#i could keep the glamor and the insanity alive

[this-doesnt-endd]

i love theatrics and drama and chaos

[auroralwriting]

hii!! this is so random but i just read ur spencer reid x genius! reader fic and i was wondering if u could like expand on it?? or like maybe the team finding out that they went on a date and everyone is like oh gosh finally?? thank u and i love ur writing :P

wedding bells

spencer reid x genius!bau!reader

part two to the gun, can be read as a standalone

spencer and you were enemies, now, you’re just into each other. what happens when you show up to jj's wedding as each other's dates?

word count: 1.6k

warnings: the most insane amount of tooth rotting fluff (you're welcome)

thank you for this request! i decided to expand even more and connect it back to the actual episode i wrote about, 7x24 :)

It had been about two weeks since you’d gotten out of the hospital from your last case; the bank robbery. You managed to get out with a couple of stitches and bruises. You were lucky to be alive.

The one good thing that came from the whole ordeal was the fact that you and Spencer, who was your previous academic-agent enemy, had turned into somewhat of your lover.

It started with trivia night at O’Keefe’s. The two of you decided to just pair rather than join a large team, and you kicked ass. You allowed Spencer to handle more of the academic side of trivia while you took pop culture. Quite literally, you were the only team with points.

That date went so well, that you ended up going out to dinner at the new Chinese place by Spencer’s apartment. That one went great too, and a third came along, a simple date that included Spencer taking you to an art museum.

You actually got to know Spencer, and he got to know you. Sure, you’d been team mates for years, but with suck a strong rivalry, you never got to know the man. You were both eerily alike, and things were going great. There had been no cases, Strauss gave your team a break after JJ’s boyfriend had almost died, along with you.

Spencer and you were at his place watching Doctor Who when you got a phone call. You picked it up, “Hey, Rossi.” The tv was paused and Spencer was looking at you expectantly. “Mhm.. mh- Oh my god! Oh, Rossi. That’s such a good idea. Yes, I’ll be there. I’m, uh, actually with Spencer, so I’ll pass on the message.” Spencer raised an eyebrow at you as you hung up. "Okay, don't freak out, but JJ and Will are engaged."

"What!" Spencer exclaimed with a bright smile. "Oh my god!"

"And Rossi and Will are planning for the wedding to be this Friday," You continued. "JJ doesn't know yet, so we have to keep it a secret."

"Speaking of secrets," Spencer coyly began, "Does Rossi know about, well, us?"

You chuckled, "I didn't tell him, but he knows we've been together more. Significantly more,"

"I've been thinking," Spencer said. "What if we don't keep this a secret anymore."

The only reason it was a secret in the first place was because the team would freak out if they knew you were going out. "I don't think now's the best time to tell them. We don't want to steal JJ's thunder." you frowned.

"No, no!" Spencer quickly shook his head. He grabbed both your hands, rubbing them with his thumbs. "Do you want to be my date to their wedding?"

Your heart raced at his words, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, Spence. I'd love to be your date." You smiled brightly.

The wedding was only three days away, and you were quick to go out with Penelope to buy a dress. You wanted something elegant that wouldn't take away from JJ, so you decided on a flowey, burgundy-maroon dress. It was formal, but nothing too glamorous. The whole time, Penelope kept rambling about how since she and Kevin were no more, the two of you could be girl-dates. You casually agreed, not wanting to give up Spencer and your cover yet.

You'd asked Spencer if he wanted to see your outfit on Thursday, but he wanted it to be a surprise. So, with Pen, you both did each other's hair, makeup, and got ready. You arrived together at the Rossi mansion to make everything less conspicuous.

"Oh my god!" Penelope whisper yelled. "Kevin has a date--a date!" She grabbed you and dragged you to Emily and Morgan in a panic. "He brought a date, and I didn't bring a boy date, oh my god I look like an idiot!"

"Pen, you don't look like an idiot." You rubbed her arm softly. "He's the real idiot for moving on so damn fast."

Emily nodded, "And you look so gorgeous, I bet he can't help but think about you. Play it cool."

Penelope took a large sip of her drink. "I'm- I'm gonna go, go somewhere, uh, somewhere he's not."

"Hi, Penelope!" Beth, Hotch's new girlfriend, said cheerfully as she walked up.

"Hey, hi," Penelope quickly walked off.

Beth gave a soft laugh, "Hello everybody."

You smiled and pulled her into a hug, "Ex problems, don't mind her. Hi Beth, and hi Hotch. You both look great."

"Says you! You look absolutely stunning! That is so your color." Beth smiled as she took your hand to spin you around lightly.

The three of you said hello to Jack as well. As the group began to disperse, you quickly spotted Rossi. You made your way over to him, a smile on his face. Rossi was like a father to you. Growing up under his help and guidance, he was more than just a mentor. "Oh, honey. Look at you, you look so grown up."

"Dave, I've been grown up for a lot of years now." You laughed as he kissed your cheek. "Have you seen Spencer by chance?"

"Not yet," Rossi replied. He raised an eyebrow at you, studying your face. "You two are together, aren't you?"

A look of panic crossed your features. "Shh!" You quickly hushed, looking around to see if anyone noticed. When they didn't you turned back to him. "We've been going out on dates, hanging out. That sort of thing. We aren't.. boyfriend-girlfriend."

"I'm happy for you two," Rossi smiled. "You two make a good pair, especially now that you aren't planning each other's murders."

"Who was murdered?"

You turned around to see Spencer standing behind you. His eyes went wide when he saw you. The way you turned, bright eyed and graceful, it made his heart leap in his chest, especially when you looked so ethereal.

Spencer breathed your name softly, looking to Rossi. You gave a small nod, letting him know that Rossi knew. He walked over, giving you a small hug to secretly press a kiss into your hair. The two of you hadn't really kissed yet, but you knew it would happen soon.

"You're an angel," Spencer softly spoke, caressing your cheek as you smiled.

"You look amazing, too." You replied.

Rossi and Spencer gave each other a quick hello before he excused himself to go reveal to JJ that this was her wedding night. It only took a few minutes and JJ ran up to you. You hugged her before she could say anything.

"You knew?" Her voice cracked, but you knew it was from joy.

"We all did," You smiled. "Hey, while you and Will get ready, let Spence watch over Henry."

JJ's eyebrows furrowed as she watched Spencer nod quickly, giving your shoulder a squeeze with the sweetest smile she'd ever seen him give someone. "Uh-"

"Don't worry about it," You shook your head. "This is your night." When you saw JJ was about to ask again, you filled her in. "Going out on dates, not dating."

She just smiled, holding up her dress. "This is it. I wanted to ask you, actually, if you wanted to be my maid of honor? Help me get ready?"

Your eyes filled with tears, "Oh, Jayge. It would be my absolute honor." You hugged her again tightly, leading her upstairs with her mom.

It didn't take long until the ceremony began. You were already at the end of the isle, watching Spencer do a magic trick with the ring with Henry. You giggled, Spencer's eyes meeting yours as he smiled back to you.

JJ was the most beautiful bride you'd ever seen. She came up to the front and you hugged her, taking her flowers from her and standing next to Spencer and Penelope. As the ceremony went on, you found yourself tearing up. Weddings always made you cry. Spencer took notice, taking your hand and pulling you against his chest as he rubbed your arm. The team was too busy watching JJ and Will to notice.

The dancing was the best part. Penelope pulled you to the dance floor before Spencer even had a chance. You happily slow danced with her, then Derek, who stole you away. From there, Hotch had a dance with you, and then Rossi. Finally, at your favorite slow song, Spencer approached.

"Dave, would you mind?" He softly asked.

"It would be my pleasure." Dave passed you off to Spencer with one hand as Spencer slowly pulled you into his arms. If you took closer notice, you'd see him go to Strauss and begin to dance.

"Hi," You whispered, one hand in his as his other rested on your waist. Your free hand was on his shoulder. The two of you began to sway to the music.

"Hi," He echoed, giving you the softest look you'd ever gotten. "I missed you. I didn't even get a chance to dance with you."

You softly giggled, "Well, now it's yours. All yours, Spence." You leaned in closer, "You're the only one I wanted to dance with."

The position changed, both of Spencer's hands were on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. This was much more intimate. "You're the only one I want, too." The double meaning made your stomach twist in the best way.

As the two of you danced, your teammates began to finally notice. "Oh my god," Derek mumbled. "Those two dumb geniuses finally got together."

"Actually, they're just going on dates," JJ corrected as she swayed with Will.

Emily smirked, "Not for long by the looks of it."

"They make such a sweet couple," Beth cooed.

Penelope gasped, "Oh my sweet baby Jesus, I took her away from him all night!"

"I'm sure he doesn't mind." Hotch smiled, actually smiled, as they all watched you lean your head on his shoulder, one of his hands coming up to the middle your back to splay out, almost protectively, holding you closer.

"I think I hear some more wedding bells in our future." Derek smiled.

[punkpandapatrixk]

The Kind of Sad You Can’t Understand

Certain days I feel very deeply that I want to cry but I don’t know why.

For such a long time I lived with this kind of mood without being able to express it anywhere, not to anyone. I was struggling for my sanity; I was constantly thinking of destroying myself; and I was hoping someone would see me, and rush to save me. But nobody ever saw that of me.

I was a badass. I was a cool girl. I seemed to everybody else a smart, talented, expensive girl who's got all her shit together. Even on days she wasn't all that together, she had an enviable life anyway. I appeared on the outside too glamorous for anybody to even imagine that on the inside I was rotting. I was this close to being dead, all the time.

Who in their simple-mindedness would've thought a girl like that could be so macabre all the time? And that’s how I experienced an entire life witnessing people’s lack of empathy. I guess my point of view was fragmented but that was how life was for me anyway. Ironically, some intuitive peeps who were able to see the macabre in me thought I was frightening more than anything HAHAHAH That was all the same in the end. Enough with the gossips. I don’t know what normal people expect from everybody else they meet, to be honest. I don’t know what I’d expected from them either.

I guess it’s because the society I grew up in was like that that I couldn’t bring myself to show anybody my distress. Trauma. Mental illness. Disordered personality. All of that was nothing but insanity. And insane people don’t belong in society.

So simple. Yet so cruel.

Thank you, Jesus. Mother Mary. Catholic Church. Thanks for all the rejection. I’m SO happy now!

That’s fucking twisted.

In a society brimming with nothing but pretenders, we meet and chit and chat and act like all of our troubles are manageable to say the least. ‘Yeah, it’s not that bad, to be honest.' But it was; you've just got to pose real strong otherwise people think you're a loser. 'I guess I’m OK.’ But you weren't; you've just got to really make it sound like you're still keeping it together. 'I'll be just fine.' But you wouldn't know; you didn't even know if you'd still wanna be alive tomorrow.

In the midst of all those meaningless exchanges, I hated quite nothing more than to hear, especially from men, how strong I was as a woman. I hated it like I'd never hated anything in my life.

It was suffocating to be seen as holding it together when you were literally breaking at the seams...

I wanted someone to be able to notice I was screaming on the inside. That I was gasping for air every second I was sitting there listening to their trivial chitter chatter. Who cares about your silly drama? Would you care for mine if you knew my life was on the line? And I hated those expectant eyes. All of them. Were they expecting me to share in their self-made woes and console them in the end? HAH. Go to hell, losers.

I always thought, none of MY problems were created by my own reckless behaviours that would've obviously hurt myself or others. Not in the beginning, at least. Unlike some idiots, I was never into drugs, one night stands, or even smoking; I never caused anybody any trouble. So why did everybody cause me trouble when all I wanted was just a peaceful, normal life? Shit, what even was my IDEA of a normal life? I can't remember now.

Certain days I feel very deeply that I want to cry but I don’t know why. There's always not enough reason to do so now. Haah... If it weren't for my abundance of Aquarius, which makes me incredibly lazy and antisocial, I'd have paraded around town and rallied to become a Neo Hitler and kill everybody in this rotten world. I hated this world so much.

The first ever PAC I put out here was ‘What’s Your Crazy?’ What ever was my reason for writing that? I was crazy and I needed some explanation.

I used to look like the girl in the third pic before I chopped all of my hair off everyone began to suspect I was gay. I wasn’t gay; I was depressed. Those unassuming idiots.

[browniesarethebest]

Batman and Robin

A Reverse Batfamily Fic

Summary: Bruce is gone (or is he?).

Dick was ten years old when he lost his father for a second time.

Dick trembled within the dinosaur, clutching his knees to his chest as he listened to Damian and Tim argue below him. They didn’t know he was here. He had come here to hide and grieve alone—a dumb choice, now that he thought about it, but he wasn’t exactly in his right mind when he ran down here. Not long after, Damian and Tim had stormed into the Cave, screaming at each other.

“He’s alive, Damian! If you would just take one second to look at the evidence—”

“Father is dead! We all saw it! You are in denial, Timothy, and I refuse to enable your insane ramblings for one more second!” Damian snarled.

“Fine! If you and the others won’t listen to me, I’ll find Bruce on my own.” Tim spun around on his heel and marched out, stopping briefly at Damian’s quiet words.

“You are a fool, and you will get yourself killed.”

Tim took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll show all of you that you should have listened to me.” He stormed out.

Silence filled the Batcave as Damian stood there, clenching his fists. Dick startled as the man shouted in rage and punched the wall. He let out a whimper.

Damian’s head shot up at the sound, eyes zeroing in on Dick curled up in the dinosaur’s mouth. The man sighed, giving himself a moment to close his eyes and breath before reopening them and making his way over to the boy. 

He looked up at Dick and spoke softly, “Would you come down please, Richard?”’

Dick sniffled but didn’t move. Damian was worried he would have to go up after the boy, but thankfully he didn’t have to wait long before Richard began to uncurl himself. He climbed down from the dinosaur and stood in front of Damian, head bowed as he tried to hold in his tears.

Damian knelt down and tried to look into Dick’s eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It must have been very unpleasant.”

Dick trembled as he raised his head to look at Damian. “Is it true what Timmy said? Is Bruce alive?”

Damian sighed and rested a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “In our line of work, it is honestly always a possibility. But I was there that night, and—” Damian swallowed, looking away briefly as grief overwhelmed him.

Damian had spent more of his life with his father than he had with his mother. For sixteen years, he had fought by his father’s side. He had grown from a child idolizing a glamorized image of his father that his mother had instilled in him to an adult who had learned of the true man that lay underneath his father’s armor. Despite being father and son, Bruce and he were equals. They didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but Damian knew that, at the end of the day, his father had his back and vice versa.

And now he was gone.

Damian let out another sigh and looked back at Richard, who watched him warily. He ran a hand over the boy’s hair as he continued, “—and the likelihood of Father being alive is miniscule.” As the boy’s face broke, Damian drew in into a hug. “We are all grieving, Richard. This is just Timothy’s way. It will hurt even more for him when he finally accepts the truth, but we will just need to be there for him when he does.”

“But he left.”

“He did, but he will come back.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said,” Damian replied, regret eating at him. He would have never said those words if he had known Richard was listening. “I will admit, I wasn’t lying. If Timothy is not careful, he will get hurt. I am sure, however, that Stephanie and I can keep a decent eye on his activities.”

Dick wrapped his arms around his older brother’s neck and nestled his head against his chest. “You promise?” he whispered.

Damian stood, holding the boy securely in his arms. Richard was getting far too old to be carried around like this, but he could indulge the boy just for tonight.

“I promise.”

When Dick was eight years old, he lost his entire family before gaining a new one.

When Dick was ten years old, he lost his father for a second time before gaining a new one once more.

Damian, in many ways, was still his older brother. After all, he had spent the last two years thinking of him as one, despite their massive age difference. After Bruce died, however, he had become Damian’s responsibility, and Damian had stepped up to the plate. There was a change in their dynamic, as subtle as it was. Before, Bruce and Damian had split responsibilities with the younger ones. Now, however, it fell fully on Damian to take care of the others, especially now that Tim was gone. Stephanie did her best to help, but she was still trying to keep track of Tim, who was a slippery one.

