#i mourn places like people no matter how badly i want to move on

[willowfey]

i love waking up with an anxiety bellyache every singe morning for months on end why wouldn’t i i’m having so much fun ❤️

[lovelornronnie]

(Click to enhance teh quality!!)

A piece I made for my fanfic "Paliperidone"!! You can read it here!! or click more on this post

"Paliperidone"

It was stormy nights like this that left Edd restless. Tossing and turning in his bed, trying to put his racing mind at peace as the booming sounds of thunder ensued. The hard pitter-patter of the rain came pouring down ever so violently, making a white noise that most people found comforting. But for him? It was what kept him up so badly at night.

It was nights like these that always made his thoughts race. The raging sound of the storm reminded him of the aftermath of the incident. The rumbling sounds of the storm sounded oh so similar to the explosions that emanated from the giant robot after Tom had launched that good-for-nothing harpoon that proved itself useful, the sounds of muffled rain outside his apartment sounding almost as reminiscent of the sound of the debris from said robot that came crashing down, scattering from each other as it fell. And the worst part? It made him think of when Tord came back to them, back to him.

He couldn't help but lay awake that night, his eyes so concentrated on staring at the ceiling as if there was anything worth looking at on it as his restless mind thought of that fucking traitor. The traitor that he still cared about, the one that he still worries for. Edd wonders what his life is like now, how he thinks of Tom for almost killing him, of Matt who overloaded his robot's system with his button mashing, of his self who genuinely cared so much, who wanted him back so badly... and for also joining in the button mashing with Matt.

He hated every thought that correlated to Tord, but it was something he just couldn't help. He felt so betrayed by himself for thinking that he finally moved on, finally didn't care, finally didn't yearn for that bastard. But tonight? It was as if he was back to square one, learning how to let go and move on. It made him feel so fucking awful, deep to his core. Because why? Why would he want to worry about someone who hurt his friends? Someone who hurt and betrayed him, with a ruthless smile on his face as he flew away into the sky? Someone who left almost everything he loved into a pile of rubble and dust, and killed the only tolerable neighbor that he had?

These questions were so unanswerable to him, that no matter how much he tried, he was only ever left more and more clueless. And even when he thought of an answer that was good enough to explain it all, it only made him feel sick. So he concluded that no answer would ever suffice. Eventually, on another stormy night, he'll find himself asking the same set of questions over and over again like a broken record player- feeling sick time and time again as he reaches yet another false conclusion.

Then a different kind of thought surged through, one that questioned all the things he wanted to come true. What if Tord came back to him for good and never left? What if he never made that giant robot in the first place, so that he had no reason to come back and leave him more broken than he ever was? What if they just...lived happily ever after? All together in one house having silly adventures and getting into all sorts of trouble? Edd yearned for the good old days and mourned for all the things that never happened.

The more he thought of it all, overanalyzing every bit of Tord's behavior and comparing it to the time when they were together and to the time that he went back, all the memories of them together from the first time they met, to the last time they ever saw each other. The stupid hypothetical questions he still clung to that he hoped would at least come true in another timeline. It made him feel so vulnerable. The tears in his eyes threatened to stream down his cheek, his face burning from the stress.

Edd sobbed his stupid heart out quietly, as the walls that separated him and his friends were thin enough that if he were to cry any louder, one of them would start frantically knocking with worry and annoyance. But then again it didn't matter how quietly he cried, as the rain was loud enough that it drowned out his miserable crying.

After crying for what felt like hours, he was left there sniffling, as small beads of tears formed and rolled down his face now and then. His cheeks were stained with tears that he didn't bother to wipe off as he lay there motionless. Echoes of a headache slowly disappeared, as the thoughts in his head started to ease in and stop. And for once tonight, he was at peace even as the storm violently raged on outside.

...

He then got up from his bed, thinking now was a good time to freshen up and wash the tears off his face. As he walked to the bathroom, he felt an odd wave of anxiety cover over him the closer he got to the bathroom. It made him dread something, but what? An intruder? His apartment was pretty secure, with cameras everywhere and a night guard in the lobby.

So why? Why was his stomach churning, as if swarms of butterflies were flying so violently around in him? He couldn't understand what was happening, why he was feeling like this. The closer he inched to the bathroom, the more anxious he felt.

Merely inches away from the door. He felt queasy, chest heaving and struggling to breath. There was nothing for him to be so nauseous and tense of, he felt that his fears were irrational and he was right. So why was he still feeling this if he knew it wasn't real? A gut feeling perhaps? Maybe his body was warning his mind of something it was yet to notice.

The last time he had a feeling like this was when Tord came back, or at least a couple of hangouts later after he came back... Wait.

Tord???

Tord.

No. It can't be. That's not possible. He was gone and he was never coming back...unless?

...

Unless he came back for him. Yes, yes that's it... He came back to apologize.

To make up for destroying everything. He's here to stay forever.... with him.

...

Yes, that's it. This explains the butterflies...his thoughts. How could he be so blind? This was the missing link! It was Tord! And he was finally back again, the real him.

Edd panicked the longer he stayed there at the door, his head full of thoughts of how this was all gonna go, and how he should react. Should he be happy, sad, or angry? How would Tord react? Would he be happy too? The more he thought of it the more of a wreck he was, shaking, breath ragged, sweating.

He finally reached for the doorknob with his sweaty palm, twisting the knob... he slowly opened it...

He couldn't hear any movement, no breathing. The bathroom was full of eery silence, and it only made Edd more anxious.

Finally gathering the courage to open the door, he swung it open enough for him to have a whole view of the bathroom, and there...

... was nothing.

Edd desperately looked around the bathroom, trying to find anything that was odd. If the shower curtain had moved 3 inches to the left if the window was opened by a little if the toilet seat had always been closed... but nothing

Tord was never there... and he never will be.

He looked to the ground and saw something knocked down on the floor.

It was a translucent orange bottle, his prescription for his schizophrenia.

[kelzthalasbandtherion]

Reflecting on the past year, what is the most memorable moment that's happened for Kelz'thalas, or what has been the wildest?

The most memorable moment would be connecting with her father, Adonis. For many years he's become reclusive and closed off to outsiders and family. And with Kelz'thalas' return to her family, she's been steadily chipping away at that wall he put up. But it was when she had that breakthrough - that was an incredible scene to write with @grumpyoldfker.

Here's a snippet of the exchange:

The question she first posed rumbled in the back of his mind, as did many other things. He furrowed his brow slightly at it. Had he not explained it before? Had he not made it clear? Clearly not. Then, he realized, he had never explained it clearly at all. When she said his name and recalled her accomplishments, he turned his head towards her and arched a brow. "I am well aware of what you have done and what you continue to do. You are a Warrior. A Commander. It is expected..." he then turned to face her entirely, his broad shoulders leaning forward. A lesson was to be taught here. "You expect recognition? Praise?" he shook his head, "this is the level that is -expected- of you" he raised a finger as if silently commanding to halt whatever reaction she might have to his words. "You are a force, child. I have raised you to be as such... a leader. One that I had hoped your brothers would follow in..." He lowered his gaze and sighed, "You still have much to learn" Clearly, he also knew of her blunders "and when you do learn you'll not receive praise for it. You will be expected to do more. That is the trait of all creatures that go beyond their limitations..." he lifted his eyes once more, "but do not think that this old soul's heart is so cold that he does not have a measure of pride for his only daughter." ---- What had formerly been a matter of nerves and uncertainty now shifted to frustration and disappointment. Her eyes narrowed as she heard his response to her accomplishments. Despite being aware of these matters, he did not live them. He wasn't there for her, so what did it matter if he knew? She wasn't wanting acknowledgement of the deeds in the sense of doing them. She wanted him there. "Father with all due respect... I know this is a thankless job. No matter how much you put yourself out there and do a world of good for everyone, it's taken advantage of. But you and I have a different relationship, or rather... we should." Her voice was strained with growing emotion as she hadn't noticed the hand that now braced on the table's edge while she spoke. She didn't realize that it had dug so deeply into her soul that her body was cowed into reacting. Though his follow-up comments stung just badly and she kept her gaze on him. "Yeah, because the person who could give it to either of us is dead! The one person who knew how to show love and compassion to us is gone! I never got to mourn her, and you aren't the only one who feels her loss, father! You think I go on doing my job because it's an expectation?! I do it because I want to give people hope and know there will be a better tomorrow! You can't lead with discipline and adherence to policy or traditions alone. We can harden our resolve to be a force in itself, but without compassion, we are no better than those that would take it away!" She had at this point rose and sought an elevation above his eyes as he often put her in the same tier of those, he saw beneath him. She did know her place as a leader, and she had often navigated the path of caution when it came to him because of her admiration and respect for him as the Patriarch. But their house couldn't move forward if she let that be the only presiding factor. "We need people to like us too. I know I need to learn more. But you have taken the route of least resistance so that my experiences would be shaped in the worst of fashions. To say you have pride in me after a lecture does not amount for what I know I deserve from you." Her body had visibly trembled, and her lips formed a tight line as tears raced down the length of her cheeks. "I want you to teach me, Dad. I'm not your enemy. But I shouldn't be something that you should hone to lose too. You need to trust me too. Or we're going to lose everything again!" --------------

Adonis' face went tight. His eyes looked at his daughter in warning... she was crossing into a dangerous path. It was that moment when she mentioned the fallen Matriarch that his eyes went wide and his nostrils flared. Old, buried wounds were reopened. Old pains were reapplied. He felt a torment twist within him that he had thought he had long since hidden and it was at that moment that he understood that burying something and ignoring it did not make it go away... in fact, it would grow and fester and rear its ugly head much like it did now. Then... rage. He would fight this. He -had- to. He could not take such words from his own daughter... she was meant to listen to -him-. Her words, the emotion behind them, fuelled his anger. But he hung onto that anger in desperation as it other emotions clawed at him. No it is a weakness. They are all weaknesses. He shot to his feet and curled his lips back into a roar. The Light answered his call and drove its strength into his fist as he drove it into the table. The table effectively shattered at the impact point, buckling from his blow and sending the cutlery and utensils flying to the ground. He lifted his eyes at his daughter with a paternal fury. She is perfect. The voice. That voice echoed in the back of his mind. I shouldn't be something that you should hone to lose too. His daughter's words reverberated back and echoed for what felt like an eternity. Whatever rage, whatever anger he felt was suddenly sapped from him. He looked at her and didn't see the woman before him. He saw the small baby within her crib reaching out to clasp his outstretched finger, he saw the small girl playing with her brothers in the courtyard, and he saw the young warrior swing a sword for the first time. He saw her. He saw his kin. His breathing was ragged as he pushed past the debris and fell to one knee as he levelled himself to her seated height.... He ignored the hushed whispers, the scowls from the staff, the rumors that would swell from this moment. He focused on her... and his arms reached out to clasp his arms around her, pulling her into his large frame. He blinked back the tears that threatened to flood his cheeks as he whispered: "I can't lose you too...."

As for the most wildest? That was definitely the narrative I wrote labeled "Fruits of Loop." Again, for context here. I attended the Succulent Tart show on Kelz'thalas "All I want for Winter Veil" alongside Madame Naralinthe Emberdawn. While there, Greatfather Winterveil was handing out gifts. My understanding is that the pets and things could be associated as plushies and what not. But I took a spin on it to say, Kelz received a pet toucan. So, after getting shitfaced, she brought it into her family's estate and left it in her father's study - demanding that it had a place to live there since it was given to her by 'Greatfather Winterveil.'

If you haven't read the story - you can check it out here.

But yeah, I'd say that was pretty wild how she got home and went through the motions of 'convincing' her father to keep the damn bird. Though he had a response to that as well in his excerpt titled "De-Looped." You can read it here.

As always, it's a pleasure to get an ask from you @safrona-shadowsun - Hope this sates your curiosity for the ask!

Tagging @grumpyoldfker & @themadamelioness for the mentions and to thank them for this roleplay journey we have been embarking on with growing characters in a more story-driven and compelling fashion. It's been revitalizing to write like this again <3

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 53

Fresh Blood/Army of Ghosts

"Fresh Blood"

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: no one died in the Bella and Gordon meetup, but if you’re asking if I would survive a vampire attack….not without Sam and Dean there

Wait…do we get Bella AGAIN?? Thank you. Thank you so much, writers. Don’t like that Gordon’s ambushed her

“Sam Winchester’s the antichrist” is just a sentence that’s said with utmost seriousness in this show. I love it here

Bestie is not just morally gray. She’s morally gunmetal. Morally charcoal. (And yet I still think she’s not truly going to betray the boys, but she sure is gonna look like she is)

Nah, I’m with Sam here, that was too close, Dean. You can’t be….if you get turned into a vampire, will the hellhounds have any affect on you?? Asking for a friend

I want this vampire to be lying so badly. I want her to absolutely fool them. Why do I want this??

And immediately taking that back “there was this guy. He was old. Like, 30.” Girl, you are at LEAST 25

How does JPad give the coldest, deadliest stare and also the saddest puppy dog eyes? He’s done both in this scene.

Man. I know Dean just threatened to kill Bella with all the seriousness in the world, but I’m still holding out hope for something else

Wait…is this how/when we lose Gordon as an antagonist? OH SHIT. Gordon got turned into that which he hates most. Maybe don’t taunt a vampire who has you captive….I dunno. I’d like to read a paper on the treatment of Gordon in the show, though. There’s probably a lot of commentary that could be made about him

Vampire Gordon is even more terrifying

Mmmm, original vampire should have killed Gordon when he had the chance. Mourning the loss of your new vampire daughters was the price he paid. It’s no wonder he’s begging Sam and Dean to kill him

Maybe it’s that this season is particularly short, but every single episode has had a monster or victim really twist the knife on what what the Winchesters are feeling about the deal Dean made

Oh that was pure tragedy watching Gordon kill his hunter buddy.

I’m glad Sam’s FINALLY confronting Dean about this. About how Dean’s been acting like his life doesn’t matter at all since he’s only got a year to live (less, now). Catch me crying in the break room. “I wish you would drop the show and just be my brother again.” I can’t do this…(because I’m having Todobros feelings about it)

Gordon…you didn’t have to bring innocent people into it…(I can’t wait to try to find some good writing on Gordon)

RIP Gordon. You deserved better from the writers room.

Not handling it particularly well that this is genuinely the best Dean can do to just be Sam’s brother again: teaching him how to fix the impala because he’s gonna need to learn how to…

"Been On My Mind...": Nah.

"Army of Ghosts"

I'm...not ready to say goodbye to Rose.

Also, it's downright CRUEL of the Doctor to ask her how long she's going to stay with him. He knows the answer isn't forever. He knows it CAN'T be forever. So asking is just mean for both of them.

I don't know how long Rose has been gone for, but...it feels like the world got really comfortable with "ghosts are real and we are going to treat them like nothing happened" REAL QUICKLY.

It's times like these I miss Mickey. He never would have put up with this.

