold justice and chivalry. Despite his noble intentions, Arthur grapples with the burdens of leadership, facing betrayals, challenges to his authority, and the tragic consequences of his own choices. His reluctance to embrace his destiny as king reflects the ambivalence inherent in assuming power and the moral ambiguities of governance.

The Biblical Story of Moses: In the Abrahamic traditions, the narrative of Moses provides another compelling example of the Reluctant Ruler trope. According to the Book of Exodus, Moses is initially an ordinary Israelite that ran from his station as a prince of Egypt, content to live as a shepherd in the wilderness. However, when called upon by God to lead his people out of bondage in Egypt, Moses initially resists, citing his own inadequacies and speech impediment. Despite his reluctance, Moses eventually accepts the divine mandate and becomes the revered leader of the Israelites, guiding them through the trials of the Exodus and delivering the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. Moses’s reluctance to assume leadership underscores the theme of human frailty and the transformative power of faith and divine providence.

The Existential Dilemma of Unwanted Authority

Despite not having instances in our lives where we are unexpectedly crowned king or being spoken to by a deity, there are still profound lessons in identity and responsibility that we can pull from these characters.

The Anguish of Freedom and Responsibility

Existentialist philosophers such as Jean-Paul Sartre asserted that “existence precedes essence,” emphasizing the radical freedom and responsibility of human beings to define their own meaning and purpose in a seemingly indifferent universe. For the Reluctant Ruler, this existential freedom becomes a source of anguish and uncertainty. Suddenly endowed with authority and influence, they are confronted with the weight of responsibility and the moral implications of their actions. The existential angst of the reluctant ruler arises from the tension between the desire for autonomy and the demands of duty, as they struggle with the paradox of being simultaneously free and bound by social expectations.

Furthermore, with freedom comes the moral imperative to act responsibly and ethically. The Reluctant Ruler, however, finds themselves burdened with the weight of moral decision-making, as they navigate complex ethical dilemmas and confront the consequences of their actions. Existentialist philosophy emphasizes the inherent responsibility of individuals to create their own moral framework and to confront the ethical implications of their choices with honesty and integrity. The anguish of responsibility lies in the tension between the desire for moral clarity and the recognition of the inherent ambiguity and uncertainty of ethical decision-making. The reluctant ruler must contemplate on the ethical complexities of their role, striving to uphold their moral principles amidst the exigencies of power and governance.

Authenticity and Self-Deception

Central to the existential dilemma of unwanted authority is the quest for authenticity (we already knew this; I wrote two posts on authenticity already that you can check out here and here)—the authentic expression of one’s true self and values in the face of external pressures and expectations. The Reluctant Ruler may experience profound existential alienation as they navigate the demands of their role, questioning whether they are living in accordance with their own genuine desires and beliefs or merely conforming to societal norms and conventions.

In fact, they may be tempted to resort to self-deception—to deceive themselves and others about the true nature of their actions or motivations. Existentialist philosophy warns against the dangers of inauthenticity and self-delusion, highlighting the existential crisis that arises from living inauthentically and betraying one’s own values. The Reluctant Ruler may succumb to the pressures of their position, rationalizing their actions or compromising their principles in order to maintain power or avoid conflict. Self-deception becomes a means of coping with the existential anguish and moral dilemmas inherent in their role, providing a false sense of security and comfort amidst the uncertainties of leadership.

Self-deception ultimately leads to existential alienation—the estrangement from one’s authentic self and the sense of disconnection from the world. The Reluctant Ruler who succumbs to self-deception finds themselves adrift in a sea of moral ambiguity and existential angst, unable to reconcile their actions with their inner convictions.

The Absurdity of Human Existence

“The Absurdity of Human Existence” is a philosophical concept rooted in existentialist thought, particularly articulated by philosophers such as Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre. It posits that human life is inherently absurd, devoid of inherent meaning or purpose, and characterized by the fundamental tension between the human desire for meaning and the indifferent, chaotic nature of the universe.

In assuming positions of power unwillingly, the Reluctant Ruler confronts the absurdity of their situation, grappling with the arbitrary nature of authority and the futility of their efforts to impose order and control upon a chaotic world. The absurdity of leadership lies in the recognition of its inherent limitations and the inevitability of failure and impermanence. Despite their best intentions, the Reluctant Ruler may find themselves overwhelmed by their predicament, struggling to find meaning and significance in a world devoid of ultimate purpose.

Here is where another familiar element of existence comes into play: the illusion of control. The illusion of control is a psychological concept that refers to the tendency of individuals to overestimate their ability to influence or control events, particularly in situations characterized by uncertainty or randomness.

For the Reluctant Ruler, the illusion of control becomes apparent as they assume positions of power unwillingly and attempt to impose order and control upon a world that defies their efforts. Despite their best intentions, they soon come to realize the inherent unpredictability and uncontrollability of the events and circumstances they face. This recognition challenges their preconceived notions of authority and power, revealing the illusory nature of their perceived control.

The Reluctant Ruler may initially believe that they have the ability to shape the course of events and influence outcomes according to their will. However, as they encounter resistance, opposition, and unforeseen challenges, they begin to understand the limitations of their authority and the unpredictable nature of the world they seek to govern. This realization undermines their confidence and exposes the fragility of their sense of control.

Moreover, the illusion of control can lead the Reluctant Ruler to engage in behaviors and strategies aimed at maintaining the illusion of power, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. They may resort to authoritarian measures, manipulation, or denial of reality in an attempt to assert their authority and preserve their sense of control. However, these efforts ultimately prove futile, further reinforcing the absurdity of their situation.

The existential implications of the illusion of control lie in its confrontation with the fundamental unpredictability and contingency of human existence. The Reluctant Ruler's quest for control becomes a Sisyphean task, as they strive to impose order upon a world characterized by chaos and uncertainty. In confronting the illusion of control, they are forced to confront the absurdity of their condition and wrestle with the inherent limitations of human agency in the face of existential uncertainty.

Political Implications and the Burden of Leadership

Naturally, we cannot talk about the complexity behind the Reluctant Ruler without diving into those whom they govern. In examining the reluctant ruler trope through the lens of political philosophy, we confront the complex interplay between governance, legitimacy, and the ethical responsibilities of leadership.

Legitimacy and Consent

The concepts of legitimacy and consent are central to theories of political authority, shaping the foundation of governance and the relationship between rulers and the ruled. In the context of the Reluctant Ruler trope, the legitimacy of political authority is called into question, as leaders may assume power unwillingly, without the explicit consent or endorsement of those they govern.

Political theorists have long debated the sources of legitimacy in governance, seeking to identify the basis upon which political authority is justified. Traditionally, legitimacy has been derived from various sources such as divine right, tradition, charisma, or popular consent. However, the assumption of power by a Reluctant Ruler complicates these traditional sources, as their authority may not be grounded in the typical mechanisms of legitimacy. Instead, the legitimacy of the reluctant ruler may be contingent upon factors such as adherence to legal norms, effectiveness in governance, or recognition by key power holders.