Dick didn’t think much had changed with Cass and Jason, who both had been much closer to Bruce than they had been with Damian. Dick was honestly a little afraid to ask. Dick loved all of his siblings, but the idea of having this special relationship with Damian alone…it was really appealing to him. Dick had been an only child before suddenly gaining five siblings. He felt slightly guilty, but he really liked the idea of having something that he didn’t have to share with the rest, even if it was just a different type of relationship with Damian.

Robin stood on a rooftop, hands on his hips as he looked out at Gotham. Damian, outfitted in a new version of the Batsuit that still paid homage to his Shadowbat costume, stood next to him with a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Are you ready?” Damian asked.

Dick didn’t answer right away, eyes locked onto the Wayne Enterprises logo at the top of Wayne Tower. It was still prominent despite the distance between them. To Dick, it represented everything he had lost while still shining with hope. Thomas and Martha Wayne were gone, and now Bruce was too, but Wayne Enterprises—and in turn the Wayne legacy—continued on.

The Batman legacy continued on too.

Robin looked up at Batman and smiled. Their family was still broken. Tim was missing, Stephanie and Cass weren’t really around as much anymore, and Jason still locked himself up in the library most days. They still helped out, of course. They still had each other, but sometimes it felt like it was just Dick and Damian against the world.

Batman’s legacy started out with the Dynamic Duo, Batman and Shadow.

Dick thought it was time for a new Dynamic Duo to take to the skies.

“I’m ready.”

[elmer-kasprzak]

Hi, could you give me some hc's about any of the Brooklyn newsies?

THIS ASK IS SO OLD BUT I'M GONNA ANSWER IT BECAUSE I HAVE IT

cracks my knuckles. let's break this down, shall we?

spot conlon

christ, what hasn't been said about this man?

let's get this out of the way: he cares about the newsies a whole hell of a lot. it's one of the biggest reasons he didn't want to join the strike when it was first proposed. if his guys got hurt, that would be on him as a leader. he didn't want to be responsible if things went south.

he cared about every single kid that comes into that lodge. he knows all of them by name, and makes sure to check up on the new kids and the littles as often as he can.

we're talking about the guy who has two different savings piles. the first one is his own savings, which covers food, clothes, buying papes each day, and all those things. the second pile is for the newsies.

if some newsie is short on money to stay in the lodge for the night or can't afford a meal, spot will help them.

he knows what it's like to struggle with money, and he knows that no newsie is going to complain if an extra penny or two magically appears in their pocket. most of the guys are too stubborn to ask for help, and he knows this. that's never stopped him.

oh he's also great with kids, because fuck you. this guy has been helping the littles out in the lodge since he was old enough to no longer be considered a little.

when this little girl (seven or eight) showed up to the lodge alone, spot was one of the first ones to take her under his wing and teach her how to sell. they bonded, and that girl was one of the most protected girls in all of brooklyn.

graves

so i'm gonna be honest, this guy is one of my favorite newsies in general. i've done a lot of thinking about him specifically.

graves is the king of brooklyn's right hand man. the two have been best friends since they were about twelve or thirteen, when they were basically attached at the hip.

it was basically a no-brainer when spot was made leader that graves would be his second. they were insanely close.

graves is the son of polish immigrants, although he was born in america. his mom died when he was still relatively young (twelve-ish), but his dad is still alive and works at some sort of factory.

he's the oldest of six, three younger brothers and two younger sisters. two of his brothers and one sister work, though only one is a newise.

while he may be second to spot, he knows that selling isn't glamorous. if he can keep his siblings out of the streets and away from hawking the headline, that's a good thing.

oh yeah, his real name is lawrence. only spot knows this, and graves absolutely hates when he gets called it.

he's seventeen, on the older side of the newsies and he knows it. spot's a few months older, also seventeen, and they both have been looking for their replacements for a bit of time.

they're both at a complete loss, but they still have time.

hotshot

i'm gonna be 100% honest, i haven't done much thinking about the other brooklyn newsies. but! i will try.

okay so hotshot. he's in the middle/on the younger end of the newsies at fifteen, and he's only been selling for a few years now.

the reason he got his name is because when he first started selling, he would go on and on and on about how he was going to get his name in the papes one day. he wanted to be front page news, and the guys kept calling him hotshot as a joke. it stuck.

his talk of being front page news has since died down, though he likes his name.

i'm thinking he still has parents (shocker i know), both who work. his mom is a lacemaker, and his father is a trolley worker in manhattan. (yes, he went on strike).

so yeah, you can imagine the newsie strike hit home for him. actually, he was one of the guys who was adamant about helping the manhattan newsies. he pestered spot about it almost daily, and i like to thing that he was a reason that spot went and helped the other newsies.

he's a good kid.

york

okay so y'know how i said i have jack shit for hotshot? i have even less for york. but here goes nothing!

so i think it would be funny if york was actually from york. like... in england. he's got a fun english accent, one that the guys absolutely love to hear.

he emigrated from york when he was about ten, and so his accent is pretty thick. there's times where it goes in and out (since he's spent so much time in new york), but it's around enough of the time.

he's about sixteen or seventeen, and has basically been selling since he stepped foot in new york.

a lot of the guys joke that the only reason people buy papes from him is to get him and his accent to shut the fuck up. he's a loud guy.

he's pretty hot-headed, and so he gets in scraps a lot. he's gotten pretty good at basic first aid over the years as a result of that. a lot of the newsies go to him when they get banged up.

claps. there you go!

[thetudorslovers]

The early years for Catherine of Valois were not as rich and glamorous as one might expect of a royal family. She was the tenth child of her parents and at the time France was in chaos due to her father’s bouts of insanity. This left an opening for other countries, like England, to fight for throne of France.

In 1405, Henry IV of England had suffered the first of many debilitating illnesses. In pain, and clearly unable to rule his nation he ceded power to his council, which included his son, Henry, also known as “Hal.” Over the final years of King Henry’s reign it is believed there was tension between the king and his son. It is said that when the king lay dying his young son took the crown from his head. Still alive, Henry IV asked his son what right he had to the crown since it had been won in blood and not received through a divinely blessed hereditary line. Hal replied, “As you have kept the crown by the sword, so will I keep it while my life lasts.” Towards the end of the summer of 1436, while pregnant with her fifth child rumours of the Queen’s secret marriage appear to have reached the Duke of Gloucester. Upon further investigation the truth of the matter was revealed and the Duke acted swiftly and decisively. We are told that, ‘the high spirit of the Duke of Gloucester could not brook her marriage. Neither the beauty of Tudor’s person nor his genealogy, descended from Cadwallader Kings, could shield him or the Queen from sharp persecution as soon as the match was discovered.’ The Queen’s household was dissolved with immediate effect. Catherine was parted from her children the eldest of whom were sent to live with Catherine de la Pole, sister of the Earl of Suffolk, Owen was confined to Newgate and Catherine was sent to Bermondsey Abbey.

By this time the heavily pregnant Queen was gravely ill and deeply distressed by this enforced separation from her husband and children. Not long after entering Bermondsey she gave birth to a daughter, christened Margaret, who died shortly after her birth. Overcome by illness and trauma it appears the Queen never recovered. Even the ‘tablet of gold, weighing thirteen ounces on which was a crucifix set with pearls and sapphires’ an elaborate token of remembrance sent to Bermondsey from her son, Henry VI failed to revive her spirits. On 3rd January 1437, Catherine of Valois, Queen of England died a broken woman.

Source: https://www.google.com/amp/s/tudorsdynasty.com/catherine-valois-family-history-with-mental-illness/%3famp

[venusluvrr]

The Psychological Horror Manhwa “Killing Stalking” is not a Romance, but an Emotional Series Depicting the Codependent Relationship Between Two Ill Individuals

Content Warning!!: contains mentions of sexual abuse (rape) and mental illness.

Killing Stalking is an immensely twisted webcomic series, mainly popular within the Yaoi community for its boy on boy focused plotline. The story follows characters Yoon Bum (Bum), a shy, scrawny young man with a haunting past filled with abuse, and Oh Sangwoo (Sangwoo), a younger man who also has a quite damaging upbringing but masks it perfectly with his vibrant, extroverted personality. After being saved from a rape attempt during his time serving in the military, Bum develops a crush on his saviour, Sangwoo, from which an unhealthy obsession starts to arise and he eventually finds himself locating and breaking into the man’s home one day when he’s out. When he does, he discovers a terribly injured woman being held captive in his basement, and with further evidence, soon comes to the realization that his crush is actually a serial killer -- hence the name “Killing Stalking,” as Sangwoo kills and Bum stalks. For a very specific reason though, Sangwoo decides not to kill the man that had been stalking him, and instead holds him hostage in his custody. From here, the story goes into exceeding depth of the abnormal, toxic, and manipulative relationship the two form during their time spent together. By just the mere description of it, it’s a bit concerning to know that a large portion of readers still support Sangwoo and Bum’s relationship. In other words, they believe they truly loved each other and that the story was not only horror fiction but a romance as well. One could easily come to this conclusion by basing their relationship on the few parts within the novel where they showed affection towards each other -- for example when Bum allows Sangwoo to hug him to sleep when he suffered through the night, or my personal favourite, when Sangwoo buys Bum a stuffed frog keychain after finding out that he had an affinity for such creatures. But we cannot simply dismiss the underlying factors of their relationship because of some cute things they did that made our heart melt -- Sangwoo still abused Bum at his leisure which makes those moments quite meaningless in the sense of it all. What Sangwoo and Yoonbum shared can’t be classified as “love,” because even with their peculiar bond and endearing moments, the psychological damage they both endured played a bigger part in the way they perceived each other.

Many toxic relationships start out lovely and glamorous until the couple have become comfortable enough to start revealing some bad habits, but in Sangwoo and Bum’s case, they were already off to a bad start, as the reason they remained with each other was solely for reasons pertaining to their poor mental health.

At the time Sangwoo saved Bum in the military, Bum still suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) -- a disorder he inferrably developed due to the fact that he grew up being constantly physically and sexually abused by the people around him. People with this illness may easily develop an infatuation for a person who shows them even the least bit of care; It can reach the point where they begin to idolize them and see them almost as a perfect human being -- which is exactly how Bum viewed Sangwoo after he helped him to escape a rape attempt. The likely specific term for what Sangwoo was to Bum is a Favourite Person (FP). To an individual suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder, their FP is everything -- their self-worth, identity and emotional dependency all rely on this one person, making them the center of their lives. In contrast to this sincere fondness, the only reason Sangwoo kept Bum alive was because of the man’s resemblance to his late mother -- the one person in his life who he truly loved. While his father was abusive and negligent, his mother tried her best to care for her son even while her own mental stability wasn’t so great either. Even though it was implied that he was responsible for the murder of both his mother and father in high school -- getting away with it scotch-free because of how perfectly executed his plan was -- he still shared a special bond with the woman, allowing her existence follow and continue to torutue him mentally as he grew older. When he saw Yoonbum, he felt as if she had been somewhat resurrected, or at least he could pretend so by dressing him up in his mother’s clothes and making him cook and do the chores; He also played the husband role by abusing and assaulting Bum just as his father did to his mother -- mostly just out of his own nature. Sangwoo had his own issues, “mommy issues,” and he initially needed to keep Bum alive so he could fulfill his own longing desires. Knowing the man’s character though, things wouldn’t end there and instead headed down a very gruesome and frightful path.

The very reasons that the two were drawn to each other we’re even more evident the longer they lived under the same roof. While Yoonbum continued to recall the perfect image he had of Sangwoo in his head, Sangwoo continued to manipulate the man in order to satisfy his own needs. A healthy relationship cannot be based on deceit, because one person will end up victimized instead of loved.

Oh Sangwoo is a sadistic sociopath with a history of kidnapping, abusing, raping and torturing innocent people, and because of his illness, he shows feels and shows no remorse for his actions and even proceeds to kill off his victims as they pleaded in objection. What some people don’t understand is that when Sangwoo met Bum, the only reason he treated him differently was not because he thought of him as special, but because he had a personal agenda that included making Bum think that was the truth and that he was indeed the favoured victim among many. It’s no surprise with the man’s manipulative personality that he would enjoy planting a lie in Bum’s head to make him stay and continue to do as he says, and this is confirmed whenever he returned back to his old destructive habits even after showing the man acts of affection. Yes, Sangwoo spared Bum’s life, clothed him and fed him, but as their bond grew, his narcissistic attitude was still more apparent than ever.

Upon meeting Bum for the first time, Sangwoo didn’t hesitate to aggressively break his ankles to prevent his mobility, he left the man within the dark confinement of his basement for a certain period of time before letting him out only after he had gained his trust. He made him sit in a chair to wash dishes and make dinner because he could no longer stand. Sangwoo also constantly dragged Bum down with derogatory words and statements every chance he could get, this included calling him a “retard,” and referring to him as a “disgusting” and “filthy” human being. As confirmed by the author, Sangwoo is also heterosexual, which is further proved by the homophobic remarks he made towards a significantly older man who was sexually attracted to him while murdering him with Bum’s aid. This fact alone is another one that should justify a strong point that demonstrates the true hostility of their relationship -- Yoonbum never gave his consent to have sex with Sangwoo, nor did he allow it to happen because “he wanted it.” He specifically used phrases such as, “No,” “Stop,” and “It hurts,” implying that sometimes there was no mutual agreement when they had sex and Sangwoo had actually raped him several times.

People with Borderline Personality Disorder have been reported to have difficulties seeing the faults in their partner -- this explains why Bum still held on to him. He chose to stay when he had the chance to escape, and with tears rolling down his face from excruciating pain he still told Sangwoo he loved him. In a scene where Bum is left alone with the police as they investigate the suspicions they have surrounding him, he questions them saying, “Could you kiss somebody like me? Could you love somebody like me?” As he believes nobody but Sangwoo could answer yes to those two questions, convinced that Sangwoo really does have feelings for him. It’s saddening to know that the poor man had successfully been lured into a trap, and because of his mental health it would be much harder for him to realize it.

To the readers that think, “Sangwoo and Yoonbum needed each other,” -- You’re not completely wrong. They did need each other in the way that they found somewhat of a saneness from each other’s presence, each using one another to each other’s benefit. But being together at the same time built on their insanity, as the presence of Sangwoo’s mother seemed to grow even more prevalent with Bum, who resembled her, also in the picture, and Yoonbum growing so unhealthily attached to Sangwoo that he constantly feared of abandonment and turned the sociopath into the only source of his happiness. They needed each other, but not for the right reasons. They were attached to each other, but there was no love, otherwise it would reflect throughout the story. One of the most debate-worthy scenes that challenge this fact is when Sangwoo is reported by an old lady in the hospital, the one that had ended his life, that he was calling out Bum’s name throughout the night as he lay in his deathbed. Those were his final words, and Yoonbum’s final word was also Sangwoo’s name before he was very well implied to have been hit by a car while he chased an illusion of the man he “loved.” Even I almost felt that this was solid proof that even through the tough and terrible of their relationship, deep inside, the two really were in love but could not express it in the right way due to their mental health issues -- after all, what someone makes of their final moments before death is much more meaningful than most of what they've done in their life entirely. But I came to realize that the only way I could support this relationship would be if they had met in an alternate universe where they did not suffer from such dreadful childhood trauma that made them into the hurting individual they had become before meeting each other. As difficult as it is for me to picture the two with different partners, it would be best if the two had not met at all as they only fed into the severity of their conditions.

[ezrasarm]

Come Back To Me In Waking Dream

[ Day 5 | Angstaggedon Masterlist ]

Pairing: Ezra x Reader

Word count: 2.4K

Summary: Torn apart by the forces of the universe, Ezra becomes a ghost of himself.

Warnings: ANGST, hints at depressive episodes and thoughts of death, more angst. This is not an uplifting story.

Credits: A huuuuuge thank you to @din-damn-djarin​​ and @chaotic-noceur​​ for beta reading and letting me use them as a human squash court for me to bounce my ideas off of! The title is inspired by a piece of poetry written by David Keenan that preludes his song “Full Stop” and I thought it fit just right.

A/N: Not to toot my own horn or anything but... I hope y’all brought tissues.