OMG they moved from "ghosts are real" to integrating them into everyday life to WRITING TV EPISODES WHERE GHOSTS ARE DISCRIMINATED AGAINST REALLY FUCKING QUICKLY. TWO MONTHS?? IT TOOK TWO MONTHS???

hOW...I'm not here actually complaining about Freema being in this episode, but it feels odd to have her here THIS CLOSE to when she becomes the next long term companion.

These episodes and the ones in the parallel universe are the biggest ads for wired headphones I've ever watched. They really make me never want to get a set of airpods, I'll tell you that much.

Ew, Jackie. No. Just because Rose has gone places, seen things, had life experiences you never got to doesn't mean she's not still HER. I'm sorry you miss your daughter and the person you remember her being, but THIS? is not it. Talking about how she'll be a strange woman in a marketplace some galaxies away in 40 or 50 years time, but she won't be Rose Tyler. As if we're meant to stay the same way our whole lives, never learn or grow.

All THAT said, Jackie and the Doctor should get to sass each other more often.

Ew. Really don't like Yvonne...

The sphere does not exist. It seems like it exists, like it's just right there when you look at it. And it's in a special room in Torchwood built just for it, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not. But it does not exist, according to Rajesh Singh and his team of Torchwood scientists. Existence is tricky.

(Related: Is watching Torchwood worth it? Or is it full of people like Yvonne? I never got into the spin offs for Doctor Who. I know Jack's in it and there's a guy named Iago(? something close to that, iirc) and...another person to round out a trio of main characters. This has turned into that "no I love all my children equally. There's [correct name], *looks at smudges on hand* [close but incorrect name followed by increasingly incorrect names]")

OMG I WAS JUST SAYING HOW I MISSED MICKEY!!!! AND NOW HE'S HERE!!!

Scary that it only takes three people to fuck up the entire operation. I'm not saying that the way Torchwood was handling this was right or that they actually had things under control (they didn't, but it looked like they did. and to them, it felt like they did). But it took just three people being somewhat turned into cybermen to bring the sphere into actual existence and then bring the rest of the cybermen along with it.

I'm loving this new confidence Mickey has. Love that he can be just friendly with Rose. He's not clingy anymore, he's not guilting her for going of with the Doctor anymore. He's his own man, and I'm proud of him.

WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAIT WAIT WAAAAAAIT!!! IS DOOMSDAY THE EPISODE WITH THE DALEKS VS. CYBERMEN EXCHANGE I LOVE SO MUCH??? Oh, not to wish my weekend away (especially with the everything else that happens in that episode), but...........

[tuillenius]

We’re are the manners going to?!?

Me and my sister. We were talking about humans in 2024. She is trying to sell, these animals and there’s really something wrong with the manners of people’s! You can’t tell someone, u meet them at 12:00 someday and then not even plan to tell them your not going! Only fine out by asking them… They mention, they not coming… WTF is that?!? How do these kindawa folks live with themselves? What makes them think it is okay to do that? I was born in the 80’s and NO ONE WOULD DO THAT THEN! It was considered a really dick move! Everyone would have shunned that dick, for sure… There’s a new trend. It started in covid times, going on, in 2024. Been going on in the online world.( Especially noticing it in, the place I sing in… But it is happening every place in online, for sure!) Peoples think, a person behing the other side of the screen, don’t matter. I used to know a woman 30 years older to me, I thought we were friends 10 years. She just decided in the worst time of my life. To desert me. I asked why in message. She never told why. I would mourn the loss, like any decent human would. She can completely take other humans as “pixels.” Or something. I think these folks, have a cold-heart. They have it closed and peoples like me walk with their heart in their sleeves. This is not a very good trend. To treat peoples like they don’t matter! I will always do like my sister! Treat everyone with manners and like I would in real life! I will not give up my manners, just because, it is easy to be rude or crude. Careless, selfish, online! No one, who does it online, would have the guts, to treat a real life human that badly. So why do they think it is okay to do it online? I shall be decent. I shall be nice! I shall be the change. I want to see, in the world. Regardless, of other peoples coldness. They have the right. To do that mistake. Just like I have the right, to be the opposite. Have a great day. If u read this.

[thepresentdayandtense]

I have always struggled with keeping people in my life. I didn't have the proper tools for emotional regulation. I was bullied really badly when I was younger and that leaked into my young adult and adult life. my home life sucked too. to keep it simple, I was a mess. I wish things were different for me. I find myself wondering if I had been raised differently how much more peaceful my life would be. that maybe if I got the help I needed or the medicine I needed that I would have lived a much more peaceful life. that I would be normal. confident. I just didn't have it in this life. and as much as I've tried, and believe me I've tried, I just think it may be too late. no matter how much I try to suppress the neurotic and sensitive part of me, it always perserveres. always leaks out. I am better now however. I think dropping people who were dragging me down helped a lot. I still find myself taking things personal though. and being overly forgiving. idk where this was going. I meant to write about Sama. and it's crazy to think we were only together for 2, then slightly another 2, then slightly but less another 2. and now it is over and done. no more 2s, no more half open doors, it's completely closed.

being cruel to someone who isn't even here anymore. not fighting fire with fire. just lighting it on fire when it is already burned. there's nothing to light. but it will burn.

I mourned you, Samy, for so long. I think a part of me still mourns. I don't think anyone will understand how much I mourned. and it was full mourning. It was one of the biggest losses of my life. and to know that I loved something so much, for so long, and now we are both cruel. hurts. the love we had was dark and painful. but for some reason I loved with wide hopeful eyes. but then I got dark and painful too.

I couldn't sleep in my room when we broke up. I am not sure why. I physically couldn't. I love knowing the why to everything - figuring out the science and logic behind it. rationalizing it. but I couldn't really figure out why I couldn't be in my room. all I knew was that everytime I went in there I winced. and stood in one place for long periods of time just staring. I could only really be there during the day time, it was the only time I could handle it. and as I type this I am reminded of a similar situation of my old house in portside. I believed there was a jinn haunting my room and it got so bad that I would be scared to even be in there at night. I could only have the courage to go during the day. I guess it felt like you were haunting it too, in a way.

I was finally able to move back into my room one night after talking to you on the phone. I think this was about a week later. but I could sense you just wanted to move on. I wasn't able to sleep for months. I woke up in a panic a lot with my heart palpitating. I would wake up with a hole in my chest every morning. I could just feel you missing. I had to face a lot of physical anxiety and I'm surprised my body didn't just give out. but I guess it did a lot of times, as there were days where I just couldn't do it. God I was so sad. but then things started getting better, the hole slowly went away. but yet you still took up so much space in my heart.

but that was the problem. you took up so much space in my heart and it wasn't reciprocated. you only loved me when I was leaving you. only loved me when we went long periods without talking. only loved me when you missed me. there's a saying that goes

"you can love someone so much, but you'll never love someone as much as you miss them."

and I feel like that was your love for me. the guilt of yourself was keeping your love for me alive. that isn't love.. that is bargaining. you don't have to bargain anymore. I don't have to forgive you to move on. we can end on bad terms and still move on with our lives with peace. we have to. no more guilt and shame. if that's the only reason you liked me, I don't want it. love isn't supposed to run on guilt. you're not supposed to feel like you owe me something. love is supposed to be free flowing and natural. not something you exchange lessened guilt for.

and maybe you were fond of our memories, and the sad thought that those memories will never happen again. but you were never truly fond of me. me as a person. you found me neurotic, annoying, insecure. you always felt you could do better. but you loved me in your own way. I think. I still am not sure, and I wish I was.

I wish we had a simple love. a love where I know you loved me, it just didn't work out. but instead I got unrequited love. it would make it easier on my heart to think, yes you loved me, but we didn't work out. but that's not the Truth. the Truth is your Love for me maybe wasn't real. but I don't like to say that or think it. because that's a disrespect to your Love. and who am I to say your love wasn't real when you know how you love. it's more nuanced and I shouldn't generalize. I wonder if our Love(s) for eachother ever got sad when they saw us fight. It's funny to me to think that our Loves are separate entities sometimes looking at us and rolling their eyes at each other when we fight. does that make sense ? I know that's stupid lol.

I know you have let go. I know you are looking for someone who is good enough for you. to you, I wasn't. but I am good enough. and I hate that I let a boy with his own issues make me feel this way. I can't remember the last time I cried as hard as I did the night you threw my lost friendships in my face. It was so premeditated that comment. a long paragraph reminding me of my failures. a long paragraph written to hurt me. and it did. I have lived my life second guessing if I was being too sensitive about those people I let go of. and I had finally come to a place where I felt good about cutting those ties that were holding me back. cutting those ties that were making me feel awful about myself. and then I had the person I loved, who I considered a friend, bringing me right back to second guessing myself. to thinking I am the problem, I am the failure, I deserve to be let go of. no matter how much I vented to you about this, no matter how much you knew it hurt me, you threw it in my face. so easily. its funny, how something a person takes 2 minutes to type can just ruin the other persons world in that moment. I read "and while I'm here, ima be even more disrespectful back since you're disrespectful" (paraphrasing) my heart dropped because I had no idea what was coming next, just that I knew it would hurt. and it did. my eyes were practically swollen shut in the morning from crying so much. you don't deserve forgiveness. in any aspect.

you were hurt, so you went the lowest you possibly could go. I hope you feel good about yourself. I hope you get all the girls you ever wanted, and not have to keep leaning on your dumb ex you don't even like to make yourself feel better. you tried so hard to make me hate you, and it worked. good job, you got what you wanted.

[rpvlix]

💄 - Is there a past relationship your muse wishes they could have changed?

🥀 - Do they handle breakups well? - Asti, Braso

Romance questions

💄Braso

Honestly? Not really. He's been around a while, sure, but he hasn't really let himself get very invested in many relationships. He's always moved on from places rather quickly, having his fun and getting gone to the next adventure. Other people get the same treatment. And he hasn't really sat and thought about this long enough to have any regrets. I'm sure there were plenty of people he could've had something really special with, if he'd sat down and tried. But he really tries not to look back. Nothing good back there.

🥀Braso

Probably. Technically it hasn't happened in this iteration of the canon, not a real breakup, of course. But, in a past life, his wife left him. And he was... Weirdly apathetic about it. On the outside, anyway. Inside he was a mess, but he didn't want to put that emotional pressure on her, worried it might manipulate her into acting in his favor. I do think this is still in line with his current iteration, he would much rather minimize his own experiences to make things easier for other people. If you say you do not want to see him again, you won't. He will stay out of your hair at absolutely all costs. No matter how much he wants to be by your side.

He doesn't take things too badly though, sure he will be sad. He'll probably have regrets. A lot of them. But he'll get back on the horse no problem when he's finished mourning the loss.

💄Ast

Oh, plenty. It is rather often that Ast will involve himself with some random entity, someone Ast though was a lesser being or some such, only getting with them for some quick entertainment. Well, Ast's standards are fairly low, despite what Ast may think, and all it takes is some praise for Ast to be eating out of your hand.

And there are times, in the low points, when Ast reflects on some of these relationships and thinks... Maybe it was better with them. Maybe it could've worked out if only this or if only that. Maybe it was worth sticking out despite all the small complaints adding up. Just for that feeling back.

🥀Ast

Yes and no. It depends, it depends... Throwaway relationships that Ast farms for drama? Absolutely, yeah, handles them like a champ. But he'll complain as much and as loudly as possible to anyone within earshot, sobbing aesthetically in scenic locations, just hoping someone will come by and ask what's wrong.

If Ast was genuinely invested in this one, absolutely not. Ast will act fine. The worse it hurts, the more normal he will try to be. It would be giving someone too much power if they were able to hurt them. Even if they did, Ast can't acknowledge it.

[ofspvrta]

Why was she doing this? Why was she digging her heels in and making this worse? Was she hurt so badly that she never wanted to go back to the Seeker? No, that wasn't true, she wouldn't have saved her otherwise. Her heart wouldn't start racing every time she looked at her, despite the anger and rage and pain. And all she could do is redirect the hurt that she was left with at the Seeker. She knew little else. How could she? She spent the last nearly 2500 years isolated from others, having very little conversation with people, let alone being in love. It was all so foreign to her and she was foolish to think this was something she was ever equipped to deal with. How could she be human when she forgot what it was like?

The sound of Cassandra's weapons clanging against the ground pulled her out of her head. She fucked up, cut too deep, and said what should have stayed in her head. She watched carefully, her expression shifting to something indiscernible. She shouldn't be standing, Cassandra needs to rest easy, she's stable now but that injury would have killed her if the Keeper hadn't shown up. Kassandra's hands raised, a show of caution as she watched with sickening concern.

The red leaking through the tunic caused an immediate reaction, whatever Cassandra was going to say to her, let it be, she had to keep her safe, keep her alive. She grabbed for more bandages, eyes remaining on her all the while.

But she froze when Cassandra spoke. Is that what had worried her so much? No matter how they ended up The Seeker feared she would be left loving and mourning someone who could not die. And it would never leave her until death claimed her. Then perhaps she did understand the pain Kassandra faced. Because the Keeper is haunted by her, but she does not have the benefit of death to one day alleviate the ache. As she was about to move forward to bandage the wound again, Cassandra kicked her shield into the fire, causing the immortal to step back.

Her heart sank. "I couldn't let you die." She had claimed she was selfish once, but that clearly wasn't the case here. Letting her die may have solved her problem and caused many more. It tore the Seeker up as much as it did her. As she spoke, as she blinked away the tears, Kassandra advanced, moving into her space, and attempted to look at the wound again. Cassandra was a stubborn mule but whatever gods were out there, she was not going to let her kill herself like this. "We don't get the easy way out, you and I both know that." She closed her eyes. Being this close, no matter how mad she was, it was hard not to want to kiss those lips again. She still loved her, she worried she always would.

"It could have, if we let it." She said quietly, trying to gently at the bandage. She straightened her back for a moment, her face close to Cassandra's. "In all my years, since I was cursed in the first place, you are the only person I had ever fallen in love with. The only one. Losing you felt like losing myself, it was a hole that nothing would fill." Her words trailed off as she leaned in close, pressing those lips against the Seeker's.

KASSANDRA'S WORDS TORE A NEW WOUND INTO THE SEEKER, BUT THIS TIME, THERE WAS NO BLOOD TO BE SHED. Between the two of them stewing, anger and heartbreak pushed down to the very depths of their souls, it should not have surprised them that their reunion was so violent, so chaotic and reckless. Yet as Kassandra kept throwing verbal daggers at her, the Nevarran did nothing to dodge them—she didn't interrupt, only glowered up at the tall figure who stood a mere few feet away now. The hand that had begun to clean her blade paused.

Why didn't you look? You're not quite a Seeker. You're the Divine.

Divine Victoria, praise be to Her.

Praise be.

The blade and her shield hit the ground unceremoniously. The Inquisition's sigil was barely there save for the outline of its original painting onto her shield. Now, it was just a piece of metal. Junk. It had saved her, but at what cost? Kassandra had saved her, but at what cost? Here, now, she wished she had never done so. Leave her for the Inquisition to find—or at least let her wake up alone. Assume it was the Maker, or some other hidden force. Think that Kassandra was away in some foreign land, exerting her invisible power on the balances of the world. Away from her, and away from the mess that they had created together. Her boots scuffed the ground, kicking pebbles into the fire as she heaved herself off of the ground into a half-bent position.