In democratic societies, where the principle of popular sovereignty reigns supreme, the consent of the governed is considered foundational to the legitimacy of political authority. Democratic legitimacy is typically understood to derive from the consent of the people, expressed through free and fair elections. However, the Reluctant Ruler challenges this notion, as their assumption of power may not be the result of popular choice or electoral mandate. Or, on the other hand, perhaps it was, indeed, the populace that raised them to their position while they continued to protest and fight against it. This raises questions about the compatibility of their leadership with democratic ideals and the accountability of political institutions to the will of the people.

A Special Case or Universal Relatability?

The Reluctant Ruler archetype, emblematic of individuals thrust into positions of power against their will, serves as a focal point for exploring the intricate interplay between existential realization, political pragmatism, and ethical considerations within the realm of political philosophy and ethical theory. Through the lenses of political philosophers and ethical theorists, such as Niccolò Machiavelli, Hannah Arendt, Immanuel Kant, and Aristotle, we can seek to elucidate the moral spectrum of the Reluctant Ruler, shedding light on the ethical and existential dimensions of their predicament and the broader implications for human nature and governance.

Political Philosophers:

Thinkers such as Niccolò Machiavelli and Hannah Arendt might consider the ethical and political dimensions of the Reluctant Ruler trope. They would examine questions of legitimacy, authority, and the responsibilities of leadership, shedding light on how the Reluctant Ruler’s predicament illuminates broader themes in political philosophy.

Niccolò Machiavelli

Niccolò Machiavelli, a seminal figure in political philosophy, is often associated with political realism, a perspective that emphasizes practical considerations over moral ideals in governance.

Machiavelli’s political realism emphasizes the importance of power dynamics, interests, and strategic calculations in politics. He might argue that the Reluctant Ruler cannot afford to be guided solely by moral principles or existential concerns but must instead prioritize the preservation of authority and the maintenance of order.

For him, the reluctant ruler’s primary concern should be establishing and consolidating their authority, regardless of the circumstances of their ascension to power.

He famously suggests in The Prince that rulers should be prepared to act ruthlessly when necessary, even if it means sacrificing ethical principles.

The ends justify the means in politics, and that the reluctant ruler must be willing to employ any means necessary to achieve their goals.

Ultimately, Machiavelli would likely emphasize the importance of maintaining order and stability as the primary goals of the reluctant ruler. He might argue that the ruler's legitimacy and authority depend on their ability to govern effectively and preserve the social order, even if it requires making difficult decisions or compromises.

Machiavelli might caution against allowing existential angst or moral qualms to undermine the reluctant ruler's ability to govern decisively. He would likely stress the need for pragmatism and flexibility in navigating the complexities of political life.

Hannah Arendt

Hannah Arendt was a prominent political theorist known for her contributions to the understanding of totalitarianism, the nature of power, and the concept of political action.

Arendt would delve into the existential angst experienced by the reluctant ruler, examining how their struggle with assuming power unwillingly reflects broader themes of human existence. She might explore the absurdity of the situation, where individuals find themselves thrust into positions of authority without their consent or desire.

Arendt would likely emphasize the importance of individual conscience in guiding the actions of the reluctant ruler. She might suggest that the ruler's moral integrity is central to their ability to exercise legitimate and effective leadership, even in the face of existential uncertainty.

She might also argue that political action is inherently bound up with questions of ethics and morality, and that the reluctant ruler's existential crisis serves as a catalyst for deeper reflection on the ethical dimensions of governance.

Arendt might caution against sacrificing moral integrity for the sake of pragmatic considerations, suggesting that the Ruler’s adherence to their conscience is ultimately what determines the legitimacy of their leadership.

Ethical Thinkers

Thinkers like Immanuel Kant and Aristotle would likely explore the ethical dilemmas faced by the Reluctant Ruler. They would analyze how the tension between personal ethics and pragmatic considerations shapes the Ruler’s decision-making process, offering insights into human moral psychology and the pursuit of virtuous leadership.

Immanuel Kant

Kant’s deontological ethics emphasizes the importance of moral duty and universal principles in guiding ethical behavior. He would likely analyze the Reluctant Ruler���s predicament by focusing on the categorical imperative, which states that individuals must act according to principles that can be universally applied.

Kant might argue that the Reluctant Ruler faces a moral obligation to uphold certain ethical principles, even if it conflicts with pragmatic considerations. He would emphasize the importance of acting out of a sense of duty and moral integrity, rather than being swayed by expediency or self-interest.

Aristotle

Aristotle’s virtue ethics focuses on the development of moral character and the cultivation of virtuous qualities. He would likely analyze the Reluctant Ruler’s ethical dilemmas by considering how their decisions reflect their moral virtues and character traits.

Aristotle might argue that the reluctant ruler should strive to embody virtues such as courage, wisdom, and justice in their governance. He would emphasize the importance of practical wisdom (phronesis) in navigating the complexities of political life, suggesting that the ruler should aim to achieve eudaimonia, or flourishing, through virtuous leadership.

On Our Nature

Needless to say, not only can we reflect on our own ethical “what-ifs” in parallel to the Reluctant Ruler trope; through this character study, we can unearth a multitude of political and existential debates and still never settle on a universal answer.

The perpetual debates and unanswered questions surrounding the Reluctant Ruler trope speak volumes about human nature and the complexity of individual experiences. At its core, the Reluctant Ruler archetype encapsulates the fundamental tensions between existential realization, ethical responsibility, and political pragmatism, reflecting the intricate interplay of human desires, values, and motivations.

Firstly, the inability to settle on a universal answer regarding the Reluctant Ruler trope underscores the inherent complexity and ambiguity of human existence. Human nature is characterized by its multifaceted makeup, encompassing a diverse range of perspectives, beliefs, and experiences. The reluctance of individuals to embrace leadership roles speaks to our innate desire for autonomy, authenticity, and personal fulfillment, as well as our inherent susceptibility to doubt, uncertainty, and existential angst. The analyses surrounding the Reluctant Ruler trope reflect the diversity of human experiences and the myriad ways in which individuals examine with questions of identity, purpose, and morality.

Moreover, the fact that many individuals can relate to the Reluctant Ruler trope on a personal level speaks to the universality of human struggles and aspirations. Whether it be the fear of assuming responsibility, the desire for authenticity and self-expression, or the ethical dilemmas inherent in leadership, the themes embodied by the Reluctant Ruler resonate with people from all walks of life.