As with any line of work, the longer you’re in it, the smaller the world- or in this case, the universe- seems to become. You and Ezra had made a number of first encounters through your years working the aurelac business. It wasn’t glamorous by any means, no matter what the precious gem associated with it might suggest. The work was rough and often fruitless. But, on those rare occasions that you managed to find a sizeable deposit in those tangles of rhizomatic roots- provided you had the skill to extract them, one, without killing yourself, and two, without damaging the delicate bounty in the process- you could make quite the pretty penny off of it. And you could make it fast. It was part of what made the industry so cutthroat in the first place. It was also entirely the reason that making lasting relationships, business or otherwise, was nearly impossible for you.

Both Ezra and yourself had gotten into prospecting and harvesting aurelac even before the rush. It seemed like your timelines were interlinked. You couldn’t stop running into one another if you tried. You could recall quite vividly the first time you saw him. His rich smooth voice and exuberant charm were not things that detracted attention from him. So he was hard to miss in the small, dingy convenience store on the freighter back from the Bakhroma system. When you finally acquaintanced yourselves with one another quite sometime later, he insisted he had seen you around here and there long before that. You argued that he must have been mistaken because you couldn’t possibly have failed to notice him and that peculiar blonde patch in his hair. And that even if you did, you would have heard him coming even sooner. “That,” he said, “is not necessarily true.” But none the less you managed to crack him up. He’s had a soft spot for you ever since.

You had gotten to know each other pretty well through the many drinks you shared when you found yourselves on the same planet and the odd job you would work together in between. You now knew him well enough that if you were feeling bold you might venture to call him a friend. Perhaps even admit that at times you thought you could be a little more than that. Although you would never have the nerve to say it to his face.

Then he disappeared. One moment he was on The Pug scanning the boards, the next he was gone. Funnily enough, the job he managed to scrounge up was one you had been eyeing yourself. You got pulled away on a contract with an old client of yours to do some appraisals and he set off for this prospecting mission of his. He said it would take a week tops and that he had something he wanted to tell you when he got back. Then you never saw him again.

You see, Ezra had just been working up the courage to tell you how he felt. He swore the next time he saw you would be the day he told you he loved you. That you were the star of his dreams when he slept and the object of his reveries when he woke. That practically every moment of every day he spent away from you he was thinking about where you were or what you were up to. None of this stopped when his pod crash-landed on Bakhroma Green.

He just needed one more job to save up to take you out on Kamrea, your temporary home when you could afford to live there. He had this grand plan to woo you with a nice meal and a necklace made from a small aurelac crystal he had harvested on one of the first jobs you had worked together. He knew how hard you pushed yourself. You never gave yourself a break. He thought it would be nice to treat you to more than just a drink in a bar for once.

It was supposed to be a simple job. Prospect potential dig sites, maybe even harvest a little while he was at it, then get the hell out of there. But none of that happened. Instead, he got stranded on that godforsaken rock. It was years before anyone came to his rescue. He lost his arm somewhere along the way. A rogue thrower shot from a skittish young sater. He was normally quite conscious of staying out of their territory but with the seasons changing, foraging for food brought him out of his comfort zone. The resulting infection cost him his dominant hand.

But his physical injury was hardly the worst of his ailments on his extended visit to the Bakhroma moon. He was quite positive he was going insane hauled up in the damaged drop pod that only served as a reminder he wouldn’t be leaving the forest moon any time soon. As he quickly came to find, he and prolonged periods of time without human contact were not a good combination. While saters and other prospectors may have passed through every now and again, he often had enough trouble bargaining with them for his life, let alone a ride off the dumb rock. They never stuck around long and they certainly weren’t talkative. His mental health took a nosedive quite early on. He took to talking to himself, writing to keep his mind busy. At his worst, he could recall experiencing fits of hysteria and even hallucinations. He had the delirious diary entries to prove it.

It was around the time he lost his arm that he began to lose hope too. The longer he was stranded there, the more doubt that there would be any way out at all began to creep into his mind. There were some nights where the thought of seeing you again, brushing that rebellious strand of hair out of your face and pulling you into a long-awaited kiss, was the only thing that kept him going. He could still see your face. The upward quirk to your lip and the light graze of your hand against his as you passed him by in the hall on his way out. You were in some big rush as you always were. You assured him you would see him later. All he could think of was how wrong that assumption was now. He never could have imagined that would be the last time he saw you. And now here he was projecting phantom memories on the blank ceiling of the pod, cursing himself for not telling you what he should have the moment he knew. He refused to let himself die without letting you know how he felt. Maybe he would be able to rest easier if you knew.

For the first couple cycles you worried yourself sick. The risk associated with your field of work was not lost on you. He wouldn’t just leave you like that- he couldn’t. You wouldn’t let him. But years had passed. It soon came time for you to confront the acceptance of one of two realities: either he was dead, or he had abandoned you. The thought confused you. He wasn’t yours to be abandoned by and yet the resentment that came with it stung you just the same. You couldn’t tell which hurt you more but you knew you couldn’t sit around waiting for a dead man. And if he was alive, you refused to spend another second pining over a man who would up and leave you without so much as a goodbye. So you swallowed your yearning, the nag in your heart that clung to the hope he would still come back for you, and you moved on.

When Ezra got off the Green he hardly recognized himself anymore. His hair had grown shaggy despite his attempts to keep it under control, there were patches of grey in his dishevelled beard, his face had thinned, and those were just the physical changes. It was one of the last sling-backs before they killed the Central-BG line for good. A Kaslo Porting team, dropped to scavenge for old scraps and parts they could mark up and sell second hand, stumbled upon his pod. He was deathly frail when they found him. With his food supply having long since been depleted he had almost poisoned himself by mistaking a species of berry for its edible cousin in his desperation. If they hadn’t found him sooner, the doctors on board the freighter couldn’t see how he would have survived. He wound up hospitalized for weeks.

After all that time with just one thought on his mind, he knew he had to find you. Upon being discharged he searched high and low for you. He felt foolish checking all your old haunts. It had been so long. But he didn’t know where else to begin. He checked with mutual friends and old employers. They all seemed too surprised by being in the presence of a ghost to give him a straight answer.

He went to just about every place he could think of, asking your name as though it carried the same weight to everyone else as it did to him. He was sure he had searched every last corner of the galaxy. When he kept coming up empty he began to doubt whether you yourself were alive. It seemed like he was the only who knew who you were. It was like you didn’t exist. It was like you never had existed. He went so far as to question if he had made you up. If you were merely some fucked up defence mechanism manufactured by his brain to keep him hopeful. To keep him from giving up so long ago as he had been tempted to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop looking. That would be admitting something to himself that he would never be ready to. His head would perk up if through the chatter of crowded spaces he would hear a laugh similar to your own carry across the room. He would lose his place in conversations when he would see a flash of hair not unlike your own out of his peripheral vision.

Then one day he found himself back on The Pug, scanning the boards the exact same way he had been the first time he laid eyes on you. He wasn’t actively looking for you. No more than he always was. But sure enough there you were. Your arms crossed over your chest and your gaze tilted upward to read the job postings that flashed by not unlike flight numbers in an airport. You had matured a little. You wore your hair differently now. Shorter than he remembered but he liked it just the same. Your posture had changed too. You looked calmer, more confident and at ease as you watched the boards. Not tense and nervous as you used to be when you lived paycheck to paycheck, desperate for every opportunity you could leap at. Life had treated you well, he remarked to himself. As it should have. You looked just as beautiful as you were in that faded photograph of the two of you he carried everywhere with him. The same one he studied every night as he tried to fall asleep on those lonely nights on the Green.

He felt his heart leap in his chest when you turned in his direction, a graceful smile across your face and your arms outstretched. He felt the adrenaline kick in, like a jolt of electricity through his entire body. He realized then that he hadn’t moved since he had laid eyes on you, too startled by the long anticipated discovery to function. A hysterical grin had stretched across his face. He couldn’t believe he had finally found you. That you were there standing right in front of him after all he had been through trying to get back to you. He was just about to step towards you. To shout your name, take you in his arms and do what he should’ve done long before. That’s when a young tike, hardly three years old came darting past him, tripping over her own feet as she bumbled towards you at top speed.

Then it dawned on him. That smile? Those open arms? They weren’t for him.

You crouched and swept the child up in your arms, peppering her face with kisses as she giggled back at you. It was now that he could see the resemblance. The twinkle in the young girl’s eye and the way she threw her head back when she laughed were not foreign to him. A man he didn’t recognize came trotting after her, scooping her up from your embrace before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips.

It finally occurred to him why no one had recognized your name.

You looked happy. The smile on your face made his heart swell as he watched you from a distance. He only wished that he was the cause of it. The realization struck him that he could never be that for you. A husband. A father to your child. Even if he wanted to, years of breathing in toxic particles does things to a man. Now he was too late anyway. He had never wished so strongly that he hadn’t taken that job, that he hadn’t boarded that pod and set off to Bakhroma Green. Tears stung his eyes as he choked back the confession welling in the back of his throat. He couldn’t do that to you now. You deserved better than the trauma of a phantom walking back into your life after all this time. And stood there, every semblance of hope he had harboured since your fingertips slid off his own in that hallway shattered around his feet, he considered something. He should’ve let himself die on that rock. It would have been a more merciful death than the one he had just experienced as he watched the very dream that kept him alive all that time fall apart in front of him.

[ Angstageddon Masterlist | Ezra’s Arm Masterlist ]

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[stingslikeabee]

House of Flowers: modern verse

Lilian Drydell was just one of the many sweet and innocent girls who once thought that going to New York was supposed to be as easy as saw in the movies – after all, she had a lot of talent for the arts, with a beautiful singing voice and a body blessed by the right genetics. A Broadway star was her fate, and Hollywood had deeply instilled the notion that, if she tried hard enough, success would inevitably come.

But things in real life were, of course, very different. Despite the initial joy to be approved to study at the city and the excitement of the move to such a cosmopolitan place, the harsh reality of her student loan debt and the difficulties in landing part-time gigs were brutal wake-up calls. Lilian had spent many sleepless nights contemplating her choices and options – and it was only when she confided about her troubles with a college friend that she learned about an old solution with a new name: why not becoming a call girl?

There were many discreet escorting agencies who recruited beautiful, educated ladies as company for wealthy men. That was a common way out for many girls around – and Lilian certainly looked pretty enough to be accepted. Although initially surprised (and mildly horrified by the solution), Lilian started to ponder about it – and eventually had a meeting with one of the agents of one of her classmates. It all felt… Insanely organized, in a way. The agent held the bookings, background checks, and there were a lot of rules designed to ensure both the safety of the call girl and the privacy of the client.

She could do this – it was well worth a shot to keep her dream alive. And thus was born ‘Melissa’, the alias created to shield Lilian from this secret, luxurious underworld – and which proved to be something quite different from what she originally thought. She started going to places she would have never dreamed of being invited to – secret parties, glamorous cruises, summer retreats – an elite escort was indeed a witness to a lifestyle she didn’t know she wished to have. The Broadway stage had always been alluring, a chance to showcase her acting skills and her voice…

But in all honesty, the sort of attention she gathered as Melissa was intoxicating; she found out to be good at her side job, more so than expected. The gifts alone were enough to settle most of her debt – and what was supposed to be a short-lived solution to a problem became instead her profession. She was careful to hide it from her family whenever she visited, sure – but through Melissa, Lilian was having the time of her life and there was never-ending demand for the oldest profession in the world.

After graduation, Melissa never stopped – rather than pursuing a career on the stage, she continued to educate herself – learning new languages, dance styles, exercising – all these things were important to secure, retain and foster her network. But when the time came for her to retire – as age tended to be a relevant factor in the escorting business, she did the next obvious thing and become the agent herself. With her client list, she had more than enough men (and the occasional women) interested in her services – or her recommendations.

And that was how the House of Flowers came to be – technically an escort agency, but which cannot be found by any traditional means and has no physical headquarters. It was built to be an elite, private and very exclusive service, employing only the girls that Melissa saw fit of the brand she had cultivated over the last years. She is the one who handles bookings, screenings, certain reservations for venues and tutoring – and her girls are provided with the additional safety her experience in the business offers, as well as operating under the alias of a flower.

She is, after all, the ‘bee’ that ensures the survival of her beautiful garden – and who offers the New York elite the chance for an evening in paradise.

Note: Another modern verse because apparently I have no self-control! No, but really - this follows her journey from her original FFVII timeline much closer, without the more horrifying bits - it’s a combination of several real life accounts of women (and men) who turned to this specific type of work and stayed because it was enjoyable - as well as profitable!

Despite set in NY, it can move as needed and can be relocated mostly anywhere - it’s a fun option to the Killer Queen verse where her ‘informant’ aspect may be more complicated to adapt (and frankly, she’s less ‘stationary’ too, since as an agent/escort would be going to all places, all the time). And despite the name of her agency, I swear this verse has no connection to the Mexican show of the same name (but I won’t lie, it inspired me with the business name, haha).

Finally - main changes are mostly in the sense that she has a good family (however lies to them about what she does in the big city), she’s not as selfless or invested in romantic relationships (hers or other people’s) but she’s still inherently good and caring, particularly for her ‘flowers’ and longtime clients she views as friends. She doesn’t even regret giving up her Broadway dreams - in a way, she still very much performs, but only in a greater number of stages and for more intimate audiences, if you guys catch my drift~ ;)

[jeannereames]

A lot of people on here joke about Alexander being “crazy” or “insane”, and I know some people hold the belief that he was an insane monster (I even saw an article titled “Alexander the Monster” which basically made Alexander out to be worse than the devil lol). I was just wondering what you think regarding Alexander’s mentality/sanity and why do you think some people believe that he was this crazy psychopath. Btw, I just finished reading Becoming and I loved it!!!!

First, thank you! I’m glad you liked the novel! Now, on to the question…

When people talk about “crazy” Alexander, it usually falls into two different categories. One subset is that Alexander went crazy with grief after Hephaistion died; I’ve argued against this elsewhere, so won’t again here in any detail.

Another subset claims he became megalomaniacal, pointing for proof to his “Persianizing,” including an attempt to introduce proskynesis (the bow before the Persian Great King that Greeks viewed as due only to gods), his desire to be deified, and a penchant for dressing up as various gods (Dionysos, Herakles, and even Artemis).

That tendency isn’t just on Tumblr; similar accusations are made in academia under the maxim that, “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” (Lord Baron Acton)

Yet that’s the cynical take. I think how one views the world (and human nature) has something to do with how one interprets Alexander’s behavior. We must recall that Alexander lived in a society where kingship was seen as divinely bestowed, and carried with it certain religious obligations with regard to one’s subjects.

Remember, not just anybody could be king of Macedon; one had to be an ARGEAD: e.g., from a specific family (gens). They were descendants of Herakles, and so of divine descent. This is different from the Successors who followed. Alexander was raised as a prince; Ptolemy, Antigonos, or Seleukos were not. The importance of these heroic ties can be found in the stories that popped up later, making Ptolemy a bastard of Philip (and thus an Argead), or the later Seleucid claim of descent from Apollo. And we know the Molossian royal house claimed descent from Achilles.

Again, not just anybody can be a king. One has to be special by ancestry.

Being born to the purple doesn’t necessarily make one any less of a dick. We’ve plenty of evidence to the contrary. (Demetrios Poliorketes? Pyrrhos? Antigonos IV Epiphanes?) But it does instill a different awareness of one’s place in the world.

Modern cynicism forgets just how seriously ancient people took religion. On his deathbed, among the last actions Alexander forced himself to perform until he literally couldn’t get up, were morning sacrifices to the ancestors and gods, on behalf of the Macedonian people. I think that says a lot not only about his own religiosity, but his sense of himself as a conduit between his people and the gods. The proper performance of religious rites were central, not just to his success, but to the survival of Macedonia. In our modern world, it can be hard to connect to this somewhat archaic notion.