Here they were, mortal and immortal. Cassandra held her arm to the bandage, dark crimson ominously seeping through. Yet she straightened herself as much as she can to look into the other woman's eyes, ones that held a world of hurt and pain beyond her comprehension.

"I will never escape you," Cassandra gritted. She swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the growing lump in her throat. She ached to cry, but they were angry and hurt tears. "I will sit on the Sunburst Throne knowing that you are out there. I will rule into old age and remember you as clearly as the day we met. You will haunt me into my death, and only then may I escape you." Her eyes clouded with angry tears of which she took no action save to blink them away. One step, two—she kicked the dented shield into the fire and watched the sparks fly into the ceiling of the cave.

"You could have left me there," the shorter woman muttered. "I would have died, and even while marching to the Golden City, I would have clung to the memory of you. You should have left me there. At least then you would not be so tormented roaming the Earth. Then you would not be subject to my reign, nor would I be tempted to send out dozens of scouts to find you." Over the following days in Kassandra's departure, her gloves had hovered over a piece of parchment to be sent by crow. Soldiers, many soldiers, all for the one woman... but she did not. For what? To bring her back, bound to a religion that she did not believe? In a relationship shadowed by duty? To be sworn kept secret? For Kassandra to watch her wither over the years until she died?

"A relationship with me... never would have ended well. Not like this. Not the way things are."

[moonwaterart]

______________________________________________________________

Here's another short ficlet, this time for Leshy since there isn't much Leshy love out there. He's a good little worm

______________________________________________________________

The One Who Mourns

“Leader, you seem like you’re stressed. Is something the matter?”

The leafed worm heard a familiar voice ask. Most of his followers would wait to be talked to since his loss of eyesight, but not them. This follower was always making sure he was okay. Making sure things were still being taken care of.

They’ve always been like that since they joined his sect of The Old Faith years ago. They were never afraid to ask him things or to chat. Their smile was always a welcome sight to Leshy until he lost his vision. Since then they made time to help him with menial tasks and keep things in line at the temple of his sect.

“The red crown defeated another of my high priests.” He commented. “I fear I must step in soon in order to stop them from advancing further.”

“But… what if… what if the red crown defeats you too? What will happen to us here?” He couldn’t see them anymore, but he could hear them fidget slightly as their words laced with worry.

He knew that that was a possibility. He would be using the power he had left in order to stop that lamb in their tracks, but what if he didn’t succeed? What would happen to his other followers?

“That’s… something I’ve thought about… yes…” he turned his head downward towards the approximate place he could feel their presence, crouching in order to at least try to be smaller in order to comfort his loyal follower. “If that were to happen, I would want you to take care of this place. Don’t allow my name to die with my body and soul. You are my most loyal follower… and what I’m going to do… I would never want you to suffer. So please… my most loyal… promise me that if it comes down to it, you will continue to be loyal even after I am gone.”

There was a pause, soon followed by a choked back sob. “You sound… so absolute in your words.”

Leshy let out a soundless sigh and extended a hand carefully towards them. He let it hover before a smaller pair of hands took it in their own and brought it closer to themselves, pressing their forehead to his palm “but if that’s what you request… I’ll follow your request faithfully.”

A pang of sadness struck the bishop. The possibility of never talking again felt worse than anything he had faced up to that point. They never realized it up to that point, but their most loyal follower being upset by his words yet still promising to follow them hurt him as badly as when he lost his eyesight. He could feel the sting of ichor around what used to be his eyes. He hadn't been able to cry for years yet here he was, upset that they were upset.

His siblings always said he was weaker than themselves when it came to emotional connection, yet that’s why people followed him. He was willing to be vulnerable around his followers before they lost their brother to greed and power. He was always the bishop getting into trickery and prankster trouble. Always fun loving and full of joy. Yet as he felt their sobs against his palm, it dawned on him how much he had changed.

“My most loyal follower… Please don’t cry. There’s no need for such sadness while I’m still around.” He carefully moved his hand to wipe a tear with his thumb. “How about we take some time to enjoy the time we have? You can show me around the new additions to the temple or maybe you would like to go gather flowers from the woods beyond? They’re in full bloom this time of year, are they not?”

He took to bringing them close before starting to walk again. “Those who mourn early miss out on remembering the good of the past and present as they fear for the future and probable outcomes. When the time comes for you to pass on you would rather be celebrated for your accomplishments, yes?”

“W-well yes.. but-“

“Then, my most loyal follower, let’s celebrate what time is left. Mourning has its place, but that is neither here nor there and definitely not the time for that. Until it is time for me to depart, let us take the time to celebrate, the stress will disappear, I promise.”

Their follower was silent, but nodded, wiping more tears away. “I… I suppose so. How about I tell you about those new temple additions?”

“I would want nothing more at the moment.”

—

“The Red Crown comes for the chain I guard.” Leshy declared to the followers that gathered. “In order to stop them I must use every fragment of power I have left. In order to access that power, a great sacrifice must take place. A life in exchange for power. A life in the name of justice and our faith.”

The followers that gathered started to offer themselves to him as help with his showdown against the lamb who represented The Chained One. Tents were being emptied and giving their belongings to followers staying behind. As they did that, a hand tugged at Leshy’s robe which made him turn his attention to whomever did that. “What do you need? Now isn’t the time to-”

“Great Leader… I have a departing gift for you.” At their words his demeanor softened.

“Of course… I apologize for my tone. What is it, my most loyal follower?”

“Let me see your hand, just real quick.”

Leshy complied, extending a hand to receive what he thought would be a trinket or maybe something they wanted him to feel; instead something was wrapped around his wrist and secured. “It’s not much, but I hope you keep it with you to know I’ll be here praying for your safe return.”

Their words stung him, but he knew they meant well. They’ve talked before about this. They know what to do if he did not return. The most inevitable possibility and one he wished it didn’t come down to. He felt the bracelet with his other hand, the flowers and grass chained together perfectly. “Then I will try not to keep you waiting.”

[justaradioguy]

It's almost difficult to keep up, but he forces himself to manage by shifting his bad leg in such a way that the pain shocks his brain back into the immediate present.

Chicken makes a noise of protest, as if scolding him for picking an unhealthy option, to which Kain only pets him again as he keeps his focus on Roy.

"I wonder if a smaller place would've... helped."

It's a fleeting thought. He knows good and well his parents would not have wanted anything to do with him no matter where they lived, and it doesn't make any difference how much he tries to hate them or pretend he doesn't care. It still makes him sad.

He shakes his head, trying to move forward. It's all he can do. Ruminating won't help when he's trying to be company, but it's so incredibly hard to stop.

Especially when he thinks of how nice it must be to have somewhere that feels like home like the Elric-Mustangs do. Three cats and a dog and people who all love each other.

Kain has so much love to give, and it feels like it has nowhere to go. That's the root cause of his pain, mostly. He's almost sure of it, because every time he's hurting he's always been comforted by the idea of someday being able to call a place home. Every bit of pain in his life aside from the horrors of Fotset has been caused by rejection, and there's really nothing he can do about it except mourn the life he never even got the chance to have. 'Someday' doesn't feel so hopeful anymore, all lost in his pursuit of goals other than his own.

'Someday' doesn't exist - it's just tomorrow after tomorrow after tomorrow, each one the same as the last, another tally on the board. As badly as he wants to do right, it seems the love he puts forward simply disappears before it ever even reaches anyone else. No home will have him, and he's trying desperately to find a good, satisfactory substitute just so he can continue to be of service to somebody.

He doesn't demand to know what's tripping Roy up. It seems troubling, and not his business, and by the next second the man's changed the topic to giving him permission to stay.

"... Is what you're after what's best for you, or is it what's best for everyone? It's a good cause. I just..."

Just what?

It's a filler word to let him think. That's all. He does need to finish his sentence though - Roy's too observant of a person to let it hang unfinished, because Kain isn't exactly smooth enough to get himself out of any hole he digs.

"I don't really think there's a happy or safe ending for me, if I'm being honest. I think something's just... wrong with me, I guess. Because if it's just one person who turns their back on someone, it's them that's the problem. But... what about when it's everyone? Then surely the problem isn't everyone in the whole country, right? It's that person. I'm that person. Here, though... Kumo is nice. He doesn't even really want anything from me. He just floats in and talks about whatever and says pretty words. Like a friend, maybe? And I like that, stupid as it sounds. Closest I've gotten before Kumo is L-" Wrong. He isn't a lieutenant anymore. Kain keeps forgetting - it feels weird to address the man as anything but a superior even away from his presence.

"-is Havoc, but he's just kinda like that all the time to everyone because he's so easygoing, and I don't... I don't really think he'd want to hear from me. But- uh... yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to talk too much. Or bring up anything sad. It's just hard to figure out what to do when it all seems like the wrong answer. Nothing makes sense to me anymore."

Kain tries to imagine a full household for a moment.

What would sisters or brothers be like? He's got no idea, so anything he pictures would be just a best guess anyway.

"My house was always empty. Big, too - talking in certain spots made it echo off the floor. I didn't like it, so I didn't talk much and I stayed in my room or out of the house."

He's never spoken about his childhood, not really. This is the most detail he recalls ever giving someone, and it's... not even that telling of a detail, at least in his opinion. The conversation moves on, and Roy asks about Chicken. It puts a small smile on his face.

"Yeah, he's a chocobo. Just a baby one. A little guy, if you will. His name is Chicken," he explains, and upon hearing his name, the bird lifts his head briefly.

Just like that, though, the smile is gone as fast as it had come.

Is now the time to tell Roy that he's not sure if he will be tagging along?

'It's not like he'll be too upset about it,' he tells himself, and that's probably his biggest problem other than being branded a traitor.

"Yeah, I know Al," he replies, though his voice feels detached from himself now. All semblance of a tone and an expression have left. This happens sometimes nowadays, whenever he slips.

Another byproduct of a pointless war, he assumes, but at least being numbed out is better than being explosive. At least his brain is kind enough sometimes to shut down all the nonessential functions, all the emotions that make life so incredibly hard to navigate.

"Kweh?" Chicken calls, turning to tug at his owner's sleeve as if reminding him not to stray too far from the conversation.

He looks down, petting him with his other hand. It seems too big to belong to him, somehow, despite the fact he looks at it every day. "I'm alright, buddy. Don't worry."

Another second passes, or maybe it's a full minute before he puts a less-than-natural smile back on his face to look at Roy again. It isn't like small increments of time passing are easy to figure out even when he is entirely present.

Either way, he feels it irrelevant information to bother telling Roy, so he moves past it.

"What are the cats' names?"

[pink-surftable]

Initials (Pt. 4) | Kaz Brekker

kaz brekker x fem!reader

ps: english is not my first language so if there are some gramatical mistakes i would love if you pointed them out so i can improve.

hi everyone here’s part 4!!! just wanted to say a big thank you to all of you. i’m amazed by the amount of notes, coments and new followers! i love you all <3 next part it’s the last!!!!!

warning: i think kaz is a bit ooc in this one but it’s nothing crazy don’t worry! and also pekka mentions kaz’s brother but i’m not sure if he knows about him so i’m sorry if that’s wrong.

part 3

summary: after a mission goes wrong kaz does everything in his power to save you.

——————————————————————————

The sight in front of him made Kaz Brekker shiver.

He didn’t know if it was from anger or pain or heartbreak, but seeing you there in that chair all beat up, made him want to throw up.

“Finally. The party can start now��� Pekka said with an amused tone “The lady and I were getting a bit bored up here, Brekker. I thought we’d have to find a way to entertain ourselves” He said standing behind Y/N and putting his hands on her shoulders while he rested his head on top of hers.

The mere mention of his name made you look up. Kaz looked away. He couldn’t bear it. The thought of tha man touching her.

“Let her go. You wanted me. Here I am” the man snickered “Oh, but what’s the fun in that? Please, Brekker sit down, I believe we have business to discuss”

The last thing he wanted was to spend any more time in that place. He wanted to get Y/N and get out and then kill that man for hurting her. But he knew he had to obey if he wanted this to work out, so he took a step closer and sat on one of the chairs.

Pekka remained leaning in front of his desk, not far from where Kaz’s was sitting

“What do you want, Rollins? What is it that you want to let her go?” Kaz snapped. If he didn’t get an answer soon he was gonna explode right there.

“Mmm, you know, I’m not quite sure. Seeing you tremble at the sight of you girl all beaten up has been a gift on it’s own. So I wonder what else could I do to this poor girl that would make you tick even more?” Pekka said standing straight and circling your body as he traced your shoulders with his hands, placing some hairs behind your ear and tracing your lips. But this time you didn’t do anything. You didn’t have the strength to move. You felt weak and ashamed. You hated the way he touched you. Like you were his. Like he could do what he wanted with you.

Kaz was staring. Brows furrowed and knuckles white from the deadly grip he had on his cane. He was able to get a better look at her now.

She was badly injured. Her arms and legs scattered with bruises. Her once white shirt was now ripped and soaked red. Blood was dripping from her lower lip. But what stood out to Kaz was her waist, his initials clearly visible in her skin. That made him lose his composure. His eyes widened and if looks could kill Pekka Rollins would be deep underground right that instant.

“Oh come on! You don’t like it either? Isn’t she yours Brekker? Don’t you go around threatening people at the mere mention of her name? I thought you liked getting your things marked up” He said as he traced the initials on your skin with his fingers.

“You should be thankful they are yours Brekker. I could’ve easily carved mine. Don’t you think? I mean personally I think mine would’ve looked much better on you sweetheart” Kaz looked at you and at that moment he felt his heart stop. You were crying. Maybe from pain, maybe from exhaustion, he didn’t know. The only thing he was certain was that he would bury that man for what he’d done. For what he was saying to you. For what he was implying. For the way he talked as if you were a simple object in the room.

But deep down he knew. Everything was his fault.

He was keeping you there in the hell that was Ketterdam. He was the one putting you in danger on impossible missions. He was at fault for all the suffering you’ve gone through in the last couple of hours.

A single tear ran down Kaz Brekker’s face and Pekka Rollins couldn’t contain his amusement any longer.

“Wow, that was emotional, even for you Brekker. I mean I knew she was definitely your weakness but I didn’t know I just had to tie a girl up and push her around a little for you to submit so easily” At that Kaz’s eyes snapped right back at him.

Gripping his cane he shoved it into Pekka’s chest. “Don’t talk about her like that. Don’t touch her like that. Don’t even breathe in her direction ever again or I swear to all Saints I will burn this whole place down along with you. She’s mine”

“Oh, but I thought you didn’t like her being marked up” He answered almost laughing.

“Calm down boy, we haven’t finished with our proper business” He said lightly shoving Kaz off of him and going to sit on his desk ”Now tell me, what do you have to offer?”

Your eyes widened when you saw the paper. The Crow Club. “Kaz” You snapped. Both men glanced at you “Don’t Kaz. I know how much that means to you. You shouldn’t do it. It’s not worth it”

“It’s worthy for you” He replied showing such an immense amount of vulnerability you thought you were dreaming.