However, the Reluctant Ruler trope also serves as a mirror through which we can reflect on our own ethical convictions, political beliefs, and existential uncertainties. By examining the complexities of this archetype, we are compelled to confront our own values, biases, and assumptions, and to consider how they shape our perceptions of leadership, responsibility, and human nature. The inability to settle on a universal answer regarding the Reluctant Ruler trope challenges us to confront the inherent ambiguity and uncertainty of human existence, prompting us to engage with questions of identity, meaning, and morality in our own lives.

Closing Words

What initially appears as a narrative device in storytelling reveals itself as a mirror reflecting the intricacies of our own ethical frameworks, existential dilemmas, and political realities.

At its essence, the Reluctant Ruler archetype embodies the universal struggle between autonomy and responsibility, authenticity and conformity, freedom and obligation. Yet, beyond the realm of fiction, it prompts us to reflect on our own ethical convictions and existential uncertainties. Are we, too, begrudging in our own lives, navigating the delicate balance between personal desires and societal expectations? Do we confront the existential angst of freedom and responsibility, or do we succumb to the illusion of control and self-deception?

Moreover, the Reluctant Ruler challenges us to examine the legitimacy of political authority and the ethical responsibilities of leadership. In a world where governance is often characterized by power struggles and moral ambiguities, how do we reconcile the demands of pragmatism with the imperatives of justice and integrity? How do we ensure that those in positions of power govern with wisdom, virtue, and compassion?

Ultimately, the Reluctant Ruler trope serves as a catalyst for introspection and dialogue, inviting us to confront the complexity of human nature and the ethical dimensions of governance. As we scrutinize the unresolved questions and perpetual debates surrounding this archetype, we are reminded of the enduring relevance of philosophy in our quest for understanding, meaning, and ethical clarity.

In the end, the Reluctant Ruler challenges us not only to ponder the existential dilemmas of fictional characters but also to confront the ethical complexities of our own lives and societies. It is through this introspective journey that we may gain deeper insights into the nature of leadership, autonomy, and the human condition, and perhaps, find a path towards a more just, compassionate, and authentic world.

[jane-john-doe-tournament]

Jane Doe (Ride the Cyclone) Propaganda:

Great singing, also she’s literally wearing a doll‘s head bc she lost hers

do they have their soul or is it rotting somewhere with their head?

BALLAD OF JANE DOE IS SO SAD AND SHE IS GREAT AND I ONLY WATCH RTC ONCE BUT SHES NY FAVE OK

cool asf

She forgets her name after her death and has no story told in the production

She's so sweet and deserves the world. Her song (The Ballad of Jane Doe) is great.

the song goes so hard just listen to her song guys please

she literally died and her head was cut off so nobody could tell who she was PLEASE let her take one (1) W

BECAUSE SHE IS AMAZING. First she already won the tournament in the musical to regain life, as she won them over with her sad wet cat energy because she did not have a head and feared that she lost her soul. Second, she died on a roller coaster and lost her head, but stole her doll's head and thats very gender. Third, throughout the musical she is used as a vessel for religious allegory, she is an angel, she is jesus, she is a demon, she is forsaken but she is purity itself. Fourthly, she is is given the identity of Savannah with the greenest eyes after the other characters who died with her hold her a birthday party, and I think thats sweet because its probably some kind of meaning I cant see but auughfhfhh shes so cool

i mean her name isn't TECHNICALLY jane doe but we refer to her as such. she's so silly!! autism powers! i don't have a lot of propaganda tbh. i would've just been surprised had she NOT been submitted

She lost her head literally when the rollercoaster derailed. She wasn't able to be identified apart from the school uniform she was wearing.

Her name is forgotten, and so is everything about her. So she’s called Jane Doe. She’s very sweet and very creepy, but she doesn’t mean it

and im asking WHYYYYY LORRRRRDDD

I LOVE HER! she died in a roller coaster accident and was decapitated, her body not being found. in the show, her head is actually just her doll’s head. the coroners couldn’t identify her, so she was dubbed a jane doe. in the game to be alive again, she ends up being voted, her name being revealed to be penny lamb. anyways she’s a little creepy and also quite silly and she does her funny little waddle like a porcelain doll (or corpse).

She deserves it! She lost her head she shouldn't lose this too.

Not convinced you didn’t start this tournament just for her tbh

They have a great song and a true air of mystery to them. They also have arguably the best song in the musical, The Ballad of Jane Doe! I would definitely recommend listening to it >:)

—She LOST her HEAD and had it replaced with a PORCELAIN DOLL —In all seriousness her story is really poignant. No one could identify her body so she arrives in the afterlife not knowing her identity and she spends the show vacillating between depressed and angry at her situation, leading to… —“The Ballad of Jane Doe”, specifically Emily Rohm’s version, might be the most haunting solo in musical theatre history.

John Doe (Malevolent) Propaganda:

Spooky gay eldritch disaster (am I doing this right?)

Could have chosen any name for himself and picked John because a kind person called him that :)

fractured piece of an eldritch god that shares a body with a private eye after being fractured. chooses the name John Doe after said private eye goes into a coma

Because he’s an eldritch god who wants to feel human and who overcame a lot of obstacles and dangers!!! He sincerely cares about the main character!!! And he chose a name himself! Isn’t he cute??? He lost his body, he almost lost his memory, he fought for his right to exist, he loves animals, he loves his friend Arthur and I love him!

Being an ass, friendship, spooky supernatural stuff, he’s got it all

My man heard the name John Doe, realized he didn’t actually have a name, and just. Took it for himself.

I LOVE HIM. MY SON. HE’S TRYING TO CHANGE AND BE BETTER AND :(((( He’s a fragment of the soul of the King in Yellow (god of trickery and suffering iirc??) that gets trapped in a book in our realm while the rest of the King stayed in his own separate realm. When a human named Arthur Lester opens the book they get linked and John gains control of Arthur’s eyes & kills his partner (oops!). They proceed to go on a quest to find a way of separating them because neither likes the situation, and at first John (or The Entity, which is what he’s called at first) just wants to trick and use Arthur, and control his entire body (through the first season he also gets a hand & a foot) even though he doesn’t remember being The King In Yellow at the time, but Arthur makes him change and become more human. His turning point is when Arthur is shot and falls into a coma for a month. They get treated at a hospital and while John waits for Arthur to wake up so they can carry on, the body itself still gets taken care of. The time John spends alone, contemplating on humanity & everything he’s seeing and learning from Arthur, as well as the way a certain nurse speaks to him every day (specifically, she greets him good morning and good night, despite the body being unresponsive, John still hears because he is an entity linked to the body) and calls him John (they didn’t have ID on when they were found so they were classified as John Doe), changes his outlook and plans for good, and he asks Arthur to call him John; from this point on he admits he cares for Arthur, looks for his wellbeing too, and in general attempts to be a better person and to live for himself. The rest of the podcast (ongoing!!) explores Arthur & John’s relationship, struggle to survive, adventures in the eldritch… All while tackling each of their issues with themselves and each other and watching them both grow. John in specific learns to be the person he wants to be, how sometimes you’ll take a step forward and two backwards; he can be cruel and manipulative sometimes but he still tries. Personally I love his journey, it’s very realistic and you can see he is trying his best, and how he wants to be better than he was as the King In Yellow, and how much Arthur has changed him and how much he cares about him because of that; and how he’s slowly growing into being his own person :) if it ends badly ill cry so hard but!!! he’s John Doe because that’s the name he was being addressed as, and he’s made it his, and being John means he’s no longer the King and that he wants to be different, and John can fail or make mistakes but it’s part of who he is now, and that’s what matters. I am So Normal About Him