In addition, the stories of him visiting hospital tents after battle, personally writing letters to his officers, talking and joking with his soldiers, marching with them, eating what they ate, and dressing as they dressed, all point to somebody who understands the principles of leadership, as opposed to just bossing people around. Some have argued that he lost that as time went on, but he was still out marching with them in Gedrosia (despite a collapsed or partially collapsed lung), so I’d argue he did not. The helmet incident (where he poured out precious water brought to him, because the rest of his men didn’t have any) is an exemplar of his continued understanding of what solidarity meant. It may have been as calculated as hell, but that’s not the act of a madman or megalomaniac. Also, just because it was calculated doesn’t mean it wasn’t genuinely meant. He was trying to keep his men alive, not let them give up.

Did Alexander, over time, turn into an arrogant little shit? Almost certainly, given his mind-boggling achievements, and the fact the Greeks never touted humility as a virtue. But I don’t believe he was a narcissist or had taken leave of reality. Such characterizations are simplistic, played for pop approval and laughs, or because it’s too much effort to look under the surface.

I do think he was struggling desperately to figure out how to govern such a vast, international empire, and not in some Tarn-esque “Brotherhood of Mankind” way. He never (personally) lost a battle, but uniting Eastern and Western ways of rule was a puzzle he never solved. THAT was his great failure. F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” And that’s where Dancing with the Lion will eventually head. Alexander’s story is, ultimately, not a triumph, but not because he was crazy or a Macedonian Hitler.

I’d also point out that people who oversimplify Alexander as either a demon or demented, are buying, hook, line and sinker, the moral narratives of the ancient authors, especially of Plutarch, Curtius, and Justin, but also Arrian and Diodoros. These are not neutral accounts. We must be careful of their biases.

All that said, I don’t want to excuse Alexander’s war crimes (and I don’t know what else you’d call some of what he did). But even those were not the actions of a “crazy” man. They were brutal, but considered (which may be worse).

Razing Thebes sent a message of what happens when a city foreswears an alliance multiple times. Rounding up and killing Greek mercenaries after Granikos sent a message to others serving under Darius (an attempt to peel off some of Darius’s more dangerous support troops). Razing Tyre (and Gaza) sent a message about what happens when resistance defies certain “rules of war” (Tyre’s treatment of the heralds). The burning of Persepolis was not a drunken frat party gone wrong; it was a political statement. Note ALL moveable wealth was gone and it happened just before they left, plus it destroyed the place where Persian kings were crowned, preventing one from emerging in Alexander’s wake. (Not that Bessus cared, nor Spitamenes after him). Philotas fell victim to a real conspiracy (even if he wasn’t part of it), not a CIA file (contra Badian), and the Proskynesis Affair was an attempt to regularize court procedure not institute worship of Alexander. The murder of Kleitos was, indeed, a drunken brawl, with no good excuse, but was followed by (I think) genuine remorse, even if he accepted the forgiveness of the troops because he needed to.

Even the choice to enter Gedrosia wasn’t the decision of a madman, but of one whose logistics were legendary for working…except when they didn’t, because of an uprising and monsoon behind them that was unplanned for. It was a FUBAH, not a foolish choice. He was looking for a trade route linking India and Mesopotamia. Notions that he just wanted to one-up Cyrus and Semiramis misses the point.

The so-called request to the Greek states for deification is problematic as to just what he asked, versus what was later said (remember, we’re hearing about it from Athenian demagogues who hated him). The claim to be the son of a god was not megalomania or a shot at divinity, but an affirmation of hero status; being the son of a god didn’t necessarily mean one was immortal one’s self. As for precedent, his own father had put a statue of himself alongside the 12 in his final parade, plus there’s a heroōn (hero shrine) built above Royal Tomb I at Vergina. That’s either Philip buried there (my own personal opinion), or his father Amyntas III. The Spartan general, Brasidas, received hero cult from Amphipolis after his death, but Lysander accepted it from the Samians will still alive.

Alexander outstripped every one of these by no small measure, and seen in context, his claim to be a son of Zeus-Ammon is not some bizarre, out-of-left-field assertion. If Lysander was a hero, and his father Philip, then what did that make Alexander? And the inflated “Final Plans” were about 50% invented by Perdikkas to get the army to vote them down.

Alexander did terrible things and we need to let those terrible things stand—call them out and recognize them. Yet when I look at his behavior, even in his latter years, I just don’t see the horrific corruption of, say, the Trump administration, or of Vladimir Putin’s Russia, or Xi’s China. At some level, I think Alexander still saw himself, and struggled to be, a “Philosopher King.” He just didn’t know what that meant anymore.

I think, by the end, he was lost. Macedonian kings were expected to win wars and provide loot. Alexander did that to a degree no Macedonian monarch had ever before achieved. He was the Energizer Bunny of Macedonian kings. His own men (and culture) had created a monster. No wonder he felt betrayed by their “indiscipline” on the banks of the Hyphasis. “But I gave you even more than you ever dreamed of!”

Indeed, he did. That was the problem. They made him turn around. When his army “defeated” him, he wasn’t sure who he was any more, or what he was doing. I see a lot of his career after as a scramble to re-define himself. He’d conquered all this territory at a relatively young age. Now what was he supposed to do with it?  Ruling is a lot less glamorous than conquering.

He’s perhaps the greatest military mind who’s ever lived (tied with Subutai, Genghis Khan’s general). He was also an exceptionally inspirational leader. But that “ruling schtick”? It got in the way. Appointing Hephaistion chiliarch was among his smarter decisions, even if Hephaistion died on him too soon. It was tacit recognition that he needed help. I’ve joked that Hephaistion’s appointment amounted to, “Here, you figure out how to make this whole thing work; I want to go conquer more stuff.”

Once he lost Hephaistion, he became a boat without a rudder. But as noted, his mourning was not beyond the pale. The only difference is that he had the money (and authority) to impose his wishes. As a former bereavement counselor, I wrote an article called “The Mourning of Alexander the Great” that deep-sixes misconceptions about mourning and Alexander’s behavior.

Was he “crazy”? No. Was he the devil? I’m sure the countries he invaded thought so. Was he a megalomaniac? Almost certainly not. Was he an arrogant asshole (especially when he’d been drinking)? Almost certainly so. But his arrogance sprang from an odd mix of massive, early success mixed with deep insecurity spawned by his upbringing.

I find him fascinating precisely because he’s not a simple read. He’s not Donald Trump. He’s not Adolf Hitler. He’s not even Caesar, or Napoleon. He’s intensely complex, which is, I think, the source of his continued fascination.

I’d advise those who read about him to allow for that complexity. Avoid simplistic readings, even while not white-washing the really ugly side of his career.

[neonnhoney-rec]

Min Yoongi

Here are a few yoongi recs, most of them I've read and love, some are in my TBR. Tbh most of them are smut, but some are fluff and angst mostly angst. I will keep updating this woop woop.

I hope you enjoy tehee!

revenge- @lustfuldevils

fuck boy yoongs

request: yoongi teaches you to give a bj- @kpurereactions

says it on the tin

Theres no need to be nervous around Yoongi, he’ll take care of you and make you feel good no matter what it is you’re doing.

sangria- @minstrivia

a day at the beach has yoongi hornier than he’d like to admit.

missing link- @drquinzelharleen

You catch Yoongi playing with himself before a night out and some part of you wants to join him. That’s crazy though, he’s your best friend… Right?

talk- @httpjeon​

you walk in on yoongi on the phone with a customer

act on it- @dom-joonie

You learn that the cute barista you’ve been crushing on might have an…otherworldly disposition after you accidentally cut yourself.

too sweet- @justoneday-namjoonii

you smell so sweet to them the best they’ve ever had (vampire au)

moving to a university with a few secrets, has you falling for these boys who need your help

too hot to sleep- @gamerguk

“ Umm can’t wait to get rawed in our kitchen when I’m living with the love of my life ” 

can you turn off your phone- @btssavemylifeblr

Yoongi’s alarm clock wakes you up at 6 am on a Sunday and you are not happy about it.  At least, not at first…

grey area- @blushoseoks

and just like that, your fate was sealed - because min yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. but hell if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so. 

and sadly, at the time, you didn’t think that your thoughts would become so literal.

dancing with the devil- @minnpd��

suga daddy suga

asphodel- @hayjeon

A series of drabbles and moments surrounding Hades, the god of death and Persephone, the goddess of nature

lifeguard yoongi- @gukgalore

who knew making eyes at a hot lifeguard would get you what you really wanted.

yoongi cums in his pants- @hobiorbit

dry humping yoongi till cums in his pants cause its hot

boy .girl- @floralseokjin

Boy. Girl. It’s as simple as that. Girl can’t get a good date—scrap that—girl can’t get a good lay, and boy is willing to help out with that… Friends with benefits seems the perfect solution, except for the fact, it’s not. It never is. Not when boy already has feelings for girl…

Evil- @littlemisskookie

Your life is pretty boring, apart from being the Alpha of your pack. But it gets a bit more exciting when you discover Yoongi wants to spend his heat with none other than you.

Bet i can make you cum without touching your cock- @cyphertrip

says it on the tin

boseong breakfast- @honeymoonjin

it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

Love is for birds baby- @mininky

You refuse to believe in love. It’s a concept created by big corporations like hallmark to get sad saps like you to buy their shit. But it’s all fake. You’re convinced of that at least until a series of events with a certain tattoo artist who you loved to hate makes you question everything you’ve ever known.

Hands- @moonlightchildz

hand fetish? is that a thing?

Producer!yoongi- @matchakoo

where yoongi’s song plays over a really serene and domestic smut scene 

Please be naked- @floralseokjin 

ou find it’s easy to become addicted to a distraction…

Lonely hearts club-  @joonbird

 “In this world, currency is not money but life, and those who cannot repay their debts have no choice but to submit for the Separation - a procedure in which the soul and mind are extracted from their bodies, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell. Jeon Jungkook is an underground tattoo artist hiding from the outside world. She has been waiting her whole life to be Separated. They were never supposed to meet - let alone fall in love.”

- or -

“Two lonely hearts collide.”

Rose garden dreams- @glossgf

you, a princess not yet betrothed, and your knight, Yoongi, have fallen in love. But what happens when a prince asks for your hand in marriage? What will you and Yoongi do then…?

single parent au- @yukheii​

your daughter is very fond of yoongi

Us, plus two- @deathbyyoongi

You and Yoongi sharing a moment, relishing in the glow of your growing family when your daughter has a nightmare, and Yoongi has to take care of those pesky monsters.

When the power goes out- @inkjam-moon

When a storm causes the electricity to go out, it becomes to dark in the apartment to study, so you and Yoongi have to find another way to pass the time.

Conveniently- @baeseoul

you live above a convenience store with your daughter, owned by a rather attractive yoongi. this is the story of how u and your daughter gained another member to your little family.

Destruction of a muse- @baeseoul

you’re in your last year of uni doing literature and lose your motivation, and it’s not till you meet a talented musician you get your ambition back. a. lot. of. angust.

Long distance-  @miss-noo-na

Yoongi misses the sound of your voice.

Conjecture-  @writingsofmyimagination​

Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Photoshoot tease- @shooting-stars-library

“Min Yoongi is a sexy little shit and he knows it.”

What if-  @blameblamebts

Being in a gang wasn’t a good thing, and it never would be, always looked down upon. But it isn’t what people think it to be. It’s worse. Much worse.

Aawake at night- @softyoongiionly​

You can’t sleep. Luckily, your boyfriend can’t either. 

Clair de lune- @yoonia

You were ready to leave a part of your life to move on to the next, and he is willing to give you a chance to end it glamorously. But at what cost? And will he be a part of the life you are leaving behind or will he be there for the next part of it? 

Reflections- @yoonia

“How could I ever forget about you" parent au

Faded- @yoonia

You were his soulmate, that part he knew well. Until one day he didn’t want you anymore. He couldn’t, when all he could see from you was light and all he felt within himself was darkness. Your love has gone cold as he retreated from you, burying himself deep in the dark. But what happened when Yoongi had to watch you start over with somebody else, when Yoongi let his selfishness gain control on him of you.

Monday- @strwberrytae

It’s that special time a month that brings you great pain yet great joy. Sure, there’s cramps and absolute uncomfort but your little monthly friend makes you insanely horny. Needy and desperate for a release that only your boyfriend can provide, will he cave and give you what you want?

Makeshift chemistry- @jungblue

Fleeting lust was all you’d ever known, nothing serious or long lasting, just a temporary fix to satisfy your needs. That is until you meet Min Yoongi who is determined to put an end to your binge of makeshift relationships.

What you did last summer- @winetae

Yoongi was fine with a lot of things—you maxing out his credit cards to buy ridiculously expensive items of clothing that you never wore more than once, you taking out his newest ride for a spin without permission, you spending an extra thirty minutes on your hair and makeup when he was running late for a dinner function. 

What he was not okay with, however, was you sharing your pussy with barely-out-of-college boys who were incapable of going five seconds without creaming their pants.

No, that was where he drew the line.

Bad boys bring it to you- @yuengi​

tattoo artist yoongi

Fortuna- @readyplayerhobi

300 years ago, half the world’s population died when the experimental Fortuna virus escaped. The remaining male population has been rendered infertile with one loophole that has meant polyamorous relationships have become the norm.

Crescendo- @dreamyjoons

after hours of waiting for the grumpy pianist to leave the stage, you finally have it out with him in a way better than you could have imagined. 

Restraint-  @writingsofmyimagination​

As Jungkook’s best friend recently moved to Seoul, there is one of the boys you have yet to meet. This one has a dark secret and has to use all the restraint he can to control himself around you.

Curious- @honeymoonjin

Taehyung confides in you and your boyfriend Yoongi that he might be bi, and the two of you offer to let him experiment with you to find out. 

Gingham- @ropeseok​

There’s no place like home! At least, that’s how Yoongi felt after a long night of taking the little one trick-or-treating. He can’t wait to take his costume off - however, he seems to insist that you keep yours on.​

Somebody else- @jamaisjoons

yoongi doesn’t want you anymore. but he can’t stand watching you with someone else. post break up au.

Do you love me-  @caribbeanempressblog

Yoongi is bad at feelings

Love well done- @oraclemarie

You are the executive chef of your very own fine dining restaurant. A big company makes you the offer of a lifetime, setting you on a path straight to Min Yoongi-your drunken hook up. 

Pepero day- @kittae

Valentine’s with your best friend, yoongi

The last- @kittae

When the world’s gone to shit and you’ve taught yourself to stay alive while danger lurks around every corner, the last thing you need is another mouth to feed and extra “dead” weight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to leave another human being behind, and it might as well have been your worst decision ever… or was it the best?

Baby’s fist christmas- @hobisbeautifulass​

3 months after you give birth to your first child, you and your husband start putting together the perfect first Christmas for your new family of three.

This is just to say  – @btsiguess

To say it’s unusual to have a soulmate is an understatement, and most people desperately wish to have an elegant name scrawled upon their wrist. In reality though, you’d have to say it causes much more issues than it solves.

I like you – @iq-biased

A surprise visit from a friend leaves Yoongi with a night to remember, and something to say

Small things- @floralseokjin

you and vamp yoongi have an argument

Daddy diaries- @bts-reveries

yoongi started blogging his life on his social medias to prove everyone who thought he couldn’t raise a child alone wrong. but as his daughter’s birthday draws near, what happens when she wishes for a new mom?

Drink me- @njssi​

Your vampire boyfriend refuses to bite you in fear of not being able to stop himself. But you always get what you want.

Rule of thirst- @prolixitae

vampires were just folklore until yoongi became one. now he’s got only two emotions: you and hunger. and tonight, you let him feed off you.

A ticket to the sun- @seokeros​ (ao3)

In a world where a person's life is determined by a piece of paper on a monthly basis, love is practically impossible. But there's always an exception, and with that exception, there comes a price.

Alt: yoongo gets punched in the face by a girl who believes she is cursed, and he stupidly, helplessly, falls in love.

Wildest moments- @joonbird

“Min Yoongi is forbidden territory. And although you both know better, the two of you just can’t seem to stay apart.”

Breakfast in bed- @joonbird

“Min Yoongi, a grumpy Ikea employee, is wondering who you are and why exactly you’re sleeping in the display bed at his Ikea.”