Pekka rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed “Ah young love isn’t it cute. I think your pretty Club would be a nice payment. But it’s just not enough” He said, reaching for something in one of his drawers.

“You know Brekker, to be fair the only thing I’ve always wanted from you was just to simply see you break. Your brother, your Crows and now your girl. You’ll see everyone you love, everyone you care for, fall right in front of your eyes and with the weight of shame and blame on your shoulders you’ll be the last to fall, after witnessing it all” Now he was approaching your body with a gun in his hands.

You were doing your best, putting all your strength into freeing yourself but you just couldn't do it. You thought that was it, so you looked Kaz right in the eyes and said “Kaz Brekker, I love you no matter what. This isn’t your fault, none of this is. I love you. Don’t ever forget that, but don’t mourn me either. Hang onto my love but not to the fact that I’m gone”

He couldn’t hold it any more. He couldn’t pretend to be strong any longer and Kaz Brekker stared right into your eyes like he was seeing a ghost. His blue eyes were so cold and lifeless you could feel a chill down your bones.

“Isn’t she the sweetest?” Pekka said, finally pointing his gun at you, when suddenly you heard a big explosion going off and then the door busted open.

taglist: @heavenlymidnight @06072543 @thefandomplace @aleksanderwh0r3 @kykymyeon @rika90 @otterly-fey @cc13723things @starxqt

[yandere-mha]

How would Yandere Dabi react fo Y/N protecting him? Let's put a scenario that Y/N is a villian but protected of the League of Villians. She is sweet to Toga, takes care of Spinner, jokingly annoys Shigaraki only when he is in a good mood, and make sure everyone is alright. Y/N gives out motherly vibes where Toga jokes around of Y/N being a mom. Dabi catching feelings next he is fighting a hero. He got badly injured and Y/N step in protecting him. Taking a few blows for Dabi and killing the hero. Y/N helps Dabi to get up and says, "You got to stop being so reckless. I want to protect you but you keep throwing yourself in danger. "

Ughhhh I love this request so much. I really hope you like this and that my writing is worthy of your genius brain 🙏

TW: ABUSE MENTION, KIDNAPPING, VIOLENCE, BLOOD MENTION, MENTAL ILLNESS.

MAJOR BNHA MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Toya was numb. His whole world was bleak, meaningless, and utterly isolated. He had no family, ambitions, or sense of self. No one cared about him or any of the terrible things that had been done to him and he didn’t care as well. There was nothing. He didn’t care about anyone else either. Whether he lived or died didn’t matter because he just existed. He may as well be dead, according to his family who had moved on. There was no justice. There was no love. There was no identity. His identity was to be the number one hero, but that had been ripped from him long ago. Toya was too tired to care.

Dabi was angry. Sometimes he became so angry and violent that he would scare himself. He would feel everything at once to the point where he couldn’t breathe. He mourned over the death of his purpose in life and over the death of the plucky little kid who would never give up. He wasn’t that kid anymore and he didn’t like what he’d become. Dabi wasn’t really him though... Dabi was Endeavor. Endeavor made him and he wants more than anything to make him see the consequences of his actions since his family didn’t care enough about him to do that themselves. Why did they forget me? Did I not even mean anything to them alive? He’ll make them pay too. He’s found a new identity and he couldn’t be more happy

You... were warm. When he looked at your beautiful face he felt as if he should look away because he didn’t deserve to see you. He wished you couldn’t see him, yet he craved for you to just look at him. You filled a void within Toya and suddenly he wasn’t so lonely anymore. How could you love someone who wasn’t even a person? Maybe he really was a person. You were so perfect... it pissed Dabi off. You reminded Dabi that he would never be good enough for that kind of love. He would always be second and he was just waiting for the moment you’d replace him with someone else. You’d forget about him just like his family did. You scared him but he couldn’t stay away. Life was unbearable without you. How could you make him feel that way? Hasn’t he already been through enough? You shouldn’t play with people’s feelings, ya know...

What was really cruel was how much you must love to toy with him. You knew how much he needed you - ALL of you, and yet you looked at other people too. He never told you about his feelings but why should he have to when he knew that you knew. You knew of how much pain you were causing him and you didn’t care. Why must everyone treat him like this? He knew there were no good people in the world and yet he let himself fall for you. How pathetic. How weak. He needed to show you what happens when you cross him. He’s tried of being weak and you make him look like some love-sick fool.

When you sacrificed yourself for him, all he could do was laugh. He screamed in pain as he laughed until he felt his face fall apart and his lungs felt like they were about to fall out of his body. It was funny how fucking desperate you were to hurt him that you’d actually hurt yourself like this. What the fuck would he do if he lost you, huh? Who would he be after you were gone? He clamped his hands over your battered form as tightly as he could screaming in your face in the way an animal would scream after being shot. He knew his face was bleeding all over you, mixing with your own blood. It made his heart flutter being so close to you.

After scanning your dumbfounded face, his laughter began to die down and he affectionately swiped a loose strand of hair out of your face to get a better look at you. He really was a tool, huh? He can’t be mad at you for long. You were his wife after all even if you pretended not to know that and he’d be there to protect you no matter how much you piss him off sometimes. Your love truly was written in the stars and no matter what happened, you would always end up together - till death do you part. He remembered all the times he’d dreamed about having a wife as a child and he smiled softly. He was flattered that anyone would care enough about him to do something like this even if it was to hurt him. You must hate him and love him too. 

“You gotta stop being so reckless. I want to protect you but you keep throwing yourself into danger like some fucking dumbass. If you really want my attention so bad, you should have just said so.” 

That was fun and all, but he can’t have you doing that again. You’re gonna be at his place for a long time and he’ll make sure to think of a proper punishment for you too. You have to learn your lesson and hold yourself accountable.

[imasimpforshanks]

hi! i love your stuff so very much!!

can i request the angst alphabet with zoro?

thank uuuuu ❤️

Angst Alphabet - Roronoa Zoro

a/n: hiya!!! thank y’all so much!!<3 hope you enjoy this 😌

A-Accident (would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?)

He may not blame himself entirely if you were to die in an accident. But Zoro would think himself weak. How could he possibly become the words greatest swordsman if he can’t even protect his s/o.

B-Break up (How would they break up with you?)

Before breaking up with you Zoro would start to distance himself a little to try and make it easier on the both of you for when he does break up with you. Other than that, he is likely to just come right out and say exactly what he wants to say. He’s brutally honest and straightforward so he won’t try to sugar coat anything or beat around the bush.

C-Crying (how would they make you cry?)

Zoro does this horrible thing where he likes to overwork himself to the point of exhaustion. No matter how many times you tell him to stop and express your concerns for his health, he just doesn’t listen. It hurts seeing the man you love more than anything exhausting himself.

D-Death (how would they react to your death?)

Speaking of overworking, after your death he works himself harder than he ever has before. Day in, day out he’s training. He trains every possible minute to distract himself from your death and make himself stronger to ensure he never loses a loved one ever again.

E-Emotion (what is one emotion they would try to hide the most and how would they do it?)

Being openly vulnerable is something Zoro doesn’t like to do. He really only shows his vulnerable side with his s/o and even then, it took him a really long time to do it.

F-Fight (do you two ever fight? How big are the fights? What do you fight about? Etc.)

Very rarely do your fights get serious. Your fights are often just light-hearted teases and jokes towards one another. Where its always followed by laughter or eye rolls.

If your fight was to get serious, it would result in a lot of yelling at one another and with Zoros blunt personality, a lot of hurtful words (which he ALWAYS apologizes for in the end).

G-Guilt (what is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?)

The events of Sabaody weigh heavily on Zoro’s mind. He was the first one to get sent away by Kuma, so feels as though he failed not only his captain, but the whole crew as well. He wasn’t there to protect them, to help them. Instead, he was a complete failure. And, because of his weakness his captain had to fight and suffer alone.

H-Heartbreak (what would cause them pain in the relationship? How would they deal during a break-up?)

During a break-up Zoro does what he would in any other situation: workout. He keeps himself occupied by working out, and actually he drinks a little bit more than usual too. It could even get to the point where the rest of the crew feels as though they need to step in.

I-Injured (how would they react if you are badly injured?).

He turns dark. Basically, a demon in human form. Moves you from wherever you are so that you’re out of the way of more danger AND THEN HE TIES HIS BANDANA ROUND HIS HEAD BECAUSE THIS SHIT IS SERIOUS.

J-Jealousy (what do they do if they are jealous?)

Its ridiculously obvious when this swordsman is jealous. He gets super grumpy and tries to intimidate the other person. He’ll stand right behind you and honestly, that’s intimidating enough on its own. But, if the other person doesn’t get the hint he’ll place his hand, ever so casually, on his swords.

K-Kill (would they kill for revenge?)

Ever since joining the Straw Hats, Zoro doesn’t kill others (its not something Luffy wants his nakama to do, so Zoro doesn’t do it). However, that mindset goes straight out the window depending on who he’s taking revenge for (i.e if it’s for his s/o).

Most of the time Zoro just leaves them wishing they were dead. (this seems to be a common thing amongst One Piece characters).

L-Loss (what is their greatest loss?)

I would actually say losing some of his pride. Zoro is a poud man, who refuses to lower his head to anyone. However, after receiving the message from Luffy to train and meet up again in two years, Zoro knew he had to lower his and beg Mihawk for his guidance. It was definitely a hit on his pride, but, honestly… He doesn’t regret that one bit – anything for his captain.

M-Mistake (what is the worst mistake they ever made with you?).

During one of the few big fights you guys have had things got really heated and the fight ended up getting so off topic. Insults and mean words were being thrown out left and right. Zoro got so caught up in it all that he said something that targeted one of your deepest insecurities. He knew he had screwed up so badly when you walked away without even saying anything.

N-Nightmares (how often do they have them? What are they about? How do they deal with it?).

He doesn’t often get nightmares, but when he does they tend to be about Sabaody and when the crew got separated from one another (or really any other incident where he was unable to help properly). After he wakes up, he gets straight out of bed and starts working out – determined to make sure nothing like that ever happens again.

O-Outrage (how and why would they get mad at you?)

Zoro doesn’t get mad at you for much, mainly if you pay any attention to that shitty cook, like seriously, he doesn’t understand why you have to give Sanji any attention when Zoro is literally your boyfriend….

P-Past (what has happened in your relationship that changed the way you saw each other?)

Even though you never found out exactly what happened on Thriller Bark (its something Zoro refuses to tell even you), it made you realize that you need to step up and not rely on Zoro so much because although he may act like it, he’s not actually indestructible.

Q-Quality (what is their most dangerous/toxic quality?).

(SORRY I FEEL LIKE I’M BEING VERY REPETITIVE HERE AH BUT YEAH…) He never allows himself to heal from an injury properly. He always starts training immediately despite Chopper’s best attempts to stop him.

R-Rejection (how would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around)).

If you were to reject his confession, he’d probably try to justify it to himself by saying “yeah actually it’s probably better this way. I don’t need anymore distractions in life.” But, he would definitely be a little down in the dumps about it. He made himself vulnerable for this and it didn’t work the way he wanted.

S-Scars (battle or self-inflicted)

Zoro has many scars. The scar over his left eye was a result of his two years of training with Mihawk, though no one knows the exact cause of it – only that it appeared during those two years. Zoro also has a scar on his chest from his very first encounter with Mihawk. He may also have scars on his ankles from the time he tried to chop of his own legs on Little Garden (I can’t recall if these are actually scars or if they healed completely).

T-Trust (have they ever broken your trust?).

This answer is short and sweet: No. Never. Not even in his wildest of dreams. Loyalty is basically Zoro’s entire character. He would never violate your trust. If he did… well Zoro, wouldn’t be Zoro anymore. (only thing he’s done that comes close is keep you from finding out what really happened to him on Thriller Bark).

U-Urge (how badly do they want to see you after you guys separated?)

Honestly, he is probably one of the few who are able to cope with missing you the longest. He still wants to see you of course – your presence is reassuring, so he definitely prefers when you are around – but he can handle not seeing you for a while by focusing on the task at hand and just remembering that this separation isn’t permanent.

V-Vicious (what do they do when they lash out on you?).

Similar to what I’ve said before, he says some really harsh things. He has always been blunt and straightforward, but when he’s lashing out at you he tends to make things a little more personal.

W-Weak (what makes them feel weak how do they try to avoid it?).

Zoro hates losing. Not because he’s competitive or anything but because losing makes him feel weak. Whenever he loses he feels so far away from his goal. To make up for this he works out. He trains and trains and trains until he can no longer move. He will keep going until he never loses another fight.

X-X-ray (what do they hate and show it most obviously?)

Obviously, he shows his hate of Sanji very frequently. The two pirates are constantly arguing and at one anothers throat.

But another thing he hates is people getting in the way of his dream. He agreed to join Luffy so long as he didn’t get in the way of his dream – and if luffy were to get in the way Zoro made him promise to commit seppuku (although whether or not I think Zoro would actually make him do that anymore is a different thing that I could go on about for a while so imma stop there…).

Y-Yearn (what is one thing that they want but can’t have?)

Zoro wants to be the world’s greatest/strongest swordsman. It’s not currently a title he can have, however, day-by-day he is getting just that much closer.

Z-Zero (what do they do/say in your dying moments?)

I don’t think a lot is said or done by Zoro in your final moments. He probably whispers a few thank you’s and I’m sorry’s. He won’t mourn properly until he’s completely alone.

[astriefer]

Please have this messy, badly written scenario as a humble gift to you, because I wanted to do something since I reached 200 followers!

Bits of Truth

They stood in front of the Carstairs' townhouse in Cornwall Gardens. Christopher seemed mildly confused about what they were doing there as if he had not been paying attention. James shared one last glance with Thomas before he knocked on the door.

A few bits of silence flew by, in which they had held their breaths. Then footsteps tapped on the floor, and the door cracked open.

A wave of relief passed through James that not Sona nor Risa or any other maid came to open the door. Then he thought what a peculiar thought it was for him to be relieved by. Alastair looked at them, frozen in place, blinking a few times as if he didn't believe they were truly there. He rejoined his composure hastily. He didn't let them in - he stood in the front door and his eyes searched theirs for an explanation. It was like a weird staring contest. Eventually, Alastair spoke first. "Cordelia is not here. You know it fairly well."

He moved to close the door. "We haven't come for Cordelia," he said quickly, which received another incredulous glance from Alastair. "Well, we have. But not because we thought she'd show up here. We came to talk to you."

Alastair narrowed his eyes, expressionless, and considered James. Then he glanced at Christopher and Thomas, noting their desperate eyes. "About my sister?"

"We won't take long," promised James, despite he wasn't sure it's true. Alastair studied him, and James felt himself going rigid. He leveled Alastair with his indecipherable gaze.