JOHN DOE (Malevolent) SWEEP

OH MY GOD JOHN DOE MY BELOVED 💛💛 (watch me just not clarify that would be so funny ahah) John doe (Malevolent) 💛💛💛 my silly He's so funny he makes Arthur bump his head into a dock because he didn't say duck in time and then laughs at him 💛💛

[gildedlead]

All of the Wayne kids’ favorite Leaguers: True and Real and Accurate

Dick: Wonder Woman! Bear with me. Please. I think Superman was his favorite BEFORE he met Clark. Once he learned how big of a dork he was, the magic was sort of lost, doubly so when Clark became his unofficial stepdad. Diana? She stayed cool. Not to mention that in his Robin days, she often humored whatever hare-brained impulses he’d get. Please picture Batman’s bewildered expression when he finds Dick dangling from the Watchtower light fixture he specifically designed to be impossible for him to reach. Diana just, -shrug- “He said please.” You threw him Diana. You threw that child. She’d probably still throw him if he asked nicely, hell, she’d probably do it even before he has to ask. It’s ‘Boy Wonder’, not ‘Boy Bat’.

Jason: Black Canary. ‘Wonder Woman is Jason’s fav’ believers PLEASE hear me out. I think that Diana is Jason’s favorite in a ‘celebrity crush’ way, but Dinah is Jason’s favorite in a ‘cool aunt’ way. He met her unofficially at the Watchtower, but actually started hanging out with her thanks to Roy. They both like motorcycles and kicking ass, plus Young Justice having Canary as a therapist melds well with my vision of her helping Jason heal. And I think she’s used to yelling at Bruce on Oliver’s behalf, so it’s no big to do it on Jason’s too.

Tim: The Flash! If Dinah is the cool aunt, Barry is the cool uncle. Guy that shows up at the function with all the best snacks. He might eat half of them himself but damn if he didn’t bring them. In all seriousness, Tim saw pretty great merit in knowing a forensics guy that he can basically talk to anytime he’s stumped with a case without having to go through the “sorry to wake you” song and dance. Barry occasionally gets unhinged texts that are in the vein of “hey can you go about ten minutes back in time and tell past me about _____”. They’re usually pretty low stakes but sometimes there’s just a “got stabbed, do-over?” jumpscare sprinkled in. Bruce will never ever get shit from Barry about kid troubles. That man is a saint in Flash’s eyes.

Cass: Captain Marvel. She didn’t like him at all during their first meeting. For a person that’s good at reading body language, I imagine that seeing genuinely childish behavior on a grown man would be giving some crazy mixed signals. Once she learns that his powers are magic in origin rather than being alien or meta, her mind opens up a little more to the possibility that his exterior appearance might not be indicative of his actual identity. Cass guesses his age by their next proper meeting and makes it her business to keep an eye on him, always asking Bruce about him after he returns from League missions. Your honor, that 7’5” brick wall Champion of Magic is actually just Cass’ little buddy. She’s gonna get him some ice cream or something.

Steph: Green Lantern. Hal and Barry are like uncles, except if Barry is the cool one, Hal is the cringe one. Lucky for Hal, being a boyfailure is a good way to amuse Steph. Those two are gonna spend hours arguing with Bruce just for the hell of it, backing each other up on completely incorrect claims (Steph does it because it’s funny, Hal does it because he believes her). He does get bonus points for bringing her cool space snacks whenever he comes back from trips off-world. One of her favorite foods is a sort of hi-chew/gum thing from some other planet in Sector 2418 that doesn’t dissolve or lose its flavor, even after chewing it for days on end.

Damian: Aquaman. He’s a king. Like, an actual king. And he can communicate with fish. Arthur heard about Damian’s temper from the rest of the Leaguers and straight up does not believe it because every time he’s spoken to Damian, it’s been “hello your majesty can you introduce me to an octopus I have a few questions for it”. This one’s short. But I feel it speaks for itself.

Duke: Superman. Clark was NOT told about Signal taking up the day shift in Gotham until he was flying in to compare notes (read: flirt), with Bruce and met Duke when they both went to intercept a carjacking. Clark tries to be responsible like “I feel obligated to let you know that Batman doesn’t take kindly to metas in his city”, only for Duke to point at the big ol bat on his chest. After that, Duke usually intercepts Big Blue’s flight path anytime he comes into Gotham and the two just kind of hang out and shoot the shit while he does his patrol. Duke is also a little bit stoked to be regularly hanging out with The Superman, but even after the awe wears off, he can’t help but still think of Clark as just a cool, friendly guy. He gets someone to share the airspace with, Clark gets a bat he can stay in the sun with, it’s a win/win all around. Congrats Clark, you got one.

[flying-fangirls]

I like to think that John's voice turned more "monstrous" over time as he became more comfortable with Arthur. When they first meet, John is scared and unsure of everything, so he reverts to tactics of manipulation. He tries to sound as "human" as possible both because he thinks it will make Arthur more trusting of his manipulation, and because he's afraid Arthur will fear/hate him for being something "different." But as John slowly discovers his identity, and they both become closer and more accepting of who they are, John's voice shifts from performance to its natural state. And eventually John feels safe enough around Arthur to exist openly as his true self.

[kellyvela]

Do you notice many Sansa fans are POC girls/women? My girls and I are POC from a Muslim country. We are Sansa's fans. We understand Sansa because our lives are similar to Sansa.

It is easy for White people in Western developed countries to claim Sansa should rebel like Arya.

They do not understand the deadly harsh consequences of not following the rules in a real life. For girls/women in religious, traditional, and conservative societies/countries. Similar to Sansa's medievel society/country.

If, my girls and I rebel like Arya. Then, we will get "Honour" murdered.

Sansa, my girls, and I are not dumb, weak, and useless for trying to survive. For trying to protect ourselves. For trying to make the best out of our circumstances that we are born into.

Hello anon!

Thanks for sharing your story with me ❤️

What you said reminds me of what GRRM has said about Sansa's mother, Catelyn Stark:

Interviewer: One of the strongest female characters is Catelyn Stark, in my point of view.