Hyung, open the door- @gotmetalkinginmysleep

You’ve been keeping the boys awake with your moaning for months thanks to Yoongi. Tae and Jungkook want to find out why.

The singularity theory- @dovechim

in your last year of undergrad, you find out what a gloryhole is at the expense of your final year thesis. it’s a classic example of a psychology experiment that went way, way wrong. 

You look like you need a drink- @dark-muse-iris

After a bad week with the worst luck imaginable, you happen upon a local dive bar run by an attractive young bartender who livens up your evening.

The married life- @jungnoir

being married is never a bore when your husband is a vampire king + inspired by  “Stop calling me Princess!” “I apologize, my Queen.”.

Taxi- @honeyedhoseok

 ❛  Drinks at a bar + a rainy night + a single taxi to share with the bane of your existence, Min Yoongi = one interesting car ride back to your apartment.  ❜ 

First love- @writing-in-ivory

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi. 

pugna- @jungwoohoos

he showed up at your doorstep one day, covered in cuts and testing your patience. you don’t know why, but you felt compelled to help him. you just don’t realize how deep that runs

Mean yoongi- @jjkpls

Min Yoongi asks you to take care of his plants when he’s gone. It doesn’t go as planned and well, he has to deal with your misbehaving ass.

Sour skittles- @softyoongiionly

WELCOME TO GLASSCLAW! The only city where you can get a homecooked meal and a hitman all on the same street! You moved to GlassClaw for a fresh start after a group of raiders invaded your previous compound. Unbeknownst to you, the city has its own collection of riff raff and, at the head of it all is your neighbor Min Yoongi. The mischevious merchant with one hell of a sailor mouth is known for swindling the rich and, serving the poor. The world has become convoluted and chaotic since the apocalypse but, two things were certain: You were so much more than pretty face and, Yoongi was so much more than just a thief.

Life’s little joys-  @littlemeowmeowschimmy

getting pregers with yoongi

Fear and dumplings-  @softyoongiionly

You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi.

Min yoongi, library services- @kpopfanfictrash

When you accept the the offered research position at Bangtan University, you are well aware of your partner’s prestige. The only problem is - so is he.

Behind the stick-  @randombtsprincessa

Your bartender for the night and you take an interest in one another.

Mic drop- @ve1vetyoongi

when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.

Pinewood and poetry- @spicykoreantatertots

After getting closer to and developing a crush on your friend over the summer, you want nothing more than to cozy up to him as the seasons start to change. That is until your ex-boyfriend, Jung Hoseok, returns from his summer study abroad program. Will Hoseok stand in the way of your budding romance with your mutual friend, Min Yoongi?

His hands- @nahfamily

You hadn’t ever paid much attention to Min Yoongi until a stupid icebreaker at your office. Now, you can’t get him, and his hands, out of your head

Birthday boy- @btssmutgalore

Yoongi wants to give his best friend Jimin the perfect birthday gift… And it just so happens to be you.

Happy valentine’s day- @sweetwritertanya​

You have a very special idea for this Valentine’s Day, focused completely on your boyfriend Yoongi who comes home to an unexpected surprise. 

Happy birthday- @parkmuse

Your boyfriend Jimin has a bit of a surprise for you on your birthday, and he goes by the name of Yoongi.

Arranged-  @minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong

Y/N is a struggling student in Seoul: working multiple jobs, living in a broom closet apartment, and often sacrificing her dignity for the sake of her livelihood. What happens when a handsome stranger presents her with an offer she cannot refuse at the moment she needs it most?

This tiny space-  @ubemango

Yoongi was always attractive—your sexy piece of ass, as you like to remind him often—and seeing the tight skin of his back when he undresses further makes the insides of your stomach churn in want: the kind that made you want to fall to your knees, grovel. You love having a kid, but it’s been too long.

The boa constrictor-  @tatertotthethot

You’ve always had a bad habit of drinking copious amounts of water just before going to bed every night, and for some reason, you always seem to forget that it’ll eventually lead to you having to wake up a few hours later with a dire need to pee. 

Dope- @honeymoonjin

The HSD is a branch of the South Korean government tasked with taking down the most infallible criminals in Seoul’s underbelly. Kim Namjoon, or RM, is their next target: the extremely well-spoken and careful leader of a cocaine dealing gang.

Listen closely- @avveh

Unintentionally, you stumble upon something that makes you view your coworker Min Yoongi in a whole new light.

The truth between us- @jimlingss

a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle. 

Surround me- @minflix

after a very unfair and unjust firing from his bartending job, yoongi just wants to soothe his sadness by spending some quality time with his best friend - who he is very much in love with.

Cockwarming – @gukgalore​

Ngl the thought of cockwarming Yoongi is the only thing keeping me going at this point

Havana- @inkjam-moon​

You’ve spent the last six years following in your parents footsteps all the way to Cuba, trying to make them proud by finishing their research, but when you join forces with a snarky boat owner who knows more than he lets on, will things play out the way you planned them?

The equation of  love- @kookingtae​

When you met Yoongi in a club, you thought it was fate that brought the two of you together. But after you walked into your college math class for the very first time, you weren’t so sure anymore.

Workaholic- @hobiwonder​

Yoongi needs to relax and Hoseok has many tricks up his sleeve to make him. None of them Yoongi thought included hiring a hooker to pay him a visit one stormy night. 

Different- @satisfractions​

in which tattooartist!yoongi meets floral!reader because he needs to practice drawing flowers for his job

Salud- @yukheii

ninja yoongi (Naruto au)

Toke temptation-  @strawbxxymilk​

You accidentally confess your feelings to Yoongi during a smoke sesh

Accidents- @jungxk​

dad!yoongi makes me soft and also h*rny

Fists- @badbhye​​

reader’s first time

The early shift-  @hobidreams​

your coworker yoongi is always infuriatingly late. except the one time he’s much too early.

Mixtape- @jungblue​

Two mystery students from your college run the podcast dubbed ‘mixtape.’ It’s become a sort of phenomenon around campus, listened to by almost everyone. In their most recent episode they discussed various study methods… One of them being oh so tempting.

Three squeezes-  @nomnomsik​

Yoongi is notorious for his grumpy and emotionless behavior as director of an upcoming company. Yet, it’s a mystery to everyone how manager Hoseok always seems to soften him up. The truth is that the two are actually engaged. Unknown to this fact, you happen to take an interest in Hoseok… and he does too. 

Yoongi cums in his pants- @gukgalore​

where u and yoongi are making out and u start grinding on him, and he tells u to stop bc he’s gonna cum his pants. But u don’t and he acc does cum his pants

Kitten- @yminie​

Yoongi’s focus on work has subjected your relationship to having a dry spell, and with a little prompting from your best friend, you tell him exactly what he should do. But you don’t make the rules kitten, and the game you’re choosing to play is a dangerous one.

Wine- @junghelioseok​

he makes staying after-hours absolutely worthwhile. restaurant au

Renatus- @mininky​

(y/n) finds herself in a very unusual situation where her fate seems to be woven with Hades himself, who’s too much of a jerk for her to even admit that sure okay he’s kind of really good looking.​

Cobalt and charcoal- @tayegi​

soulmate au

Touch of silk-  @floralseokjin​ 

In a world where vampires coexist with the living, there are many humans looking for a cheap thrill…you’re ashamed to admit you’re curious too, putting to good use a dating app you find…but Min Yoongi is nothing like you imagined a vampire to be…

[walkingshcdow-a]

@tinfoiltemplar | [here]

“Why on earth would I tell Rudyard that you’ve been to the cinema? He knows you go every Thursday.”

Victor grinned at Antigone, trying very hard not to want to beg to hear everything or to waltz her around the living room at this hour while she smelled of wine and warmth and the love she so dearly deserved.

“I’m very happy that you enjoyed your film.” He laughed a little, unable to help it- finally, Antigone had met someone who could keep up with her. Someone who saw how wonderful she really was. He crossed the room to his sister in law and leaned next to her on the door, nudging her gently. “But now you’ve got no excuse. You’ve got to let me take you into the city for some shopping so you’ve got something new to wear- a few more options for... whoever you happen to run into while you’re out having a bit of fun.”

Rudyard did not know that Antigone went to the cinema every Thursday. She’d told him numerous times, but he never seemed to remember. Still, Antigone’s shy smile grew as she looked at Victor. She’d always loved him - he was the brother she’d wanted as a child and now, as her brother-in-law, the brother she deserved. For a giddy moment, she was thirteen again, doodling a boy’s name in a journal and eager to point him out to Victor in the cemetery for a second opinion. She might have pointed out Henry to him a time or two before. She tried to remember what she had said as a teenager and what Victor’s opinion of the bright boy with hazel eyes and a sharply pointed nose had been. Did that matter? Victor would undoubtedly have different things to say if Antigone told him how her toes curled when Henry kissed her, how his delightfully cold hands warmed in hers, how he sighed her name like it was his last thread of sanity. Hiding her face in her hands, she looked over at Victor.

“I-I can’t go to London,” she protested. “If I left, Chapman would get all of our business and if you and I went together, Rudyard would set the house on fire or leverage the business as collateral in a game of blackjack or- or- Victor, I can’t...!”

Mostly because, try though she may, she couldn’t imagine herself in a fancy department store, wearing anything but her favorite, worn-out dress. She’d have to see her unkempt reflection in tri-fold, in infinitude, as the mirrors reflected her reflection for eternity. She’d have to be plain and pale and uncultured in a world where women were meant to be glamorous. Victor came from that world. Of all the insane things, Victor had forsaken that world for Piffling, for Rudyard. And now he wanted to take Antigone there? If that world hadn’t been suited to a handsome, intelligent, kind man like Victor Trevor, it would eat Antigone Funn alive. 

[berniesrevolution]

Creative jobs sound nice, especially if you’re currently stuck in an uncreative one that you don’t particularly like. Instead of emptying portable toilets or placating Under Armor-clad suburban tyrants who holler for your manager whenever you run out of decaf, you could be living in a glamorous Mad Men-ian world of brilliant colleagues, gorgeous workspaces, and long boozy lunches. Creative jobs sound attainable, too. Maybe you couldn’t be Steven Spielberg or Shonda Rhimes, but you could definitely be the person who writes their tweets. The pay would be good, and the work would be satisfying.

It sounds like a dream, but a very reasonable dream, because creative jobs are still jobs, and like any job they would have their downsides. The hours would probably be long. There would be  lots of meetings, many of which would be boring, pointless, or both boring and pointless. Sometimes the clients would be lunatics. But even the bad parts about a creative job can be justified with ease, because they help soothe the suspicions of parents and peers when you say, “Yeah, I make memes for a living, but I’m doing it for brands. We don’t have a ‘real office’, no. However, we do have a thriving and vibrant Slack.” Creative jobs offer the best of both worlds: You get to feel like an artist, but get paid like someone whose work is actually valued.

This is the conventional view of creative jobs, and I would like to suggest that it’s utter horseshit.

Someone is thinking about you right now. They’re trying to imagine what you’re wearing, what you’re eating, what you’re texting your sister. They want to know if you believe in God and if you have any recently deceased pets. They’re desperate to discover what makes you horny. Anxious. Mad. They study your tweets and Facebook posts like Jane Goodall studies chimps, trying to understand what’s going on inside that mysterious head of yours. They know about the half-eaten Chinese takeout in your fridge and the vibrator in your sock drawer. They watch you when you go the beach, they follow you when you go to the zoo, they stroll with you down the aisles of the liquor store, keeping meticulous notes about every person you greet along the way. They know where you went to elementary school, they know how often you visit the doctor. They have spreadsheets full of your favorite websites, your least-favorite films, your most flattering selfies.

And yet no matter how much they learn about you, they’re still hungry for more. They can’t stop thinking about you. They spend their days dreaming what it’s like to be you. You might call them creepy, obsessive, even criminal. Or you might just call them marketers, the single most grotesque embodiment of all that is contemptible about “creative jobs.”

They’ll get quite upset if you say that, of course. Not the part about being a marketer (they’re proud of that), but the part about having dubious intentions. “You’re misunderstanding me!” complains the marketer. They mean you no harm, they just want to educate you. They’re trying to make you happy. They only want to be loved by you.

“This is insane,” you might say. “You don’t give a single solitary shit about my well-being, you’re just stalking me so you can manipulate my behavior for profit. What the hell is wrong with you? Go away! No, I wouldn’t like to take a quick survey about my experience!”

The marketer will protest, claiming to have nothing but the greatest respect for you, the beloved consumer. “Marketing isn’t stalking,” they’ll say with an indignant squeal. “Marketing is storytelling!” It’s a creative endeavor, an art, and there’s nothing wrong with pushing its boundaries. Plus, it’s just their job.

They really believe this, too. Maybe marketers aren’t always angels, but their hearts are in the right place. One of the most famous marketers alive, Seth Godin, once wrote:

The truth is elusive. No one knows the whole truth about anything. We certainly don’t know the truth about the things we buy and recommend and use. What we do know (and what we talk about) is our story. Our story about why use [sic], recommend or are loyal to you and your products. Our story about the origin and the impact and the utility of what we buy.

This paragraph is magnificent, stirring, inscrutable bollocks. Here’s what it means in practice: Imagine you’re trying to sell herbal tea. Luiza herbal tea from Elon Moreh, to be exact. You’re a creative person, a storyteller. So you invent a story. It’s a calming and pleasant one—this herbal tea is special, it was made from the finest sun-kissed tea leaves, which were handpicked by family farmers who’ve worked the land for generations. Each cup is a moment of joy to be sipped in blissful tranquility as you curl up on the sofa with a soothing jazz record and the pitter-patter of raindrops against the window and a good thick book in your lap. Escape the hectic chaos of your daily life! Nurture your soul with a delicious cup of Luiza herbal tea from Elon Moreh!

(Continue Reading)

[thestudyfeels]

How to Get Back Into the Creative Process

A definitive guide by @thestudyfeels 

If you follow me (highly recommended, shameless plug), you might’ve noticed that I haven't posted in, well, a million years. The reason being that for about two months I hit an incredible low when it came to making content. I had ZERO creativity and inspiration for quite some time, and if you're a creator, you might recognize that as the best recipe for disaster out there. It's finger lickin' good! (Wow, now I'm dissing KFC, what's this turning into, Wendy's twitter?)

As a rule, I refrain myself from writing posts when I'm dead, since I know without a doubt, that the ennui will automatically transfer into the post. (I sincerely hope that none of my readers are walking zombies with a taste for lifeless posts and aimless rambles. Signed, me.)

But the truth is, my life revolves only around creating and doing crazy shit so I couldn’t deprive myself of this litness for too long. It meant that I had to pick my shit up real quick and get my ass back into the game.

Which is exactly what I did. (This is how you clickbait, youngsters. Watch and learn.)

During my record-breaking low, I couldn't fathom the thought of writing because of the non-existent ideas. I really wanted to, after all I felt empty inside from not doing anything worthwhile, but the lack of inspiration was eating me alive. (Again with the zombie jokes. Sorry, lmao.)

As a creator, such experiences probably sound common. Allow me to assure you that it's okay to be completely blank. It's okay to feel like shit because you love bringing your imagination to life but just can't seem to at the moment. You will get back to grinding again. Never lose faith in that. In fact, I'm specifically writing this guide to help you get back into creating (oh, and to rant about how awesome it is and how I can't get enough of it).

[And yes, this guide works no matter what kind of a creator you are. Bloggers, vloggers, podcasters, writers, illustrators, editors - legit every single one of you who identifies as a creator. I got yo’ back, my Liams and Janes.]

Finally! Now, with the intro done, let's settle down (here's your mint tea and Oreo cookies—no, no burnt popcorn this time #DoItDifferent) and get on with what I promised. Drumroll please, for this marks the starting of a new era where you make a comeback in your field, better than you’ve ever been.

I'm excited to see you win.

Creating is tough. Truly. I find it funny how most people under-appreciate the Arts, because a) hello Monica, wake UP. We're making stuff here. Fresh, crisp, and hot out of our skull-shaped baking pans. Isn't that insane? And b) I doubt any of us would be happy without the sappy rom-com movies and mystery shows to look forward to, or philo books to engulf in a day, or fast-paced vlogs to binge watch or addicting gam- ok, you get my point.

Although most of us are aware of how incredibly demanding and magical the entire process is, we still beat ourselves up for lacking those creative juices at times. Here's a pat from my side and a reminder to NOT do that. Why? Because all creators go through a “dry period” where they feel like they're totally done and are never going to produce anything ever again. In fact, even pop stars routinely take a step back from their fast-paced lifestyles to restore their creative talent - Ed Sheeran being a somewhat recent example (and a great one, have you listened to Divide?). I mean, if they can pause their careers and afford to take a break, then so can you. So stop making excuses and take that day off.

You can also think of it this way: the juices dry up (stop sniggering, ya hoes) because you’ve been using your craft too much, too fast (remember, genius only happens in small quantities) but they start flowing better than ever after a short period of revitalization. So, if you ever find yourself stuck, gazing at the walls in despair, blank docs becoming your serial killers - take that break and don't feel guilty about doing so.

Alrighty, moving onto making that break productive and getting those creative juices back into us. Oh, and Monica? Wipe that stupid smirk off your face.

Now, I don’t know why you started creating (bless you for doing so though), but I do know that there must be something which ignites you and keeps you pushing, even when you hit the lows. This can be anything - nature, music, puppies, art galleries, your loved ones - absolutely anything that makes your soul dance inside and your face flush with pure joy.

During my break, I spent a majority of my time listening to mentors and reading non-fiction. And listening to angelic yet badass music (cough, Billie Eilish, cough). And watching sunsets. And taking pictures of said sunsets. And doing yoga outside while that glamorous sun continued to dip below the horizon. (And trusting all along that I'll get back on track soon.) All things I genuinely love, no effs given. From outside, it seemed like I was on vacay, chilling out; but from the inside, I could feel inspiration and hope trickling back in, my needle moving towards full tank once more.

Point is, DO NOT waste your break loitering about. It's fun to play and party, but the real disaster unfolds when you get back to work and realize you're in the same state again, if not worse. A creative break should centre on getting inspiration back. Figure out what feeds your soul, be it watching other creators, spending time alone, or having meaningful convos, and just do more of it. Re-energize. Rejuvenate. And revive your art.

Now that break’s over and you finally feel more in touch with your creativity, it's time to ease back into it. And I said ‘ease’ because see, the thing is you simply can't force this process. A hint: the more you force yourself for ideas, the more you start relying on your surroundings and other people's work and start losing your own originality. So don't push your creativity.

BUT, good news, if you used that break to rethink your craft, you'll ALWAYS come back with a bunch of ideas, which are much more inventive than anything you've done before. (If you don't, it might mean that you need to extend your break just a teensy bit more.)

Easing means getting back slowly. With consistency. Every single day, without fail, spend some time creating in small chunks. And you CAN'T say “fuck it” or ignore it and purposely start a new show on Netflix after closing that blank doc again in the next tab because you didn’t wanna face the guilt. That's a rule. Obviously, once you get comfortable with the process, increase your time and increase the number of “create” blocks.

This is your life, so don't you dare tell me you're tired or sad or can't make stuff, because I know you can. I've seen you produce magic before and I know you have it in you to create lit fireworks this time as well.

… And soon enough, you'll find yourself happier than ever, for you'll be creating again. I hope you'll feel proud of yourself, because I, for sure, will be.

PS: let's also talk about me finishing this post. This is the first one after my break, HOHOHO! *wiggles eyebrow, which doesn't exist* The girl's back at it again as you see, and I hope you're just getting started too.

We're in this together.

Want to read more? Kay, plopping down some related posts right away —

Read my last post: Biggest Takeaways from The Alchemist (book review, sorta?)

Mentioned: Ed Sheeran’s creative break of almost a year

Rebecca Green and her creative low (you see, it happens to everyone!)

An update chit-chat post by Rebecca on the burnout (if you want the entire story)

Interview Two: motivation to get going (talks about how inspiration comes from inside - me recommending ways to regain your creative energy won’t help for inspiration is different for everyone)

+ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box!

Well, that’s a wrap! I post new articles twice a week, on every Sunday and Thursday, so you can follow me if you are into killing the game & conquering life. I’ll do my best to help you in the tough yet amazing journey called life. ✧

If you want to go through my blog, I suggest picking your choice of post from my masterpost list! Or, if you want to read something insightful on your cozy afternoon while chilling under blankets, I recommend reading one of my interviews. Feeling spoilt for choices? Here’s another! If you want to implement the ideas I share in my masterposts by taking action, take on one of my challenges!

I hope you are well; stay strong and conquer life, my conqueror.

— Nandini (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[unwiltingblossom]

Magicians s4 is garbage and here’s why. Spoilers.

Can we take a moment to appreciate just how bad Magicians s4 was, as a whole? I know, people are mad about the whole ‘going out of their way to hint at Eliot/Q for no reason when they had just as much of a connection as friends, just to upset the people that shipped it more when they killed Q’ but

Honestly, there’s so much more broken garbage about this season than just the one part of how it ended that the writers WANT us to talk about. So yes, let’s take a moment first to appreciate how the writers hate Quin and refused to let him grow as a character ever or give him the moments of success he had in the books, until they pointlessly murdered him instead of letting him finally be happy with the ending he should have gotten. It deserves derision.

But let’s focus on other things, too.

It’s long. It’s ranty. It’s going to rip apart season four and its finale and also touch on season three. It’s already tagged spoilers, but there’s more spoilers in here than out of the cut. Also, yes. We’re gonna talk about how the show pretends that it’s empowering females while it takes away all of their agency and makes them all about their men. And other hypocrisy.

First off. The fake female empowerment crap. And yes, it was so fake. We know it because the show itself utterly undermines and destroys it at the end of the season. Or sometimes literally right after they flex.

First: IT’S OKAY TO CALL MARGOT BY THE GENDER APPROPRIATE TITLE FOR ROYAL MONARCH OF A LAND. I know that by magical technicality she has to be ‘high KING’ (more on that later if I remember, because they actually ignore some of that) but there’s no reason Margot herself and other characters need to insist on ‘king’. Queen Regnant has the same ruling power and authority as a King Regnant. That’s why a non ruling Queen is called Queen Consort. Unless, of course, Magicians and SYFY are implying that Queen Elizabeth I and II are somehow inferior to King Edward and Henry the VIII(s) because they are only queens? Nevermind Elizabeth II has been queen so long her crown would have fossilized on her head by now if she wore it like fictional royalty always did.

Anyway.

Show. You’re not progressive because you have Penny smugly smile and say ‘let go of your cishet white boy bias, the main characters are the women’. You’re just obnoxious. Especially when Penny immediately finds out the cishet white boy he’s talking down to is actually his boss. Oof.

See, if you want us to believe other characters are actually the protagonists? You need to treat them like protagonists. You don’t do that, though. The only reason I remember the blonde librarian’s name is because it’s Zelda.

The episode builds up how important Fen is and how she has her own quest that will do something important, but what happens literally the very next episode? Oh right, Margot steps in and takes control of that, seizing the quest for herself. The only reasons I can presume this is for is #1 - the show writers despise the books and want to undermine everything about them, down to ensuring none of the humans get to rule Fillory even after they wasted multiple episodes democratically handing Margot the crown. Too bad for the talking animals, eh? and #2 to set up the sequel hook in the ending that, while interesting purely because it’s a Prince Caspian set up, was entirely unnecessary and could have been replaced by a series finale ending instead.

It actually makes no sense. Margot doesn’t contribute in any significant way she couldn’t have if she were still High King, because Fen could have done the entire black sand mission herself, because she is married to Eliot, remember, let’s not make fun of her feelings for him just because she’s not the main character (but she is! screeches smug penny!) - could she have seen the fairy? No, but she would have been able to work it out anyway, because it just wanted to help her. And here’s the kicker? The reason West Loria is against Fillory (aside from lol plot) is because OF FEN. Margot wasn’t ruling when Fillory chose the wrong side! Margot hasn’t weighed in at all, so why IN THE WORLD would this woman decide that she absolutely wouldn’t deal with any High King EXCEPT THE ONE WHO DID THE THING SHE DIDN’T LIKE?

Quick, tell me what Margot contributed to the plot from the point she left Fillory that Fen couldn’t have done, or that couldn’t have been accomplished by Margot still in Fillory.

Whoops, you’re out of time! There’s nothing. She did nothing of consequence that Fen couldn’t have done just slightly differently to suit her skills and actually justify the BS Penny spewed about her being a significant protagonist figure. Margot got swapped with Fen primarily because, no matter what self congratulatory subversive crap the show patted itself on the back with, Margot is actually a main character and Fen isn’t, so Margot needed to at least be near the action, and get her own quest, even if it was just taking Fen’s away from her. And also having a weird rushed romance with Josh for some reason. Who knows. I miss the genuine connection Margot and Eliot had for seasons that this season chose to throw away on a boring monster plot. I also miss Margot and Q’s friendship that this season ignored because we needed to focus on romance instead and pretend Margot doesn’t make friends.

Which reminds me, it’s super great how we went from Josh detesting Margot for making him help murder one of his only friends to Josh wanting to be her boyfriend because they share an STD. Really important and believable romance, there.

Kady also did fairly little from the point of that episode onward. They had to bring the Hedgewitches plot in to make her important, and even as the defacto ruler of the HW she still did very little except suggest that they could help the completely improbable ‘let’s just skip over the mechanics of making this work’ collaborative spell. And Alice and Julia already had the contacts to allow that to work anyway

ANYWAY MOVING ON

but not too far, because I need to talk about that awful red sand episode.

First, an aside: just because people liked your two musical episodes over the span of the entire series doesn’t mean you need to start stuffing singing into everywhere because ‘SINGING’

If only the problem with the episode was that the singing didn’t end with dancing Eliot. But no. This episode was PEAK fake female empowerment.

Margot finds a tribe of nomads who inexplicably choose to live in a desert that’s constantly trying to kill them. Every time women have an over the top emotional eruption (the show keeps saying ‘the tiniest bump’ or whatever but that’s a bunch of crap, it’s very clearly only when they have an eruption or tantrum), red sand appears and tries to kill them via possession. Men in the tribe protect them from this by jumping in the way and getting possessed instead, and then  USUALLY DIE because the method of fixing them is to effing stab them with double axes and pull out the spirit, then try to fix them with desert medicine.

Raised knowing that their lives are in constant danger, and that if they fly off the handle about something not only are they in danger but the men around them, whom they purportedly love, may very well die, the women of course are incapable of just controlling themselves and will erupt in rage regularly like some modern city girl even while being actively cautioned to calm down and knowing they’re endangering their entire settlement.

Upon hearing that men consistently risk their lives to protect their insane girlfriends who literally cannot control their emotions on pain of death, Margot concludes ‘wow, this culture is mighty misogynistic. sucks.’

but then, oh no. The sand isn’t trying to HURT them, the sand - for no reason anyone in the show bothers to explain, because world building isn’t important to the writers - it actually just wants the women not to be sad and will grant their any wish if one so much as has a temper tantrum. Trigger scene where Margot beats up all the evil menfolk for oppressing these poor, helpless, weak women who need a sassy foreign girl to save them from themselves and literal fairies to look after their every boo-boo. There’s brief lip service given to the idea that maybe the women themselves DON’T hate all the men around them, but Margot shrugs it off and suggests that now the women of the camp are free to literally murder any man who makes them mad, or ‘just’ force them to slave for them for however long they want.

PATRIARCHY DESTROYED, GUYS. EQUALITY ACHIEVED. MEN ARE NOW ENSLAVED AND KILLED OVER NOTHING!!! LOOK AT THE STRONG WOMEN WHO LITERALLY NEEDED A FOREIGN WHITE CHICK TO SHOW UP AND SAVE THEM SO THAT A WHOLE SPECIES OF FAIRIES COULD CONSTANTLY CODDLE AND LOOK AFTER THEIR EVERY NEED.

SO STRONG.

I’m not even joking, though. They tried to write a “YEAH! WOMEN!” plot but just made the women there look completely inept and incapable of fending for themselves at all without a smart American there to teach them. And that’s without getting into the horror of setting up a slave society where men are objects that can be killed on a whim. eugh.

Anyway, so Margot does all that and spends just...all season insisting WOMEN ARE STRONGER. WOMEN ARE TOUGH. WOMEN ARE STRONNGGG. DON’T NUTSACK OUT ON ME MAN. BE A PUSSY AND TOUGH IT OUT!!!!! OF COURSE THE WOMAN IS THE VIOLENT AND UNSTABLE ONE (wait--)

But where’s that all lead us to?

The season finale.

Before we dive too deep let’s take a brief moment to look at poor Julia through all this season.

#1, in some twist that doesn’t really make sense, the dean hides all of the main cast as alternate personalities under glamors with some heavy witness protection magic as a deal to the Library so they don’t have to die...and so naturally the Library has a dead or alive bounty on them.

huh?

Whatever, let’s not focus too hard on the garbage pail of a plot the monster plot is, because that’s tied into the huge dumpsterfire that season 3′s finale was, and the best to talk about that is how these smart and manipulative people literally couldn’t be bothered to lie to and trick a simple childlike monster into thinking he was their ACTUAL FRIEND no matter how often he looked for validation from them (maybe he wouldn’t have been so keen on clinging to Eliot if he thought you guys liked HIM, not just the body, you nimrods) and who began to get some development and understanding of living life normally without killing everyone right before they imprison him and send him to ultra-hell.

No it’s cool. Just imprison the childlike creature who you didn’t bother to try to teach morality to after it desperately sought some kind of affection and acceptance from literally anyone. Seems like the good guy thing to do. I mean, you showed that mean ol’ child molester by getting him to trust you, using his knowledge, and then literally trying to murder him, so honestly this isn’t out of character at all for our ‘good guys’. 

a n y way. JULIA.

It’s hinted at in season 3 that burning up all your god magic to make keys is actually temporary (but renders you able to be killed, so season 4 literally got it opposite of right, whoops), so obviously Julia really wants to get that back. She’s been motivated and shaped by magic as much as Q. She has been raped, lost her shade, suffered, had people die protecting and helping her, and became a goddess entirely by her own merit. She reasonably wants to get that power back, since she can’t die and isn’t really affected by magic in a normal way so she’s not fully human still.

Julia rescues everyone from the mindwipe by dying literally hundreds, maybe thousands of times and coming back. She gets a Mainaid (who I don’t feel like spelling right) that comes to believe in her and worship her as a goddess, and what happens? Well, first Penny who wants to get his dick wet gets jealous and runs off because he’s not the center of her world for like an hour. Partly because of this, the girl whom she rescued from suicide gets pointlessly murdered protecting her.

But hey, they’ve confirmed Julia is still a deity mostly but just can’t seem to access her powers. So Julia keeps digging and looking for a way to get them back. This leads to discovering an ancient book in the mirror version of the library who confirms that yes, she’s basically a demigod who won’t ever die, but needs to complete the transition either back to full godhood or to full humanity or she’s always be a little wrong, basically like she dislocated her divine limb fixing the keys and it can either be put back in or chopped off.

Now, this book (the Binder) warns her that both options are going to be long and painful and have their downsides, and implies they’ll be permanent, so she’s going to have to be SURE of what she wants. This warning is the ONLY reason Julia doesn’t immediately jump to a decision. And then the Monster shows up and kidnaps her. She calls the Lady Underground, who is unhelpful and just says ‘gotta make a choice yourself girl, no wrong answer’ and then the lady gets herself killed for no reason after Julia is immediately possessed.

Penny ‘rescues’ her by stabbing her in the back to pull the spirit out, and then blah blah her demigodhood doesn’t like that stabby thing, and it won’t let her die but also won’t heal. Solution? Make the choice and go full god or human and it’ll fix. Naturally, even though Julia’s been awake this whole time, she’s now unconscious ‘for the pain’ and Penny who is A POWERFUL TELEPATH can’t be bothered to pop in her head and ask what she wants under those circumstances.

no, he makes her decision FOR her. This is important, we’ll get back to this.