Then Alastair had stepped back from the door and ushered them in. "My mother is in her bedroom, resting, and Risa went shopping for supper. So, you have to be quiet. Make it quick.'

~~~~

Alastair took their coats and tilted his head towered the parlor. A kettle whiselted in the kitchen. As he gestured them inside he turned the other way. A fire burned in the chimney, and a book rested peacefully on the armchair. When James examined closer he discovered it was written in Persian. Thomas mumbled something about Persian poetry.

Alastair came inside with a tray and James thought he was, for a change, being hospitable, but he ignored them and disappeared up the stairs. When he got back, empty-handed, James assumed the tea was for his mother. Alastair placed the book on the table as he sat down in front of them. Thomas and Christopher set on a love sofa and James set stoned on another armchair. He didn't waste time being the kind host, James presumed. "What it is about my sister?"

The golden-eyed boy decided the best tactic was started from what he knew. That wasn't much, but it was the most important thing, and he was certain about it, at the very least. "I love your sister."

Alastair raised his eyebrows, amused. "Yes, that's something that tends to happen between married couples, I've been told."

James shook his head. "This marriage, of Cordelia and I," just saying her name on his lips made a treacherous skip of his heartbeat, full of hurt and love. "It was a sham marriage."

Alastair pools of dark marble were fixed on James when he explained, rather awkwardly, the events that led to their marriage. And then events that led to Cordelia leaving the country. He prospected Alastair would be outraged, throw spears at them, maybe even recite some very angry poetry phrases in Persian. Instead, Alastair was very still for very long. When he did speak, the words weren't the James expected them to be. "I knew the marriage wasn't out of love," Alastair said calmly. "But I didn't expect you to tell all that rubbish."

James blinked. "It's the truth."

"Oh, I know," Alastair returned with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I doubt you would come up with such a ludicrous idea on your own, even if just to spite me. and I also know Cordelia wouldn't have slept with you unwedded, no matter how much she loved you."

All the thieves caught their breath when Alastair leaned forward, his month curving in an odd angle. "I also know being married to you was a wish she never thought would come true, and that you cared for her. You claimed her as yours and you defended her. It was good for Cordelia, and so I said nothing."

James snorted, although he hadn't found the conversation funny. Not the least. "I thought I loved Grace at that time. I felt bad when the thought of living with Cordelia was more appealing than I expected." The thought of Grace made his features harden. "And because of Grace, for years I've been blind. Manipulated. I lost my wife and Parabatai. She played with me like a doll; messed with my feelings, messed with my life. This is unforgivable."

He did not notice Christopher who tensed up and fixed his spectacles on his nose. "She did some bad things," he said, surprising them all. "But I don't think she's evil."

James furrowed his brow. "She's like a siren: beautiful and compelling, but going after her will only end in you being drowned."

"I see," Alastair said, turning back to James. "But why? Why did she do it?"

"Does it matter?" James asked. "She hurt so many people. She doesn't even deserve to apologize. It won't matter anyhow - the damage is done. After all she has done...sorry will never be enough. Nothing will."

"It matters," Alastair said. "Because you don't know her side of the tale. You don't know what she thinks. What she feels. You don't know if she had to do what she did."

He was tempted to say Grace has no feelings at all. "I believe I'm allowed to be angry."

"I do agree that what she had done to you is far above a jest or a play with hearts," there was a strange flame burning in the deep ponds of Alastair's dark eyes. "And you have no obligation to forgive her. But why not hear what she has to say? You are the one with the power. You know the truth. She can not affect you any longer."

James shook his head. "You don't know Grace," he said coldly, gravely. "She will try to use me. She will try and make me do as she wishes. I will not be a pawn in her game again. She controlled my life long enough."

Alastair glanced away, pondering over something. Thomas turned his head nervously between James and Alastair. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Thomas inquired, "Why do you insist James will hear her out?"

"You have no idea of her motives," Alastair retorted. "What she's done - she must know it's wrong. And she will have to live with this knowledge for the rest of her days. You are allowed to be angry, James, and rightfully so. But don't let it blind you. That you have been kept from certain kinds of evil doesn't mean everyone else had. You have no clue what led her to those decisions." Alastair looked distanced. James managed to guess he's not been talking only about Grace. "You should talk to her. You may not forgive her, but you deserve to understand, to know why to hear the plain truth. And you should let her mourn what she could have had and lost."

James wasn't sure he fully comprehended. "I wouldn't have loved her. Even without the bracelet issue - my heart belongs to Cordelia."

"What do you mean?" Christopher asked. "That not everyone had been kept from evil."

Alastair shrugged. "I met Tatiana Blackthorn only once. She's a madwoman. She doesn't seem like the kind of caring, kind mother to pet her daughter's shoulder. Besides, Grace seemed to be controlled by Tatiana, rather than working alone or alongside her."

"She took the love of my life away from me," James growled. "Nothing can atone for that."

"The love of your life is my sister," he reminded James. "I can hardly find the idea of her being heartbroken a good thing. And the one who caused this pain is not much liked, as well. But you shouldn't think that just because you would've done it otherwise, it was an option for her. You can't know what are the options in front of people. You can't know how they feel unless you talk to them. So talk to Grace, James. Then seek out my sister. If you love her like you claim you do, will you give up on her so easily?"

"No," James stood up, "I will not."

Alastair nodded. "why did you come and tell me about your little schemes? Why now?"

Now, after so much time of lying, why tell the truth? Why not keep it in its cage of delicately made lies?

James cut his gaze to the book on the table. Thomas answered instead in a quiet voice. "She is your sister. You must have been worried about her. We wanted to tell you because - because you deserve to know the truth and understand why things happened the way they did."

What Thomas did not say was what none of them wanted to admit. Cordelia ran away to Paris with Matthew. Even if she'll be back in only two weeks - they all were worried sick. James couldn't blame her, he was awful and blind. All of this was a mess. If she needed time to calm down in Paris, he couldn't deny it of her, even if he had a say in this choice.

Alastair studied Thomas, and James felt the half-Persian hadn't quite believed them. It was true - they needed his help in the future. But it was a start. "Anything else? A ghost friend? Another evil aunt?"

"No," Christopher affirmed.

"Good," Alastair said. James might have imagined it but he thought he saw Alastair sneak a glance at Thomas before standing up. "Now get out of my house. Risa will be here any minute."

~~~~

I- how?? Thank you so much, everyone!! 🙈 Thank you, you can't understand how much it means to me. 🥺

This is mind-blowing. Truly. For whatever reason you follow me, know that I love you <3

Tagging some of my mutuals, you are all wonderful and make my time here so much better (not all of them because my brain is all wonky, but I mean all of you): @kit-12 @littlx-songbxrd @pink-party-dino @shadowhuntertrash @gummybears-4u @itsdaughterofthemoon @mcrrythievcs @fictionally-fantastic @reyna-herondale I'll tag more but I don't want to bother anyone so... thank you!! I don't know what people find in my blog, but I am grateful, and I appreciate all of you endlessly.

[marygaby25]

Warning: a lot of text 

Okay. I know it took me a long time to post about this, but I wanted to organize my thoughts well. I don't like to be writing with my head hot, angry, disappointed, frustrated and sad. Waiting to not have those feelings I was never going to write this. With that cleared up let's talk about "What If?"

To say I wasn't expecting Sharon to be treated badly again would be lying. I was surprised that she showed up and relatively everything was fine (until she was killed obviously). I'm not going to lie it gave me hope, but what surprised me were the writer's words saying that he killed Sharon because he likes Steggy and that he wanted to give her a more grotesque death that Sharon had "Because Steve is Peggy's."

I will admit that I moved a little further away from the UCM series and its projects after "The Falcon and The Winter Soldier" Sharon was damaged and harmed again by making her a villain, the writer threw away the work that Emily had done saying that Sharon's moral code was too strong. Not to mention, Sharon has never and never been a villain at will (when she "killed" Steve in Civil War Sharon was under Faust's control) and the power broker is another character in the comics.

Again I walked away a bit more after watching the BlackWidow movie because we never saw that funeral that Nastasha deserved, just a grave with flowers left by people. We never got to see a funeral like Tony's or Yondu's, not even in her movie did they take the time to give her that moment.

I confess I was just reading the synopsis and watching summaries of the series. I watched the Zombie episode because a friend told me "you will be pleasantly surprised and heartbroken at the same time''. So I made the decision to give "What if?" a chance.

Everything was going well, more than well because I was watching Sharon (I almost died of happiness), I see Happy's death and Sharon apologizing and I got sad, but it was going more or less well.... Until I see how Okoye kills Sam, she apologizes to Bucky for killing him and the only thing she replies is something like she's not sad about it...

WTF!!!!  The chapter is set between civil war and infinity war, Sam at that point had already risked his freedom and his life for Bucky. Bucky makes that comment so out of place, cold and ungrateful after Sam helped save him.

I keep watching because I thought it couldn't get any worse HA, HA, HA I'm such a fool for thinking that.

After a while I notice Sharon in the last car of the train, and what goes through my mind is, "Why is she alone in the last car if she only has Tony's glove and not the gun?". She heard the blow and immediately already knew the worst was yet to come, it was all downhill from there.

It is Steve who kills her. At the time I think it's kind of poetic because in the line of movies he took it upon himself to kill the idealistic and innocent Sharon Carter; by abandoning her the two years of fugitives and not looking for her. I guess watching deep movies like "The Shape of Water" and expecting that from Marvel was asking a lot.

Bucky kills Steve and apologizes, but Sam doesn't give him an ounce of grief for his death and Hope blows Sharon up from the inside. It was atrocious, but it's a zombie chapter my naive mind imagined there would be crueler and darker things. There was something just as dark if not darker which was Vision feeding off innocents to Wanda.

Let's continue watching the chapter and let's count how some characters died.

Well, Hope dies sacrificing herself I think it was a dignified death, it follows the death of Okoye who sacrifices herself for her king, I thought it was a normal thing because doremilages are supposed to fight for their kingdom and their king with their life. I hated that he said it was his fault for separating them, because no character objected when he gave the order, only Peter and in a joking tone. Follow up with the death of Kurt, Vision and Bucky. Simply Bucky's death this time for that action towards Sam, it didn't hurt. 

The chapter ends with them with a possible cure and heading to wakanda where zombie thanos was waiting for them.

The bitterness that the chapter left me with was immense. The cruelest death and followed by joke was Sharon's, to the point that they minimized it and placed it to finish diverting Sharon's attention by exploiting everywhere the infected Hope scene. Sam's was the most blatant because it's not subliminal, it's direct with the words of "Bucky" saying he didn't care. I put Bucky in quotes because we all know it was the screenwriter, the Bucky we know in the MCU and comics wouldn't say that.

I thought I was paranoid suspecting Sharon's death was the cruelest and least taken seriously apropos...until I hear about the interview and realize how unprofessional the screenwriter is. What hypocrisy to say he loves Sharon on twitter after what he stated in the interview. I expected Matthew Chauncey to keep his word, not like a coward that when he gets caught he backs down seeing that he screwed up and we don't support him. 

What happened in the series and in that interview is an example that the bad treatment of Sharon exists. It is not something invented by the fans, it is something on the part of the directors, writers and actors. I still don't forget Hayley Atwell's comment who said that peggy seeing that kiss in Civil War that Steve gave Sharon Peggy would revive, she would shoot Steve and Sharon would get beaten up.

I think Hayley,the writers and directors forgot that Peggy was happy with Daniel Sousa as far as we knew, even though in Agents of SHIELD they put Daniel with Quake.... It doesn't make sense, but as always they didn't want to let the series die and they tried hard to keep up with the ucm no matter that it would damage the plot of the series, which was what they should focus on (I don't know if the series is canon anymore because they even uploaded it to Disney plus).

the scriptwriters had never seen the series of agent Carter nor any of Peggy's comics (she doesn't have comics, but she has appearances) because she loves her niece, the little that comes out makes it clear. I'm not going to ask you to read all the comics either, just the most recent one where Agatha tells Steve a little more about the daughters of liberty and that possibly for Peggy Steve was just her first mission, maybe he's a good friend, for her and no more from there. Fun fact, at the end I didn't see Peggy angry trying to shoot them while they were sitting in the garden with Sharon and Steve for being together.  Even when Steve found out she was alive he had no indication of leaving Sharon or getting romantically excited, rather he was walking around angry at Peggy , Sam and Bucky for not telling him about the risk to Sharon's life (Especially Peggy because it was more personal with her more than Sharon for killing the villain's husband. basically Sharon was kind of a target to somehow hurt Peggy). I imagine if they read it that comic or any other they would be frothing at the mouth.

I don't want to be pessimistic, but I saw "What if ?" and I doubt they will place Sharon as a Skrull, Mystique, mind control or give her a redemption. It's going to happen what happens with UCM villains, they'll kill her off. In fact, something tells me that they will try to make her crueler than the Red Skull to justify a horrible death. In case she's mystique or a Skull they'll probably say she's dead and won't even take the time to show it on screen.

Not only "What if?" made me lose hope "The Falcon and winter Soldier" too, remember I had posted that it looked like Sharon would be the Power Broker, but I doubted they would because she was another character in the comics. Well, hearing that statement in the interview anything is possible. By the way, I thank him for screwing Steve, since in the five years of the devastation he never helped Sam's family. I exclude Natasha from this as she was taking care of the avengers; Thor was depressed and didn't even know Sam; Tony had to take care of his family; Rhodey didn't know Sam well enough to know he had a family and Clint was in mourning.

Sorry for the language and clarify that I'm not throwing hate at Hayley, nor the directors and writers just showing that they didn't behave well neither with Sharon, nor with Emily

by the way, remember that meme I posted a while back about no character should be hated because of their shipp, I still hold that thought now more than ever. I think it fits perfectly with the screenwriter's behavior. 

to those who made it this far thank you for reading my ramblings 

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 60

Masterlist

----

Queen Andromache of Angolere is no stranger to anger. Like most humans, she has never been short of reasons to be angry, and the last seven years of war, for all that they have improved the general situation, have done little to ease that. The general unfairness of life, arrogant allies, hypocritical assholes, people who hate her for being mortal – she’s had to deal with it all.

In all those years, she has never been this angry, though. Never felt this close to combusting. It’s like she swallowed a lump of magma and it’s not lying in her stomach, burning her up from the inside. Even two days after the fact, her anger shows no sign of lessening. Instead, it only seems to grow worse, perhaps because she has not yet found an opportunity to let it out.

When the news arrived two days ago, she didn’t believe it. Outright refused to even consider it. More than five hundred thousand people dead in the blink of an eye – the numbers were too big to consider possible. The idea that Miryam, Drakon, and Mor, Mor especially, were all dead from one day to the next was too horrifying to consider. The notion of something as terrible as this happening after the war had already ended downright impossible. And there were no bodies, no way to be sure.

Andromache spent that entire day curled up in her rooms, first trying to convince herself that this had been some terrible mistake, then struggling to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t. This was real.

The second set of news arrived that evening, chasing her out of her hiding place. The messages from four separate sources – three spies and the person in charge of Telique’s wards – arriving at roughly the same time, all brought the same news: What happened had been no terrible accident, no tragedy with no one to blame. It had been planned and brought about by their own allies. Shey. The Autumn Court. Others as well, many of them unnamed.