GRRM: Well, I wanted to make a strong mother character. The portrayal women in epic fantasy have been problematical for a long time. These books are largely written by men but women also read them in great, great numbers. And the women in fantasy tend to be very atypical women… They tend to be the woman warrior or the spunky princess who wouldn’t accept what her father lays down, and I have those archetypes in my books as well.

However, with Catelyn there is something reset for the Eleanor of Aquitaine, the figure of the woman who accepted her role and functions with a narrow society and, nonetheless, achieves considerable influence and power and authority despite accepting the risks and limitations of this society. She is also a mother… Then, a tendency you can see in a lot of other fantasies is to kill the mother or to get her off the stage. She’s usually dead before the story opens… Nobody wants to hear about King Arthur’s mother and what she thought or what she was doing, so they get her off the stage and I wanted it too. And that’s Catelyn.

—Adrias News - 2012

So Catelyn Stark is “the figure of the woman who accepted her role and functions with a narrow society and, nonetheless, achieves considerable influence and power and authority despite accepting the risks and limitations of this society”.

Catelyn Stark, Sansa’s lady mother and role model, the symbol of strength she turned to when she pleaded for her father's life:

Sansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give me courage. She took one step, then another. Lords and knights stepped aside silently to let her pass, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be as strong as my lady mother. "Your Grace," she called out in a soft, tremulous voice.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V    

Catelyn Stark, the woman whose name Sansa wanted to take as her new identity:

What should you be called?" "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember. 

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Catelyn Stark, the mother that Sansa didn’t forget and that reminds inside her to preserve her true identity:

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. 

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

That Catelyn Stark is the kind of woman that Sansa Stark will become and surpass in the future.

Thanks for your message 😊

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Eight - Jon's true parentage comes to light and King's Landing comes under attack.

Ch 9

Jon reads the letter, again and again, looking up at you, who has your hands clasped in front of you, and Lord Tyrion who waits patiently.

“I am a Dayne?” He asks, unable to believe the words written in his father’s handwriting.

“Jon Dayne, the only living child of Arthur Dayne and Lyanna Stark, third in line to the seat of Starfell behind your cousin Edric, a boy of four and ten, and your father” Tyrion reiterates.

Jon shakes his head, he is a Stark, Ned Stark’s bastard, he cannot be a Dayne. “No, I cannot be, it is a mistake.”

You bite your lip and step forward reaching for him. “Jon…”

“It is true, we could send you to Dorne to ask your aunt herself. Tyrion says, jerking his head towards the door.

Jon folds the letter and shoves it in his pocket. “I cannot simply flee to Dorne, not while my father and sister are still in danger.”

You take another step towards him, but your father holds you back. “That is why you must act in accordance with our plan, a marriage must take place. A Tyrell women must be made queen.”

Jon looks at him, cold fear filling his chest. Remembering how you looked when you opened the door to your father’s solar and bid him to enter. Your eyes were red and puffy, tear tracks down your cheeks. He does not want to marry a Tyrell; he wants to marry you. “I will not marry a Tyrell, I will not marry for the throne, I have no claim to it.”

Finally, your father allows you to go to him and you take his hand. “You do not have to, Robb will marry the Tyrell, he will be king.”

There is a newfound confidence blooming in him, and he takes your hand, the one already holding his and presses it to his lips, letting it linger, his eyes meeting yours burning with a new heat. “Then I shall do as my lady commands.”

The flustered expression that flits across your face delights him, and he turns your hand over to press his lips to your palm, then your inner wrist, directly over your pulse point.

Tyrion coughs sharply. “No one else in the Keep besides us and Lord Varys knows of your true identity, and it must remain that way. You are still a bastard in the eyes of the court, your actions must reflect that.”

You reluctantly break away from Jon. “But away from the eyes of the court?”

Tyrion sighs heavily. “Dayne, do you wish to court my daughter?”

Gods yes. Jon thinks, all his dreams that he had squashed down and locked away coming to the forefront of his mind. “Yes, I do.”

“Fine, I will allow it, provided you two do not ruin everything that is in the works. The weight of this plan is indescribable, the secrecy needed indefinable. All those fanciful dreams I can all but see running through your head can be crushed with one small mistake.”

It is not as if it is torture to act as he once did, to stand so close and yet so far from you, unable to take your hand or call you by your name, but it is torture not being able to comfort you.

You sob as you watch Myrcella depart for Dorne, Tommen himself shedding tears, only Joffrey does not cry. He sneers at you and Tommen, and Jon has the strong desire to break the boy-king’s jaw.

Then come the riots, chaos breaks out, Joffrey is yelling, the smallfolk are starving, but Jon is prepared, he has lost sight of you in a crowd before, and he will not suffer that again. He scoops you from your horse and onto his own, riding hard for the Keep, leaving behind all else, his arm iron around your waist, keeping you close until his horse comes to a skidding stop within the Keep.

You hide your laughter in his cloak when your father kicks Joffrey, yelling at him for his foolishness, but your laughter dies when reports of Fleabottom in flames roll in. Water wagons are dispatched by your father’s order, and Jon dismounts, helping you down from his horse, escorting you inside.

Then comes the Battle of Blackwater, bloody, endless screams, armies from all other the central lands crashing, explosions of wildfire lighting up the bay, the green flash seen hrough the windows of the Keep. You keep pace with Jon as you run towards the Queen’s Ballroom with the others remaining in the Red Keep.

His heart is in his throat as he begins to recognize the scene. His steps no longer meld with the others but squelch. The banners bleed, and though the door to the Queen’s Ballroom is wide open, he can see it there, half cracked, the scent of flesh, of blood seeping into his skin. He halts, grabbing your wrist and guiding you the other way, ignoring your questions until the halls are empty, and he throws you over his shoulder as he did the day his father—Lord Stark had nearly lost his head.

You protest, banging on his back with your fists, demanding answers, but he cannot get his jaw to work, his tongue too heavy to lift, his lips unable to form words.

“Jon, put me down, we are going the wrong way, are you mad?” You yell, fear tinging your voice.

He must keep you safe, he must, he cannot shake the vision, you are wearing the same dress, the same cosmetics, your hair styled the same way as in his dream, he should have known, he should have known.

Jon rips a ribbon from your gown and throws it over a nearby sconce hoping Tyrion will notice it and not follow the others to their deaths in the Queen’s Ballroom. He counts the stones on the wall until he finds the twenty-ninth one, pushing it in he glances down the hall slipping in through the opening that appears.

You are quiet now, no longer fighting him as he carefully picks his way through the tunnels, listening for the sounds of battle. Finally, he comes to a fork in the path taking the left branch and setting you down once he had walked a good distance. If he were to look out though the cracks in the stone, he would be able to see the Godswood. Jon prays the soldiers who attempt to break in will ignore this sacred place and go straight for the holdfast.

“How did you know there was a tunnel there?” You ask glancing around the darkened tunnel.

“Theon found them, he told me about them, said if we ever needed to take Sansa and run, we should go this way.” He explains, leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“There are secret tunnels that go to the Godswood. I knew about some of the others, but not these.” You say, running your fingers along the rough-hewn stone. “So, if we keep going, we will be outside the Keep?”

He nods. “But we are not leaving the Keep, it is too dangerous.”

“I am aware of that Jon, that is why we were supposed to barricade ourselves in the holdfast.”

“No.” Jon says, his voice stern, sterner than it has ever been towards you in his years of knowing you.

Shock flickers in your eyes, he has always been good at reading you, others could never read your true emotions but for him? You were an open book; one he would never tire of reading.

You place your hands on your hips, lifting your chin imperiously, your eyes like jade in the shadows of the tunnel. “No? Why not?”

“If Stannis’ men breech the walls, they will go there first.” He explains, frustration building in his body, why can you not just listen?

“The holdfast is practically impenetrable, especially when the drawbridge is pulled up, which it is.” You say, leaning closer at the end of your sentence as if to put emphasis on your words.

Jon breathes out a harsh sigh, your screams echoing in his mind, he has not had that nightmare in years, but now he cannot stop seeing it. “No one knows we are here y/n; it is safer.”

Another step, you are practically nose to nose with him. “What if someone else were to know about this tunnel, what then? There is barely enough room for the two of us, how will you swing your sword?”

Shouts cut off your words and Jon grabs you, pulling you to his chest, his hand over your mouth. He can hear your heartbeat, or perhaps it is his, your chest brushes against his as you breathe, and he can feel every inch of your body against his own.

The shouts pass, he relaxes and releases you, attempting to banish the impure thoughts from his mind. Yes, he is courting you, but that does not give him leave to act on his baser instincts.

“We would not have to fear being heard if we were in the ballroom.” You grumble.

He often finds your stubbornness charming, the angry pout on your lips when you are denied what you want, he finds most endearing. You are spoiled, even more than Sansa, your father rarely says no to you, and it is only by the gods’ own hands that you are not a worse version of Joffrey.

Though Jon cannot deny, he enjoys your spoiled attitude, enjoys the way you turn to him the moment you are told no. Tommen does not want to ride horses with you? Jon does. Your father refuses to accompany you to Fleabottom so you can buy more embroidery thread? Jon will go, and he will carry all your purchases. A fool from House Royce refuses to dance with you once he learned who your father was? Jon is a wonderful dancer; and he will not relinquish your hand until it is demanded.

But now it is less charming and more…enticing. You look up at him with such stubbornness, your lips in that adorable pout, your hands on your hips inadvertently pushing your breasts out. He finds his restraint has gone.

“Gods will you shut up?” He hisses, grabbing your face and crashing his lips to yours.

You freeze for a moment, then melt into him, your arms looping around his neck, fingers tangling in his curls, as your lips meld with his.

“Is this all it took, My Lady? A kiss? Perhaps I should have kissed you ages ago.” He purrs, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours, brushing against them with every word.

“Oh…” You breathe out, your grip on his hair tightening.

“My lovely lady, my lioness, my stubborn girl.” He presses each term of endearment into your skin, saving his newest one, born from the freshly acquired knowledge of his parentage, for last. “My starlight.”

Your lips meet once more, and you part yours for him, whimpering when his tongue strokes yours, a movement he had heard Robb and Theon speak of.

Jon had not believed it to be true, the reaction they said it invoked, but your response sparks a desperation within him. He must hear that sound again. So, he repeats it, tip of his tongue dragging across yours, coaxing it into his mouth and sucking lightly.

“Oh gods, Jon, I—” Your words are muffled as you refuse to fully pull away from him, voice higher pitched and breathless.

Liquid heat boils just under his skin, one hand leaving your face to grab your hips and pull you impossibly closer. “Anything, y/n, ask it of me, I am sworn to you, I will do whatever it takes to grant your heart’s desire.”

You whimper once more at his words, and the sound strikes through him like lightning. The scent of jasmine, your soft lips, soft skin, the taste of honey from your morning meal, he could devour you, a beast he is for his thoughts, for how easy it would be to pick you up and have his way with you. You are already sworn to each other, good as betrothed, would it truly be such a crime…?

Bastard. The word is like an arrow to the chest, and he pushes you away, guilt replacing the heat beneath his skin.

“Jon? Are you alright?” You ask, going to cup his cheek.

He stops you. “I—I cannot, we cannot. We are not wed; I will not dishonor you.”

You look put out, blinking rapidly at him, and then slowly nodding. “I understand.”

Jon sags against the wall, rolling his head back, praying for strength when he hears you sniffling. His head shoots up, just in time to see you wipe away your tears. Truly you are spoiled. He reaches for you, brushing his lips across your forehead with a fond smile. “Y/N, do not cry, soon we will be wed, we must allow the pieces to fall into place, remember?”

“You will fall in love with Margaery.” You whisper, hiding your face in his leather breastplate.

He laughs, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “How? How when my heart is within those claws of yours? When I see no reason to remove it?”

“She is perfect, the tales of her beauty, her grace, her intelligence, her dutifulness, she would make an excellent wife.”

“Aye, an excellent wife for Robb, she will win his heart with a few words I am sure of it, but there is no heart of mine for her to win. It is as I said, my heart is yours, willingly given. I do not want it back, nor do I wish to give it to another.”

You turn your face up towards him, the living embodiment of perfection, your hair framing your face, your lips kiss swollen, your eyes the dark green of Winterfell’s forests. “Swear it.”

He clicks his tongue in faux disappointment. Here in the shadows he is bold, intoxicated by your raw and bleeding desire for him. If his heart is within your claws then surely your own heart sits within his maw, fragile and beating. “To think I have served you so faithfully and still you doubt me.”

“Swear it.” You half demand, half plead, your heart between his teeth beating faster, trembling in his toothy grasp.

He cups your face, resting his forehead against your own. “I swear it, and may the gods strike me down if I break my oath, if my heart strays from you.”

He feels your relieved exhale more than he hears it, and he lingers, thumbs caressing the soft skin of your cheeks.

“I swear it too.” You say softly, your hand coming to rest on his chest, heat burning through his breastplate, warming his chest. He hopes you leave a handprint, hopes you burn your mark into his skin, leave a remainder of your presence that cannot be taken from him.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo

[solomons-finest-rum]

“As The Crow Flies” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — PART 2

SUMMARY — By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you to everyone for words of encouragement and for waiting for the update 💗💗💗💗💗 Goodness, that was one hefty break. I hope the next part won't take me as much, but I can't exactly promise it will be fast, sorry about that. I think this is a part 2 out of 3 and then I'll do an epilogue, but that is still more of a draft than a plan.

WORD COUNT — 2,708

Masterlist

Tommy sat beside Polly in utter silence, watching the cigarette slowly burn between her fingers to the point where the heat nearly touched the skin. Tommy observed it with morbid fascination because it was something other to do than to stay with his own thoughts. And he would not dare to speak to Polly first—not after the news he had brought her this evening.

The clock chiming in the hall let them know it was nearly three o’clock in the morning, but still neither of them moved. The fire went out long ago and Tommy wondered in his solemn silence if Polly would accept a blanket.

“How could you tell me she was dead?” Polly suddenly asked the question Tommy had been dreading for the past hour and then she flicked the cigarette butt straight on the carpet. 

Tommy dared to look her in the eye then and immediately regretted that decision when he was met with nothing but hurt and steel-like anger.

“They told me she was, Pol. I went to the parish myself, saw the documents myself,” Tommy replied calmly.

That signature state of calm didn’t come to him as quickly as it used to, he noticed. These days it required more and more effort; or perhaps the things he chose to do got worse with time.

“Fucking nuns,” Polly hissed and shook her head. “You should have pressed them harder! Should’ve made them talk!”

“Then what, hm? Threaten them? Put a gun to their head, eh? There was nothing else they would have told me, Pol, they didn’t know.”

“I don’t care what! We shouldn’t have just abandoned her like that. Now look what happened, she’s a hostage with another fucking monster, just ready to put his paws on her whenever he pleases!” Polly stood up abruptly and Tommy wondered for a moment if perhaps he shouldn’t slip some laudanum in her drink. She looked frenzied, her hair in disarray and eyes bloodshot. The way Tommy saw it, she was half-ready to walk to Margate on foot and kill Alfie herself.

“Polly,” Tommy moved to stand in front of her just in case she had any ideas. He put both hands on her shoulders to reassure her. “Polly, look at me. Alfie Solomons, yeah? Alfie Solomons is just about the last man you’d find putting his hands on anybody that didn’t ask for it, all right? I swear this much.”

“Jesus, I don’t care what you swear anymore, Tommy!” Polly scoffed and tore herself away. “The man is insane, you said so yourself—many times in fact! We all remember what he did to Arthur! Or have you forgotten?!”

“No,” Tommy replied stiffly. “Perhaps he’s insane, but he’s not cruel to women, Polly, never has been. He doesn’t have the reputation.”

“Well, neither do you, that doesn’t mean one wife’s not buried, the other’s escaped!”

Though Tommy would never admit it, that hurt immensely. That was the problem with people who loved him, he supposed. They knew exactly where to hit to draw the most blood. He willed his face to return to the stony mask it was before.

“But your daughter is not buried and she isn’t gone,” he said. “She’s alive, Pol, I saw her with my own two eyes. She’s alive and we can get her back.”

“Well, that’s not exactly possible now, is it?” she scoffed and turned her gaze back to the fireplace as if some ghostly apparition beckoned her to it. “You said she didn’t know you, I bet that fucking animal has her caged.”

“That’s not true. I saw her, Pol, she looked well.” Tommy felt like stressing that might help. “She has your eyes and your wit and I swear she cooks somethin’ awful, but she’s no prisoner. Alfie is…” He hesitated then, because it wasn’t exactly a comfortable thought to consider. “She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, Pol. You can’t say no to her, eh? Just like I can’t exactly argue with you neither.”

That brought Polly back, even if just to glare at her nephew with fury.

“Pol, I swore to you once I’d bring your children home and I haven’t changed my mind.” Tommy took her hand in his and to his relief this time Polly didn’t pull away. 

“I don’t think Alfie harmed her,” he insisted. “I don’t think she’d let him. Polly, she looked tough. Hardened by life. She’s a woman grown, Pol, and I know she can take care of herself. You said so yourself, eh? It’s grandfather’s gift, reading people. Well, I read her tonight and I know Alfie, too. Something happened to her, that much’s clear, but there’s nothin’ evil happenin’ to her in that house.”

That seemed to satisfy his aunt because she finally took a deep breath that actually made Tommy feel like he could breath himself.

“Why would he tell you to lie to me, Tommy?”

“How do you mean?”

“Why would he think you wouldn’t tell me? That you’d play his game.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But I know what he wants in return and to be honest his plan wasn’t as delirious as I’d take him for.”

“I don’t care what you discussed with that man, that’s of little consequence,” Polly scoffed. “We are going to get her and we are going to get rid of him once and for all, Thomas, because no one fucks with the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders and no one fucks with the family! Do you hear me?!”

“I hear you.”

“Good. Now get up!”

“So we’re goin’ today?”

“Today!”

Tommy nodded and gently navigated her back into the armchair. He rang the bell for the maid. In the agitated state Polly’s house was currently in, Tommy was sure the servants weren’t really sleeping.

“And get Michael,” she ordered. “I don’t care what that peroxide tramp says about it, he’s coming with us.”

Alfie stood on the porch and smoked his pipe. He let you squeeze his arm in anger while trying to sneak concerned glances in your general direction. Tired of being treated like a spooked horse, you glared at him until he stopped with all the concern. You were tougher than you looked and you would very much appreciate it if Alfie finally admitted it.

“You alright?” Alfie asked you for what must have been the twentieth time and you nodded stiffly instead of a reply.

“Darlin’, I mean it, all right, ‘cause if you ain’t tryin’ to make me bloody worried then you’re doin’ a splendid job regardless, yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Right, that’s just fuckin’ uncalled for, that…”

“No. Someone’s coming.”

You pointed then to the faint shapes on the horizon, which, judging by the noise, must have been the Shelby Bentleys.

“Get the binoculars, Alfie.” 

“I’ll get the fuckin’ shotgun is what I’ll get.”

“Alfie.”

“I’ll do as I damn well please in my own house, woman!”

“So your brilliant means of operation is just bullets, is that it? What the hell did you expect, that Tommy would just listen to you?”

There was a clear measure of challenge in your words and all you two did then was just size each other up, trying to see who would call the bluff first. Finally, your husband grumbled his best catalogue of swear words and brought you the binoculars you asked for. 

“It’s the Shelbys,” you confirmed.

“Like clockwork, that lot,” Alfie scoffed. “You tell them one thing, they go the opposite fuckin’ direction.”

“Some clock that’d be,” you chuckled. “We knew they’d come. That’s why we’re here.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

The pipe now abandoned, Alfie checked the barrel of his favourite handgun and reassured himself with the number. The only problem was the Shelby threat looming on the horizon and what looked like three cars, no doubt packed to the brim with Tommy’s henchmen.

“And you’re certain he will help us?” you asked.

“‘Course. Like I said before, right, Tommy’s nothin’ if not reliable.”

“That’s quite generous coming from you.”

“Just ‘cause he shot me doesn’t mean we ain’t kin now.”

“I am many things, dearest, but a Shelby isn’t one of them.”

“Ah, well, too bad. And too late to call the cavalry off, I reckon. If ya changed your mind…”

“That’s not what I meant.” It was your time to scoff. “These people are not my family. You are.”

On a rare occasion when Alfie Solomons found himself something close to emotional, three black Bentleys finally arrived at the quaint Margate cottage. You instinctively grabbed your husband’s arm again. He didn’t flinch, not even when you dug your nails into the skin, hard enough to draw blood.

“Right, gentlemen! And lady. What a lovely surprise, innit.” Alfie beckoned with his other hand, waving the gun about and leaving very little doubt as to the quickness of change in his intentions were the Shelbys not to play along. “Let me simply say: shalom… All right. Welcome. Yeah, that is the message for today, or so one might hope.”

What would undoubtedly be another inspired monologue had to wait, however. As soon as Tommy escorted Polly out of the car and her eyes met her daughter’s, Polly’s knees gave out. Tommy and Arthur caught her just in time and held her up on both sides.

“Anna!” Polly cried. “Oh dear God, it’s really you! Anna!”

You stood still like a statue, at which point even your husband turned to look at you with a mix of concern and fascination. You let go of his arm and focused on Tommy.

“Mr. Shelby. You brought an army this time. Am I to expect a shootout?”

As cold and unmoved as Tommy tried to be, it proved to be hard with a sobbing woman on his arm.

“Or am I to understand you’re here to kidnap me?” you pressed. “Please don’t say my chicken was that spectacular, I won’t believe it.”

“Anna.” Polly squeezed Tommy’s arm and took a step forward. Alfie uncocked his gun. You sighed and wished he hadn’t, since the entire Shelby ensemble now followed with the same.

“What the fuck is the matter with you, you fools! Put the bloody guns down!” Polly seethed and marched towards the house with a newfound purpose in her step. “Anna. Come down from there. You’re coming home with us.”

You looked at the woman you knew was your mother, though now only by name. Your heart didn’t know her and your head was too preoccupied to care.

“That might pose an issue,” you answered. “Because I am home.”

The next person that got out of the car, however, seemed to finally make you shake off your stony demeanour. You couldn’t quite help it, because his face was the first you could actually say was known to you.

“Michael!” you whispered and then rushed down from the porch before anyone could stop you. “Oh dear God, you’re alive!”

You fell into your brother’s steady embrace and though the force of it nearly made him stumble, he held you firmly and wouldn’t let go—not even if the devil himself tried to claim you both again. 

The tearful reunion was so quiet that no one apart from you and Michael could know what words were exchanged. While the Shelbys weren’t exactly the type to interrupt, you could tell that Alfie was out of patience. 

“Are we just about finished, then?” he inquired. “Forgive the interruption, yeah, but it’s gettin’ li’l too chilly for my taste.”

Polly took that opportunity to point her gun directly at Alfie’s head.

“Now then, madam,” Alfie chuckled and stood his ground, though he didn’t raise the gun he was holding. “I’d only ask ya to aim better than your nephew, all right, ‘cause I can’t exactly take no more of this.” He pointed to the injured side of his face. “Once was enough, yeah, so if you’re certain that’s what ya wanna do, I won’t stop ya.”

“Shut your mouth,” Polly hissed. “You shut your mouth!”

“Polly.” Tommy took a step towards them. His voice was full of warning and he ordered his men to stand down with a single wave of his hand. “Polly, think about what we’re doin’ here, all right? We came to get your daughter,” he turned to point at you, who now looked toward her husband with a horrified expression. “She’s safe now, Polly, we can take her home. There’s no need for violence, Pol, not today.”

“Like hell you will!” you protested. “Can you stop talking about me like I’m not even here?! No one’s taking me anywhere.”

“Now then, Tommy,” Alfie sighed. “There I was, mate, thinkin’ we had an understandin’, you an’ I. After all these years of friendship, right, you come to my house, guns blazin’, and with your lovely aunt no less, all in pursuit of justice I can’t exactly give, mate, ‘cause I ain’t the one who took Anna away in the first place. So…”

To everyone’s surprise Alfie turned his back to Polly and opened the front door as casually as one might when having a gun pointed at you turns into something of a daily occurrence. 

“Might I offer you a drink then, uh, Polly, is it? Right, lemme just say that, yeah, I ain’t exactly one for close family ties, you see, that’s just not somethin’ I was brought up with…”

Alfie’s voice disappeared somewhat as he walked further into the house, completely ignoring the chaos on the porch. You tried to rush back towards the house and stomped on Michael’s foot with all your might when he wouldn’t let you go. Michael roared with pain and you took your chance to run, but this time it was Arthur who stopped you and who, all things considered, presented a much sturdier guard than your brother.

“You let me through,” you hissed. 

“Nah, I don’t think so, luv. You’re comin’ with us.”

“Like hell I am!”

Polly, still stunned, turned towards her children and lowered her gun, creating an opportunity for Tommy to catch up with her and take it out of her hands.

“Not today,” he repeated softly. “There’ll be time for vengeance and there’ll be time for justice. But not here, Pol, not now. Arthur, let Anna pass.”

Polly shook her head and spat on the bluish tiles of the porch, thoroughly worn out and bleached by the seaside air. Only then did she notice the curious mosaic right before the front door and the gentle arch forming the words “lethe”. 

“I’m not leaving without her, Tommy,” she warned.

“I know you’re not.”

Out of options and out of bullets, Polly crossed the threshold and she hoped the choice would truly erase the anguish from her memory—if only for a moment.

Alfie’s gambit must have been exactly that from the start, Tommy mused, because as soon as the rest of the Shelby clan entered the house, they were welcomed by the maid with a tea tray. Alfie, now comfortable in his usual armchair, gestured for his guests to sit. 

Judging by his calm and calculated demeanour, Tommy doubted him and his family had been so unexpected. In fact, he just about acknowledged he had let himself be manipulated not once but twice in what was perhaps the strangest forty-eight hours in a long time.

“Right, now, we don’t know each other well so I don’t know exactly what everyone drinks…” Alfie waved at the maid dismissively and she started to serve the tea as if it was any other ordinary occasion. “Feel free to peruse the bar if you so prefer, Tommy, right, but not you.” Alfie settled his only seeing eye on Arthur, though the elder Shelby brother didn’t seem as prone to anger as Alfie remembered. That was almost disappointing. 

You entered the house last, holding your brother’s hand. Michael smiled down at you fondly as if you hadn’t just caused him severe bodily harm. Tommy and Alfie both noted the scene, though neither exactly for the same reasons. Alfie looked just about done tolerating all that whispering between you and your brother and it seemed so was Tommy.

Though neither, exactly, for the same reasons.

“Right then,” Alfie announced. “Should we discuss the terms?”