Penny has been chasing Julia(’s tail) around all season now. He’s been a part of her path to godhood this whole time, knows what she’s done to try to get it, so when forced to make a permanent choice for her

THIS

DICKHEAD

CHOOSES TO MAKE HER HUMAN. Against EVERYTHING he’s seen of her up until this point, and against whatever he knew of his Julia. Why? “I was selfish” WELL THANK YOU, MISTER “I JUST WANNA GET LAID” FOR AT LEAST ADMITTING YOU ROBBED A WOMAN OF SOMETHING SO UNBELIEVABLY SIGNIFICANT AND IMPORTANT AND LITERALLY LEFT HER WITHOUT MAGIC BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO STICK IT IN.

That’s right. Fandom’s all mad that Quentin died and they glorified suicide? Yeah, they just stripped away ALL AGENCY from a woman and made a choice for her that he KNEW she didn’t want just because it would be more convenient for him. Just violate the trust and remove the agency of the woman you already raped on screen once, show. Seems smart. Plus, now she does nothing for the rest of the episode and gets unfairly saddled with the guilt of Q’s demise because you just had to hamfist in his death.

ohoho but it doesn’t end there, no.

Penny, a man, takes away everything Julia earned HERSELF and locks away her path back to godhood (despite book Julia staying a goddess and becoming a Dryad) and then leaves her helpless and pointless sitting at home hoping everyone does okay, wrestling with her new existential crisis of being a weak, magicless human after all she did to get magic in the first place...and then Quentin dies, and because she’s so sad about him, suddenly she can do magic again! Weird internal consistency there considering how little is present in s4.

So Julia goes from a self-made woman, whose primary connections outside of her childhood friend are other women, to a woman whose whole life is now dictated by men. Important choices are made for her, she is passive in a crisis about her friends, and then her breakthrough to regain magic is...because of a man.

(BTW Kady also breaks down and decides she’s all about Penny, even though she’s kind of already worked through this last year and had plenty of other stuff to do this season)

And since I’m talking about consistency, let’s glance at THAT can of worms, shall we?

First and foremost: the High King of Fillory shouldn’t be able to leave Fillory. Remember when that was a huge plot point that caused great angst for Eliot in season 2? And how it only stopped because magic went away so the spells involved no longer worked?

Let’s assume Margot was grandfathered out into the normal world, and further assume that an election still makes her High King, not Eliot. As soon as Ember’s Emanation snapped her back into Fillory, she shouldn’t have been able to leave until MAYBE she was ‘overthrown’ (which might have given a REASON for her to be overthrown, if her location on earth mattered)

Yet that’s not a concern at all. Margot also doesn’t really bother to rule much so. sucks. but whatever. Clearly they just wanted King Fen here. (Again, ‘king’, because ‘queen’ is weak somehow. ew girls.)

NEXT

Eliot. How do you mess up Eliot when he’s in like three episodes and barely in two of those? I don’t know but they did it.

Here’s the problem with his ‘darkest memory’ thing. It’s not that Eliot might have feelings for Q, this surprises NO ONE, it’s everything else about it.

First. Puzzle Quentin marries PEACH GIRL. He’s not married to Eliot, they just share an extremely deep bond. It’s pretty much explicitly nonromantic though, given that Quentin marries and breeds with some girl he never mentions nor appears to mourn again. He’s hit with a lifetime of feelings, and instead of thinking “I had a wife...and a child...what happened to my child?” he thinks “Gee, I should hook up with Eliot even though I’m bicurious at best.”

This. This is while he is self-professed to be in love with Alice, around the time of his fling with Poppy, and again, right after finding out he was married, widowed, and a father. This is when the writers decided to stage “Once, Quentin wanted to marry Eliot.” It just makes Quentin look fickle, unfaithful, and frankly some kind of addicted to relationships, like he’s terrified of not being in one.

But it’s also? Not a good look for Eliot. Because this season basically MOCKS his marriage to Fen. He’s shown to be affectionate to her, she is in the trio of the people that he loves (Margot, Quentin, and Fen) who he summons to protect him, but very very very little is spoken or suggested by him to be missing her or wanting to see her again, and more importantly, it doesn’t ring true for him to be ‘afraid of commitment’ or whatever it is he was suggesting by rejecting Q here.

Why? Because he already did this arc. Season 2 is all about him accepting his role of King (which they take away because lol) and more importantly, his marriage to Fen. He has to learn to accept monogamy and actually build feelings for Fen, eventually starting a family with her - that is tragically ripped from him by the Fairies. He then spends s3 with Fen as his wife and with a fake daughter, adventuring and questing and crap, and during the time the scene is set very clearly fine with commitment, as he’s actually in love with Fen at this point and not running away from the marriage. During this time he’s also totally cool with marrying another king for peace because he likes that guy, but I guess we should forget him because...I don’t know? He’s black, maybe?

By the way, he mentions how he ‘has sex with people’s boyfriends’ and shows the scene of his doppel getting it on with someone who has a boyfriend and ignores that he is actively cheating on Fen while he is doing this.

And the show makes fun of Fen mourning the death of her husband, and also implies something like Fen maybe didn’t really love him because she didn’t see herself as a person and was only raised ‘for the high king’ (nevermind she used to be a FU Fighter, they forgot), and that she’s dealt with losing her child TWICE now. Nah, she’s mostly for laughs because DAGGERS.

This is all done just to diminish Eliot/Fen so they can pretend Quentin was in a triangle with Eliot and Alice literally just to make it more sad when he dies unbelievably pointlessly.

Gosh.

Am I forgetting anything? Hm.

The library plot was garbage, but that ties into the dumpsterfire of s3 finale.

Oh yes. Isn’t it great when Marina is just a repeated trope forever? Ah, yes. Me too. I love when characters are super flanderized instead of being allowed to grow and change. All characters in Magicians basically just need to spin their wheels and retrace steps over and over until they die.

Ah yes.

Quentin, thy name is hypocrisy. You’ve been abusive to Alice for three seasons, and then you have the nerve to freak out at her over the keys? Sure it was a dick move, but honestly this only happened because you kept abusing Alice and manipulating her into loving you over and over. Because you’re a dick.

And let’s close out on that, I think, not on a bizarre rendition of Take on Me.

Alice, ex-Niffin, smartest and most talented and most capable mage they know, does not get any say when Quentin stupidly kills himself (by the way he only dies because for reasons known only to the writers he STOPS running and just stands there until he dies). She doesn’t throw the thing in WITH Quentin stopping the crisis before it happens (why were they moving so slowly when there was such a short timeframe? Just LOB EM IN, MAN! Alternatively wtf was the library still forcibly shorting people when there was a universal crisis and Zelda KNEW IT?)

Nope.

Our girl power season ends like this:

Julia loses her agency and has her life defined by the two main men in her life

Alice has no agency in how things play out in the mirror and has her life defined by the two (same) men in her life

Margot is told to ‘go cry outside or something’, and has fallen in love with a random white dude because she banged him once rather than literally let him die. This is character development, because none of the other relationships she’s ever had matter or affected her because they weren’t a romance.

Kady decides to define her life around the (dead) man in her life, until the other man in her life makes her realize he needs her still.

Fen is overthrown by some man offscreen

Zelda refuses to own up to the Library’s problems and try to fix them herself, and instead decides she’s going to pick someone else to do it for her. Also arguably she just sat back and let two men decide how the world would play out.

But it’s okay, guys. The Magicians is very subversive and not like other shows. The white cishet men aren’t main characters, and they proved that because Quentin died, and that’s WAY more subversive than the books, where everyone gets stories and endings that ACTUALLY MAKE SENSE FOR THEM and Quentin actually gets to eventually be happy.

But it’s not a suicide, because Quentin’s friends love him and therefore he had a good thing going, and Quentin has never ever missed or thrown away a good thing before.

Remember guys

it’s really realistic, because ANYONE CAN DIE IN REAL LIFE GUYS

OH MY LORD JUST GIVE US THE EMMY AND TELL US WE’RE PROGRESSIVE, PLEASE. WE’RE ALMOST THERE!

That’s season 4 of Magicians.

It’s bad.

[lananiscorner]

Unsettled - Chapter 5: Strife

Summary: Faced with Absalom in battle once more, the time has come for Strife to show who he really is and what he can do. Even if it costs his life. 

„Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

The chant rang in his ears, an auditory assault from all sides as a circle formed around them. The same ten nephilim who had formed the front row before were doing so again, weapons bared and shoulders squared, determined to prevent any attempt at escape. Behind them, hundreds more bolstered the defense, but while some of the more impatient ones pushed and shoved to get a better view, none dared to interrupt the first circle. Absalom, whose right hand was once again wielding that twisted, three-eyed battle ax as if it had the weight of a tooth pick, stood towering and grinning.

In its very basics, the situation was painfully familiar. Literally.

The pain that shot through his flank was not real and he knew it. It was an echo of their first fight, unbidden and inconvenient and he took a deep breath as he tried to put it out of his mind. Not now. Not yet. There was a time for glamor and tricks and it was not now.

“Remind me of the rules again. I was kind of busy not dying the last time we did this.”

Absalom’s grin only widened. “I win and you die. Those are the rules.”

“Unless you manage to injure Absalom or manage to hold out undefeated until Lilith’s pendulum stops swinging,” the one with the scythe lobbed back with a frown. How someone with a face that kind could perpetually look like he was willing to murder everyone was anybody’s guess.

“Well, Lilith is not here, though, is she?”

“I’ll keep the time, I’ll make it mine...” It was one of the five female nephilim in the first circle who offered her ‘assistance’, although he wasn’t sure that was the right word. She lapsed back into frantic, mumbled rambling as soon as the words were spoken, all the while twisting strings around the awkwardly ridged glaive she was holding. It wasn’t until he focused on the texture of the weapon that he realized it was made of several dozens of pale spines, straightened painfully and fused together into one long stick. He would have bet his right hand that the strings had been someone’s hair at some point. And somehow, even now all of it still looked somewhat... alive. “Stop to stop makes end to end. Lace and layer, weave and bend.”

“You are completely mad.”

That only turned Absalom’s grin into laughter and the other nephilim soon followed. The skeletal lady to his left sounded strangely proud, even though her voice was thin as a blade of grass. “What do you think we call our sister dearest? Madness.”

You are all mad, he wanted to say, but he managed to swallow the words just in time before they left his mouth. Who was he to talk? He could have left this world soon as he had been able to walk again, but no, he had waited here for Absalom to arrive, to challenge him to another battle to the death.

“All nephilim are blood mad”, Daragh had once told him. “The well that spawned your souls was poisoned from the moment that demon harlot conceived you.”

“Alright then,” Absalom rolled his shoulders—including the left that had started growing back the first few inches of arm he had been missing during their first duel. “Madness will let us know when she’s done decorating Frenzy. In the highly unlikely event that you are not dead by then, you may join our army.”

It was extremely unlikely, but he nodded all the same. There was no way he was going to outlast Absalom for however long this insane hag would take to finish her crafts project. As a matter of fact, he fully suspected her to unravel the damn thing once she was nearly done and start all over. Given the reputation the nephilim had throughout the galaxy, that was the most likely outcome. No, he’d have to get Absalom first. He tightened his grip around Mercy.

“I’m ready.”

He was not.

The first swing of the ax missed him so closely, he could feel the rush of the air as he ducked and see the hairs it had cut off his head as they floated down in front of his face. As Nessa had always said, they couldn’t seem to decide whether they wanted to be red or brown or black and the thought only brought back renewed awareness of where he was fighting. He looked at the spot where something had crunched beneath his boot to find the burned corpse of a Gothar there. The embers of the village’s central fireplace sparked softly as Absalom crushed them under his heel.

This time they were not fighting on some mountain plateau. They were fighting in a sea of corpses. This was the unfamiliar part.

He rolled out of the way of the second swing and narrowly dodged the third. Absalom, for all his size and bulk was terrifyingly fast and though part of him wanted to just aim the damn gun and get it over with, he was quite confident that his own arm would not grow back like Absalom’s, should that ax hit home. He had to wait for an opening. If he could hold out just that long, drown out just enough of that—

“You are still a coward, boy!” Gone was the grin. Suddenly, a shadow had cast over Absalom’s face, turning those flat features into something downright demonic. “You were a coward when you first fought me!” The next swing came low and whatever momentum and balance he had had before evaporated as he jumped to avoid getting his shins separated from his knees. “And you are still a coward now!”

The ax returned with the same speed, only this time it came in high. He was just about ready to dodge when the weapon suddenly slipped from Absalom’s hand, planting itself into the ground with an abrupt thud, as if gravity itself had claimed it and was unwilling to give it back to anyone but its master.

The ax had stopped. Absalom’s fist had not.

His jaw cracked under the impact and the pain was instantaneous. Blood spilled from where those knuckles, tough as stone, had split open the skin and flesh of his cheek. The sheer force of the blow sent him tumbling off to the right until one of the others caught him and pushed him back into the ring. He landed on all fours, spit out three of his teeth, and set his mind to convincing himself that it was not as bad as it felt. It probably wasn’t. At least he hoped so.

“I—ammod...”

Alright. Maybe it was as bad as it felt. At the very least, it was bad enough to render the muscles of his jaw incapable of forming the words ‘I am not’, while also making agony the likes of which he had never known sear through his entire head at the mangled effort to form those three simple words.

Absalom picked up his ax—once again seemingly light as a feather—and lifted it for one final strike.

“For a moment I actually fought you had guts, but now I see your challenge for what it truly is: a pathetic attempt to save your face.”

He wanted to ask if the pun was intended, but his jaw refused. Numbing it out right now was the best he could do for now.

Absalom’s voice grew cold as ice. “I’ll make sure there’ll be nothing left of it before we turn this world and you to ash.”

The ax came down in a straight, swift cut. Easy to dodge. This was a trap. He knew it was a trap, yet what was he supposed to do? His options were few. He could stay put and get cleaved in two or he could dodge to either side and reap whatever damage Absalom was sowing.

He decided on rolling left at the last second. That way, the worst Absalom could do was backhand him, which would hopefully not be as painful as a straight up punch. This time, he did not even think about aiming—you only need to injure him, not kill him, it won’t matter where you hit. Instead, he merely raised his arm and pulled the trigger.

Absalom turned in kind and used the momentum to kick his wrist hard enough to shatter a few more bones. Mercy slipped from his grip and was swiftly kicked to the crowd where Conquest claimed it for himself. Behind where Absalom had stood, the one with the scythe waited silently, four bullet holes seared into his chest. If he was in any pain, he did not show it.

How? Just how? He had hunted with this gun. He knew how fast it was. How powerful. How in all the realms between Heaven and Hell had Absalom managed to somehow be faster than that?

The shock must have shown on his face, because Absalom grinned as he gripped him by the throat and raised him high enough to make his feet dangle uselessly above the ground. Above Absalom’s fingers, his jaw screamed bloody murder.

“You will pay for your recklessness, boy.”

And pay he did. The first slam knocked the breath out of his lungs. The second knocked out blood. The third shattered both one of his shoulders and one of the benches around the fire. The fourth ended with his face in the embers, just long enough to make him feel as if his face was melting, but not long enough to scar. He had been half a second away from screaming out whatever was left of his lungs when Absalom raised him up one more time and threw him onto the closest pile of Gothar corpses. Even through the blood and ash that coated his eyes, he could tell that those charred hands were too small to belong to an elder.

“And now, to end this.”

Absalom picked up his ax once more, its green eyes twitching in almost malicious anticipation and all of a sudden the truth hit him with such clarity, all he could do was acknowledge his own stupidity in the face of this fight.

It was the damn ax. It had been the damn ax all along.

The bow had arrows imbued with different kinds of magic. The scythe could apparently change size at will. The glaive seemed to almost be... alive... still. It was hardly a stretch to imagine that the damned ax was not just a weapon either. Now that he knew, he could feel the pull of its gaze, the way it felt like the same gnarled, black tendrils that fused the blade to the shaft wrapped around his limbs every time he tried to move, every time the eyes focused on him. And there were three of them. At least one eye was always focused on him.

Think, damn you, think!

With every step Absalom took, he could feel his heart beat faster. He was about five seconds from death and he needed a strategy, preferably yesterday. It couldn’t be so hard now, could it? He hadn’t let physical shortcomings get in his way when he had hunted for the Gothar, when he had slain a raptor of the plains, when he had injured the other nephilim girl. Everyone had a weakness that could be exploited. Even Daragh, for all her wisdom and power, had not been perfect, if you knew what to look for. Absalom could bleed and he could lose limbs. He was not invulnerable.

Then again, he had given that arm up willingly to—oh. Yes. That was right. To HER.

Everyone had a weakness. Even Absalom.

Absalom, who was now standing in front of him, looking down on him as if he were nothing but an insect to be squashed, ax firmly in hand and ready to cleave him in two for real this time.

“You should have known better than to pick another fight with me, boy.”

Absalom’s arm moved backwards, gathering momentum for one last swing. He thought back to his lessons with Daragh, his hunts with Shivvan, his time with the others, and he almost wanted to laugh at the revelation that hit him like a sack full of rocks. It didn’t matter if his jaw was in pieces. It didn’t matter if his lungs were injured. It didn’t matter if he had the breath or the tongue to speak the words. All that mattered was that Absalom needed to believe he had heard them.

“Time to die, cow—”

“All this fun and you do not even invite me?”

The ax paused. Absalom paused. For a moment, the crowd around them fell quiet. Six-hundred heads turned in one direction, looking far behind Absalom, to find the source of that alluring voice, but they would come up empty. He knew it just as surely as he knew that his lips had moved, even though they had looked closed to everyone else. For just a moment, he had them all fooled, and a moment was all he needed.

He reached for the knife fastened to his belt and used what little strength was left in his body to propel himself forward. The blade hit home hard, entering straight between two of Absalom’s ribs.

Of course, the pain that shot through him as his entire body revolted against the suicidal exertion destroyed the illusion. The annoying little sting Absalom probably felt did all the rest. The look in his eyes as he shook off the haunting echo of Lilith’s voice was one of pure murder. Once again, that iron hand fastened around his throat.

“You little runt! You cowardly—”

“My name...” He could feel the blood as it bubbled up in his throat. It didn’t matter. “...is...” He was not going to give him this. Not now. Not after everything. If a Gothar calf could touch a nephilim without fear, then so he could be brave in the face of certain death. He was not going to give Absalom this victory. “...Strife.”

Conquest. Silence. Madness. It wasn’t difficult to see the pattern. “And if you don’t have a name by then, he will kill you. Slowly.” It wasn’t difficult to understand what was expected of him. Perhaps his stubborn refusal to give up had led him to certain doom. Perhaps his decision to antagonize three older and stronger nephilim than him in a single day was about to bring him a cruel and painful death.

But at least I will die as me. I have a name. I am. Strife.

No one could take that away from him. Not Absalom. Not Lilith. Not anyone. It was as the elders had said. Damn, even Nessa, young and ignorant of everything nephilim as all the other calves had been able to see it. He lived for a challenge, for confrontation. It had allowed him to learn. It had allowed him to grow. It was in his very nature.

And if sorrow sometimes followed strife, then so be it.

Humble were my beginnings...

“That’s enough, Absalom!”

Suddenly, the grip around his throat vanished and he felt the impact in every bone as he hit the ground, yet somehow the earth beneath him felt surprisingly soft. Cold, but soft. It was almost like he was floating. He was tired. So very tired...

“—played us—fools—cheated!”

Shut up. He didn’t care who it was that was shouting. It sounded vaguely like Absalom, but he couldn’t care. Even through the thick veil around his ears it was still too loud. He was so tired.

“—yed—the rules—won—our brother!”

You shut up too. Another voice, though it was getting hard to tell them apart. Everything felt so fuzzy. So tired.

“—nameless worm—”

Shut up.

“—is Strife.”

Shut... up...

“—let—die—Death.”

Shut....

“—make me—”

***

He was surrounded by lunatics. It was the only reasonable explanation Death could come up with for what had transpired here today, although that did not mean it was a satisfying one.

All that stalling, all that subtle corralling Absalom into taking his sweet time turning this planet to ash, and what had their youngest brother—Strife, he has a name now, Death reminded himself—done with this gift? Shot Silence, antagonized Conquest and then taken special care to insult Absalom as well.

How Death had managed to talk Absalom out of cutting off Strife’s head after losing the duel, he frankly had no idea. All he knew was that neither Absalom nor Conquest were ever going to give him an inch of mercy in the future. Nephilim did not forget and they certainly did not forgive.

It was the sudden movement from the entrance of his tent that redirected Death’s attention away from his brother’s injuries. He readied himself for a lecture from Absalom or some snide remark from Conquest, only to come face to face with the person he had least expected to care about what happened to their injured brother.

“Silence? What in the Creator’s name are you doing here?”

His sister, true to her own epithet, remained mum. The gunshot would had long been treated, but she still winced as she shrugged, then slinked around to the other side of their injured brother and nodded slightly.

“He’ll be fine. Should be waking up soon, although I have half a mind to beat him senseless again as soon as he does.”

That made her giggle and her voice sounded at once young as a child and ancient as a forgotten goddess. He supposed it was appropriate. She had been born the same day as he had, yet she looked like a girl only halfway to adulthood. Always had. Probably always would. She sat down with her bare feet pressed sole to sole and started rocking and humming gently. If he had not been nearly finished with his work, Death would have told her to get lost. As things stood, having her here might actually have been a good thing. At least that way if Strife were to think of another ingenious idea to get himself nearly killed, she would manage to keep it just between the three of them.

Well, four of them. Death glanced around the tent and frowned. He could not see Shade, but he had no doubt that she was present too. The twins were inseparable after all.

It only took a few more minutes for Strife to regain his senses and the groan that escaped him when he did was enough to tell Death that he had managed to heal the injuries while preserving the pain. Serves him right. Pain could be a useful lesson.

“What—? Where—?”

“You’re still alive,” Death replied tersely. “You’re in my tent. And you’re an idiot.”

“Ah.” If he was insulted, he did not show it. “There’s that hospitality Daragh prepared me for.”

Death frowned. That was a name he had hoped never to hear again. He remembered the old crone. She had put up rather a good fight for someone so close to the end of her life. She had even managed to seriously injure some of his younger siblings. Killing her had required a lot of dodging precisely aimed magic and some creative use of Harvester’s different forms. Then, when he had resurrected her to ask if there had been a nephilim in the village before the horde arrived, she had had the gall to insult him and try to lecture him on the blasphemy that was necromancy. Stubborn as an angel, annoying as a demon and unfortunately his best chance of getting the information he needed. That was never a good combination.

“Was that...” Strife sat up slowly. “Was that you who talked Absalom out of killing me after I stabbed him?”

“You managed to wound him.” Death shrugged as he put away the rest of his supplies and whisked them away into the same pocket dimension that held most of the nephilims’ weaponry and gear. Now, only the weapons and armor spread out between him and the entrance of the tent were left. “You chose a name for yourself, too. By all the rules of the initiation, you won, and it was Absalom who created those rules in the first place.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

“It is.” Silence actually had the audacity to stick her tongue out to him. “Congratulations, brother.”

“You seem pretty cheerful about my victory, for someone I shot.” The apprehension was clear in Strife’s voice and in the way he bristled, but to his credit, he remained seated where he was. Death shook his head. It was always the newcomers, the young ones, who treated her so indifferently. Once they saw what she was capable of on a true battlefield, though...

“Well, thanks, I guess.” It took Death a moment to realize that the gratitude had been directed not just at Silence, but also at him. By the time he had focused on the conversation again, Strife was already turning back to Silence. “I hope your shoulder’s better.” Then, his focus suddenly shifted slightly to the left. “But maybe next time you two could not attack me?”

“You two?”

“Me and Shade.” Silence grinned. “We were just playing.”

“Playing. Riiiiight.”

“Hold on.” Death decided to stop him right there. “You can see Shade?”

“You can’t?” Strife cocked his head and Death could have sworn there was just a tinge of ridicule in his voice, a hint of a smile on his lips. He truly was an insufferable creature. “She’s right there.” He pointed to the empty space to Silence’s right. “Right next to her. You can tell by the way the air shifts, just a little, flickering like the air above a fire.”

“Very few people have ever been able to see my sister,” Silence explained with a sly glance to her side. “I think Death’s annoyed he’s not one of those who can.”

“I’m not,” Death threw in quickly. “And it doesn’t matter now, either. We will be moving on soon. There’s no time for chatting.”

“You’re definitely annoyed,” Strife insisted. “And you’re a terrible liar.”

His hand moved almost automatically, in a swing so swift it caught Strife completely by surprise. Judging from the pained sound he gave as the backhand hit his recently healed jaw—Absalom had made quite a spectacular mess of it—it hurt just as much as Death had intended it to.

“You are a brash, insolent, unruly whelp and you should really learn to keep your mouth shut. For your own sake. Don’t think I’ll save you next time you incur Absalom’s ire.”

“No worries there. I didn’t even expect you to do it this time.”

Death blinked, took a deep breath, and forced the wrath that filled him down again one miniscule piece at a time. It was not until he was absolutely sure that he was not going to strangle his brother after all that he finally spoke.

“Exactly what is your problem, Strife? You do understand that Absalom is strong enough to kill you in one strike? You do understand that Conquest and I, that most of the Firstborn, really, could kill you in any fight, any day? You do understand that you have survived through sheer luck until now, right?”

“Luck?!” Strife all but spit the word at him. “LUCK?! What makes you think that luck had any damned thing to do with this? I survived my first battle with Absalom, because of my gifts! I survived my injuries, because of Daragh and Reü and the other Gothar elders! I gained strength and skill, because I worked for them! And I survived my second battle with Absalom, because I was smart and you were pedantic! I’m not going to pretend that this was all my doing, but luck, chance, had nothing to do with any of this.”

“If you are so sure of that, why even wait for us to get here,” Death scoffed at him. “The Tree of Life is right over there!” He pointed due northeast. “Please do not tell me that you are stupid enough to not even have considered leaving.”

“Of course I considered it.” This time, there was no bite to the words, and somehow that only made it worse. Death felt his spine tingle. He had heard that hopeless tone of voice before, many times. By the Abyss, half the time he was the cause of it! But he had never heard it from one of their own. Never from a nephilim. “After that... reception I got on my very first day in this universe, I would have loved to leave all of you behind and never deal with any of you again.”

Did any of the others ever feel that way; Death found himself wondering, even though he tried to banish the thought as quickly as it had come. Strife wasn’t the first to have nearly died during his initiation. He was the first—and hopefully last—to have had to go through it twice, but he was not the first to have nearly been slain by Absalom. Did the others still resent Absalom and the Firstborn as much as Strife obviously did? Death could not see how. They had fought many battles together by now and not once had any of the others voiced such thoughts.

Or maybe it is just his time with the inhabitants of this world that has made him soft.

Now that was a terrifying thought. Nephilim did not deal in softness. They did not deal in kindness, in compassion. He was not sure if anyone who did would ever last long among them.

“I considered it,” Strife repeated, this time slightly less bitter, but no less... disappointed. “But in case you haven’t noticed, we nephilim have earned quite the reputation throughout the universe and it is not a good one. The angels consider us abominations, the demons think we’re Lilith’s pets, and most of the rest of the universe would sooner spit on us than even talk to us. So tell me, Death, where was I supposed to go?” He touched the markings on his shoulders, runes that looked like scars carved into his flesh. All nephilim had them, some only on one shoulder, some on both, but either way they marked them unmistakably as half-angel, half-demon. “I am a nephilim. For better or for worse, Absalom, Silence, Shade, Conquest, you... you are my family, my people. For better or for worse, this is where I belong.”

“Then you’d best learn not to antagonize Absalom every chance you get. Save the fighting for our enemies. We have enough of them.”

Strife laughed. “If that’s what you’re hoping for, you are going to be very disappointed. I’ll antagonize whomsoever I want, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Death could only hope that the tone of his voice conveyed just how much of a terrible idea he considered that to be. It never ceased to amaze him how some of his younger siblings were so eager to get themselves into trouble. He gestured to the assortment of armor and weapons between himself and the tent’s entrance. “Now take your pick and gear up. We should be leaving soon.”

Strife caught himself halfway through the word ‘why’, then focused on the armors instead. Death wanted to sigh in relief. Perhaps he was not a completely lost cause.

“I can choose any of these?”

“Any you want. We always carry some spare, just in case something gets damaged beyond compare in battle. All of these should be light enough for you, given how you fight.”

“Are you insulting me? Again?”

“Not yet, but if that’s what it’s going to take to get you out of here, I can do that, too.”

Strife rolled his eyes at him, then went back to inspecting the equipment. In the end, his hands reached for a familiar set of thin, soft leather covered in plates of adamantine that seemed to melt into the fabric. Death froze.

“I would not pick that if I were you.”

“You said I can take any I want.”

“You can. Whether you should want to pick Conquest’s old armor of all things is an entirely different question.”

“He will be so jealous,” Silence giggled. Death shot her a glare that could have melted steel. Riling up Conquest was never a good idea. The last thing he needed was for anybody else to give Strife bad ideas.

“He gets really angry when he feels insulted,” Shade whispered from... wherever in the tent she was currently hiding. If Strife’s eyes were to be believed, she was inspecting the weapons. “He will hate you.”

“Good!” Strife grinned as he stripped off his damaged hunting gear and slipped into the armor instead. It fused to his body to the point where it looked as if the plates were growing directly from his skin. “Because I already hate him.”

“Because of the girl?”

“Nessa,” Strife corrected Silence quickly. “Bravest child I’ve ever met. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“If that’s how you approach battle, you will hate being a nephilim,” Death scoffed.

Strife chose to ignore him. Instead he turned to the weapons, passing up each and every single offering only to reach for the gun and knife he had carried with him into his fight with Absalom. The gun, Death could understand. It was a fine pistol, crafted expertly by the hands of the Makers, to the point where Death was not sure any of the nephilim would ever be able to fix it if it were to break. Not that that was very likely. Maker weapons could last for hundreds of thousands of years. As a matter of fact, much of what the younger nephilim carried had been forged by the Mad Smith.

But the knife? It had clearly been made by the people of this planet—Death had already forgotten their name, if he had ever known it—and seemed designed for hunting rather than conquering. He was tempted to critique the choice, but he knew it would be pointless. If he had learned anything about his youngest brother, it was that he was too stubborn for his own good, especially where the people of this planet were concerned. It was one more reason to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“You said it yourself, Strife: you are a nephilim.” Fine then. If he had to pick his battles, this was one that worth resuming. “This is what we nephilim do: we conquer a planet. We kill every living creature on it. And if Absalom decides it’s not good enough, we turn it to ash and move on. If you are coming with us, you will have to get used to fighting and killing.”

“Oh, I’m ready to fight and kill,” Strife lobbed back at him as he fastened a holster to his belt and stowed the gun and knife. “When there’s something worth killing. I’ll gladly leave the slaughtering of unarmed children to Conquest and his ilk.” He picked up the blood-soaked clothes he had just discarded once more and lifted them carefully. “Huh. Funny. I never realized how heavy these were.”

“There’s a Burden spell attached to the red strands woven intro the fabric,” Death mused as he returned the rest of the gear to their proper dimension. Now he just needed to return the tent back to the ash his ghouls had built it from and they would be ready to depart at last. “I noticed it when I treated your injuries. I suppose whatever fool made you wear that thought it would keep you more restrained.”

“No.” Strife smiled, but it was a bitter gesture, one of regret. “If I had to take a guess, she wanted me to grow stronger faster.” He set the clothes down gently, then gave Silence and Shade—at least Death presumed she was there—a quick grin. “Now let’s see if the two of you are right. Let’s find Conquest.”

Death took a deep breath and just barely resisted the urge to rub his temples in frustration.

His youngest brother had chosen his name well. He truly was relentlessly incorrigible.

Note: Can I just say how utterly happy I am that I no longer have to tip-toe around his name anymore? I mean, do you guys have any idea how hard it is to write dialogue for a character who does not know his own name in-universe?