Again, Andromache refused to believe it. In general, it is her firm belief that one can never have too low an opinion of the Fae, but this… this still went too far. She could not wrap her mind around it, could not understand how anyone could do this.

Like most people in the Alliance, Andromache was well aware that Shey saw Miryam as a threat. But what she could not imagine no matter how hard she tried was what might have caused the level of hatred that would have been necessary to do something like this. Miryam had, as far as Andromache knew, never done anything that might have given her allies cause to hate her. Dislike, perhaps, but not hate. She certainly gave Shey and cause to hate so fiercely that her death wasn’t enough to satisfy him, that he had to have her killed in the cruellest way possible, killing most of the people she cared about, thousands of innocents, in the process and destroying what she spent most of her life working for.

“I don’t think it was hatred,” Nakia said when Andromache voiced her thoughts to her. “I think he just didn’t care. He wanted Miryam dead – everyone else was just collateral damage. Expendable.”

That was when the anger started.

Now, thirty-one hours later, Andromache feels ready to combust with the force of it. Still, her hands are surprisingly steady as she closes the straps of her armour. There will be an Alliance meeting in half an hour, the first one since Miryam and Drakon (and Mor, although no one but Andromache seems to care much about that crucial detail) died, and Andromache intends to use the opportunity to make the Fae regret it.

Her and the other humans met yesterday to agree on a plan. What they came up with isn’t ideal in Andromache’s mind – it doesn’t involve Shey dying painfully, which is truly a shame. It’s the best they could do in their situation, though, and Andromache sincerely hopes their demands will make the Fae regret their actions.

With one last look into the mirror, Andromache straightens and stalks out of the room. Her steps are firm as she walks through the palace’s halls towards the meeting chamber. A lucky side effect of the anger, she supposes. It doesn’t leave space for any other emotions. Otherwise, she would probably be dissolved in tears, unable to move or function. But even so, she can barely bear to think of Miryam and Drakon, and cannot think of Mor at all without feeling like someone punched her in the chest.

By the time she reaches the meeting chamber, it is already filled halfway. Usually, councilmembers would be chatting with each other before the meeting, the room buzzing with activity, but today, silence reins in the chamber. The tense atmosphere can almost be felt physically, like the air is thick as water and pressing anyone inside the room down with its weight.

Quietly, Andromache takes her seat. The silence is only broken by the ticking of the clock that has been places on the opposite wall. She watches the hand creep forward as more and more people arrive. The time when the meeting was set to begin is reached and passed without anyone stirring. Andromache realizes that everyone at the table is waiting for someone to open the meeting, but Miryam isn’t there and Andromache isn’t inclined to step in for her as she usually does.

Eventually, it is Shey who opens the meeting. When he starts spouting nonsense about what a “terrible tragedy” Miryam’s and Drakon’s death was (he doesn’t mention any of the other people who died) or how “devastated” he was by the news, Andromache immediately regrets not opening the meeting herself. When he starts talking about how much Miryam did for the Alliance and the war effort in general, Andromache briefly contemplates getting up and punching him in the face. It might help take the edge off her anger, but their plan is a different one and Andromache is forced to stick to it.

Finally, Shey seems to be done with his monologue of faked mourning and changes the subject. “Sad as we all are,” he says, “I think Miryam and Drakon, more than anyone else, would want us to focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past.”

Never mind. Andromache is actually going to punch him. “I think they mostly wouldn’t want to be dead along with thousands of their people, you fucking asshole,” she mutters, balling her hands into fists.

Shey’s eyes jump to her, narrowing slightly, but he seems to decide that she isn’t worthy of a reply. “I believe the treaty detailing what should happen now that the war is over is all but ready. All that’s left to do is to sign it.”

“If you think any of us are going to sign that contract after what happened, you’ve lost your mind,” Andromache snaps, louder this time. “Why would we want to work with any of you after this?”

Shey is far too well-trained to show any reaction, but Andromache hopes the bastard is shocked. He probably didn’t expect the stupid little mortals to figure out what he did.

“I don’t – “ he begins, but Andromache is already on her feet. The other human councilmembers rise with her.

“This Alliance is over,” she says, voice biting. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all go drown in an ocean.”

With that, she turns towards the door. As one, the human members of the Alliance walk out of the room. No one makes a move to stop them, no one even says a word. The Fae just remain sitting where they are, looking around the table like they are waiting for someone to find the words to fix the crack that is running through their alliance.

Had Miryam been here, she would have been the one to speak out now. She would have found the right words, maybe even managed to convince them all to keep working together. For the sake of the treaty she wanted so badly, she would probably have been willing to excuse even her own murder.

It’s really too bad for the Fae that they had Miryam killed. Because without her, there is no one there to stop the Alliance from shattering into a million pieces.

Without looking back, Andromache stalks out of the meeting chamber. When she returns to her rooms, she finds Mor sitting on her bed.

----

Mor never planned to simply vanish without a word to anyone, certainly not for an entire week. When first left the Black Land and winnowed straight to the Night Court, she only wanted to stay for a few hours, maybe spend the night in the cabin in the mountains to calm herself before returning to Telique.

But then, almost against her own will, she had found herself staying longer and longer. The cabin was so peaceful, and with each day she stayed, the thought of going back became more daunting. Going back would mean facing what Miryam had done, facing their argument. Probably facing Miryam herself. For all that she knew hiding would only make things worse in the long run, she simply hadn’t found it in herself to return.

So instead, she stayed. She visited Rhys a few times. Sat on the couch by the fire and read. Emptied bottle after bottle of wine and did her best not to think about water turning to blood, ice raining from the sky and the look on Miryam’s face before she left her standing alone in the sand. She didn’t want to return at all, but after a week, there was no way to put it off any further, not if she didn’t want to risk worrying her friends in Telique.

It might already have been too long, Mor thinks as she watches Andromache freeze in the doorway, staring at her like she is a ghost. Maybe she should have sent a letter. But surely Miryam told Andromache about what happened, and knowing that, it should have been clear to anyone that she was safe.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets the chance, Andromache snaps out of her paralysis. Letting out a sound that sounds a bit like that of a wounded animal, she rushes towards Mor and sweeps her up in a hug. Her body is shaking, and Mor can feel her damp cheek against her neck. Awkwardly, she begins patting Andromache’s back.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, not entirely understanding why Andromache is this distraught. She wasn’t in any danger, Andromache must have known that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Andromache lets go of her and holds her at arm’s length so that she can study her. She is still clinging on to Mor’s arms, though, like she is scared to let go.

“How did you get out?” She asks.

Mor frowns. She doesn’t entirely understand the question. “I winnowed,” she says, then quickly adds, “I’m sorry for not writing. I just… I just needed space.”

Now, it is Andromache who seems confused. “What do you mean?” She asks.

Mor can’t help the sinking feeling that they are not entirely on the same page. Could it be that Miryam didn’t tell her about the argument? She wouldn’t have had any reason to keep that information back, though.

“We argued,” she says hesitantly. “I just…” She shrugs. “With what Miryam did… I couldn’t stand it, and she wouldn’t stop. We got into a fight over it. And then I left.”

Andromache stands and stares at her, completely unblinking. Then, slowly, she lets her arms drop to her sides. “What Miryam did?” She repeats, voice dangerously soft. “What Miryam did?”

“Yes, what Miryam did!” Mor replies forcefully. She can’t believe that Andromache seems to be taking Miryam’s side on this. “She burned down an entire country, Andromache! Thousands of people died. She – “

“You’re acting like she did it for fun!” Andromache cuts her off. “There were reasons.”

“What reasons are good enough to murder thousands?” Mor asks, throwing her hands up into the air in desperation. “You weren’t there, Andromache. You don’t know what it was like. This was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, and Miryam happily allowed it to happen.”

“Well, then you’ll be relieved to know that Miryam is dead,” Andromache snaps.

The words hit Mor like a punch to the stomach. She actually stumbles back a step, gasping. “What?” She whispers.

“Yes,” Andromache says, her voice cutting as a blade. “Her, Drakon and everyone else.”

No. No. It isn’t possible. None of them were in danger when she left. Miryam was just in the process of single-handedly taking down the entire country, with an army of thousands with her to protect her. She was days away from winning – and actually did win, from the last news Mor heard from an enraged Rhys who complained endlessly about the war ending before he had a chance to kill Amarantha.

They couldn’t have died. They couldn’t have.

Oh Cauldron. Her last conversation with Miryam and Drakon was an argument that ended with Mor storming off. She doesn’t remember what she said to them, only that she was furious and desperate, and that they were both yelling at each other and then Mor left. She left them alone and then they died and she…

Mor presses a hand to her stomach, trying to reign in a sob. “I…” She whispers, but doesn’t manage to finish the sentence. She promised to protect Miryam. And then she left. And Miryam died.

“Get out,” Andromache says, voice still deadly soft.

Mor starts shaking her head. “No, I…”

“What Miryam did?” Andromache throws her words back at her with enough anger that Mor actually flinches. “You’re no better than the others.” With that, she pulls open the door. “And now get out.”

Words are escaping Mor. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Tears are burning in her eyes, blurring her vision. Andromache is still staring at her, gaze hard, and so Mor ducks her head and rushes out of the room.

----

Andromache is shaking with fury. Pain and sorrow will come later, she knows, once she has calmed down enough for the reality of what just happened to sink through, but for the moment, she is just angry. Angry with the entire fucking world, but mostly with Mor, because from her, Andromache expected better.

How could she be so stupidly narrow-minded? What Miryam did. She sounded just like all these other Fae who called Miryam’s actions horrifying and then turned around and had her and five hundred thousand innocents murdered. What Miryam did. What about what the Fae did, now and for centuries prior?

She needs some way to let the anger out, or she might actually explode. With swift steps, she stalks through the room and to the cupboard that holds cups and plates. She is still aware enough of herself to avoid the expensive, gilded ones meant for formal occasions and sticks to the simpler pottery for private dinners.

One by one, she pulls them out of the cupboard and hurls them against a nearby wall, watching them shatter into a million pieces with grim satisfaction, hating the fact that this pointless act of rage is all she can do.

How she wishes she had Miryam’s abilities. If only she was able to turn blood into water, make the sky rein ice and fire and command the sun to stay away as she sees fit. Oh, how she would make them all pay for what they did. She’d show them horrifying.

A knock sounds at the door, interrupting Andromache’s fantasies of setting Shey’s palace on fire. She spins around, dropping the plate she had just pulled out of the shelf, and stalks over to the door. This better not be Mor…

It isn’t. When Andromache pulls open the door so hard it bangs against the wall, she instead comes face to face with Nakia.

“Oh,” she says, awkwardly running a hand through her hair. “Nakia.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Nakia asks drily. She glances over her shoulder into the room and raises her eyes at the mess. “Someone to help you clean up, perhaps?”

Andromache can feel her cheeks heating. “I will clean that myself,” she says. She won’t make any of the maids clean up a mess she created on purpose.

“Do that. It will have to wait, though. For the moment, you are needed for a meeting. The Fae asked for a meeting; their representative is already there.”

Andromache groans.

--

Andromache would have liked nothing better than to refuse the meeting outright and tell the Fae exactly where they can shove their offers, but unfortunately, that is not an option. There are matters to be discussed, and there is no getting around that necessity.

It was agreed well in advance that Andromache would represent the humans for the meeting, as Angolere is the country whose leader is usually in charge of foreign politics. Andromache only finds out who the Fae sent when she steps into the meeting chamber, though: It is Zeku.

Some part of Andromache realizes that this is likely meant as a peace offering. Ever since the founding of the Alliance, Zeku was one of the Fae who worked together with the humans most closely. He was Miryam’s most prominent Fae ally, her, him and Andromache spent more hours than she can count sitting together over proposals and strategies. The Fae likely assumed his presence would appease Andromache, and under different circumstances, it might have. As it is, though, his presence is just another slap to the face.

“Your Majesty,” Zeku greets her, bowing deeply.

“Zeku.”

Greeting him by name instead of title is a capital insult, but Andromache stopped caring about the Faes’ rules for politeness the moment these rules didn’t stop them from murdering more than five hundred thousand people. All these rules ever did was bar anyone who didn’t have a Fae noble’s education from being taken seriously in their political meetings. Andromache played by their rules for far too long.

Zeku ignores the insult and takes the seat opposite her. He opens his mouth to speak, but Andromache cuts in before he gets the chance. Every moment she has to spend in the presence of someone like him is one too much.

“To make this clear right at the beginning,” she says, “I’m not here to play games. There are some issues that need to be settled, and I have no interest in spending more time than absolutely necessary in your presence, so I’d appreciate if we could deal with this as quickly as possible.”

Zeku sighs. “Alright, then,” he says, “But before we begin, just allow me to say how terribly sorry I am about what happened.”

Yeah, sure. She believes that right away. Once that conversation is over, though, he might actually be sorry.

“Well, I believe it ought to be clear to anyone that the continuation of the Alliance is no longer possible. The treaty we worked on is a thing of the past, as are any agreements we came to. We can no longer trust you, and so working together is no longer an option.”

Zeku, at the very least, does her the favour of not pretending he doesn’t know what she is talking about. “I know what happened was unforgivable,” he says, “but Miryam wouldn’t want – “

“Don’t,” Andromache cuts him off, voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t you dare talk to me about what Miryam would have wanted.”

Zeku lifts his hands as if warding off a physical attack. “Alright,” he says. “Forgive me. But the point remains that we need to work together. The situation is far from ideal, but together, you and I could still turn it around.”

Andromache lets out a sharp laugh. “You and I? Together?” She shakes her head, laughing again. “No, thank you. With what happened to the last human who worked together with you, I have little interest. Maybe if you wanted this alliance, you should have made sure she stayed alive.”

“I had no involvement – “ Zeku begins, but Andromache cuts him off.

“Oh, spare me,” she snaps. “Miryam might been willing to listen to your explanation. She might have played along with your game, pretended she believed and trusted you and maybe even agreed to work together with you again in spite of everything. For peace. She really wanted that, you know? A world where humans and Fae could live together in peace and equality. For that, she might even have been willing to look past what your friends did. But I am not Miryam.”

“I am aware,” Zeku says quietly.

“Maybe, but you don’t seem to understand what it means.” None of the Fae ever understood, and they never bothered to try, either. “You and your Fae friends always thought that Miryam was the only one of us worthy of being taken seriously, didn’t you? That the rest of us were meek and harmless and unimportant, and that without Miryam, we would be lost. Because she was the only one who could play by these stupid rules for politics you had designed to keep anyone who isn’t Fae nobility from being taken seriously in politics. She could smile and talk and behave just right, and she had magic, and so you took her seriously and dismissed the rest of us.”

“I never dismissed you,” Zeku says. “And you were always quite willing to take a backseat while Miryam dealt with everything, so you have little grounds to complain about any conclusions people draw from that.”

Andromache presses her lips together. How dare he bring this up, act like what happened was somehow their fault for making Miryam get involved? As if the human leadership at the beginning of the war willingly decided that an eighteen-year-old was the perfect fit for emissary. The entire reason they had to give Miryam that position was that there had been no one else. Learning Fae politics was a matter of years, and the humans lacked diplomats skilled in the rules the Fae so valued. That they found someone who was able to fill the position at all was a minor miracle in itself.

She doesn’t say that they only let Miryam take the lead because she was the only one able to navigate the Fae political landscape that had been so skilfully designed to keep anyone but them out, though, because that would only be one part of the truth. The unimportant part, for this specific conversation.

“None of us ever wanted to work with the Fae, did you know that?” She gives him a sharp smile. “We didn’t trust you. It was Miryam who convinced us to give it a try. She said we needed allies, and that there would be Fae territories that would be willing to help us.”

“And she was right,” Shey says. “We helped you win this war.”

“Yes,” Andromache says softly. “Miryam was right – she managed to secure us the alliance she had promised, she managed to make things work, and so we went along with her plans. We ignored the countless offences your side committed against us because Miryam had her strategy and it was working. And then, when she insisted that the only way to get peace to work after the war was to find a way to work together, to build bridges between our people, we went along with that as well. Because we trusted her, because you seemed to respect her.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you understand now?” She asks. “We weren’t scared and meek without Miryam. She was the one who convinced us to work with you in the first place. But then, you killed her and you made it entirely clear that our lives are worthless to you, that no matter how much we try to work with you, you will never see us as equal.”

Zeku nods slowly. His face is grave. Now, he finally seems to understand. “So what now?” He asks.

Andromache leans back in her chair. “Miryam wanted to build bridges,” she says. “We were willing to go along with that, willing to give it a try, but then you killed her. So now what you are getting is a wall.”

----

Shey is waiting in one of the private meeting chambers. He is lounging on one of the chairs, idly flipping through the pages of a book that he snaps shut when Zeku enters.

“Your Highness,” he says with a slight smile, sitting up straighter. “How did the meeting with Their Majesties go?”

In answer, Zeku takes a slip of paper out of the pocket of his coat and throws it onto the table in front of Shey. “A list of discrete assassins and ways to contact them, since you don’t seem to know about the possibility of discrete assassinations yet,” he says. “You might want to look into it to save us any further scandals.”

Shey very deliberately places his book on the table. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says.

“Kindly do me the favour and explain that to Andromache and the other human queens. That might be amusing.” He shakes his head. “They know. And they are none too pleased, if you will allow the understatement.”

Shey, at the very least, does him the favour of not denying his actions a second time. After the meeting he just had, he doesn’t think he would be able to stand Shey’s games. He just shrugs. “Forgive me if I’m not shaking with fear at the prospect.”

The longer this conversation lasts, the more does Zeku understand Andromache’s feelings towards Fae nobility and their politics. To think that there was a time when he enjoyed these games… Now, all he can feel is disgust.

“You went too far,” he says, shaking his head. “This time, you really went too far, Shey.”

Shey waves him off. “It was a neat solution,” he says. “Everyone who had any cause for interest in Miryam died with her.”

“There are literally millions of humans who have a cause for interest in Miryam.”

Shey snorts. “Oh, not these mortals and their exaggerated sense of solidarity or whatever they call it, acting like any harm done to one of them is somehow a direct attack on all of them. If you ask me, they are just using it as an excuse to make themselves into the victims and give themselves the moral high ground in any given situation. Or do you see any Fae complaining about Drakon and his soldiers getting killed?”

That he thinks this is a negative reflection on the humans, not the Fae, probably says everything that needs to be said about what kind of person he is. Zeku doesn’t want to imagine what it will do to the Alliance – the entire Continent – if he gets put in charge. Had Miryam only been a little bit smarter, a bit more willing to play to win… She had everything necessary to leave her in charge of the Continent after the war ended. But she didn’t have the nerve to go through with it, and how did it end? Her dead, everything she was working for in shambles and the Continent in Shey’s hands.

Zeku could scream at how stupidly unnecessary all of it is.

Instead, he merely offers the barest shrug at Shey’s comment. “Regardless of their motives, our human allies seem out for your head over this.”

“So what if they do?” Shey asks. “Miryam is dead. Without her, there is little they can do.”

“They seem to disagree,” Zeku says. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but feel a little smug. “Andromache says they have proof. And that she will happily make it public should you not meet their demands.” He smiles slightly. “Not only will you and your friends be revealed as honourless in front of the entire Continent for betraying your own allies, I also imagine that some people will be rather cross with you for murdering hundreds of thousands of innocent humans after we justified that entire war with wanting to save the humans.”

Shey doesn’t reply. Maybe he just considers for the first time that justifying a war with wanting the protect the humans and then turning around to casually murder five hundred thousand of them was not a particularly smart move. Not to mention that over the past years, Miryam became the face of the entire war effort, which not only brought her a whole lot of popularity, but also made her into a symbol. And turning against the symbol for the war they just won is political suicide.

For a brief moment, Shey’s calm demeanour cracks as he seems to realize that he just made a catastrophic mistake. Then, he catches himself, summoning a calm expression again.

“What is their price?” He asks, voice entirely business-like.

Zeku wonders what he is hoping for. What price would, in his mind, be able to make up for a betrayal like this, the loss of thousands of lives? Knowing Shey, he probably doesn’t imagine it will be too much. A bit of money, maybe, or land. Trading rights and favourable treaties. A small price, as is appropriate for lives that were entirely worthless to him.

“Half of our world,” Zeku counters calmly. And yes, he does enjoy the look on Shey’s face at the reply. “They are withdrawing their consent to the treaty I worked out with Andromache, Miryam and Drakon.” Well, mostly Drakon. “They no longer trust us to live side by side with them, so they have come up with their own solution: They want to divide the Continent in two. One half to the them, the other to us, and a wall in the middle. They’ll take the south.”

For a few heartbeats, Shey says nothing at all. Then, he asks very slowly, “Have these mortal fools completely lost their minds?”

Zeku shrugs again. “They don’t trust us anymore, not after what happened, and I honestly cannot blame them.”

“And they truly think they will get away with that?” Shey lets out a laugh and jumps to his feet. “I’ll have them assassinated before I meet these ridiculous demands.”

“I am sure they have plans for that scenario,” Zeku says. “And should this be made public, I imagine they would have quite a few supporters. Miryam was very popular, as you know, and you might find many Fae care more than you anticipated. Especially since there were also so many Fae amongst those you had killed.”

Shey wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Lesser faeries,” he says.

And what am I? Zeku thinks, fighting the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Shey. At himself. After all, he always knew what kind of person Shey was, and still, he chose the way he did. Withdrew support for Miryam and hoped… yes, what did he hope for? That Shey’s disregard for human and faerie lives wouldn’t carry on into his style of ruling? That he would follow through with the promises Miryam had made after replacing her?

Maybe he should have risked sticking up for Miryam. Should have made it clearer to her what was at stake, helped her work out a way to come out of this on top. Instead, he took the safe route and withdrew support, marked his wager in working with her down as failed and cut his losses.

A mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You’re a coward, Miryam’s voice says in his head. He can still see her so clearly, standing in that hallway with tears in her eyes and fury on her face. I hope this haunts you.

A bitter smile twists Zeku’s mouth. It will, he thinks. Don’t you worry, Miryam. It will.

“You would do better to do as they say,” Zeku says. “Because if you don’t – or if you get the brilliant idea to make them disappear the way you did with Miryam – I can assure you that you will have a problem. Should it come to war, I will be the first one to side with them against you, but I will not be the last.”

Shey stares at him in disbelief. He opens his mouth as if to reply, then closes it again. Of course. He isn’t used to getting push-back.

“You went too far,” Zeku repeats. “And it will always be my greatest shame that I didn’t stop you sooner. But if you think I will let you take this any further, you are dead-wrong.”

If him and Andromache were still allies, he might have begged her to allow him and his people to join them on their side of the wall that is soon to be built. But he lost that alliance the moment he decided to cut ties with Miryam and he knows perfectly well that there is no getting it back.

He played. And he lost. And now, he will have to pay.

----

Without corpses, there is no real need to hold a funeral. Unless, of course, you are Fae and want to make a grand gesture about how terribly sorry you are about the death of the people you had killed, and so the Fae seem to have made it their mission to hold the most dramatic funeral possible for Miryam, Drakon and the others, perhaps in a vain attempt to cover up their guilt.

Had the idea come from anyone else, Andromache might even have been willing to admit that she thinks holding some kind of ceremony is the right thing to do. As things are, though, it only feels like a cheap publicity stunt. Hundreds of thousands of pyres erected, one for every single person who died during that battle, all of them lit at the same time – this isn’t a show of respect, it’s a political spectacle and Andromache hates everything about it.

The worst part is that she wasn’t even able to argue against the idea, not without making it seem like she doesn’t want to honour Miryam and the other dead. So instead, she has decided to use the entire situation to her advantage. Shey wants to use this funeral to improve his image? Fine, then Andromache will ruin that plan as thoroughly as she can.

The good thing about ceremonies like that is that everything, down to the choice of clothes, sends a message. Shey has apparently decided to show to the entire world how much he mourns Miryam’s death and respected her. He is wearing black with blue details, showing his mourning and pretending to the entire world that he respected Miryam, looked up to her.

Andromache and the other human councilmembers appear entirely in red.

Their choice of clothes draws stares as they arrive at the ceremony together. Miryam wore red details on her dress for Jurian’s funeral, but that was a different matter – then, at least everyone knew who she wanted to get revenge at. Now, with the war over and Ravenia, who is officially responsible for every death that occurred, dead, no one understands why the entire human fraction of the Alliance is publicly declaring that they want revenge.

Shey steps in Andromache’s way before she reaches her place at the front of the assembled crowd. His face is almost as red as Andromache’s dress. “What do you think you are doing?” He snaps.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Andromache asks, then glances down at her dress like she is only now realizing what his problem might be. “Oh, that. Well, I thought the choice of colour in a dress should reflect our feelings regarding the death.” She frowns at Shey. “Although you don’t seem to have taken that all too seriously yourself. What colour says ‘I had the deceased assassinated’ again?”

“Will you be quiet?” Shey hisses, looking around frantically to see if anyone heard. “I agreed to your demands, and in return, you were meant to keep your silence. If you aren’t able to do that, our agreement is over.”

“You are the one who made this funeral into a farce!” Andromache snaps back. “This isn’t an opportunity for you to improve your image and if you had any sense of decency whatsoever, you would never have tried.”

With that, she shoulders past him and goes to take her place with the other humans.

“Remarkable show of restraint,” Nakia says by way of greeting. “I thought you’d break his nose.”

Andromache shrugs. “Might still, depending on his bad his speech is.”

The first speech isn’t Shey’s, though. It is hers.

Andromache struggled against the suggestion that she should hold the opening speech. To her, it felt like she would be assuming a position she never held. She was a close friend with both Miryam and Drakon, yes, but she was never closest to either of them, and she didn’t know most of the others who died at all. It was only when she realized that anyone who was closer to them than her had died in that battle that she agreed to hold the speech.

Slowly, she steps forward, red dress shifting around her feet. She will not have to light any of the pyres as would be human tradition; they will be magically lit at the end of her speech with her only needing to give a signal. It feels wrong, somehow. Pyres are meant to be lit by hand, the person who was closest to them doing them that final service and bidding them goodbye in doing so. Magic takes away all of the intimacy of the moment.

Everything about this funeral-that-isn’t-one feels wrong. It is unworthy. Miryam and Drakon and all these countless others would have deserved better.

They would also have deserved a better speech than the one Andromache ends up giving. She did her best to find the proper words, she truly did. What point is there in talking about all the things that were wonderful about them, as if putting into words all that she lost will somehow make it better. Why would she tell the world about all the things Miryam and Drakon and the others would have wanted and deserved from the future, as if the one thing they would have wanted and deserved wasn’t to be alive. How can she call this a tragedy when she knows that in truth, it was a crime?

The only words Andromache wants to say are ones made from anger, condemning the ones responsible for these deaths, but those, she cannot speak, and there are no other words that might mean anything in the face of such a terrible, senseless crime. She still tries, and she fails, and she knows she does even as she holds her speech.

She is relieved when she is finally done and gets to return to her place. The pyres are lit by magic and Andromache tries to comfort herself with the fact that there are no bodies, anyways, that Miryam and Drakon and all the others are dead and will never know about the farce that is their funeral. It is no comfort at all, though.

The rest of the ceremony passes far too slowly. Andromache stands in her place, stares at the flickering flames and ignores the speeches the others hold. She only notices it is finally over when people start moving around her. She leaves her place as well, wandering around aimlessly for a bit. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to eat, or drink. She cannot stand this.

Andromache turns away from the ceremony and stalks off into the darkness. Away from the crowds and the noise and the fire. Away from the empty pyres and the Fae pretending they care about the deaths that occurred.

For the first few steps, her posture remains stiff, her steps fast and firm with anger. But as she walks through the night, her anger seems to dissolve like smoke in the wind. It leaves her feeling cold and alone. Empty. Soon, her vision is blurry with tears and she is stumbling more than walking.

How could everything have gone wrong so quickly? Mere days ago, she was giddy with happiness, drinking to victory and a bright future with the others, but now… Now, Miryam and Drakon and so many others are dead, and she cannot imagine ever speaking to Mor again, much less spending the future together as they planned. Everything she had wanted for her future, blown apart in one terrible day.

She lets herself drop to the ground, not caring if the damp grass stains her dress, rests her head on her knees and cries.

There is a soft rustling in front of her. Andromache is on her feet within moments, hand going for the dagger she has hidden under her dress. She is suddenly acutely aware that she is all alone out here, no guards in sight, and almost unarmed.

“Who’s there?” She calls, slowly drawing her dagger.

No one answers, but there is another rustle. This time, Andromache can place where the noise is coming from. She looks down and finds a falcon sitting on a small rock a few feet away from her, staring at her from amber eyes. Andromache stares back.

Birds usually avoid people. They do not land mere feet away from them, or remain sitting this still. Andromache points her dagger at the bird, trying to shoo it away, but it merely cocks its head to the side and hops a step closer to her. There is something fastened around its neck.

Rationally, Andromache knows that there are several people who could be responsible for this. Miryam wasn’t the only witch in the world, and even discounting people who are able to control animals, there’s always the chance of some Fae or another being able to shapeshift into one to use its form to trick her. Rationally, Andromache knows perfectly well that it is a terrible idea to approach a weird animal with some item fastened around its neck. Unfortunately, that knowledge is overridden completely by the fact that the only person she ever met who had a particular affinity for animals was Miryam, and Miryam favoured falcons. And they didn’t find a body.

Slowly, Andromache steps towards the falcon. It doesn’t make a move to flee, merely looks up at her. Andromache crouches down and reaches for it. If I get ambushed now, that will be entirely on me, she things as she carefully unties the thin bit of rope fastened around its neck.

A small amulet falls into her waiting palm. It appears to be bronze, with a blue stone in the middle. Andromache frowns down at it, then at the falcon who is still watching her.

“And what am I supposed to do now?” She asks.

The bird clicks its beak and hops from one foot to the other. If there is any message hidden in that reaction, Andromache fails to understand it. She turns her attention back on the amulet, turns it around in her fingers. Nothing happens, but she notices that the stone seems slightly loose.

“What are the odds of me getting cursed from this?” She asks softly.

The bird offers no reply, and so Andromache reaches for the stone and turns it around once. There is a flash of light. When it recedes, Andromache is no longer standing on the soft forest floor, but on hard earth. She stumbles forward and might have fallen had there not been a hand ready to steady her.

Slowly, she looks up. Miryam and Drakon are standing in front of her, both very much alive.

----

An hour after the official part of the ceremony has ended, Mor is already drunk. She has foregone the food entirely and instead gone to the drinks directly after the last speech ended, and then proceeded to methodically empty one wine bottle after another.

By now, she is three-quarters through the third bottle and a merciful numbness in beginning to set in. Everything still sucks, but it no longer feels like someone is twisting a knife in her chest. She even manages to look over at Andromache, who looks particularly beautiful and just as furious in her red dress and ignores Mor entirely, without feeling like she is dying. Maybe with a few more bottles, it will stop hurting altogether.

She drains the rest of her bottle and makes for the table with the wine again, slightly unsteady on her feet. Once, she stumbles over her own feet and crashes into one of the other guests. With a mumbled “sorry” she continues on, finally reaching the safe haven of the table. She clings on to it with one hand as she carefully places the empty bottle on the table and reaches for a new one. Bounty in hand, she retreats back into the crowd.

The fires are still burning, and the light stings her eyes. So many fires… So many dead people… Miryam’s face flashes in her mind, the coldness in her eyes as they last spoke. Drakon telling her she went too far. Andromache, who isn’t dead but seems to wish Mor was, telling her she is no better than the rest.

She opens the bottle and goes back to drinking. Halfway through that bottle, the pain dulls to a soft throb and she begins to feel better about herself. Yes, everything is all horrible, but she sort of feels like she is floating, and the fires are very pretty. Like little glittering jewels.

Maybe she should talk to Andromache now. The prospect no longer feels as daunting as it did an hour ago. She will talk to her and tell her… well, she will think of something to tell her.

Mor drains the last of her bottle, letting it drop to the ground, and tries to stand up on her toes to scan the crowd for Andromache. Her sense of balance isn’t entirely up to the task anymore, though, because she begins to sway dangerously and stumbles. She would have fallen had there not been a pair of hands taking her by the shoulders and pushing her upright again.

“Oops,” Mor mutters.

The hands let go of her shoulders but remain nearby, as if waiting to catch her should she fall again. Mor looks around for the owner of the hands, finding a dark-skinned Fae standing in front of her. It takes her a few moments to work through the haze in her mind and place his face, then she smiles slowly.

“Helion. Want some wine?” She wants to offer him her bottle, but then realizes it’s not in her hands anymore. She looks around for it until she remembers that she dropped it earlier. “I’ll get us a new one.” Cauldron, forming words is difficult. Her tongue isn’t cooperating the way it should and the ground seems to have started swaying under her feet. She stumbles and Helion grips her by the shoulder again.

“No, thank you,” he says. “And you should probably switch to water for the rest of the evening, too.”

Mor shakes her head. “Spoilsport,” she mutters but doesn’t resist as Helion starts leading her towards the food.

“’m looking for An…” She stumbles over the name. Frowning with concentration, she tries again. “Andromache.” It comes out almost correctly. “She was very mean to me,” she adds. “Not nice at all. Not fair. Wasn’ my fault.”

Helion raises one eyebrow. “I think she left already,” he says, handing her a plate.

Mor looks down at the steaming food – and bursts out crying. It’s all so terribly sad. The entire world is sad and bad and hopeless, and Andromache hates her, and Miryam and Drakon are dead and it’s all because of her.

“’s my fault,” she mutters, words coming out even more unclearly now. “I was supposed to… to keep them safe and…”

Helion wraps an arm around her shoulders. His arm is very warm and very nice, and it makes more cry even harder.

“It isn’t your fault,” he says. “You couldn’t have known what would happen when you left – no one could have anticipated this.”

Mor buries her face in his jacked, sniffing. “But I said…” she begins. She would have continued the sentence, would have told him about all the horrible things she said as well as she remembers, but her mouth stops cooperating.

“Alright,” Helion says, and Mor feels herself lifted off her feet and picked up. “I’m bringing you to your rooms now, and tomorrow…” Helion hesitates. “Well, I’m sure things will look better tomorrow.”

There is a hint of bitterness in his voice, like he doesn’t believe what he is saying himself, but in her state, Mor doesn’t notice. She only vaguely registers that she is being carried up some stares and gently tucked into bed before she slips off into merciful oblivion.

----

For a few heartbeats, Andromache merely stands frozen in place and stares. A part of her wants to scream at them, shout her fury because how dare they scare her like that? Another part just wants to hug them, somehow convince herself that they are real.

“Andromache,” Miryam whispers and takes a step forward.

That breaks the spell. Andromache darts forward as well and wraps her arm around her neck. Hot tears sting on her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Miryam whispers. “We’re alright.”

Andromache lets go of her and turns to hug Drakon. The first minutes after that are so hectic that Andromache only barely manages to keep track, the initial happiness giving way to fresh worry quickly. All three of them seem to be talking at once, questions and answers and more questions buzzing through the air. It would have gone far more quickly had they talked it through calmly, but they are all far from calm. Andromache can barely believe what she is hearing – the ocean parted, a battle on the ocean floor. It is a miracle that they all survived.

“Maybe we should go away from the camp for a bit,” Drakon suggests, nodding to the onlookers that have gathered.

“Good idea,” Andromache says, and Miryam, who has been unusually quiet after the initial excitement died down, nods as well.

They find a quiet place a bit away from the camp where the forest meets the ocean, only just within the bounds of the wards. Miryam leans against a tree, staring out at the ocean. Drakon sits down on the trunk of an upturned tree. Andromache remains standing.

“If you want, we can declare war that very day,” she says.

It’s an idea that has been passed back and forth between Nakia and Andromache ever since the news about what Shey did arrived. So far, they’ve always had to decide against it. They lack the military force to be able to successfully fight the Fae, and with so many of theirs newly freed from slavery, they cannot spare the resources. But with Miryam, who has shown herself capable of taking down entire countries by herself and who might be able to gather them support amongst the Fae… They would actually stand a chance.

Miryam doesn’t react at all, though. From the way she keeps staring at the ocean, unmoving, unblinking, Andromache almost thinks she didn’t hear her at all.

Drakon reacts, though. He spins around to her like she slapped him. “What?” He asks, managing to put all the disbelief in the world into the word.

“Declare war,” Andromache repeats. “That is the common reaction to a betrayal like this, isn’t it? Any Fae country on the Continent would do the same thing, so why shouldn’t we?”

“Because the only thing it would accomplish is get thousands of people killed and potentially undo years of work!” Drakon answers with more force than is usual for him. “What could you hope to accomplish?”

“What else could I do?” Andromache shoots back. “We need to react in some way, we can’t just allow them to walk all over us like that. They were willing to kill thousands of us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand – “

“Stop,” Miryam cuts her off, turning in a quick, precise motion away from the ocean. “They were willing to kill Drakon and his soldiers right alongside us – most of the people who actually did die were faeries.”

Andromache deflates slightly. She sighs and turns to Drakon. “Sorry,” she says. “I just…” She shrugs.

“You’re currently in the mood to strangle any Fae you come across?” Drakon suggests. “Understandable. No offence taken.”

Still, Miryam has a point. Maybe Andromache was wrong to draw the lines in this conflict simply as humans against Fae. In reality, the High Fae don’t have much more respect for faeries than for humans. There’s a total of two faerie rulers on the entire Continent, and for all that Shey just proved he didn’t care about killing thousands of humans to get what he wanted, he did the same to the faeries who were involved. Drakon’s status and the protection it should have offered stopped him as little as Miryam’s.

It’s an interesting thought. Isolated, it might be difficult for the humans to fight back, but if they were to work together with the faeries, if they realized that the differences between humans and faeries are far smaller than the ones between faeries and High Fae… An interesting thought indeed.

Unfortunately, Drakon’s thoughts don’t seem to go into that direction.

“War won’t make anything better, though,” he says. “This isn’t like this war where we had a clear, manageable goal: Ending slavery. That was simple. But how do you plan to win a war against the fact that they don’t see humans as equal?” He shakes his head. “Short of killing every one of them, what way is there to resolve this issue through war?”

He looks at Andromache like he expects her to say something. She remains silent. She hadn’t thought this far yet. Of course she doesn’t want to kill all Fae, not in the slightest. She doesn’t even hate them all, she just… How can Shey and the others get away with what they did?

“All a war would accomplish is kill millions of innocents,” Drakon says. “And we’ve already…” He shakes his head and starts over. “This war has already taken things so far. What lines are left that haven’t been crossed yet? And if we take this any further, if we now start a war with our former allies… it will tear this entire continent apart. And it will hardly even matter who wins, because either way, millions of innocent people will die and reconciliation or peace will be made impossible for generations to come.”

Andromache wrinkles her nose, but she is still unable to argue. That was also one of the reasons why Nakia especially argued against the idea of a military solution: To start a war now would mean to risk everything they have won.

“Drakon is right,” Miryam says. “War is not the solution. Too many innocents have already been dragged into this – I won’t allow for any more people to be made into collateral damage by jumping onto Shey’s game of trying to murder each other in the most catastrophic way possible.”

Andromache refrains from saying that this goes far beyond a political powerplay. She doesn’t want to argue with Miryam over something like that.

“The treaty is the best chance for peace we have,” Miryam says. “I won’t let Shey’s actions ruin that. I know circumstances are far from ideal, but we can still make it work.”

Andromache stares at her, not quite believing what she is hearing. After all that happened, how can Miryam still talk of her treaty? How does she not realize that this treaty died the second Shey betrayed them. Andromache wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she starts seeing sense. She has to forcefully remind herself that Miryam is likely still in shock from what happened and is desperately clinging to a solution that is no longer possible as a way to cope.

“That’s not happening,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “That treaty relied on mutual trust, and after what happened, I cannot see that coming about anytime soon.”

Miryam and Drakon both look like she slapped them. It actually makes Andromache feel bad for them. Her own stakes in that treaty were always low, she really mostly went along with it because Miryam and Drakon were so very convinced that it was the only way, but for them… She doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to watch a thing you believed in and spent years working for fall apart before your eyes.

“And what will you do instead?” Drakon asks.

“We have decided to split up the world. One half to the Fae, the other to the humans and a wall in the middle to keep us safe.”

Drakon frowns. “What kind of wall would that be?” He asks, but Miryam is staring at Andromache, wide-eyed.

“No,” she whispers. “No, Andromache. You cannot do that. Please. It isn’t necessary, there is still another way.”

The desperation on her face stings. Andromache wants nothing more than to give in, if only to wipe that look off her face, but she cannot. Not on this.

“I’m sorry,” she says, more softly this time. “But this is the way it is going to happen. You don’t want war, so I will not start one in your name. But after what happened, there cannot be peace either.”

Miryam shakes her head. Straightens. “Just give me one more chance,” she says. It’s the same tone she always has when she tries to convince people that she can handle a situation she cannot handle. “Let me talk to the Fae. I can still fix this.”

Andromache slowly shakes her head. “Are you out of your mind?” She asks. It is a struggle to keep her voice controlled. “They tried to kill you, Miryam. All of you. What do you think will happen if you go back?”

“This treaty needs to go through!” Miryam retorts. “This is important. It’s more important than… If we are to ever have peace, we need to find a way to live together. You – “

“Miryam stop,” Andromache snaps. Now, she actually does take her by the shoulders and shakes her slightly. “Do you truly want to die over this? Because this is what’s going to happen if you go back. They are going to kill you.”

“They already did,” Miryam mutters.

That throws Andromache off, but only for a moment. Chances are Miryam is just being dramatic, and if she wasn’t… well, then she will have to deal with that later.

“If you go back, you will die, and your death will be completely pointlessly,” she says, “You will not reach your goals, only get yourself killed. Is that truly what you want your life to be? Sixteen years as a slave, two years on the run and seven years of war. Killed at twenty-five in some pointless political struggle.”

Miryam starts to cry. Drakon makes to rise, but Andromache is faster, wrapping her arms around her.

“It doesn’t need to end like this,” she whispers. “You can still live, Miryam. You have won. Don’t just throw your life away like that.”

Miryam steps away from Andromache, already wiping her tears away again. She still looks completely miserable, though, as she lets herself drop onto the trunk next to Drakon.

“But what options do we have?” Drakon asks. He looks no less miserable than Miryam. “If we cannot go back, if we will never be safe after what happened, then what about the people in our camp? They are witnesses as much as we are. Some of these people have homes. Families. We have a home. We can’t just leave that, even if we had a way to vanish hundreds of thousands of people.”

Andromache bites her lip. She didn’t think of that yet. For the humans, she supposes she might be able to hide them amongst the other newly-freed slaves, since Fae never pay much attention to humans, but even then, there would be the problem of word of what Shey did getting around. And there is no hiding the Seraphim at all, not amongst the humans and not anywhere else. Miryam and Drakon alone might hope to hide somewhere, but what would the point be if their people were still left in danger?

She briefly contemplates saying that if they were to go to war, none of that would be a problem. But that would be a very cruel way to push Miryam and Drakon to take her side. Give up your home or agree to a war you know to be wrong is not a particularly fair choice, and certainly not one she should ask of her friends.

“We can’t just vanish,” Drakon continues. “And Andromache, you can’t just split the Continent in two and build a wall in the middle. How would that even work? Do you expect millions of people to get up and leave their countries to march to the other end of the Continent and settle down there? That’s a terrible idea, not to mention that the kind of wall you seem to be thinking of won’t be easy to get.”

Miryam seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin. Apparently, she never told Drakon about the wall spell. Understandable, Andromache supposes. Until now, none of them ever thought that spell would become relevant.

“Let’s just assume that the wall is happening,” Andromache says. Let Miryam talk that one through with Drakon on her own. “The issue is what we do with you two.”

“No, that’s not the issue!” Miryam replies. “The issue is that this wall is a downright terrible idea and – “

“And not your choice to be made,” Andromache finishes. “The decision was unanimous, Miryam. I’m sorry, but even you cannot change that.”

Neither Miryam nor Drakon argue any further after this. Miryam merely reaches for Drakon’s hand, and then, they are sitting side by side in complete silence.

Andromache feels terrible about herself. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt them with the solution she came up with, but there seems to be no way around it. She firmly believes that the wall is the only was to guarantee the humans’ safety in the long run, and for that to work out, Miryam, Drakon and their people need to disappear. It means that they will not get the future they wanted, and that Drakon and his people will have to give up their homes, and it is far from fair but Andromache doesn’t see a way around it so she simply stands around and stares down at her feet in shame.

Finally, it is Miryam who breaks the silence. “I think I know somewhere we could go,” she says softly. “Somewhere they would never find us. Where we would be safe.”

----

Tags: @femtopulsed @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites