#i’ve had the worst night mare of my life two nights ago and i can’t stop thinking of it.

[goonersaurus]

idk

… i haven’t been able to keep up with football lately, which has to do with being in a pacific time zone with the past few months (i have extra respect to pacific time zone ppl who can keep up with european football games.. ive just been really … sleepy recently, can’t stay up, i kinda blame it on my medication)

i am not as interested in drawing football fanart as i used to be.. i kind of hope i will be when i go back to england this december. i miss getting sunday roasts with my partner and our friends and watching arsenal games that only me and my wife are interested in. i miss being in the neighbourhood, and having random interactions with random people in north london, because in north london, arsenal is lifeblood, as in social currency (tottenham is too! spurs fans will screw with you! heh)

i miss football so much, and the pubs, friends and beer and roast dinners, match of the day at the end of the night/on the refuge of a sunday morning, seeing things that make me inspired to draw footy fanart. and i miss interacting with tumblr footy moots. and i feel isolated, alone. i miss home (i’m from canada, but i really miss both canada and england).

[fandom-puff]

Enough

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Requested by: anon

Prompts: “I‘m never going to be good enough for you, am I?” (49 from list 2)

Summary: you’re not a barmaid. You don’t train horses. You’re nothing compared to the other women in his life

Warnings: swearing, arguments, very brief harassment

“YN!” John’s voice rang out from the side room. “Come ‘ere, girl, come and sit with us!”

You smiled weakly at him. He always tried to include you. “A-Actually, I was just heading home,” you said softly, walking over to him, ignoring Tommy pouring out a gin for May Carleton.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Is it Finn? D’you want us to tell him to fuck off? We know he’s off putting- oi, Finn, go play with the other kids, yeah, fuck off,”

You giggled slightly. “No... it’s not... it’s not Finn, you can sit down,” you said, and the youngest Shelby grinned at you in thanks.

Esme, johns wife appeared at the door. “You can sit with me if you like. Lord knows I need some female company while him and Arthur are playing cards,” she smirks, jabbing him in the rib with her elbow.

You smile softly and give in. “Fine,” you said. Once the door was shut, you leaned to Esme, murmuring, “you’d think you’d have plenty of female company what with Tommy bouncing between Mrs Carlton and the barmaid,”

John overheard and snorted into his whiskey and esme glared at him. She looked at you sympathetically, and said in a hushed voice once the boys were distracted by cards again, “you still love the fucker, don’t you?”

Signing, you looked down to your lap, fidgeting with your hands. “Mm-Hm,” you confirmed. “He just... he confuses me so much. He cuts it off with me after the war, saying he needs space when really he was chasing that barmaid spy... she fucks off after he has her, and he comes back to me for a quick one. I was a fool to let him, because not two weeks later it’s May Carlton this, May Carlton that,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, hating to admit that you were jealous. But underneath that, you felt vulnerable. Inadequate.

“He’s a cock, YN,” esme said, rubbing your shoulder gently.

“Who’s a cock, Es?” John asks. Nosey bastard.

Esme sighed softly. “Thomas. Flaunting the horse woman round YN. Says she was born riding, but I bet she’s only ever ridden Fillies she inherited. Never had to break one in herself,” she rolled her eyes.

John and Arthur looked at you, smiling sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation to you, YN, we prefer you over an Irish spy or some posh woman any day of the week,” Arthur said. “You were with Tom since you were sixteen, and since he er... broke things off... he’s been a right dick,”

You smiled softly. Arthur and John would’ve made such lovely brothers in law. “Thanks, boys,” you sighed. “But it’s not... it’s not that I’m mad at him for seeing other women, he can do what he wants. It’s the seeing me in between and then ignoring me. I-I know I’m no good. I know I’m boring. I know I’m useless. Just... he doesn’t seem to be arsed about how I feel, even though I care so much about him. It’s like rubbing salt into an open wound- I don’t even know why I’m talking about this to you lot of all people,” you let out a high, nervous laugh. Esme patter your back as John and Arthur each reached to squeeze one of your hands reassuringly.

“What’s going on?” Tommy asked, the door now what as he slipped into the room. May was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s your girlfriend, Thomas?” Esme spat. You were glad for her venemous tongue sometimes.

Tommy rolled his eyes and barely regarded his sister in law. “May Carlton has left small Heath to go back to her home,” he said bluntly. “To tend to my horse,”

“Even though you’ve got Curly here. He’s the best at horses,” you blurted, without really thinking.

“Yn,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What would you know about horses?”

His words stung. He had taught you how to ride when you were 16. He’d taught you how to tell what a horse was feeling, how to calm a nervous mare, how to get a horse to behave without taking to the crop or the whip. In your letters while he was in France you always made sure to tell him how the horses in the yard were getting on, and he told you about the beautiful chestnut stallion he had seen, the dappled mare which the commander rode. “Only what you taught me,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes. “Only what you taught me before you went off to France. Before that fucking war and then that fucking copper ruined everything,” you pulled away from esme’s comforting pats, from John and Arthur’s sympathetic gaze, from Finn’s baffled look. You stared at tommy, taking a deep breath to say something scathing, but could only manage a small sob.

You hated yourself for it. Tommy grabbed your arms but you wriggled from his grasp. “Look, YN, calm down, love, we’ll talk-“

“Love? Love?” You hissed. “You lost your right to call me anything but my name months ago. Don’t you coddle me, Thomas Shelby, because I know exactly what you’re thinking. I‘m never going to be good enough for you, am I? I’m never going to be a pretty Irish barmaid who keeps a pistol in her handbag. I’m never going to be a prostitute you wouldn’t let your brother marry because you wanted her all to yourself. I’m never going to be some rich widow with a big house and a wealth of knowledge about horses. All I gave you, ten years of my life, my innocence, my youth... it was never good enough for you, was it?” tears were streaming down your face.

“Yn,” Tommy said.

“No,” you pushed past him. “Don’t bother,” you slammed the door to the snug. As you walked out of the pub, a man grabbed at your wrist.

“Need some cheering up, darling?” He snarled, Hans tracing your thigh.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off me before I rip your fucking balls off and shove ‘em down your own throat,” you growled, yanking your hand away from him, and storming home.

Men were the worst. All toe rags, you decided.

***

A week has passed since your argument with tommy. Each of the Shelby’s had tried reaching out to you- you were practically a sister to them for ten years before Tommy decided he’d had enough.

You sighed as the door knocked. “As much as I appreciate it Arthur,” you sighed as you took the chain off. “Im really not in the mood to spend my night drinking away my sorrows with you and John- oh. It’s you,”

You immediately looked down, not wanting to look into those blue eyes, that perfect face. That stupid, perfect face.

“YN... look,” he said slowly, carefully. The same way he would coax a nervous filly to trust him. “I’ve been... ive been a bastard, okay. I’m sorry. I still... I still love you,”

You snorted. “Explain that to everyone within a mile radius of May Carlton’s house, hmm?” You said bitterly. “Or to the horse you named ‘Grace’s Secret’”

Tommy sighed. “I know you hate me, YN... but... I love you. I haven’t stopped loving you since we were 16 in my uncle Charlie’s Yard, hiding from your dad. When we used to sit by the cut eating those pretty little cakes you used to make. I used to give you the strawberry off the top of mine, so long as you gave me some of your buttercream. We wrote to eachother every week while I was in France, sometimes twice, three times, even. I still have those letters, YN. You used to put a spritz of your perfume in each one and do a little kiss in all your different lipsticks so it was like you were hugging and kissing me all those miles away,”

As he spoke, he was slowly backing you into your living room, until you were both sitting down. “I didn’t bring you flowers, because I know you only really like them in the spring and summer, because they wilt too fast and look too sad in the autumn and winter. And if it was spring, I would’ve gotten you roses or violets or pansies, because I know lilies and chrysanthemums make you sneeze,” a fresh round of tears slipped out of your shut eyes. You couldn’t bare to look at him under his intense gaze- you knew you’d break down after just a second.

“Tommy,” you whispered softly. It was the first time you’d called him by his nickname in over a year

“I know that you can’t sleep without snuggling into something- blankets normally- but... it used to be me, and I miss it so much, YN,” he said the last part in a soft, quiet voice.

You let out a soft cry, moving to his side, allowing him to engulf you in his arms and hold you tight, the way he held you the night before he went off to war. You cried into his chest, and we’re sure he was crying into your hair for more than an hour, finding long lost comfort in one another’s arms, the way they slotted so well together despite so long apart.

“I want this to work Tommy,” you eventually whispered. “I want it to be how it was,” you felt him not his head.

“No more secrets, YN. No more women. Only you. The only woman I’ve ever truly loved,”

You sighed softly and nodded, snuggling into him the way he pointed out you did. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, you look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said guiltily, picking you up and carrying you upstairs. As he was tucking you in, you grabbed his hand, eyes suddenly alert.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whispered, squeezibv his hand. He squeezed back, before kicking off his shoes and taking off his belt, sliding into bed behind you, cuddling you close the way you did all those years ago. It seemed the most natural thing to do, and he almost sighed with relief when you snuggled close. He kissed the top of your head gently.

“Never, YN... never again,”

Tag list: @the-makingsofgreatness @peakyswritings @haphazardhufflepuff @diksy1112 @zodiyack @soleil-dor @hiddensapphic @fckingpeakyblinders @snugleo @alittlebirds @satanxklaus @glamsaturn @thegirlwithoutaname87 @queenofmankind @awkwardretro

[scotiaeire]

INSOMNIA. BUT, DREAMS.

(PLS EXCUSE CAPS, SIGHT ISSUES)

I HAVE INSOMNIA, HAD IT SINCE MY EARLY TEENS. THE ONLY THING THAT WORKS IS PRESCRIPTION DRUGS AND SINCE GOING THROUGH A BOUT OF DEPRESSION IN WHICH I FOOLISHLY ADMITTED TO MY GP ABOUT FEELING SUICIDAL, I AM NO LONGER ALLOWED TO HAVE THEM.

BUT, THEY GAVE ME NO ALTERNATIVES, AND I COPE WITH IT ALONE.

THE WORST OF IT COMES AND GOES. THIS PAST WEEK IS A TYPICAL BOUT OF IT. I WAKE EARLY EVERY DAY BY DEFAULT. UP BEFORE SIX AM, NO MATTER WHAT TIME I GO TO BED. USED TO THAT.

BUT THEN DURING AN INSOMNIA BOUT I BEGIN TO WAKE EARLIER. FIVE, FOUR, COUPLE OF NIGHTS AGO, THREE AM, LAST NIGHT IT WAS TWO AM. I TRY NOT TO WAKE MY HUSBAND AS I “SNEAK” OUT OF BED BUT USUALLY FAIL. WE’RE BOTH ATTUNED TO ONE ANOTHER’S SLEEPING HABITS. SO I KISS HIM, TELL HIM TO GO BACK TO SLEEP, I’LL BE OK, AND I GET UP.

I GO INTO THE LIVINGROOM AND LIGHT A CANDLE, CUDDLE UP ON THE SOFA WITH A BOOK, OR WATCH AN OLD MOVIE, AND WAIT OUT THE HOURS FOR DAWN TO COME, WHICH IS LATER AND LATER AT THIS TIME OF YEAR.

THESE BAD BOUTS OF IT ARE ALWAYS ACCOMPANIED BY NIGHTMARES BEFORE I WAKE. NIGHTMARES ARE A REGULAR PROBLEM FOR ME ANYWAY, GIVEN THE EVENTS OF THE PAST FEW YEARS. BUT THESE ARE OF THE “SCREAMING HEEBIES” KIND, THE KIND THAT MAKE YOU SIT BOLT UPRIGHT, CLUTCHING YOUR CHEST BECAUSE YOUR HEART POUNDS AND TRIPS OUT, SWEAT RUNS DOWN THE BACK OF YOU AND STICKS YOUR CLOTHES TO YOUR SKIN AND YOU STRUGGLE TO SEPARATE THE ‘MARE FROM REALITY SO YOU’RE NEVER QUITE SURE IF YOU *ARE* ACTUALLY AWAKE.

SOMETIMES, THERE’S A PATTERN TO THE DREAMS. NOT ALWAYS, BUT OFTEN. I TRY TO WORK OUT WHAT MY MIND IS TELLING ME. MANY YEARS AGO I STUDIED DREAM ANALYSIS.

DOGS ARE SAID TO REPRESENT FRIENDS. MAKES SENSE, RIGHT? SO LAST NIGHT I GOT CHASED DOWN AND TORN APART BY A PACK OF WOLVES. NOW, LIKE MOST FOLKS, I LOVE WOLVES. I DON’T OVER-ROMANTICISE THEM BUT I LOVE THEM.

I’VE BEEN HAVING THIS ‘MARE FOR THIS ENTIRE WEEK. SAME THING. I’M IN DEEP SNOW, STRUGGLING TO RUN FROM THEM. THEY ENCIRCLE ME. ONE GETS IN A NIP AT MY CALF. I *FEEL* IT. BLOOD TRAILS BEHIND ME IN THE SNOW. ANOTHER TAKES A CHUNK OUT OF A THIGH. I *FEEL* IT, TRUST ME I FEEL IT...AND THEN THEY’RE ALL ON ME, DEEP IN A FOREST THICK WITH SNOW AND BLACK PINE AND FIR TREES. AND AS THEY TEAR MY BODY APART, I’M SCREAMING IN PAIN. AND JUST BEFORE I DIE, I WAKE.

THOSE AREN’T THE WORST NIGHTMARES I’VE HAD. MY HUBS AND DAUGHTER WOULD TELL OF THE COUNTLESS TIMES I’VE WOKEN THEM IN FRIGHT BY SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS, EYES OPEN BUT UNSEEING, ARMS FLAILING AND FENDING OFF....THINGS...

LACK OF SLEEP IS A TERRIBLE THING. IT IMPACTS YOU PHYSICALLY LIKE LITTLE ELSE, WEARING YOU DOWN AND OUT, AND YOU STRUGGLE TO GET THROUGH THE DAY, FEELING LIKE YOU’RE WADING THROUGH TREACLE OR QUICKSAND. BRAIN DEAD. DEPRESSED.

MENTALLY, WELL...SO MANY YEARS OF IT DOESN’T ACTUALLY HELP DEPRESSION.

I’VE TRIED EVERY “REMEDY” GOING. ONLY THE PRESCRIPTION DRUGS ALLOWED ME TO SLEEP NORMALLY AND IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I HAD THOSE. AND I’M NOT ALLOWED THEM BECAUSE DOCTORS ARE STUPID ENOUGH TO NOT REALISE THAT IF A PERSON IS INTENT ON COMMITTING SUICIDE, THEY’LL FIND MANY METHODS OF DOING SO..AND I KNOW SWALLOWING PILLS IS ONE OF THE LESS “PLEASANT” METHODS TO GO.

BUT TO LEAVE THOSE OF US IN MY POSITION WITH ZERO HELP AT ALL ISN’T RIGHT. THERE’S NOWHERE TO TURN TO. FOLKS HELPFULLY SUGGEST HERBAL REMEDIES/MEDITATION/ETC AND I THANK THEM AND SAY I’LL TRY IT, THANKS, A LITTLE WHITE LIE BECAUSE WHEN YOU’VE BEEN AN INSOMNIAC LONG AS I HAVE, THERE’S VERY LITTLE YOU HAVEN’T TRIED.

BUT, THE ‘MARES...THE DREAMS. THEY LEAVE YOU WANDERING THROUGH THE NEXT DAY FEELING STILL CAUGHT IN THEM.

DOGS = FRIENDS IN DREAM ANALYSIS, SO IF IT’D BEEN A PACK OF DOGS THE OBVIOUS MESSAGE WOULD BE BEWARE OF BEING ATTACKED IN SOME WAY BY FRIENDS.

I HAVE NO FRIENDS. A COMBINATION OF CHOICE AND BEING AN ABRASIVE, UNLIKEABLE WOMAN.

SO, WOLVES?

ALL I KNOW IS THAT, THERE *IS* A SUBTLE-BUT-THERE FEELING OF THREAT. AND IT’S COMING OUT IN MY ‘MARES. AND I WANT IT TO STOP.

INSOMNIA IS BAD ENOUGH. IT MAKES YOU PHYSICALLY ILL.

LAST WEEKEND I HAD AN ACCIDENT I’M STILL RECOVERING FROM. I *NEED* REST, DESPERATELY.

SO, F*CK YOU, DREAMS AND ‘MARES. RIDE ON BY. ME, I’LL STICK THIS BOUT OF INSOMNIA OUT, BEEN HERE, DONE THIS, SO MANY TIMES OVER THE YEARS IT’S BECOME AN INTEGRAL PART OF MY LIFE NOW. I KNOW WHAT KICKED IT OFF BUT NOBODY CAN RETURN TO THE PAST AND PUT THINGS RIGHT OR MEND OLD HURTS.

THERE ARE MANY WHO LONG TO “RUN WITH THE WOLVES”. SO MANY WHO HUMANISE THEM, OVER ROMANTICISE THEM. MAKE THEM WHAT IN REALITY, THEY AREN’T.

I WON’T DEMONISE THEM BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT KIND OF CREATURES THEY ACTUALLY ARE.

BUT I ALSO KNOW THEY *DO* BITE, EVEN THEIR HANDLERS WHO’VE KNOWN AND WORKED WITH THEM IN NATIONAL PARKS FOR YEARS.

BECAUSE THEY ARE WILD.

ONE OF THE THINGS INSOMNIA DOES IS, WHEN YOU *DO* SNATCH A LITTLE SLEEP, THE MIND STRUGGLES TO CRAM IN THE DREAMS IT NORMALLY WOULD OVER THE COURSE OF AN ENTIRE NIGHT. SO DREAMS THAT WOULD BE SIMPLE ODDITIES OR RECOGNISABLE SYMBOLISM BECOMES AMPLIFIED INTO NIGHTMARISH PROPORTIONS AND BECOMES MORE INTENSE AS THE BOUT OF SLEEPLESSNESS GOES ON UNTIL IT REACHES THE POINT YOU FEAR FALLING ASLEEP AT ALL.

I HAVE A HEART ARRHYTHMIA. FOR THE PAST TWO NIGHTS, I’VE WOKEN WITH CHEST PAINS AND PALPITATIONS. TIME TO UP THE HEART MEDS.

DON’T BELIEVE THOSE WHO SAY DREAMS CAN’T KILL ANYONE. IF THE WOLVES DON’T GET ME FIRST, ONE NIGHT ONE OF THEM JUST MIGHT TAKE OUT THIS FRAGILE HEART OF MINE.

SWEET DREAMS.

[dear--charlie]

Dear Charlie,

Date: Wednesday, August 14, 2019 Time: 11:56 pm

I’m curious. Does anyone look forward to reading my letters? -calls out- “Anyone?” -dead silence emits so deafening, I stop talking-

So.. I was reading letters I have sent you. And, shit. The people who take the time to read these letters must think I am selfish.

All I talk about are men, my attraction to men, my desire to have a girlfriend, or whatever.

Which, if y'all know me, you KNOW, I’m going to get back to it.

But for a short bit, let’s talk about things that aren’t guys or girls.

Here are a number of facts about me you, Charlie, and other people reading this may not know about…

I’m very unsatisfied with my weight. I weigh about 195 pounds, and am working to drop to 120 pounds. I don’t feel attractive in my skin. I can’t see my vag anymore.

I haven’t orgasmed ever. I am 24 fucking years old. Why the fuck haven’t I cum yet? God..

Happier topics, Mare. Okay. There is this app I use called SLOWLY, where you create a username, and bio about yourself. You can start sending letters to people across the world. I’ve had letters coming in from China, India especially, the U.K., Australia, Taiwan, Russia, Portugal, tip of Africa. So many letters. And, you do get standard. ‘Yo baby. Send me nudes.’ This one guy got clever and asked me for nudes in Morse Code. I kindly sent him back to go fuck himself. The only person who gets to see my beautiful breasts is me, and the barren vag, cause I swear to myself, I never ever see Nic. (<– Sorry. No talk of guys for the next few paragraphs). The issue is.. like, there is an option where you can send three letters at a time. With an intro letter. One night, I thought it would he fun (WORST. MISTAKE. EVER.) to send 15 letters. (Keep in mind about 4 of the many letters I have sent, do I keep up a regular correspondence with. So, add 15 potential regular friends, and you have a recipe for disaster). Omgosh, Charlie + readers: I never have time to respond to these letters. Damnit, me. Why the fuck did you do that?

Okay. I started a new job. Yeah. You heard right. The ever so fucking afflicted depressed, intoroverted, frustrated, book crazy, bisexual who cant hold down a job, found a new one. Through a temp agency. I work with ______ _____ ____, at _____ _____, which is just 10 minutes from my house. The job is way better than the piece of shit I put up with for 6 mths. I love the different calls we get. But the mother fucking training at this call centre was mother flipping shit. There are so many 'processes’ you have to remember when helping a 'guest’ with a request that I want to cry. (I hope I keep at the job). Please fucking pray for me.

Did you know I didn’t always used to curse the way I do? Throughout high school, I would only curse when I would get hurt (like for example that time an anvil crushed my toe. Lol. This totally didnt happen. Though, this one time. I cut myself on this chunk of thick glass from a broken lamp at 12 urs old, that I was taking to the dumpster. It sliced my thigh, blood was gushing out I imagine. I started screaming. My mom, uncle, and cousin freaked the fuck out. I obviously lived to tell the tale. Y'all should see the scar.) And then I was influenced by boys (since I only hung out with guys through the last two years of high school) to curse. And now, I can’t seem to stop.

I make weird posts on Whisper. My username is ______ For anyone who wants to chat with me about my crazy life, follow me on ____ at @_______. Lol. (I hope y'all know when I include the blanks I’m being funny).

What other facts to share.. I made a friend on Slowly, but work really got me busy, plus I am always freaking tired. I didn’t respond for nine days with a letter, and I noticed she deactivated her account. It really hurt. Her name was Becca. She was trans, but didn’t tell her crazy conservative family. 19, super sweet. Liked video games and Eminem for a bit. I seriously miss her.

Other facts.. Did I mention (no, of course you didn’t mention Mare. All you ever talk about are failed relationships, current relationships, or almost relationships), I’m looking to learn Italian AND Spanish? Of course! Why the hell wouldn’t I try to influence my American self with my Mexican self? (Totally Hispanic in case y'all cohldn’t guess. My mom says I speak Spanish like a white girl. Well, shit… Time to go to Mexico and get ridiculed for being too white and not knowing Spanish or customs) Joking aside, I’m looking forward to teaching myself Spanish and Italian. (Don’t tell the family, but I prefer Italy over Mexico).

Y'all ready to get to the real reason why y'all stick through my letters?

Nic doesn’t want me to explore my bi side. Ken hasn’t been on Skype for a month. I miss him.. (Great, conflicted Mary is back again). Did I mention that today is my 3rd year anniversary with the Nicholas? Totally is. What did we do to celebrate? I woke up at 5 in the morning, waited for him to show up at 6, and ate tacos in my apartment parking lot. Then, I went to work, and he went home to sleep. We are going to Bastrop for the weekend which is just 20 minutes from my grandparents. Maybe I should go visit. (Why the hell don’t I call my family? Am I really that fucking self absorbed? Family trumps dudes any fucking day..) and I hope the trip is nice. I just texted him like 45 min ago of us drifting apart. Because… he will talk about things that seriously, Charlie, I could give two fucks about, then we will talk about ice cream, for example, and he goes off on a tangent about something little do with ice cream. Sometimes, I feel like I guilty stay with him because I do fucking love him, but I could be holding myself back from experiencing new things.

I want to write more. Bare with me for a moment, Charlie. Okay, I’m back. (That was a second break, in real time in case y'all were wondering)

My thoughts aren’t flowing as well. I wish I knew a friend who was bi or a lesbian who would like to explore with me. And not have it change things.

So, I have a shit sleep schedule. I’ll come home at 5 ish in the evening. I’ll sit in traffic for twenty min. Come home. Eat something. Fall asleep by 7. Wake up at 10, and stay awak indefinitely. Then wake up at 6, and start over. (What is wrong with me?)

Oh. More breaks from relationship shit. I saw a therapist. Three visits. It was nice. His name is Tim. (Had to stop because I literally have no fucking time to see a dr anymore psychologist or medical, because my schedule is a fucking bitch). He graduated from Harvard! That is awesome. His attire was well groomed, always. I never told him he intimidated me because of that. But he was a nice guy. Time to go to psychologytoday.com to look for weekend available therapists who take my insurance. I hope if I am to become a psychologist, that I’m a tiny better than Tim. He was lovely, I was just unnerved by someone focusing such time on me. But, that is kind of what he is paid for? So….

Oh. Have I mentioned at all to you, Charlie about how I want to start a YouTube channel? I want to read stories I find on the internet. Annnd, I’m pretty excited. I get my mic maybe with next weeks paycheck.

I feel like there is more to add. For anyone you may have lost touch with over the years, Charlie, does the thought of that person and the memories you shared together ever make you cry? I found a CD an old friend left to me for my birthday. And it broke my heart that we aren’t close anymore. I feel like I .. let my true relationships go in my worst state of mind.. And, I miss her so much. It really really hurts. I’m crying just thinking about it.

Also, I’m not sure if I mentioned, there are rare cases where I will laugh so hard at something I found to be funny, that I make others worried or uncomfortable. But the laughter turns to sobbing (sobbing such as my mom dying, or my brother getting hit by a car, or someone killing me) just as severe. I tried asking like crazy, and no one seems to know. That is, until a month ago, a friend from the meetings I go to (please tell me I’m not so vapid that I forgot to tell you I go to Monday meetings with DBSA for my depression) showed me what I have.. which I forgot the name of. But it is a treatable condition. Something to do with sensitivity.

I can’t hear well out of my right ear. I need to see a doctor.

Thanks to those who stayed with me this far.

I hope to have more news on my relationship status.

I seriously have like two friends on Tumblr. Why do I use this app again?

I love you, Charlie

Always,

Mary

[justauthoring]

the wait // francesco pazzi

request: hello sweetie! i love your writings and im currently so in love with your ‘no reasons to’ serie and your medici’s imagines, and since i’ve recently watched the show and i’m so freaking obsessed with it, i was thinking maybe i could request an imagine (sorry if it’s going to be long lol). basically the reader is from a noble family but her parents died when she was a baby and she was raised by medici’s family growing up with lorenzo, giuliano, bianca and also the pazzi’s siblings.................

...... also, her and lorenzo fall in love and they have a secret relationship, but she learns soon that lorenzo is gonna marry clarice orsini. and then francesco pazzi, who has always liked her, asks her to marry him. she accepts, mainly to create a stable alliance between the two enemy families. she is reluctant about marrying francesco and of course still in love with lorenzo, that’s why she is hesitant at first with him......... 

francesco on the other side is very gentle and kind, he doesn’t push her to do things she doesn’t want to do (like during their wedding night??) and treats her like a goddess. time after time, she realises that he’s a good person (yeah even though he killed giuliano and did bad things) and maybe she could actually fall in love with him and decide to quit her secret relationship with lorenzo to dedicate herself to francesco. sORRY IF IT’S TOO SPECIFIC UGH. thank you in anticipation! 💗💫💗💫

please don’t plagiarize my work!

word count: 3,376

“You are to be married?”

Lorenzo spins at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening a fraction as they settle upon your own. When your words register within him, a deep frown mares his features and he takes a small step forward, his hand held out in front of him; “Y/N--”

You shake your head, taking a step away from him causing his words to halt. “How could you not tell me?” You ask, your voice considerably softer than it had been before. You feel your emotions peak as the words leave your lips, your shoulders falling with despair as your vision blurs. “This was arranged weeks ago,” you continue, shaking your head. “Your fiance is on her way here and you hadn’t thought to tell me?”

“Y/N,” Lorenzo calls once more, attempting to reach you and this time actually managing to do so. “Please, you have to understand--”

“Understand what?” You argue, your hurt clouding your judgement. You’re upset and angry and you’re taking it out on Lorenzo, with no fault to his own. Yes, he could’ve told you instead of you having to hear it from another, but it wasn’t his choice to get married to this woman; Clarice Orsini. It was for the benefit of his family, you knew that, but still... “That I am suppose to watch you marry and fall in love with another woman?”

“You are the one I love.”

Lorenzo says the words without an ounce of hesitation, closing the small distance that existed between the two of you as he takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling you close. You look up at him with watery eyes, your hands clasping over your own as Lorenzo shakes his head. “Nothing will change that,”

“But what if it does?”

Your question is responded with silence. Lorenzo’s lips part, his eyes widening upon the fear in your voice. He does love you, he knows that. But what you’re afraid of is not entirely impossible. He would like to believe it is, but fate was a funny thing and sometimes you had no control over your own emotions. 

Your heart feels as if it will shatter at Lorenzo’s silence.

“I love you,” Lorenzo repeats, his voice a hushed whisper. Leaning forward, he presses his forward against your own. “Only you.”

At the intimate action, you let your eyes flutter shut, embracing Lorenzo’s touch and his warmth. You know very well that this could be one of the very last times you are able to be with Lorenzo like this, and you bask in it, hoping to never forget the touch of him.

You’re petrified with fear that Lorenzo will fall for this woman, Clarice, and forget all about you. That he will leave you alone with a broken heart. And the worst part is that even he can’t deny it, because he can’t know for certain that your fears won’t happen.

He will be married to Clarice, and even if he continues to see you, the two of you will never be able to be seen in public. Your affair will be kept in the dark, unable to speak of the man you love and of the one who makes you happy. When not hidden behind closed doors, you will have to watch as Lorenzo builds a life with another woman that is not you.

“We can still see each other.”

There are the words. Lorenzo says them in hopes of assuring you, but all they do is break your heart further.

Inhaling sharply, you nod, tightening your grip over his hand. “I know.”

“Nothing will change,” Lorenzo soothes, his voice barely audible. “You are still the woman I desire. The woman I love.”

But for how long?

“And that will never change.”

Yes, it will.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You hesitate only a moment before responding.

“I love you too, Lorenzo. Forever and always.”

But will he?

-

You watch from a far as they hold each other close. 

Lorenzo leans his forehead against her own like he had with you multiple times before, and you’ve never felt as alone as you do in that one moment. His visits are fewer and fewer, more less often as he puts all his focus on his family and wife. You can’t blame him, you would want the same from your own husband, but you cannot help the jealousy that burns within you.

The cup of wine is held in your hand with aggressiveness, that being the only thing containing your anger in that one moment. Those around you flutter around the party with wide smiles and laughs, but you don’t bask in any of their happiness.

You’ve been left behind, just as you assumed you would.

It’s moments like these that you think back to when you were younger. The Medici family had raised you as your own, and you’d considered Giuliano and Bianca like siblings. All except Lorenzo. There had always been more between the two of you, and it was only when you reached the young age of thirteen that the two of you finally realized your feelings for one another.

You’d shared your first kiss in his families vineyard and you’d both walked home with the brightest smiles on your faces.

Of course, you knew that your relationship would be frowned upon. You were considered a Medici along with the others, and most thought of you and Lorenzo as siblings. Possibly, you’d always known that one day your secret relationship with Lorenzo would come to an end. You’d never be allowed to marry and eventually one of you would have to, if not both.

You just hadn’t wanted it to be so soon or sudden.

“They seem to be getting along well.”

You gasp, the sudden presence surprising you as you turn to find Francesco next to you. Before, he appearance at a Medici gathering would’ve surprised you beyond belief, but you remember Giuliano and Lorenzo mentioning that Francesco had been going against his uncle and siding with the Medici as surprising as that sounded.

You remembered Lorenzo speaking about a possible alliance between the two forgotten friends.

“Francesco,” you breathe, setting a hand against your chest in hopes of calming your racing your heart. 

“I’m sorry,” he bows slightly, smiling softly your way. “I did not mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” you assure, waving his concern off with a slight shoulder. “I was just a little....”

“Lost in your thoughts?”

Flushing lightly, you nod; “yes.”

“It is a shame though,” Francesco comments after a moment, and you watch as his gaze flickers back over towards Lorenzo and Clarice who have no separated. 

Your eyes widen upon his hidden meaning. “I, uh, I--...”

Francesco chuckles softly, “it’s fine,” he assures with a soft blink of his eyes. “It was pretty obvious to me from a young age that the two of you held feelings for one another. Despite yours and my families difference, I have never and don’t plan on saying anything.”

Letting out a exhale, you nod, unable to stop yourself from glancing in Lorenzo’s direction, feeling your heart ache in response. “Thank you.”

“I only meant,” Francesco continues, shuffling closer to you. You are not oblivious to his actions, watching him with slight bafflement. “I realize it was not his choice, but to let a beautiful and intelligent woman such as yourself go, well, it is a shame.”

Your eyes widen at his words, once again, and your lips part. Francesco, upon your silence, glances back at you, your eyes meeting his and you feel your shoulders fall at the look he sends you. He holds your gaze with such warmth, such sincerity, and the words had left his lips with almost sorrow. 

As Francesco steps toward you, he clasps his hands behind him respectively, lowering his voice further. “But one man’s loss is another’s gain.”

“Francesco...”

“I know our families have differences, Y/N and I know you do not feel for me the way I feel for you,” Francesco explains, his eyes soft. “But I hope you do not decline my offer when I propose it.”

Swallowing thickly, you bite your lip; “and what offer would that be, Francesco?”

“Your hand in marriage.”

You had suspected so, but still, you cannot hide your surprise. Francesco is a Pazzi and you, a Medici. Long ago his uncle, Jacopo, had decided that the two families could not be friends. Lorenzo and Giuliano had been right when he said that an alliance might be possible. And it was not as if Francesco was a strange to you. There was once a time the two of you were close, friends, before he was cruelly ripped away.

An alliance, along with your sister’s, between the Pazzi and the Medici would extremely benefit your family. That you could not deny.

Your eyes flicker towards Lorenzo’s briefly, managing to catch his eyes for the first time that night. The smile on his face falters slightly at the sight of you, especially next to Francesco, and for a moment, you have hopes that not all is lost. But then Clarice glances your way, and you see the anger and hurt in her gaze and you know that it is not possible.

You want to hate Clarice, but you cannot. She truly is a kind woman, and whether you like it or not, Lorenzo is her husband, not yours. There is no point holding onto a dream that will never happen.

When you glance back at Francesco, he holds his hand out towards you, palm up.

With only a moment more of hesitance, you let your hand slip into his own.

“I accept.”

-

The sound of chattering and cheering and music faded to the back of your mind as Francesco lead you into his home by the hand. You hadn’t been in the halls of the Pazzi home since you were a child, so despite the awkward silence that filled the air between you and your newly-appointed husband, you let your eyes wander across the detailing and designs of the home.

The home that was now your own.

While Francesco remain silent and you find yourself completely unsure of what to say, you still find yourself oddly at ease. The silence is odd, but Francesco holds you hand with such gentleness, as if he’s afraid the lightest touch will hurt you, and even he seems a little tense. A little tense.

This is new and different territory for the both of you. You are both still testing the waters and trying to figure out what it is your life is now.

Not to mention, you find yourself nervous about what will follow in moments to come. Conceiving your marriage the night of your wedding is a practiced tradition, but you have never thought of or looked at anyone in that was other than Lorenzo. There has never been another man other than Lorenzo, and especially not Francesco because you’ve never thought of him as more than a friend. 

But before you know it, Francesco is opening the door to his room, his hand slipping from your own as you step past him. It feels odd, to be stood in his room in light of what is expected to happen and you take your time looking around, fully aware that Francesco’s gaze remains on you, gauging your actions. 

His room is nice, if a little plain. You can’t imagine your life being that bad other than a little tense and hesitant.

You can still envision Lorenzo, at yours and Francescos wedding, watching you intently. Clarice was by his side, the two looking as happy together as ever and yet, he had the audacity to watch you like a hawk as you shared your vows with the man behind you. 

The sound of the door shutting is what pulls you from your thoughts. It causes you to jump slightly, your shoulders tensing for a moment before easing, turning your head over your shoulder to find Francesco’s eyes still intently on you. It is not intimidating or even uncomfortable. He simply just watches you and stares at you with that look in his eyes that you somehow never managed to catch when you were younger. 

Francesco was very open about his feelings towards you. He made it clear that while he has liked and possibly even loved you for a long time, since you were children, he does not expect you to ever feel the same. He is content with you never returning his feelings, which strikes you as both odd but kind nonetheless.

When your eyes meet his own, the light brown in his irises, you feel your shoulders tense. Slowly, you raise your hands, moving them to the ties of your wedding dress and beginning to pull on the ties gently and somewhat hesitantly, thus untying them. Your eyes lower from Francesco’s, moving to the ground as you silently prepare yourself for what is to come.

Francesco surprises you by setting his hands on your own, halting your movements.

You glance up at him with bafflement, your brows furrowing: “Francesco?” “We don’t—...” His words halt, his face twisting as if he struggles to find the right words to say. With a sigh, Francesco shakes his head. “We don’t have to.” He knows you know what he means.

“But—well, I assumed that because it’s our wedding night—“

“I don’t want our first time to be of obligation,” Francesco explains, his words surprising you. Your eyes widen, lips parting with bafflement as Francesco smiles softly down at you. “I want you to want this before we ever conceive our marriage. And as far as I’m concerned, we already have.”

You pause, and Francesco seems to understand the look in your eyes. “And if you never want to, then we never will.”

It is not only the rarity of his words that take you by surprise. It is a large portion, yes. Most men would not care for your feelings and simply force you if you were unwilling. Whilst Francesco makes it clear that even if you never want to be with him in that way, he will never force you nor will it ever change the way he feels about you or your marriage. 

But his words also cause your heart to flutter — a feeling you cannot explain. Your heart wells and your cheeks warm and you’ve never felt this way or experienced this feeling with anyone but Lorenzo that it stuns you. Even more so, because that feeling, the one you’re experiencing, it’s even stronger now than it’s ever been with Lorenzo. 

“I will wait for you.”

-

You continued to see Lorenzo behind closed doors.

It weighed on your conscious both because you knew Clarice was aware and because you suspected Francesco was as well. How could he not be? If he’d caught it before, it was obvious he’d catch it now.

It riddled you with guilt and you wondered how much longer you would be able to keep it up with Lorenzo.

It was interesting that the feelings you were afraid that would fade from Lorenzo, were actually fading from you. With each passing moment, the desire to be with Lorenzo faded and lessened. It seemed more like a hassle then anything now. And, yet, it seemed, Lorenzo was ever the same. He seemed unfazed by the toll your relationship placed on those you were married to. Even in a moment like this, at dinner with the entire family, Lorenzo seemed simply uncaring.

Francesco sat by your side, his hand on your knee while the two of you chatted quietly with one another and ate the dinner that had been placed before you. Bianca was telling a story of her childhood that had caught nearly the entire attention of the table, but every once in awhile, you would lean to the side and tell Francesco the bits of the story that Bianca changed all in the hopes of making him laugh.

It worked, and for the first time in a long time, you felt yourself truly happy. Sat there at the table with Francesco at your side felt right and you were content.

But then, Lorenzo suddenly stood. He sent a small smile to his family and clasped his hands before him. “I’m sorry, but there is some business I must attend to,” he explains with haste, and you do not miss the look he sends you.

“During dinner?” His mother questions, a deep drowning marring her features. “It cannot be ignored.”

With that, Lorenzo is off. He sends one more look your way before stepping past the door and as you gaze down at your lap, where Francesco’s hand resides on your knee, you know he had also noticed Lorenzo’s look and the hidden meaning beneath it as well.

For a moment, you hesitate. In truth, you did not want to go, but it will only cause more trouble later if you do not.

Making up your mind, you stand up, excusing yourself hastily and ignoring the glare Clarice sends your way and the way Francesco’s eyes follow you out of the room as you pick up the speed in your step.

Lorenzo had not gone too far off, and suddenly, you find yourself enveloped in his arms with his lips pressed against your own. And for a moment, you nearly return the action. You nearly press your lips against Lorenzo’s and fall back into the trap of your youth. But then, and you can’t rightly explain it, Francesco appears in your mind, even if only a second, and you are pushing away. Panting, you press the palms of your hands firmly against Lorenzo’s chest, keeping a safe distance between you.

“Y/N?” He whispers your name with an air of bewilderment, hands still on your waist with urgency.

Avoiding his eyes, you shake your head: “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” Lorenzo’s voice pitches slightly, shaking his head. “Y/N—“

“You’re married,” you interrupt, finally meeting his gaze. “To a wonderful woman. You are so incredibly lucky to have Clarice by your side and you don’t even realize it.”

“But,” Lorenzo’s hand falls on your cheek, cupping it. “I love you. You’re the woman I want to be with.”

“She’s better for you than I ever could’ve been,” you whisper, smiling softly. When Lorenzo parts his lips to argue, you let your hand fall on his cheek, shaking your head. “And I’m married,” you add, a genuine bright smile falling on your lips when you think of Francesco. “And I can’t keep doing this to him.”

Lorenzo just remains silent, stunned.

“I love you,” you whisper, nodding your head as you keep your gaze steady on Lorenzo. “Forever and always. But... just not in the way I did. Not anymore.” Feelings fade. You’d feared Lorenzo’s would, but in hindsight, it had been your own.

“I’m sorry.”

You turn without another word.

- When you returned to dinner, Francesco was no longer there. Upon questioning, you’d learned, from Clarice with barely concealed snide in your voice, one you couldn’t necessarily blame her for, that he’d left shortly after you had.

That’s all it took for you to hastily leave. You excused yourself, letting the door fall shut behind you and mentally hoped that Lorenzo would salvage what little was left with his marriage with Clarice as you went to do the same.

Francesco was in your shared room, as you expected.

You’d barged in suddenly, but the moment your eyes landed on his back, stood adjacent to you, youd halted. The door shut softly behind you, the words you’d been mentally waiting and preparing yourself to say caught in your throat as Francesco’s hunched back regarded you.

“Francesco...”

“I have never gotten angry,” his words take you by surprise. Your eyes widening as he finally turns to face you, lips curved downward in a deep frown. “Never raised my voice or hand toward you. But I don’t know how much more of this I can handle. You sneak off with him, while I watch, when I am your husband. And I love you, that’s why I never say anything. Because I want you to be happy but—“

“I broke it off with him.” The words spill from your lips without thought. You cannot stop yourself after his own, desperate for him to understand that things were different. That he was wrong. 

Your words surprise Francesco, his lips parting.

Taking a step forward, you swallow nervously. “I can’t excuse my actions nor do I expect you to forgive me for how I’ve treated you, but, Francesco, I am happy. With you. Not Lorenzo or anyone else. You make me happy.”

As silence follows your words, you continue to close the distance between you and Francesco. While he stares down at you in disbelief you take his hands in your own, squeezing them as you meet his gaze. “I want to be with you,” you continue, your voice nothing more than a hushed whisper. “I want to be your wife.”

Francesco hesitates a moment before asking; “you mean?” You nod, smiling; “I’m ready.”

Francesco is the first one to instigate it. The moment the words leaves your lips, he doesn’t hesitate pressing your own against them. As if he’s been with years to do this and be like this with you. His arms bound around your waist. He pulls you close against his, your body moulding and curling against his own as your hands run and delve themselves through his curly hair.

Your eyes fall shut with ease, a smile curling on your lips against his, your bodies barely inches apart.

And when the two of you pull away, breathless, Francesco has a smile on his face as he leans his forehead against your own. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

You raise your hand, brushing strands of curled hair out of his eyes as you smile endearingly up at him.

“Thank you for waiting.”

-

let me know what you thought? remember, reblogging always helps!

[lilyharvord]

Fire and Flood

FUCK IT. I have finals, BUT WE NEED THE GALA SCENE NOW. I just finished reading that excerpt from Broken Throne and I need it now. (If it makes Cal blush my ass, Victoria.) 

@nightmarebarrow @mareshmallow @clarafarleybarrow @marecalrandomstuff @anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone @war-storm @dutyuntodeath (welcome back) @redqueenfandom @scarletguardsource @cptdanvxrs @scxrletguardsdawn @morebooks-pls @lamemathpuns @catchingfandoms5 

if anyone is missing, let me know and I’ll tag you!! !(((: It’s long, and unedits, so enjoy children. 

I’m not sure whether Gisa is a genius or would rather I hide in the mass of tulle she put together. She tuts behind me, her own dress far less ostentatious than mine. I wish she had been the one to dress like this though, she would have fit the part better than me. 

Glancing over my shoulder to meet my eye in the mirror, she asks, “Is it too tight in the bodice?” 

“No.” I admit quickly, shaking off my premonition of falling down the stairs because I can’t see my own two feet. Her smile has enough wattage that I’m surprised I don’t feel it in my bones. Adjusting the strings at the back so that they sit better, she hesitates to say, “There’s always another option. I’m sure we could find you a uniform lying around.” 

“No,” I rush out, hearing the hint of ache in her voice. She made this dress for me, and had spent a whole week up north designing it. It would be a slap in the face if I decided to change my mind and wear a Monfort uniform. Besides, a uniform would not make him immediately blush. 

I turn to face her, a smile creeping up my lips, making the scars pull on my neck. The skirts whisper on the ground, and for a moment, a flash of a navy train hissing on the ground runs through my mind. Its over, she’s dead and gone, he is too. I have to remind myself of that tonight, no matter what. 

“It’s beautiful. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” My words only make her raise a brow to her hairline in skepticism. Each strand of her hair has been perfectly pulled back to show the glow of her face. Her eyes, brighter than stones, shine in the dim light of the room. I can’t help it when I say, “And you look beautiful as well.” 

Her blush cuts across her cheeks in a splatter like paint being thrown on a canvas. Gisa looks even more beautiful when she blushes, if that is even possible. I had hoped to hide next to her, even though a part of my wishes to stand out. In this dress, I have no choice but to stand out though. 

Her eyes can read those thoughts as they cross my mind though, and she offers me a reassuring smile. It does nothing to quell my nerves though. Slipping her arm around my elbow, she pulls me to the door, making the decision for me. Everything and everyone seems to be doing that these days. The storm made me leave the north, Cal refuses to speaks to me, ultimately deciding that we would have to continue dancing around each other like children, and Gisa put me in the dress, making me stand out no matter how hard I try. 

We leave the safety of the room, and there is no turning back. Tonight will be able covers, making sure that any spies present think this is anything but a cover. Maybe I should rethink my non-drinking promise to Kilorn. Just the thought of swallowing anything right now makes my stomach rebel. It’s too late to turn around though, and the pace Gisa sets is not one I can diverge from. The war was laying in wait for me in the ballroom, and so was Cal. Whether or not I was ready, I’d have to face them both. 

(////)

“Do you think they try to hide how uncomfortable they are?” Farley asks with a smirk behind her rim of her champagne flute. I glance in the direction of her gaze, noticing the small Silver delegation from Norta looking around like sheep on the hunt for a wolf. How odd to see them like that, the once powerful now so frightened. I snort at the though, power and strength my ass. 

“Give them credit where it’s due,” Davidson replies for me, the laughter barely hidden in the voice, “They did come here, did they not?”

I nod quickly in agreement and sip at my champagne as well. Kilorn made sure I went slow, keeping my pace steady. I was already one half glass in. He’d noticed quickly what I was doing, and pinched my arm when he saw me cutting through my second one. I was only halfway through it now, and I had to resist the urge to tip it back and swallow it in one mouthful every few seconds. 

“Well the least they could have done was pretend to be cheerful about it,” Carmadon says with a sigh next to his husband. No doubt he was disappointed in the Nortan showing. Kilorn had mentioned it was an even spread, but the Silver seemed outnumbered 10 to 1 by New Bloods and Reds alike. It certainly made for an odd group. 

“They’re here though, it’s a start.” I murmur as I go for another sip. And it is a start, pitiful, but a start. 

“Since when are you so optimistic?” Farley asks with another smirk. Rolling my eyes in her direction, I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her. She’s dressed like a General tonight, decorated with small insignia that she keeps adjusting uncomfortably when people look at it. She’s not used to weight of so many badges. They make her look dignified though, and underneath the slight discomfort, she glows with pride. 

Behind me, I hear raucous laughter from Bree, his laugh unmistakable in the somewhat hush environment. I see a pair of bronze eyes from the Silver group flash that direction. They’re not the one’s I’ve been on the hunt for though. These are a little colder, a little more wary. 

“Someone should stop Bree before he gets too drunk,” I say as I turn quickly to leave the proximity I have to Anabel Leralorn. To say that she wanted my guts spilled on this no wax floor would be an understatement. She probably wanted me painted on the walls and then thrown off the highest mountain for making Cal turn away from the path she had set him on. 

I brush past Kilorn, who watches me carefully, and nods when he sees the hint of a smile I give him. He doesn’t believe it completely, but he’ll buy into it for now. It’s so strange seeing that from him. He used to think everything was so black and white, so crystal clear in intention, now he is starting to read beyond the first glance. I wonder if that is a good thing of a bad thing. 

Making my way through the crowd, I brush elbows with elite Guard members who nod their head in my direction, and with red delegates from the People’s Council who smile brightly at me. I give each the same in return as I maneuver across the floor toward my brother who looks like he’s telling some drunk story or another to a group of Nortan soldiers. I wonder if he knows any of them from the front. 

I pass a young Red who is not paying attention as he gestures backwards. His arm catches my shoulders, and I’m unprepared for the force of it. It feels like I got hit by a bar of steel. I stumble, midstep, and try to plant my foot to catch myself. I step on the edge of my dress though, the part that Gisa never could get to sit properly no matter how much she pinned and mended. I want to shriek, but no sound comes out as I end up going sideways towards someone else’s back. The champagne in my glass hits them before I almost do. It gives them a second of warming to at least begin turning around. 

I prepare for the cold bite of marble on my hands and elbow, or the snip of glass on my palm when I land in shards of it. Instead, I end up almost horizontal, the person I spilled half a glass of champagne on just barely holding me up. They must have turned and caught me just in time, because my knee barely brushes the ground. 

“I’m so sorry,” the Red sputters as he bends down to take my other arm and help me up, his face bright red. “I didn’t even see you, I honestly had no idea anyone was behind me-” 

“I think by this point in her life she’s used to being out of everyone’s range of sight, Jordan.” Murmurs my savior. I tense at the sound of that voice. I know every cadence of it, every rumble, laugh, and gasp. Glancing up, I hope and pray I’m wrong. Fate has no such plans tonight though. 

A set of bronze eyes, so much more lively than I remember from two months ago, look down at me. It’s then that I notice he’s smiling, and trying to hide a laugh at my situation. The prick, I think. 

Both Cal and Jordan help me to my feet. I let out a mocking laugh at Cal’s comment, trying to cover the silence during the moment it took me to process that he’s here, and say, “Normally, they just feel me electrocute their ankles.” 

Jordan’s eyes widen at my words and he goes another shade darker as he chokes, “Mare Barrow? I... Geez, I’m so sorry, this is... this is honestly the worst night of my life. I almost took out the lightning girl.”

“I’ve had worse hits.” I murmur to him, annoyed he is making this a bigger deal than it needs to be. I was fine, no one was hurt... other than Cal’s jacket. That could easily be fixed if he removed it though. The shirt underneath might be ruined too, that might need to go as well. I almost blush at the thought. Bad Mare, my mind screams at me in response to the direction I want to take with that notion.  

Cal snorts in response to me this time, and I turn my eyes to him in annoyance. No puns, I want to growl. Jordan shakes his head quickly, looking to be on the verge of tears. He looks like he’s only a kid, maybe only eighteen. My stomach rebels for a moment at the thought, are they still drafting children?  Before I can properly discern his age though, one of the people he was talking to throws his arm around his shoulders teasing, “You almost killed a legend, and managed to almost take out our commanding officer with her. You own them both a glass of champagne.” 

“And a new jacket,” Cal teases with a laugh light as smoke. I watch him pull it off and turn it to look at the dark stain on the back. It takes a moment for me to process the whole conversation, my mind still hung up on the fact that he was here, standing next to me and neither of us had actually acknowledged the other yet. 

“Commanding officer?” I ask incredulously, still trying to catch up. Jordan, his friend, and the other young woman behind them all stare at me with blank faces. I feel a blush creep to my cheeks. I should have read those stupid files Davidson had been sending me. 

“Well, yeah,” the friend replies, “just our squadron though.” 

 My reply is as stupid as my question. “Oh.” 

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and see that he is blushing probably as much as me. This was not how I wanted that to happen tonight, but honestly, it has the same effect it always does. My stomach flip flops at the sight, and I want nothing more than to drag him by the front of his shirt behind those pillars off to the side. But I don’t want to at the same time. I’m not ready, and I am. I can’t handle this anymore, my own thoughts keep chasing themselves around my head. The alcohol certainly isn’t helping either. 

Jordan glanced between the two of us, before something clicks. His friend elbows him softly, and then leans over about to whisper something. Cal cuts them off before anything can be said. “Why don’t the three of you go find someone else to knock over?”

The girl lets out a screaming laugh before grabbing Jordan and dragging him away. Out of the three of them, she seems to have the best grip on the social scene at hand. Jordan keeps looking over his shoulder at the two of us though as they vanish into the crowd. He looks like he might give himself a migraine trying to put his thoughts together. 

“Sorry, Jordan is getting used to his strength, its a newer development.” Cal replies as he folds his jacket over his arm. A New Blood then, I catalogue the thought away. Davidson will want to know that more are popping up. 

“He’s fine, he... seems young.” We stare at each other for a moment. I glance down at his jacket to avoid his eyes, and then grimace as I say, “Sorry about your jacket.” 

He looks down at it as well. Raising a brow, he says, “I’ve got a few more I can wear, it’s not a big loss.” His eyes dance over my dress though as he says, “That on the other hand would be a big loss if it got ruined... where exactly did you find that thing? Did they use all the tulle in Montfort to make it?”

I press down on the skirts in annoyance and say, “Gisa made it for me.” 

He purses his lips, and it doesn’t even take a heartbeat for me to see he’s trying to swallow a laugh. I set my hands on my hips in response, “I can always have her make you one. I’d like to see you try and walk around in this thing.” 

“I would do it, and wear it better than you.” He replies, the laugh finally managing to escape. I smile in response, and I barely feel the pull of my scars. How do you do it? I want to demand. How do you make me forget my own body? 

We standing then, smiling at each other like idiots in the middle of this party. He recognizes it before me, and then shuffles his feet before looking to the side. HIs eyes catch something, and he looks back with a crooked smile that makes my stomach drop to my ankles. 

“Can you dance in that thing?” He offers me his arm with the question. I should say no. Whatever he has is mind it can’t be good, but honestly, I want to be wrapped up in his arms again. I want to be close enough to smell the fire and wood scent that clings to him. I want to drown in him. 

Returning his grin, I slip my arm through his and let him lead me to open space where a few couples are dancing. On the edge of the dance floor though, Jordan appears on Cal’s other side and grabs his arm. He’s out of breath, and his eyes are wide. My skin princkles to life with electricity, and I see Cal’s hair stand on end in repsonse. He looks back at me, and I step up so that we are side by side facing Jordan. He only has eyes for Cal though as he chokes, “It’s Oliver, he’s about to get in a fight with some Monfort red. He must have pissed the guy off, and he’s like twice his size, but I didn’t-” 

Cal is on the move before Jordan can even finish. “Lead the way,” He grunts to Jordan who immediately begins to weave his way through the crowd. I hurry after Cal, hiking my skirts up to my knees to keep up with his long strides. Damn his long legs, I think as I pushes his way through the crowd clearing a path for me without knowing it. People grunt and hiss at him, but he ignores all of them, and I have to apologize for him as we go. It’s such an odd shift in our dynamic. Normally I was the one to storm through a crowd with him trailing and smoothing everything over in my wake. 

I spot Farley at the same times that she sees us. Her brow raises when she sees me chasing after an obviously hell bent Cal. She shoves her glass into Kilorn’s hand in response and starts to move parallel to us to find a way to cut us off. He hands them to Carmadon when he sees what she does and then hurries after her. Davidson spots our little party next and sighs before taking one glass from Carmadon and following us with his husband. They probably think Cal and I are on the hunt for an open space to butt heads. I have nothing to do with it, I want to cry like a child. It’s not my fault!

Jordan directs us out onto a balcony, and I immediately see the problem. A stick thin man is squaring off against Bree who looks like a bull about to charge. I throw my head back and almost stomp my foot in annoyance. A small ring is starting to form around them, mostly Red Nortan soliders, I notice. Cal pushes through them though, going straight for my brother, who seems to be the source of the problem. I see his error before he even acts. 

“Cal!” I cry in warning as I try to run and grab his arm. It’s too late though. He grabs Bree’s arm and goes to say something to stop him. My brother is two inches taller than him, drunk, pissed as all hell, and spoiling for a fight. So, when he turns around, and his fist connects with Cal’s face, we all hear the crack from his nose breaking, and maybe even his cheek judging by the volume of the sound. 

“Bree!” I scream as I put myself between the two of them. My brother looks down at me with narrowed eyes because I interrupted him. Bree had been a brute in the Stilts, and I had witnessed his fighting first hand when we were younger and he would wrestle me into the mud. His hits hurt, and honestly I would be surprised if Cal got up and walked this one off. 

Bree’s cheeks are cherry red from the alcohol and the adrenaline from the fight. I glare up at him, and everyone around us watches in shock as someone who is only half his height stands up to him. His eyes dance over my shoulder, and he spots Jordan coming for him, screaming with a fury to defend Cal. I hiss in annoyance at the whole thing and then throw a bold of electricity in his direction over my shoulder. It hits him square in the chest and throws him back. 

He sits up in surprise as he looks at me, and I shake my head before turning on my brother and spitting, “Have you lost every sense our mother gave you when you were born?”

His eyes are on Cal behind me though, who is picking himself off the ground. When I glance at my feet, Cal’s face is turned to the side so I can barely see his profile in the shadows. He pulls his hand away from his nose, slowly, almost hesitantly, like he’s not sure what’s going to happen. A gush of silver blood comes out and sprays on the marble though, and it doesn’t look like it is going to stop soon. One of the red’s makes a sound and is promptly sick off to the side. When Cal look’s up at me, I see why. I almost throw up too.

His nose is broken in almost three places, at the bridge between his eyes, slightly below that, and near the tip. There is already a dark black stain starting to make its way under both his eyes and along one of his cheeks. 

Bree takes this in, and a heartbeat later throws his head back and howls with laughter. I flip around to glare at him, but my stare does nothing. He bends over, his hands on his knees as he gasps for breath around his laugh. Cal is not amused though. He tries to get to his feet but he ends up falling over his legs like a new born deer. I grab him to keep him from falling to the marble floor completely. I can’t even begin to apologize. Besides, I’m worried if I open my mouth, I’ll throw up.  

“Heaven above!” Carmadon cries from the doorway of the balcony. I look up to see Farley, Kilorn, Davidson, and Carmadon watching the the whole thing. Bree spots them as well, and then with his words slurring into one long one says, “Kilorn, Farley! Come look at the Silver Prince! He’s not such a pretty boy any more! I told you all I was gonna hit him one day, and I did.” 

My friend grimaces, and then edges out of the doorway and into the air that I just began to notice is cold. The reds move out of his way, and it’s then that I see they’re all wearing the same jacket that Cal was wearing. This was probably his squadron. Kilorn bends down to wrap his arms underneath Cal’s and says, “Come on Cal, lets get you inside.” 

“I’m fine,” He says, and spits blood out as he does it. I notice a small gap in his teeth then. when I look down too, I can spot the small white object on the marble. He stumbles on his feet and almost falls, but Kilorn has filled out now, and he takes his weight with no problem. It’s then that I realize Cal has lost weight. Kilorn is almost as filled as he is. I blink in surprise at that, and watch as another member of the squadron runs up to Cal’s slide and slips his other arm over his shoulder. “We’ll get a healer,” he assures says. Cal snorts, and slurs, “I don’t need one.” 

“Beg to differ.” Kilorn replies as he drags him to the side. I follow them quickly, glaring at my brother over my shoulder. He sways on his feet, and Farley grabs his arm like a mother and drags him in the opposite direction, hopefully to a room where he can sleep this off. 

Cal leaves a trail of Silver blood behind him as we go. It’s all down the front of his shirt and smeared across his mouth. I grimace, hoping no one in the party notices. It’s just my luck that only one person does. 

“Cal!” Anabel’s cry is like a wounded animal. She sprints across the room to him, and for a moment I fear she may obliterate Kilorn and the other red to take him from them. He smiles at her though, showing the gap in his teeth that makes her freeze in horror, as he says, “I’m fine Nanable, you should see the other guy.” 

She goes so pale her skin almost goes black, and I fear she may faint. I step around her as Kilorn and his partner continue to drag Cal toward the other set of rooms. Davidson follows us, asking a waiter for a bag of ice, and to find Sara Skonos. The waiter hurries away with a nod. 

“Some party,” I grumble, and Davidson laughs as he winks at Anabel who looks horrified at the scene. We pass into Davidson’s study and Kilorn pulls off his jacket as he sits Cal in a chair as then holds it up to Cal’s nose to stauch the blood flow. Gisa’s stitches will have to do for now. 

The waiter appears at the same time, with what looks like a pillow sack full of ice. I take it from him and thank him before crouchiing between Cal’s legs and peeling away Kilorn’s jacket slightly to look at the damage. It’s certainly not pretty. I grimace as I press the ice to his nose. He hiss in pain, and then says, “Honestly, I was relying on my looks to talk with you tonight. This is throwing a big wrench in my plans.” 

Kilorn snorts as he leans against the table next to him and says, “Dont worry, Sara will make sure you’re back to your perfect prince face before you know it.” 

“Not a prince anymore,” he grumbles and I chew on my lip as I pull the ice away again to look at the bruise that is starting to creep up to his forehead. Geez, my brother did a number. 

Sure enough, Sara Skonos floats into the room. She looks etheral in her dress, with her hair floating around her head. She sighs when she takes Cal in and then shoos me out of the way. I move to the side, taking the ice with me. She tilts Cal’s head to see him straight on and says, “What did you do, run head first into a wall?”

“The wall may have run into me,” Cal says with a smile, that shows he’s actually missing two teeth. Sara sighs and then looks at me with a suffering expression. I cant help but smile though. She goes to work then, and Cal hisses in pain as she starts with growing the teeth back. Anabel appears in the room then, closing the door behind her. She stays on the edge watching the whole thing. 

A minute later, there is a snap, and Cal cries out in pain. I grab his hand in response, griping into between mine. His eyes dance to me for a second, and I squeeze in reassurance as Sara forces his bone back into place. It takes her a total of seven minutes to have him back to normal. Some of the bruising is still there from her putting things back in place, but it will fade in a few days she promises before breezing out of the room. 

Cal’s grip on my hand is tight enough that I’m worried I wont be able to pull my hand from his. I dont want to though. I turn my hand to lace my fingers with his in reponse. He lifts his head to look up at me, his eyes searching my face for a sign of what that shift means. 

Carmadon recognizes a moment when he sees one, just like he had months ago when we had first been in Monfort together. He grabs everyone, including Kilorn and Anabel, whispering an apology to her as he pushes them out of the room. He gives me a wicked grin and then steps backwards out of the room to slide the doors closed. 

I feel my heart hammering in my chest as I look down at Cal then. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you that you looked beautiful tonight,” He whispers, his thumb caressing the space between my thumb and forefinger. 

“That’s your concussion talking,” I say with an amused smile. He shakes his head quickly though, and says, “I regretted what I said about the dress the minute I said it. You look stunning in it.” 

I tilt my head to the side and say with a laugh, “You’re a mess.” 

He blushes again, and then uses the edge of his shirt that came untucked to start wiping the blood off his mouth. “You can say that again,” he murmurs before huffing in annoyance and almost throwing the edge down into his lap. I raise my brow and then slide in front of him before letting go of his hand to hike my skirts up. I settle into his lap, making his eyes widen in surprise. At least like this I’m almost at eye level with him. 

Reaching up, I push a strand of hair that feel to the side, and then say, “You don’t look half bad either.” My heart settles in my chest as he sets his hands on my sides. I can feel the warmth from his touch, and it’s so achingly familiar that my entire body seems to sag with sigh at it. “Although you did look pretty bad with the broken nose.” 

He snorts, then winces when his newly healed nose aches at the feeling. I cup his face in response and just hold his gaze when he meets mine. We simply watch each other for a moment. I lean forward, and his eyes flutter closed for a moment, but I simply avoid his face to whisper in his ear, “What do you want?” 

He shivers, and his grip on my hips gets tighter as he replies, his voice aching longing, “You, always you.” 

My heart pounds in response to the words as I pull back to look at him. His eyes have the same ache as his voice and I realize what I did when I left him on that tarmac. I left him an aching mess. A man with an aching heart, torn apart by his brother’s death, by my departure, by the loss of the only thing he had every known. I had been the constant, the thing he had been hoping to rely on, and I had turned that on it’s head when I left him. 

My hesitation makes him pull out of the moment slightly. He looks at me hesitantly, so worried to have his heart broken when it’s just barely healed. “What do you want Mare?”

I lean toward him then, inhaling the breath he exhales. “You,” I breathe on his lips and his entire body goes into the movement as he closes the distance between us for the first time in our lives. 

[caroldenning-trash]

Night(mare) Comfort. (Older Carol Denning x Reader fanfic)

Story: Carol comforts you after you have yet another nightmare about your time before arriving at Litchfield Max.

This is the first piece of fanfic I’ve ever published (working on more) and I’m new to writing fanfic so I’m more than a bit nervous.

Enjoy! xx

TW for physical abuse mention at the beginning and two instances of homophobia mention.

“Fucking queers like you belong in hell. Mark my words, I’ll finish you off when you least expect it and you’ll plead me to spare you. The world is better off without freaks of your kind.” 

Your father finally leaves your bedroom, you get up off the floor in pain and you’re pretty sure one of your ribs is cracked. Again. You struggle to breathe.

You wake up in a cold sweat, shaking, screaming and crying. Yet again, you’ve had another nightmare about your family life before you came to Litchfield Max four months ago.

The beatings. Being choked so hard you almost passed out. Other things too painful to even give any thought to. Being told you should die. Having to finally kill your father after one incident where he had a knife and you knew he’d finish you off the way he had been talking about for months. Kill or be killed. You didn’t have another choice.

You had physical scars to show for all of it. That nightmare was so intense you thought you were back at home. You had lost count of the nightmares and flashbacks. Carol climbs on top of your bunk and immediately pulls you into her arms. “I’m here, sweets. It’s okay. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe now. They can’t get to you in here.” She says that in the most gentle tone of voice she reserved for you. That tone of voice made you feel so safe and loved and she knows it. You cry harder and she holds you even tighter and tells you to let all the tears out. That she’d never hurt you for anything. You are so lucky  Seeing you in this state breaks her heart every single time. It never gets easier for her. The worst thing is she knows what it’s like due to her own home life before she came to Litchfield Max. She had nobody to comfort her and she vowed to never allow you to suffer alone as she had. She knew what it was like to not be loved. Despite her heinous crime, you fell in love with her in spite of your best efforts not to. Her falling for you too was the last thing either of you expected to happen, especially as she told you she didn’t do love after Frieda Berlin had betrayed her all those years ago and got transferred to minimum where she now lived a cushy life. The second she opened up to you and told you about it, you vowed to never hurt her. And you never will. After she kisses your cheek, she looks into your tear filled eyes.

“Nothing that happened was your fault. If I had my way, I’d fucking gut the rest for them and make them die slowly for standing by and doing nothing.” She says that second sentence in her usual harsh tone of voice but you’re not afraid of her. You feel safe with her. This was the same woman who once said “Fuck unconditional love. Hate keeps me warm at night.” You now keep each other warm at night. She reverted to that gentle tone of voice and said “I’m going to be next to you all night, sweets. The guards won’t bother me so don’t worry. They have other matters to deal with, and they know better than to disturb me. They’re not about to start now.” She kisses your forehead and gently strokes your hair until you fall asleep again in her arms knowing you’re safe and that your sorry excuse for a father and the rest of your family would never be able to hurt you again.

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - In The Meantime Chapter 7

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

A/N: FYI, I haven’t read the Shade short story yet, so comparisons are futile. Any canon divergences – or blatant similarities – are happening by pure chance. If there are blatant similarities, I’ll grin up to the moon, and if there’re divergences – well, I’ve been working on these headcanons for two years and can’t throw everything overboard at this point ;-)

Returning

He still had his ability after all, or they couldn’t have had teleported out of Whitefire into the tunnels.

Diana let go of his hand and Shade snorted at his former doubt, which had been stupid to begin with. How could his ability have left him when, just minutes ago, he’d used it to kill a dozen Silvers?

He stemmed his bloody hands against the damp wall. Almost he was able to pretend his hands weren’t stained with blood but only with common dirt. Dried into black, Silver blood looked as ugly as its Red variant, and its smell made him as sick. Shade tried to clean off the worst of it with the condensed water on the tunnel wall, not caring that it was dirty in its own way, if only it helped him not to throw up.

Diana seemed as if she’d like to throw up as well, whether from the horrible battle, teleporting, or due to her numerous wounds, he could not say. She leaned against the wall, exhausted. Her head was thrown back, her palm rested on her stomach, on her bruised ribcage. The older wound on her cheek was torn again.

He took a deep breath, another attempt to calm himself, to get loose from the weight on his shoulders, both from what he’d already done and what he was still about to do. Save Mare.

He had to focus on that, on his ability. But still, she was nowhere he was able to jump to, if she even lived. He sighed. “Come,” he said to Diana, and offered his hand. “If not to Mare, I can bring us to Kilorn.”

Slowly, sheshook her head. “Spare your power,” she declined. “Nor would we get on the train now.” With a groan, she stemmed herself away from the wall and stumbled toward him – again, without talking his hand. “There’s a safe house in Archeon that’s closer.” She looked at him, her gaze once more burning with intent. “Hopefully, with an informant who knows what the hell has happened in the meantime.” She told him where to go, and in the end, she touched his palm with such a reluctance that he barely felt her fingers at all.

“King Maven was hailed even before everyone knew the old king was dead,” Will Whistle told them in the bare, but comparatively comfortable safe house. “And then, it was more important to announce the arrests of the murderer and traitor prince Tiberias, and of Mare Barrow, the fraud. They’re in the Bowl of Bones now,” he added, along with the details of the morning’s shifting events.

“The arena’s cells are made of Silent Stone, negating abilities,” Will finished.

Shade’s eyes widened. “What?”

“To assure no interference, besides from those Arvens. They can tolerate the silence, as they’re somehow involved in its creation,” Will explained.

Shade buried his face in his hands. “That must be why I can’t get to her…” he muttered.

Will cleared his throat and Shade raised his head, seeing Farley nod at Will. As if she could hide any of her own shock coming with Will’s revelations. If anything, she seemed tenser than before. “Anything else?” she asked.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Shade burst out. “Farley, you said the crown prince said no to you, to any kind of coup. Why would he kill his father?”

Farley opened her mouth, but he went on, “Was it brotherly affection? If not Mare, did he want to save at least his brother from prison?”

Will cackled. “Oh no, there’s no love lost between the Calore brothers, Shade. If you let me finish, please?” he chided him, turning serious again. “Just a minute before you two arrived, the execution was announced. Of Mare and Tiberias. Seems like our new King Maven prefers a specific kind of feast for his coronation.”

Shade frowned, but Farley left for the bathroom with a rushed “excuse me”.

He stared after her. “She has to take care of her injuries,” he said.

Will shrugged. “Shade, you see, it probably has to do with the whisper queen. Everything must have. Likely … Maven’s whole recruitment was a trap, planned by the queen.”

Shade cussed, then calculated. It seemed so obvious in hindsight, but … well, he’d never spoken to Maven, only believed in Farley’s reluctant trust in him.

“Then we did everything wrong,” he said quietly.

Will moved over, and briefly touched Shade’s knee in reassurance. He didn’t like that, and suddenly, he understood Diana’s distance that denied any kind of comfort or closeness. He straightened his posture, shaking Will off. “The battle isn’t lost,” he claimed. “We still can – have to – do something.”

Will’s answering smile was mirthless, and Shade wondered how long and full of relapses Will’s own struggle had been.

“Indeed,” he heard Farley say, who was just returning from the bathroom. She’d gotten rid of her bloody and torn jacket, her shirt baring bruised and bandaged skin. She tried her best to appear commanding, although that was obviously difficult for her. She even stood uneven.

“As important as Mare Barrow is,” she glanced at Shade, “our priority is evacuating Naercey. Will you assist us with your skill and connections there, Will Whistle?”

The corners of Will’s mouth twitched. “Sure, Captain.”

Haste and urgency had taken over Naercey. Of course, Shade and Farley weren’t the first to return to Naercey, although they hadn’t been sure if the news of threat and betrayal had reached their comrades. But they had to know enough to warn the inhabitants, so the evacuation could begin. People were moving from dwelling to dwelling and transports were loaded and leaving. Shade offered his help and was put to work fast enough, shortly briefed that transports were sent off single and in irregular intervals to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

“The mersives have left too, and will return soon,” a woman told him. “There’re only so many safe houses in the surroundings, and the mersives can go to larger bases.”

Shade nodded and went on to follow his instructions. The road ahead was less important to him than going back to save Mare. He knew he didn’t do as well as he could, with his hands shaking and his thoughts straying off like his eyes that searched for familiar faces that appeared in the distance and flickered away from his blinking, tired, gaze.

He couldn’t believe it was only early afternoon, still the same day, when his group released him. There was no time to rest, and too much to do to save as many as possible. He felt so exhausted, not least because of his teleporting fight in the morning, although the lack of sleep they all had suffered took its visible toll as well.

And the uncertainty about Mare, he thought, then yawned and stretched.

“Hey.”

He flinched too hard. Even as he turned and saw Farley, his heart continued to beat faster. It’s just the exhaustion, he told himself. But that was a lie. He felt unguarded at every moment, his confidence was shattered and he was overwhelmed by danger and forlornness.

Farley hardly looked different, certainly not better. She’d finally changed into fresh clothing, but wore her wounds visibly, including a careful, tired stance.

So different from the woman from last night.

She rolled her shoulders. “Time to talk about Mare,” she said. “Well, I have time. You?”

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “If not, I’d make some.”

She tilted her head. “Of course.” She smiled wryly. “I’m not of much help here, so all my focus is on Mare now.” He blinked. “You know, since I’m at fault for all this …” Her grimace had to be painful with her injuries, with the way it stretched the old wound on her jaw, re-opening the cut he’d stitched himself.

“What?”  he gasped. She stared him down until he shook his head. “I understand, but … we all agreed to the operation. Especially the other officers.”

“Oh sure,” she hissed. “So far, Naercey isn’t under attack, but once it happens, when Maven, his witch of a mother, or whoever the fuck is in charge now, starts it, I’ll gladly blame them. For now, these people are losing their homes, Shade. Whether they flee or risk staying, I brought this upon them, with my arrogance and foolishness.”

It was easy to see beneath her grim face and dark humour. He knew she had a point. But he also noticed how much she needed to say this, to confess and acknowledge her guilt to someone.

He stepped toward her, reaching out with his hand. She flinched, maybe out of pain, maybe because she was still scared of him. But then she leaned into his touch, let him cup her mostly uninjured left cheek. Her gaze seared him and he believed he saw in it a yearning for his closeness.

“It’s quite self-absorbed and arrogant to take all the blame onto yourself, Captain Farley,” he said quietly, before she moved away. Eyes downcast, she gulped and her expression changed from bitter to sad.

She wants me, he thought, only that she thinks she doesn’t deserve to be with me.

She looked up with a snort. “Mare,” she reminded him.

“How could I forget?” he said.

She irked him, no, almost angered him. She was playing him again with the way she ignored him and their relationship. She freely wallowed in her own guilt and became distant to “punish” herself, but what about him, and his sins? He’d killed today, many people, and he didn’t know how to deal. He was back at the Choke, in the bleakest days of his life, shocked over those Lakelanders he’d killed there. Today, they’d been Silvers instead of Reds, yet they’d died for his self defense as well. It didn’t change the disgust, nor the dark pit of shame he felt that made him doubt he was right to be here, to be a rebel fighting with all he had.

I can do this, he told himself, I’ve proved it already.

I only do not enjoy it.

He wished he could talk to Diana. He was sure, believing he’d already witnessed it, that she wasn’t perfectly okay with all of it either. But she continued to avoid him, so he went to Kilorn who had no such qualms, and was happy to see his friend, to give him a hug and to plan to free Mare.

Kilorn was occupied with packing the explosives that were to be used in smaller amounts, piece by piece. With his nimble hands, Kilorn showed quite a talent for it, one he’d used in the morning too, when they’d destroyed Archeon’s bridge. Shade couldn’t match and Kilorn taunted him about it. Jokingly. Softly. Shade didn’t know how Kilorn managed it, to be funny despite all this, and yet he was grateful for it.

“You’re staring after Farley like some lost puppy,” Kilorn remarked the next time his shaking fingers dropped something. Shade cursed and Kilorn took it away from him, shaking his head. “No use here,” he muttered.

Shade cleared his throat. “What do you mean? She’s not even here.”

Kilorn shrugged. “But you search for every little glimpse of her, instead of looking at the work.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, his head lowered in embarrassment, and to hide his blush. He still felt Kilorn’s gaze on him. Then he rose. “Mare is our priority,” he claimed.

Kilorn nodded, “Of course.” Yet his face appeared so curious, so understanding that Shade was tempted to blurt everything out. He opened his mouth, tongue tingling. He wanted to talk about it, about her, about them. But in the end, he lacked the words to describe it. What was between them now? Were they in love? In a relationship? He could say what they did, or had done, but that wasn’t what he really craved to figure out.

Kilorn began to smile, still soft and not making fun of him. He was happy for Shade, whatever for, and for now, that was enough.

Shade squeezed his hand. “If I’m so useless, I better take a rest,” he said and took his leave.

He had every reason to be tired and still, he paced Naercey for a while first. If he was honest, he just wished to encounter Diana again, by accident, so he could claim he kept his distance as she seemed to wish. But the sun started to set and he longed to rest like he’d told Kilorn. He entered the building where most of the Scarlet Guard were staying, if on packed bags now. Shade prowled the corridors, noticing how his steps slowed the closer he came to Diana’s room, where they’d spent the last night together. Although “night” was hardly accurate, given how short the episode had been. It seemed so long ago now, his sense of time warped by the onslaught of the morning.

In front of her room, he stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say, but now he was here, he could at least tell her to go to bed after this awful day. That woman never considered her own needs.

He took a deep breath and entered. Immediately, he froze on the threshold and gaped. Because she wasn’t up and planning or giving orders, but asleep on her pallet. Weapons were placed around her, easy to grab, but she didn’t stir. Shade hadn’t been quiet. If she was as alert as the weapons indicated, she should’ve woken up. Yet she slept on without a tremor, more at peace than he’d ever seen her. He couldn’t imagine she’d ever intentionally let down her guard in that manner, so only exhaustion could’ve taken its toll and she’d relented.

As much as that relieved him, as stunned as he was, it meant he had no reason to stay. He respected her privacy and left to let her sleep.

The next morning, the sky was overcast with foreboding, dark clouds. The air felt heavy with heat and humidity, adding another weight onto the backs of those left in Naercey. All of them, whether soldier or civilian, cast glances around, at the sky, into the distance, as if they expected the assault to arrive from the air or on the ground at any second. Even when Captain Farley roused her soldiers, giving them their orders and instructions for this operation. Shade listened and tried to maintain and show determination, but like the rest, his whole body was tense, and his eyes wandered furtively just the same.

“Rise, red as the dawn!” Diana finished with a shout and Shade and the others fell in.

They’d lost; they’d been down. But they’d go on. Always.

The drive with the undertrain continued in similar fashion, an odd blend of weariness and enthusiasm. When the train reached its hidden stop, the team members jumped off with careful motions. It was a little walk to the Bowl of Bones, but it was also safer this way.

“Kill or take out any patrols you encounter,” Farley ordered, with gritted teeth. Strange to kill on the way to safe someone else. Shade didn’t think her nap had been restorative enough, if anything, she looked worse and he could only hope she felt better.

“We should be fast enough their absence should be irrelevant,” she went on, “but we have to use Maven’s neglect of the tunnels as long as possible. For now, he has other jobs to do before he can – ” She stopped as Shade spun around in front of her, halting as well.

“Why don’t you stay back, Captain?” he said.

“What – “

“Aren’t you injured enough already?” He looked her over, eyes lingering on her visible limp. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Someone has to secure the way back to the train,” said he. She opened her mouth, but he continued. “No need to have everyone close to the detonations,” he insisted, staring into her eyes. “Those are often a strain on bystanders, no matter the precautions.” She gaped, not believing he challenged her, told her, who always walked to the front, to stay behind. But he’d decided he would win this one glaring duel against her. And eventually, her gaze waned.

“Take them and run,” she said snidely. “I guess you don’t need me to carry those two.”

He nodded and before he got on, he took her hand and squeezed it. “See you in a few minutes.”

Her sneer softened slightly.

It took longer than a few minutes. Once they’d reached the space beneath the arena, the techie among the group produced a screen and as fast as he was, he needed a moment to find pictures of the events above. As they watched, the detonation specialist hesitated to act. “Fight’s too unclear,” he insisted, but Shade saw more than one finger on the triggers after the bombs had been placed. It didn’t make him any less nervous. His fingers and toes twitched, and the throbbing pulse of his blood drowned out the sounds around him.

Kilorn touched his hand in reassurance, and after a thankful glance, Shade started to focus back on his comrades’ discussions as his eyes fixed on the screen where he saw Mare dancing in a lethal battle.

Finally, the metal girl ran away, leaving the arena almost empty but for the condemned. “What are you waiting – ” Shade cried out, but a guard held up a hand to halt him.

The techie pointed at the screen; at the darkening sky, to be exact.

“Get ready to trigger ten seconds after the first lightning strike,” the lead detonator commanded. Indeed, the sky was lit up white and purple with lightning before a minute had passed.

Silence fell upon them, only broken by a few gasps until the thunder began to rumble, audible even down here, even over Shade’s hearing protection and his rushing blood.

Just seconds later, another kind of thunder reverberated through the tunnels, the sound of explosions timed to be unremarkable in the lightning storm.

Unremarkable to those above, hopefully. Not to Shade, not to the team. Shade grabbed onto anything he could grasp, and still he stumbled from the recoil. So did the others, and they were shaking and blinking and hugging themselves and each other, hoping the ringing in their ears and the dizziness were temporary.

The detonations were successful, and now, there was a small hole in the ceiling, creating a direct view to the sky and into the arena.

Shade crawled toward the opening. No one followed yet, some of the team had actually been thrown back. For a moment, he closed his eyes, relieved he’d made Diana stay back. Then he reached the hole, pulled himself up, and the first thing he saw was a lightning strike hitting the ground just two meters away from him. His sister Mare was merely another short distance away.

Shade began to grin.

The little distance was still potentially deadly, he knew. Soldiers were marching into the arena, guns ready. Mare, the prince next to her, continued to bring the lightning from the sky into the arena to halt her opponents. But she strained under the effort, not able to go on like this for much longer. That didn’t quench Shade’s amazement at seeing Mare’s power in the flesh for the first time, made glorious rather because it was hard on her. But the threat combined with the rush of his comrades as they joined him sobered him.

Shade hadn’t touched his pistol. But the others, Kilorn being one of them, were less reluctant. They shot the enemy soldiers, taking down many by this absolute surprise, but not enough to eventually defeat them.

We’re back to hit and run.

Shade used the chance of the moment when Mare was out of the center of attention for a second and jumped toward her, grabbing her and the prince to vanish at the next breath.

A few more bombs secured their escape, smashing parts of the tunnels as a result, as Shade couldn’t hope to teleport all of them back to the train. He would if he had to, now that others carried Mare and the prince as they ran. Shade glanced at her at every other second, worried by her unconsciousness. He told himself she was taking her first teleport as badly as Diana, but Mare was no less injured than her either. What the combined shocks had done to her remained to be seen.

The manacled prince had woken, unlike Mare, as they reached the undertrain. They had to shove him forward as he beheld the vehicle, although he didn’t stall in a way that sabotaged them or their escape.

Getting in and getting started was a matter of heartbeats under Farley’s command. She didn’t display excitement over the success apart from the smile that lasted a split second when she saw Mare, now carried in Shade’s arms. Even when she glanced at him every now and then during the drive, she stayed next to the prince, keeping watch over him like he was her personal trophy.

Once, Kilorn touched his shoulder in relief, a tear rolling down his cheek. He needed a moment to look at Mare cradled on Shade’s lap, before he was urged to resume some errand. It was merely to maintain alertness, Shade guessed, as the danger wasn’t over, might not ever be. He leaned back, eyes closed, finally feeling the greatest weight lifted off him, as he and Mare were finally together again.

That small peace, however, vanished as he opened his eyes, and by chance, found Diana’s gaze. It spoke of the gravity of the things to come, and Shade inclined his head in understanding.

Hitting and running and fighting would continue, and they had no idea how the game had changed, now that Maven Calore had taken the throne of Norta by betraying his family, the Scarlet Guard, and Mare.

Then Mare opened her eyes.

A/N 2: And so we've reached the end of Red Queen. There are some holes between the one-shots I wrote for Glass Sword that I might fill, although I believe the canon short story covers similar same points. I don't know if I'll compete there, I guess I might as well simply bow to the perfection it is ;-)

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @clarafarleybarrow @carstairsjames @inopinion @sarcasm-and-procastination @eurydicel @selenbean-beany @marecalrandomstuff @thelightning03 @mareven0123 @gisabarrovv

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

The Cursed Side Of This Family Chapter 13: Happy Birthday

Masterlist with Ch. 1-12

Tommy is spending far too much time at work. When he blows off his birthday surprise in favor of working overtime, Esme wonders if he is actually working some ho...

I thought I was finished with this series, but I just can't leave these two crazy kids alone! I don’t know what to call this, a one shot? a P.S.? I may add to this from time to time, because Tommy x Esme is the little crackship that could.

This takes place about a year after Ch. 12.

“I have to go back to the factory, union business, I’ll be home late.” 

Tommy drew on the cigarette in he held in his lips and fastened the straps on his new holster- a birthday gift from Esme. Esme eyed the leaded crystal ashtray on his desk and fantasized about knocking Tommy in the head with it. That would be one way of keeping him at home. 

“It’s your birthday, Tommy. Can’t Arthur handle it for bloody once?” 

Tommy pulled on his jacket and mumbled around the cigarette that was still dangling from his lips. “It’s Arthur who has cocked everything up.” 

Tommy’s birthday was a perfect excuse to make him take the day off, and she had worked so hard to make sure that he could have fun and relax for once. The poor girl had cooked all day and laid on a feast for the Shelbys and the Lees. They drank and danced all afternoon, but she had managed to shoo them all out of the house at a decent hour so that she could have some much needed alone time with Tommy. Now, after all her efforts, she faced another night between cold sheets. 

Esme poured herself another whiskey and scowled at him. Tommy, who was always absorbed in his work, had been little more than a rumor to Esme lately. She’d lost track of how many mornings she’d woken up alone. More often than not, Tommy either worked through the night at the factory or crashed at the desk in his study. She missed him. She missed all of him. Esme badly needed a shag. 

“Oh, come ’ere,” he said in a soothing tone. He knew that she felt neglected and hated to disappoint her, yet again, but business was business. Tommy pulled her into an embrace and rested his chin on top of her head, “Thank you for my birthday surprises.” 

In a last ditch effort to convince him to stay, she slipped her hand between his legs and palmed his balls. “Can’t you stay for a little longer? I haven’t given you all of your presents yet.” 

Tommy groaned appreciatively as he nuzzled her neck, “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, love.” 

Esme wriggled out of his arms and snatched the whiskey decanter from Tommy’s desk, “Oh, fook off!” she growled as she stormed out of the room. He could hear her ranting as she stomped toward their bedroom, “Union business! Union business! I’ll get my revolver and end all this rutting union business. That Edens needs a bullet, the bloody reprobate!” 

Esme was too mad to cry even though her heart was breaking. She understood that being a Shelby meant dealing with odd hours and mysterious business deals, but the amount of time that Tommy spent away from home had steadily increased in recent months. It was to the point that she had begun to wonder if he had another woman in town. Polly tried to allay Esme’s suspicions. She constantly told her how much Tommy had changed since settling down with her, how he had found balance and contentment because of her influence.  “Tommy has always needed someone like you,” Polly would say, “You keep him close to his roots and make him want to be a better man.” She wanted to believe it, but he was still only a man. 

Esme had abandoned her glass and drank whiskey straight from the decanter as she paced around the massive bedroom that she shared with Tommy. She had made the opulent space cozier by hanging tapestries on the walls and draping scarves over the lamps because the largesse of the estate was still a bit much for her taste. One thing that she could appreciate about Tommy’s wealth was the stable of horses that it afforded them. Esme was born riding. She and Tommy bonded over their love of horses even before they came together as a couple. In the early days, when John was still alive and Tommy avoided her like the plague, the one thing that they could agree on was the merits of a good horse. As she paced and drank she decided that staying cooped in in the house was no good. With all jealous thoughts and doubts circling around in her head, a ride was exactly what she needed. 

She took off her Egyptian cuff bracelets and long glass beaded necklaces and dropped them on her dressing table.  She then shed the green silk brocade dress that she had bought especially for the party and hung it over the chair. Arthur had told her how pretty she looked tonight, so had Johnny Dogs, but Tommy was too preoccupied with the impending strike to do much more than grunt in agreement with them. Hanging in the closet was a long dress with a full gathered skirt that she wore for riding. It was as comfortable as a second skin and reminded her of a simpler time. After getting ready to ride, she looked down at the emerald and gold band that Tommy had given to her as a sign of his love and hoped for both of their sakes that her suspicions were wrong. 

Esme grabbed another bottle of Irish whiskey from the cabinet on her way out to the stables. She pulled out the cork with her teeth and spat it into the garden as she walked. As she turned the bottle up, her mind returned to the pretty union organizer, Jesse Edens, and she told herself that Edens was not Tommy’s type. She hated to think the worst, but she also didn’t want to be taken for a fool. She tried to reason with herself, “It’s just business, he belongs to me.” But, if he was messing around, she wouldn’t give up without a fight. 

Once inside the stable, she put down the bottle and went straight to the stall of her favorite mare, Rosu, a spirited bay that Tommy had given her. On the day that Tommy brought the mare home, he and Esme rode out to the river and made love on the grassy bank. It felt like a thousand years ago, but she had to somehow find a way back there. She missed the way that he used to rush home in time to take her riding before dinner. Sometimes she would pack food and a bed roll, and they would ride out to spend the night under the stars. They would come back the next morning with the smell of campfire smoke clinging to their hair and clothes, and if he was a few hours late for work he didn’t care. Where was that Tommy now? She stroked the mare’s velvety muzzle and ran her fingers through her forelocks. “How ‘bout we go for a ride, girl?” She patted the horse’s withers and began getting her ready. 

Just as she was about to climb onto the mare’s back she heard the stable door creak and thought that it was probably the caretaker coming to see why the lights were on. She called out, “It’s me, thought it was a nice night for a ride.” 

As she stepped out of the stall her breath caught in her throat. It was Tommy. He had picked up the abandoned whiskey bottle that Esme had left near the entrance and stood drinking it in the doorway. “Where’s the cork, love?” 

“I spat it in the garden. Didn’t plan on needing it.” 

Tommy chuckled as he walked toward her, “You’re going to drink a whole bottle of Kilvannon and stay on the back of an ‘orse?” He motioned toward the blood bay mare. 

“What are you doing here, Thomas? Thought you had business to attend to.” Esme’s kept her voice cold even though she was relieved to see him home. 

Tommy walked toward her saying, “I got halfway there, and I thought about what you said about Arthur. You are right. He needs to learn how to clean up his own messes. So, I turned back and told him to handle it.” 

By the time he stopped talking, he had reached where she was standing. He sat the bottle down in the hay and took her hands, bringing them up to his mouth. While gazing into her eyes, he kissed the ring on Esme’s finger. “I’ve missed you, love.” 

Esme felt a warmth spread throughout her body and her knees got weak. Tommy could still do that to her after a year’s time, but she stubbornly decided to resist him until she could put her fears to rest. “We need to have a little chat.” 

Tommy’s face fell and he lifted his chin, “About?” 

“I want to know if you are fucking around on me.” 

Her blunt reply took him by surprise. Tommy let go of her hands and stepped back. His brows knitted together incredulously and he scoffed, “Why, Es, why would you say such a thing?” 

“Well, you’re never here, and when you are your mind is somewhere else…” 

Tommy reached down and picked up the bottle, He took a generous swig before answering, “Esme, I have nearly a thousand men depending on me. Their jobs depend on my decisions. Forgive me if I am preoccupied.” 

Esme’s nostrils flared as she spat the words, “But not too preoccupied to come running like a dog whenever Jesse Edens blows her whistle.” 

Tommy shook his head in disbelief, “You’ve got to be having me on. That’s what this is really about? It’s business. That is all. You think I enjoy spending time with her? Hmmm? Going over contracts, dealing with her threats?” 

Esme crossed her arms and soldiered on, “I’ve seen you do business, Tom. It’s a fair question.” He rolled his eyes and reached out to her, but she swatted his hand away. “May, Lizzie, that Dutchess…Just tell me Tom, is Jesse Edens the reason why you’re never at home?” 

Esme could infuriate Tommy like no one else. How could she think such a thing? He had been faithful to her since the day she swept back into his life. He clenched his teeth and the muscles in his jaws flexed as he struggled with his temper. Mainly because she had a point. His past behavior with women had been abominable. If Miss Edens had come into his orbit a couple of years ago he would have had her signing labor contracts while bent over a desk. Esme had changed all that. 

“Answer me, Thomas! Are you fucking her, yes or no?” 

Tommy threw the bottle and Esme winced as it shattered against the wall. “No! Dammit, Esme! Don’t you understand, there is no one else but you!” he panted, “It’s all for you. All the long hours, all the money, this,” he gestured up to the rafters of the stable, “It wouldn’t mean a thing to me without you!” 

Tommy’s reaction lit a fire within Esme. Her breath came fast and she glowed with desire. 

He loved her with all his being and worked night and day to keep her and the family that she shared with him safe. He wanted to make sure that they had everything their hearts could desire and so much money that no one could ever touch them, but looking into Esme’s fierce eyes he realized that all she wanted was him. Behind the anger, frustration, and doubt was a woman who loved him completely and was terrified of losing him. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, “I’m never home because I want to give you everything, but if it is tearing us apart I will find a way to change it.” 

“How?” she whispered against his chest, her body hummed with wanting him, but her mind remained skeptical. 

“Well, for a start, Arthur can become more active in negotiations, and I’ve been thinking that it’s time for Finn to become more involved in the management end of the business.” 

Esme swayed to the steady beat of his heart, “And then you’ll be home at night?” 

“Yes, most nights.” He lifted Esme’s chin and fixed her with his sky blue eyes. “You are all that I want, but I have responsibilities to handle, love. I’ll talk to Arthur and Finn. It will take some time.” 

He drew her into a kiss, and she caressed his face with her hands. “I need you, Tom. The house is so empty when you aren’t here. I get lost in my own head, I’m sorry.” 

Closing his eyes he breathed in the heady mixture of whiskey, hay, and the spices in her perfume. He worked his way down to her jawline and whispered into her neck, “I’m yours, Es. Never doubt my love for you, alright?” She nodded her head, shivering as he nipped the sensitive skin just above her collarbone. Their breath showed hot and foggy in the chilly night as she whispered words of surrender onto his skin, and they sank down into the soft hay. “It’s not yet midnight; you still owe me the rest of my birthday present.”   

She smiled and ran her fingers through his dark hair, “Happy birthday, love.”

[caliamyourrightfulkingcalore]

A MASTER POST DEFENDING MY BOY TIBERIAS CAL CALORE VII

Let me start by saying I do not hate Maven. In fact, I love him as a villain in this story. He’s one of those people you just LOVE to hate. With that being said, if you’re a Maven stan...the only thing we’ll probably agree on is that ELARA MERANDUS IS A BITCH AND THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL I’M SO GLAD SHE DIED BY MARE’S HAND PRAISE THE LORD.

MY BOY CAL HAS BEEN GETTING A LOT OF SLANDER AS OF LATE AND I AM HERE TO PROTEC AND DEFEND HIM AT ALL COST (also not denying he’s a flawed character because damn he is but I’ll try to justify his actions and decisions in the books).

Also, spoilers for all 4 books below so read at your own risk.

Let’s start with Red Queen

From the get go, we know Cal is only destined for one thing: to be the King of Norta. It is all he knows. All he’s ever done and learned leads up to that moment of his life. It is ingrained in his mind by his father. There is nothing else but the throne. His life litERALLY REVOLVED AROUND THE THRONE AND BEING KING. Please keep this in mind as you read through this. We also see glimpses of kindness and empathy from his character the first time we meet him.

Fast forward to the end of Red Queen where EVERYTHING IS TAKEN AWAY FROM HIM IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS. ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING. And the worst being killing his father by his own hands. Let’s also not forget that he grew up without a mother and so his father (and Maven) was all he had. As I was saying, he was forced to kill his father and watch as his body was drained of life. Cal only had two immediate family members at this point (excluding Julian) which was his father and brother. Now imagine being forced to kill your loved one by another loved one. That’s traumatizing and it’s so often overlooked by the readers because it’s not mentioned much in the books. BUT YES CAL IS ALSO A VICTIM HERE LET’S NOT FORGET! THE POOR BOY HAD NIGHTMARES EVERY NIGHT BECAUSE OF IT.

He spends all his time in Glass Sword as an exile, belonging to no one but himself. Having to deal with the events in RQ by himself. Like Maven, he faces his own demons alone (but lets be honest, Cal had a lot of distractions, which of course helped him in some way).

I truly believe that killing his own father had A LOT to do with his decision in King’s Cage. Accepting the crown was his own way of justifying his father’s death. Even though he was FORCED to do it, it was still done by him and of course the guilt of having his father die for nothing ultimately made him accept the crown.

BUT ALSO HOW DOES EVERYONE (ok maybe not everyone but A LOT) THINK THAT CHOOSING THE CROWN MEANT BETRAYING MARE AND HER CAUSE. LIKE AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO SEES HIS TRUE INTENTIONS?

On a side note, Mare and the Scarlet Guard are content with letting Norta destroy itself. House against house, Silver against Silver. Divide and conquer. How is that any different from what the Silvers did to the Reds thousands of years ago? Here’s the answer, it’s not. Seems to me that once civil war has begun and majority of the Silver population were dead, the Guard would swoop in and kill or imprison the remaining Silvers.

Of course after everything the Reds have been through, it’s a justifiable act on their part. They’ve suffered for too much too long. But what message does it send across? That they are no better than the Silvers they hate so much.

Back to my son Cal. He accepted the crown to initiate change in Norta. Let’s be honest, without a ruler Norta will fall. Simple as that. Chaos will descend upon the land and then there’s really no way of changing their mindset. IN MY HEART I TRULY BELIEVE CAL ACCEPTING HIS CROWN WAS HIS WAY OF HELPING MARE AND HER CAUSE AND YOU CAN’T CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. He even said so himself in WS that there’s more he could to with a crown than without. He’s our best bet. I don’t think anyone would’ve been happy with House Samos or any other House for that matter, to have gotten the crown because then nothing will change and war will persist. But if you have a ruler who imposes change then maybe its a start. Norta needs someone to follow, someone to guide them. That’s my boy Cal!!! I really think that once everything in Norta has settled, he would give up his crown as a last act of persuasion, to show what is possible if only they would take a chance. 

To be realistic, changing laws doesn’t change reality. And it’s going to take a loooong while before any drastic change can be made in Norta but at least it would be a step towards the right direction. The Free Republic of Montfort rebuilt itself for a hundred years and it will be the same for Norta.

This also deserved an honourable mention: when he decided to give up the crown, I don’t think it was entirely Coriane’s words that made him decide otherwise. I think it definitely helped. Cal is just a kind, good person. To the bone. He couldn’t kill his own people and he also had the desire to see how Reds lived. He had compassion where his predecessors did not. He mentioned a couple times that the cause is not worth all the bloodshed and that it will only result in an endless cycle of war, but after seeing Montfort for himself, he believed that maybe it was worth it. I’m not saying Coriane’s diary wasn’t integral to him giving up the crown, I’m saying that mindsets can change and that’s definitely what happened to Cal.

Now on to the topic of Maveny. I’ve been seeing a lot of posts saying Cal didn’t try hard enough. Let’s agree to disagree.

I’m not going to deny that I didn’t want Maven dead, but I definitely wanted him to get help. To what extent? Even I’m not so sure. VAveyard does an amazing job of conflicting its readers when it comes to Maven. Is this really Maven (and he says that it is, multiple times throughout the book) or is this Elara’s doing? It’s so easy to blame it on Elara because whAT KIND OF MOTHER FUCKS AROUND WITH HER OWN SON’S BRAIN. That’s messed up in so many ways!

Anyways, a lot of people are saying Cal gave up so quickly and that if anyone had any sensitivity to mental illness, it should have been Cal because of what his mother went through. Cal is also a victim of Elara’s doing here. Not only did she force Coriane to kill herself, she also forced Cal to kill Tiberias VI. Cal’s parents, both dead because of her. Let’s have some remorse for the poor boy! It’s so easy to feel for Maven because his torment is so easily seen in the books wheras Cal’s is barely mentioned. They are both victims here, the only difference is that Cal had the necessary help needed from Mare and his uncle Julian but most of all, himself. And that made all the difference. Even after Elara’s death, Maven was in too deep that he wasn’t able to help himself. Maven knows, deep down, that Cal loved him and maybe if he had asked for help, his character would have had a very different ending.

Cal had no obligations to the present Maven. If any, he had obligations to the Maven he remembers before Red Queen. And if he so happens to believe that there’s no hint of the Maven he used to know, then I think his decision is justified. I agree though that they should have had a one on one confrontation. I think Maven would have been able to talk to Cal with at least some of his walls down. But Maven has to also want it.

Now to those saying Cal’s a coward for not killing Maven himself. He already killed his father, forcibly or not, it was still him that did it. I think it would have absolutely ruined him if Maven died by his hands. It just shows THAT THE BOY IS GOOD DAMN IT.

This is the part where I acknowledge his indecisiveness because damn, even that infuriated me but all I have to say is: HE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE WHEN IT MATTERED MOST.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

Now feel free to discuss with me.

[justanoutlawfic]

Why Did It Have To Be Me?: 3/3

Trigger warning: mentions of child abuse, marital abuse, rape and incest.

This story took a different turn than I expected. There will be a sequel to this fic, I promise. In the meantime, let me know what you think.

Also on AO3

Mary Margaret walked into her house, her eyes feeling heavy. She wanted to sleep for the next 10 years, pretend like she didn’t just go through the worst night of her life. She was the reason why David and Kathryn weren’t working out.

 Inside of her was a tiny life, one that would be dependent on her for the next 18 plus years. It scared her to death to think about. She thought of her mother, who had always been so patient and kind to her. Her mother who never seemed scared.

 How had she done it?

 As Mary Margaret turned down the hallway, she heard her father clearing his throat. She flinched, clamping her eyes shut. Once upon a time, Mary Margaret and Leopold had been close, they had all been. Then Eva died and everything changed. He poured himself into his work and was barely ever home. She had Johanna to help her mourn her mother, but it still wasn’t easy.

 Not 2 years after Eva had died, Leopold was getting married again. This time, it was to Regina Mills. Mary Margaret knew of her, the daughter of Cora and Henry Mills. She wasn’t much older than her, barely out of high school. She didn’t know at the time, but it had been a complete business arrangement between Leopold and Regina.

 She could hear Regina’s screams every night and saw how she went from a kind, sweet woman to a hollow shell, who barely ever smiled. She tried to keep a brave face for her step-daughter, but it was too late. Mary Margaret tried to stand up for her, but it was no use. Bruises covered both of their bodies and there was no use in fighting. They were both his prisoner.

 Until Regina finally broke free. She had fallen in love with their gardener, Daniel Colter. She told Mary Margaret she would’ve taken her with her, but she had no legal claim to her. While Regina had begged Leopold to let her adopt her, he knew better. He knew that their marriage wouldn’t last forever and he wouldn’t risk losing his daughter. After a messy divorce, Regina had settled out of town with Daniel on a farm. It had been 3 years since then and Mary Margaret would sneak off to see her when she could, but it was difficult.

 “Hi Daddy,” she whispered softly.

“You’re home earlier than I expected.”

“It wasn’t that much fun.”

Leopold nodded. “That…or were you just not feeling that well?”

“Huh?”

 He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the pregnancy test. Mary Margaret felt her stomach flip flop. She had hidden it well, hadn’t she? She wanted to hide it from her father until she could find a way out.

 “Daddy…”

“Who is the father?” Leopold asked quietly.

“I…I don’t know.”

 She couldn’t let anything happen to David. Leopold was possessive and cruel, there was a reason why David was the first person she was ever with.

 Leopold rose from his seat and walked over to his daughter, allowing the test to fall from his hands. He grabbed her by the chin and looked her directly in the eye.

 “Tell me who the father is.”

“I don’t know, I swear!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I…I got drunk and slept with someone at a party! He was gone when I woke up the next morning! I never got his name!”

“So, you’re telling me that my daughter is a dirty little slut?”

“Daddy, please.” Mary Margaret trembled under his grip. “You’re hurting me!”

“How could you let this happen? I thought I raised you better than this! I don’t want some bastard for a grandchild!”

Mary Margaret snapped, feeling violently protective of her child. “Well, just one year ago, it could’ve been yours!”

 Leopold’s eyes widened and he moved his hand from her chin, smacking her across the face. She held her cheek and felt the tears falling down her stinging skin. Leopold had come home drunk one night, claiming that everything was her fault. She had picked Daniel to work for them, she had known about his affair with Regina. If not for Mary Margaret, he’d still have a wife.

 She wanted to make people happy so damn badly, she could please him.

 “Get the fuck out of my house,” he whispered.

“Gladly.”

 She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs, but he grabbed her by her arm.

 “No. Everything you have is mine. You leave with that dress on your back and trust me, that is a pleasantry.”

 Mary Margaret knew that some of the stuff upstairs wasn’t necessarily from him. She nannied for the neighbors down the road and had used it to buy some of her own things. Still, it wasn’t worth the argument.

 “I’m taking my car,” she said.

“I’ll impound it.”

“Fine.”

 She grabbed her keys, anyway. She knew where she was going and they’d help her with transportation. Storming out of her house, Mary Margaret got behind the wheel. Looking in the mirror, she could see the bruises forming on her chin, the red handprint on her right cheek. It wasn’t as bad as it could be. At least she had escaped alive.

David managed to convince James to go to the after party without him. Kathryn went as well, not saying two words to him after their dance. David couldn’t blame her, he’d hate him too. He had been leading her on for far too long.

 He walked into the house and threw his keys up on the hook. Ruth was puttering around the kitchen, making tea.

 “Hey, Ma.”

Ruth jumped and turned around, chuckling. “Oh, David. I wasn’t expecting you home, I swore you and James were going to the afterparty.”

“He did...I wasn’t in the partying mood.”

She studied his face, walking closer to him. “What happened, baby? Did you and Kathryn have a fight?”

 The worried look on her face brought guilt to David’s stomach. She was such a good mother, she worked her butt off to give him and James a good life. How could he do this to her? How could he give up Yale and the whole life that she wanted for him?

 Mary Margaret would understand, she’d have to. She had a full ride to an Ivy League, too. They could give the baby to someone that could give him or her the best life possible. If Mary Margaret was insistent on keeping the baby, he’d find a way to pay child support and visit as much as he could.

 He had already broke one heart that night, he couldn’t break another.

 “We broke up,” he managed to get out. It wasn’t exactly a lie, it just wasn’t the full truth either.

“Oh, honey.” Ruth put her hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry, I know how much you liked her.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. You’re about to head off to college. You don’t want any distractions.” She let out a content sigh. “College. You and James will be the first people in this family to go. I am so incredibly proud of you, baby boy. You know that?”

David bit down on his lip, his stomach twisting. “Yeah, Ma. I know.”

Mary Margaret tossed bac

k and forth in her sleep that night. She had driven to Regina and Danie’s, telling them everything. Regina iced her bruises while Daniel said he’d call the police, but Mary Margaret knew it’d be no good. His lawyer, Albert Spencer, would have him out within seconds and it’d only further put her and the baby at risk. She told them about the baby and her plans, and they said they’d support her. She could live with them and they’d help her raise it.

 It should’ve been enough to comfort her and yet, she still couldn’t sleep.

 Around 2 AM, she headed towards the bathroom to pee. She paused when she heard Daniel’s voice traveling from upstairs.

 “We can’t afford another mouth to feed, Regina.”

“You heard her, she’ll get a job.”

“She’s got a high school education and will be attending class plus raising a baby. How much money can she really make? And where will it go when we all have to work? We’re going to end up financially responsible.”

“Daniel…”

“I want to help her, I do. I just don’t see how we can make it work.”

“We have to try! I’ve been her, Daniel. I was in her shoes and I got away. I was lucky to have you, we’re all she has.”

“I want to help her, I do. Just look at it realistically, Regina.”

“We’ll make it work,” Regina insisted, the firmness in her voice. “I won’t let her go on the streets.”

“Well, what about the father? Do you think he’ll be able to help much? She goes to a private school, doesn’t she?”

“He’s a scholarship student, his mom owns a failing farm in town.”

“So, in short…no help there.”

 Mary Margaret shut her eyes, biting down on her lip hard. She should’ve known better than to come to Regina and Daniel’s. They were some of the kindest people she had ever met and they’d risk everything for her, but it wasn’t fair. They already had a 2-year-old son to tend to.

 They didn’t need two more mouths to feed on top of it. She’d go to David. Like Daniel said, he didn’t have much, but maybe they could be more help.

Mary Margaret didn’t hear from David for the rest of the weekend, but didn’t think much of it at first. He didn’t have her phone number and it wasn’t like they ran in similar circles.

 On Monday, she walked down the halls, her hand instinctively going over her chin every few seconds. She didn’t have any makeup and Regina’s skin tone was too different from hers to lend her any. She didn’t know how she was going to explain it to people, but most seemed to be giving her the cold shoulder anyway.

 When she turned the corner and saw Kathryn, it didn’t take long for her to figure out why. She knew and she had told her friends, of course she had. Keeping her head held high, she walked straight past her and headed towards her locker. Before she could start her combination, David approached her. He opened his mouth, then shut it, his hand touching her chin.

 “What happened?” He whispered.

Mary Margaret jerked away. “Let’s just say my dad didn’t have the best reaction.”

David’s eyes widened. “Mare…I am so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Look, I’ve been staying with my ex-step-mom and her husband, but it’s not the best situation. They can’t exactly afford two more mouths to feed and well…I know your family isn’t much better off and we’re not exactly together, but maybe…” She trailed off and saw the guilty look on his face. “What?”

“We need to talk. Do you um, do you think we could meet up later?”

“Why can’t we talk about it now?”

“Mary Margaret…”

“If you have something to say, just say it.”

 David sighed and looked around. Everyone was staring at them. He took hold of her hand and gently lead her into an empty classroom, shutting the door behind him.

 “I didn’t tell my mom.”

“Do you want me to go with you? I could make it easier.”

“I mean…I’m not going to tell her.”

Mary Margaret tilted her head. “What?”

“I think…I think I’m going to Yale after all.”

 Mary Margaret felt her heart sink in her chest and he reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled away from him.

“You said you would stay,” she whispered.

“I can’t. My mom worked so hard her entire life to give me and my brother a good future. I can’t let her down.”

“What about the baby? What about…” She trailed off before she could ask about herself. She didn’t matter to him, of course she didn’t. “What about it’s future?”

“I think…I think maybe we should consider adoption.”

“Adoption?”

“We’re kids, Mare. What kind of future can we offer it?”

 She ducked her head, trying to not think of what Daniel had said. She knew this was the best option, but she didn’t want to go there.

 “You could go to Columbia. You can give yourself a future. This baby needs parents. Not…not…”

“Two kids that slept together after one of them got into a fight with his girlfriend?”

“We were more than that.”

“Were we?”

 David bit his lip and looked away. Mary Margaret stuffed her hands into her skirt pocket, looking around the classroom.

 “Maybe you’re right,” she whispered.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you into anything…”

“I can’t give this baby anything and it’s not fair to them. I’m only holding on so tight…because they’re all I have. But…a parent does what’s best for their child, always.”

 She thought of Regina and the lies she had told to keep her son safe. She thought of how Regina had spent the last of her inheritance to fudge the papers to keep the world from knowing who Henry’s father really was. She knew that she could never let Leopold know the truth. Daniel was an amazing father, he loved Henry as though his blood ran through his veins.

 Being a mother meant giving your child their best chance.

 Mary Margaret knew what she had to do, to give this child hers.

 4 Months Later

David walked into his dorm room, throwing his backpack down on the bed. He knew college was going to be tough, but it seemed to be harder with each passing day. He looked over to the bed on the other side of the room and saw that his roommate was fast asleep. Thomas was from the city and didn’t seem interested in bonding with David very much. It definitely wasn’t the college experience he had been expecting.

 Kathryn had reversed her acceptance to Yale and had managed to beg her way back into Stanford after all. David was glad that she was chasing her dream, but it meant that she was alone. Even James was attending a different college and was barely in touch, only texting to brag about his latest conquest.

 He settled down at his desk, ready to take a crack at the homework that was due the next day. Before he could crack the lid on his psychology textbook, the phone in his pants buzzed. He fished it out and saw he had a text from Mary Margaret. They hadn’t spoken since she left early for Columbia. She promised to keep him updated on the baby and send him the papers when the time came. He peered down at the screen, reading the simple three words.

 It’s a girl.

 That was it, nothing else. Had she decided to find out the sex of the baby after all?

 He walked back over to his bed and pulled out the copy of the sonogram that Mary Margaret had given him from under his pillow, the only picture he had of his daughter. She would grow up without him, possibly not even knowing that he existed. There was a good chance her adoptive family would choose not to tell her that she was adopted. All he could hope for was the day that he got to hold her before she was given away.

 He gently kissed the picture, before stroking it. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” he whispered. “You deserve more than a coward for a father.”

Mary Margaret was in pain, but she convinced the doctors that she was well enough to make the trip down to the NICU. She had to go there first, she had to see her baby girl.

 Baby girl, she had a baby girl.

 She wasn’t supposed to deliver so soon, her due date wasn’t for another 3 months. She had only been at 26 weeks, she was supposed to have more time.

 God, why didn’t she have more time? She was supposed to have until January to save up enough money, to get an apartment and work her butt off to raise the baby. She had only just gotten a job a week prior. The plan was to drop out of Columbia after she found a decent place to live.

 Now, all she had was a couple of hundred bucks and a college roommate who had barely woken up to give her a ride to the hospital.

 There was no way she could keep her now.

 The nurse parked the wheelchair in front of an incubator towards the back of the room. The baby inside barely looked real, almost like a doll. Her eyes were shut and she seemed to have a million monitors attached to her.

 “Can I hold her?” She asked.

“I’m sorry, Miss Blanchard, I’m afraid she’s too weak. In a few months time…”

“I won’t be here in a few months,” Mary Margaret whispered. “I’m giving her up for adoption.”

“Oh.”

“I…I don’t even have a couple lined up. I wasn’t planning on this, I was supposed to have more time.”

“If you leave her here, we’ll find her a family.”

Mary Margaret looked up at her. “Really?”

The nurse nodded. “It happens more often than you think. You’ll sign away your rights and we’ll contact someone to take her when she’s strong enough.”

 Mary Margaret let out a deep breath. She wouldn’t have time to pick someone, she’d have to trust that the family was good enough. She remembered learning that most agencies had strict qualifications. Her daughter would end up somewhere good.

 “Do you think you could give this to her when she’s old enough? Make sure it goes home with her?”

 She held up the blanket that was folded on her lap, the one she had been working on since graduation. It had purple ribbon and a name stitched in the corner. The nurse took it, studying the name.

 “Emma,” she said, softly. “What a pretty name.”

“I know whoever adopts her can change it, but…I’ve had it in mind since before I even knew what she was.”

“I’ll make sure Emma keeps this, I promise.”

 The nurse draped the blanket over the second half of the incubator, before walking away to check on another mother. Mary Margaret forced herself up, holding onto her IV as she did. She peered into the incubator, tears gathering in her eyes.

 “I’m sorry, Emma,” she whispered. “I wanted to keep you, I had it all planned out. It was going to be the two of us against the world, just you and me baby girl.” A single tear fell down her cheek. “But you came early, and that’s okay. You were just so excited to make your mark on the world, weren’t you?”

 She reached her hand through one of the holes and stroked her hand.

 “I love you so much, it may not seem like it since I’m leaving you here, but I do. I love you more than all the stars and the moons in the sky. You’re my miracle, you know. You’re the reason I’m still here. I have to give you, your best chance. And that’s not with me.”

 The baby barely moved and for a moment, all that could be heard were the sounds of her respirator.

 “I hope one day I’ll see you again,” Mary Margaret said. “Until then…be happy, be good for your new mommy and daddy. Just know you’ll never leave my heart, ever.”

The nurse came back around. “Miss Blanchard, you really need your rest.”

 Mary Margaret nodded and sat back down in her wheelchair. The nurse pushed her out, forever separating mother from child.

[spacebrick3]

OC Interview Tag

I was tagged for this by @silverscreenwriter - thanks so much! I love this tag game! And I’ll tag @albatris, @endlesshourglass, @tawnywrites, and @ravenpuffwriter for this (no pressure or anything, of course)

I’m going to do the cheerful nihilistic assassin, Zoe, for this, both in honor of her participation in @ratracechronicler‘s Writeblr Hunger Games, and because I feel like she might be friends with Rat and @whollyart‘s Erya (although, you know, those two seem slightly less murdery).

1. How are you doing today?

*growls and holds up bloodstained knife* I have fought my way through ten thousand soldiers to make it here! I am a raging storm of death! How do you think I’m doing?

*laughs* But really, I’m fine. What, this? This is ketchup. Really. Ketchup. You think I’d kill someone just for the aesthetic? I mean, I probably would if I didn’t really like them, but- You know what? Let’s just move on.

2. You ready to answer some questions?

Remember that bit about carving my way through ten thousand people to get here?

3. How do you feel about your first name? Your surname?

I like it - it’s unique. And special. Just like me. *grins*

I mean, the last name’s inconvenient as hell - Suzembachi? - what kind of a name is that? - but it’s nice. It’s also *spins knife in hand* is a nice reminder. Because it’s an aristocrat’s name. Or was, I suppose. But it’s a reminder of what my family was, and what we’re going to be again. You’re not with the government, are you?

4. Is there anything you’d like to thank your author for?

Listen. I don’t care. If the author wants to create me and this entire bloody - literally - world, then good for them. Whoop dee do. I’m just along for the ride. If they wanted thanks or something, maybe they should have made the world a little bit better.

5. You can only eat three foods for the rest of your life, what are they?

I don’t know. Something with caffeine in it, obviously, then…grapes and those little crackers that everybody says they hate but that are actually surprisingly good as long as you’re alone when you eat them. Yes, that’s oddly specific. No, I’m not going to elaborate. You know what I’m talking about.

6. Have you ever said or done anything that surprised your author?

I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. Apparently, it’s a ‘spoiler’, and I’ve been told that saying spoilers is almost as bad as saying the name of the Scottish play. So no.

7. You have limitless funds, what kind of party do you have?

You have not experienced partying unless you’ve been to a theater party. Hanging out at 2am, getting loopy from your four cups of coffee? Everybody being the fake quiet that means you’re not really being quiet but that you just manage to avoid being kicked out?

So the party I’d have is one massive breakfast party, starting at midnight, with all the people I’ve ever worked with on a play. We’d have one massive acting session earlier - maybe just us all picking a character and then having to stick with it through whatever happens - and then we’d all go out and have ourselves some sleep-deprived fun.

8. Tell us a quick story about something that’s happened to you, that not even your author knows yet?

Hmm. Are you sure you’re not from the government? Because while I think I could probably kill you before you could tell anybody, then I’d have another dead body to deal with.

Alright, fine. I’ll trust you. So this was maybe three years ago. One of the council - this one, nasty guy (seriously, he was awful) wanted to, like, completely close off Celoras. To any trade. At all. And you know what? He had support. How, I’m not sure, but I’m guessing it had something to do with the fact that he could manipulate people’s emotions. He didn’t make that clear - he dyed his hair and got contacts for his eyes, but hey - we’re the ones who sell the contacts. We know this stuff. In fact, you could say we have contacts. Get it? Contacts.

Now, let me make this clear. I am not an assassin-for-hire. People can’t just come up to me and say ‘hey, there’s this dude who we think should die. can you kill him for us?’. It’s more of a…consulting system really, where I hang out on the streets, see who’s currently the worst person in the government, and then I kill them. Or sometimes I just intimidate them into leaving. Fire works well.

Anyway. This guy is clearly the worst person at the moment. No question. So here I am, sneaking into his house at night to kill him. As you do. But you have to understand, this isn’t the whole clad-in-black, soundless assassinations. For one, those aren’t the message I want to send here. Someone’s stabbed in their sleep? Sure, they’re dead, but…it just doesn’t have the same effect, really, as a dead body crashing through a window, eyes frozen in fear. Now that sends a message. It’s like that - that one sign - the one sign that says ‘not only will you die, it’ll hurt the entire time’. That one. And two? Those types of assassinations are just no fun.

So here’s what happens: I sneak into his house while he’s away making another of his speeches. I do some preparation - a little bit of oil, one of our resident heat mage Iason’s cloaks, and messing around with the lights. And some potassium-lithium salts. The guy comes home, goes upstairs, starts doing whatever people like that do when they’re alone. I wouldn’t know. I push over one of his expensive vases by the bottom of the stairs. He comes to the top of the stairs - where it’s light - and looks down into the dark first floor. And like the idiot he is, he calls out “Is anybody there?” Because you never give people lines like that.

Now the fun. I light the fire and drop the salt in - if you don’t know, potassium and lithium give these nice purple-red flames that look incredibly cool in the dark. And guess what? It’s dark. Iason’s cloak is made to protect from heat, so I’m not hurt, but now I’m silhouetted by and wreathed in bright purple flames. And I pull out my shiny knife - it’s not great for stabbing, but it looks great - and do the best raspy stage whisper I can. “I am here, Councilman Mare. I’m here for you.” And you know what? The guy bolts. Literally bolts. He looked like he got about twenty years older in a second, then turned tail and ran. Right out the window. And then he kept going. Just kept running and muttering about a ‘goddess of death’. 

9. Do you have a favorite hero?

Funny question. Don’t think so. Don’t need anybody to emulate. I’ve got myself. *grins again*

10. What do you plan to do after this?

I think I’m practicing for one of the street productions; it’s one of the old legends. I get to play a nature spirit - a vengeful nature spirit, no less, so that’s fun. Plus, it’s right by a major trading path, so there might be a few of the big merchants coming by. One of them is muscling in on our glassmaking business, so I’ve made an executive decision to…discourage competition. Should be interesting.

[keep-your-feet]

WEEK 14 & 15 OF 'LOCK DOWN'

The weeks are just flying by, quite scary really. Especially when you think about how much has or more to the point hasn't actually changed.

There's still no vaccine, we still can't stop the spread, and we still don't know what to do.

But it's ok because Boris has said bars and hair salons are allowed to re open now and the 2m distance rule can go down to 1m - however Leicester has had to go back into stage 1 lockdown due to an increased infection rate - meaning schools are re shutting as are all but essential shops and travel.

This reminds me back when it all first kicked off in China and i saw a post of various ‘districts’ / ‘areas’ being ‘barrier’d’ off and manned by guards - people couldn’t leave their houses/areas without the correct documents. It sounds drastic - but for me seeing that take place calmed me as at least it helped  minimalise the spread. 

I’m not sure what they’re going to do here - there’s rumours that more districts will need be contained soon - and I’ve heard bars in my city are asking people to bring proof of address with them to prove they are in fact from this area and not from a district that has been ‘locked down’. 

you may note I say ‘we’ in the second paragraph - and it’s true, we have to play our part too. Luckily from what I've seen around me and my social network I feel that Nottinghamshire has been quite sensible. And a lot of people I've spoke to, don't agree with bars etc re opening, and aren't in any rush to be socialising. Even if it is restricted to 2hour time limits and has to be pre booked. I know I for one will be trying to stay away from crowded high risk areas for a long while. I am however looking forward to the campsites re opening again soon – we have our own water tanks and toilet so we wouldn’t need to see, do or touch anything other than our walking boots on the great outdoor floor! so fingers crossed we wont have to go back into lockdown so that we get to go - although - if we did i wouldn’t kick off as like I said above I feel we need to do what is necessary to stop the spread. I definitely don’t feel enough was done at the start - and now we’re in this mess of not really knowing how bad it is.  I still daren’t read the news stories - plus i don’t believe half of them anyway as they’re only telling us what they’re allowed to - or scare mongering - so who actually knows what is going on... i think that’s what scares me the most about the whole situation - my life, our lives are in someone else’s hands - who i don’t trust, and i don’t feel like there is anything i can do about it. 

What makes it even more frustrating for me - is I know that’s not 100% true, because if i looked into it more, i could join some form of group, or protest - learn more - to do more - but it’s just all so overwhelming i shut down - i mentally and physically shut down. And it’s not just this - the Black Lives Matter movement, the save the planet movement, not testing on animals, not eating meat, saving animals in need - saving the rainforests - the media is full of people and things telling me what i should or could be doing, how i should be feeling, and asking - almost demanding - that I help - and I want to - but it is all just too much for me at the moment, like where do you start? How do you start? and it makes me feel awful because i want to do my part - but i’m just too overwhelmed. 

I keep trying to tell myself to remember that I am on a long journey of self discovery right now… and step 1-  this blog, is the starting point of me ‘baby stepping’ out of my bubble that I built to protect myself many years ago and venturing out into the ‘real world’ - watching and taking note of what is actually going on around me - and trying to process it mentally - it sounds so simple but for someone who’s lived quite a sheltered, naive and privileged life - its quite a lot to take in.

And I feel like it’s getting worse - the more i break out of my bubble. I can't scroll social media, listen to the news, or text my friends without feeling anxious like I should be doing something more, because I'm now more aware of what's going on in the world around me. I don't understand it, but I'm more aware.

Step two - is me trying to form some sort of understanding to it all -  hence my crazy ramblings on here. 

Step three is then starting to make a difference - BUT remembering i can’t take on everything or fix everything all at once  – and that’s a real difficulty for me. For example, often if i can’t have both things I’ll just go without because i don’t feel it’s fair on the thing that got left behind - crazy i know! But hey thats me! And that’s another part of myself I need to try and understand.

Yesterday was the first time I’ve been into the office at work since the end of March, and it took so much out of me. I was proper anxious, even though I know they have safety measures in place, for example my temperature was read at the door, ‘sneeze’ guards were in place, doors were propped open where appropriate - cleaning has been stepped up - and certain toilet ‘blocks’ have been closed so they can monitor and keep them clean. But what I found strange was that sudden fear of ‘urgency’ that comes over me when I go to head office - like I didn’t eat or drink anything the whole time I was there because I felt like I was ‘too busy’ - and overthinking the dust particles in the air that will be contaminated from people going in and out - silly I know. 

But the thing is - when we do have to go back, I’ll be sat in an open plan office with 100’s of other people, breathing the same air, through the same air con, for 7hours or so - and I don’t know what those people have been up to, or where they’ve been - yet again my life is in someone else hands - it’s out of my control - and that’s what I’ve learnt I don’t like -  not being in control. 

Yesterday for some reason, i felt so emotionaly overwhelmed. Just stuck. Confused, Lonely, bored, scared, but when i truly think about it, it all comes back to this feeling of fear of ‘wasting time’. And what makes me feel worse is how horrid, and ungrateful i sound  – i am really lucky be where i am today, to have what i have, to of done what I’ve done - i have Dave and the Dog and a great family. I should be happy - but for some reason i just want more (for us - I'd be lost without Dave and Wander, there my rocks ❤️) and every now and again I get this horrid grey cloud over my head that i cant shift. It makes me feel numb - but at the same time - fidgety and like my insides are just vibrating/buzzing - like i’m building up ready to explode. Yet i have no motivation or get up and go to do anything about it.. which is SO frustratng becasue i know going for a run will probably help - I know getting up and tidying the shit that's annoying me would help - but i just can’t seem to do it some days. Even when i break the tasks down into smaller tasks, it’s like there’s just so much and i get over whelemed and don’t know where to start so i do nothing, and get then annoyed by it - it’s a visious cycle! Luckily I don't feel like this everyday, it’s just every now and again.

Works good on a day like this as it sucks you in as you have to do it - but in the same breath i hate it - becasue im bored and feel trapped - like it’s work that’s stopping me from doing what it is i want to do! when It’s not really - it’s me! 

A friend of mine has recommended some audio books which I’m going to give a go, as well as finishing Fearne Cottons ‘calm’ and other books I have - however it really was bad timing to try and do some self discovery right before one of your worst night mares comes to life - resulting in an ever so fragile mind state! 😂🤷‍♀️😭

Anyway, I  have amazing friends and family around me – so I know I'll get through it all and I will forever be grateful for that and them. ❤️

On my bad days, I often make lists or sometimes just think of them in my head of all the things I’m grateful for.. I’ll text friends or family and plan a nice dog walk. Mood dependant I might go for a run, or run a bubble bath! some days i eat my weight in chocolate! I might do anything I can to distract myself - or i might try and dig deeper and think about what is at the core of my ‘brain niggle’ and try to resolve it. There is no right or wrong, or quick fix - you just have to do you  ❤️

[dramaplatters]

Temptation

My first love was KDramas, but after Scarlet Heart I fell out of KDramas, although I've watched one or two new after that. 

I think after Sung Hoon's My Secret Romance I completely dropped KDramas, I was eventually gonna return back to KDramas, but right now I am taking advantage of being sick, and watching the KDramas that I have put on hold for so many years.      

I decided to watch Temptation, woooww, One of the most realistic KDramas I've ever watched.  

The drama revolves around three women, & two men.  

This drama shows us how people who are deeply in love can fall out of love, how a determined woman can do her best to get the man she loves.

How both couples might cheat in marriage.   

I can't tell you how I love the OST.

We have our cold hearted Ice Queen CEO Yoo Se Young (Choi Ji Woo.

We have our businessman Cha Seok HoonKwon Sang Woo) who's gone bankrupt, we have our loving, caring, warm Na Hong Joo (Park Ha Sun)she's married to Cha Seok Hoon.

We have our handsome, womaniser CEO Kang Min Woo (Lee Jung Jin) and we'll see how this trio's paths crossed and what will happen after that fateful day..

Yoo Se Jin (Chae So Young) married to Min Woo, they have three daughters together and she has a mother in law pestering for a grandson, Min Woo has a son from his mistress and he only finds out on the day he learns that his mistress had passed away.  

My heart broke into pieces when Min Woo met his son Roy,   

When SEO saw Cha Seok Hoon at the restaurant in Hong Kong she immediately recognised him, they both did recognised each other 

How Hong Joo helped them out first in the hotel then at the airport and later on became his baby sitter, and developed a deep connection with him.   

When Hong Joo tried to kill herself, SEO Se Young helped her out, & drowning in water that doesn't even coming up to her belly is just doesn't make sense.   

After her suicide attempt SEO Se Young takes Hong Joo to her room, and while chatting she told her that her "

Seok Hoon" is not a type of a man who'd have an affair"

she put the first suspicions to a woman who just committed suicide by using her husband's name.. 

Hong Joon's worst night mare was her husband is having an affair with SEO Se Young takes Hong Joo and that had happened..

After that SEO Se Young starts to search / investigate Seok Hyun and reasons behind her suicide ...

As I said before Hong Kong is where all the ill fate starts.  

  I don't think this is a drama singles can understand.

   There's no angel here, there was an innocent, sweet, loving wife, but after her husband's betrayal she changed.

  Not everything is a simple as it looks..  

Imagine you are happily married, and one day something happens and destroys that happiness.   

It might happen to anyone any time, you don't have to be a CEO or rich..

  Things move pretty fast in this drama 

Yes the husband was unfaithful, yes the CEO has a something to do with it, but if he was not weak and if she had not refused to recruit him many years ago when she first saw him, things would be different 

Yes Hong Joo refused refused her husband's offers reconcile but any woman would do the same. 

It was not really a cheat in the beginning,, but it became a cheat when the male lead finding excuses to see her over and over again, when the CEO finding excuses to see him.  Cheating is not only physical, it's also mental 

This drama teaches us anyone can be a cheater or a home wrecker, they are anywhere but everywhere 

This drama trying to tell us men can cheat, it's their habit and we got to brush it under the carpet and women pays the price 

If I was Hong Joo I'd most definitely would do the same, seek for revenge, never give up until I took my revenge saw them suffering till the end and than stop, after bringing them down to zero, after making them to pay for what they have done, I'd not give up..  

  I thought when Min Woo got married with Hong Joo he would gave up being a womaniser, sleeping around with various women, no he continued fcking around, even with his cold ex wife

  Moral of the story is Money can buy anything and everything, it's just about how much you are worth for?

Hong Joo married to Min Woo to get revenge, but her life turned into misery, by her mother in law, by her eldest step daughter, by her husband. and the demons she's fighting with..  

She shouldn't have married Hong Joo, she should have stayed single and marry a decent guy.

The paparazzi or detective wanna be got hired by Min Woo to spy on his wife, by Min Woo's wife to spy on Min Woo and finally hired by Hong Joo to spy on her husband.   

That irritated me, a paparazzi w/o any morals that showed us money can buy anything, especially a person who has no work morals / ethics     What broke Hong Joo's & Seok Hoon's marriage is the doubts., him not being honest to his wife about what had happened in Hong Kong, her being insecure, and suspecting from her husband.  

It's always easy to say take it or leave it, you won't understand unless you are in that person's shoes, so I understand Hong Joo why she suspected from her husband. A woman understands when her husband is physically there but mentally not.  His heart moved to another woman while being married and that hurt her. 

  I hatted Seok Hoon he's not my type of hero,  Min Woo  is another jerk, Seo Se Young is a woman who's lonely and suddenly decided to get a married man.  Seok Hoon was the most innocent one, victim till she married to Min Woo.  Se Jin is an evil unfaithful woman. who just wants nothing more than money, and shows no love to her kids either. 

I don't care how good he was too CEO, how he took care of her, he's still as jerk as Min Woo

  Seok Hoon was stupid enough thinking of killing herself over her husband's debts so her life insurance would pay for the debts.      ;; font-size: 15px;"> Hong Joo's ( Lee Jung Shin of CNBLUE) brother & Ha Ji Sun (CEO's little sister) relationship also a weird one.  

Little desperate sister is also another stalker

  It's weird, I mean you can't just go and get a married man, while as a CEO you could get any men you want.   Why him? if he was your first love, why did you refused his job application when his wife was not even at the scene? Woman let bygones be bygones   ; font-size: 15px;"> The last straw for me was Se Young hiring Hong Joo  as her personal nurse after her surgery.

 At first i thought Seok Hoon & Se Young is such a cute couple.    

 Telling a lie to the shop keeper to buy that Black Sparkly Jimmy Choo Shoes, which was originally reserved for CEO  Se Young, the cute moments in between them.   

  But it changed after Seok Hoon accepting Se Young's proposal, yes it sounded like she wanted to hire him for sexual pleasure but it turned out to be different, at the end this simple game caused him his marriage. 

And my blood boiled seeing those shoes on CEO's feet, Seok Hoon bought it for Hong Joo

For the Seok Hoon & Se Young shippers sorry I don't find them cute / attractive or even acceptable

    I got angry when Se Young told Hong Joo told her that she wants her husband, and Hong Joo gave up quickly I'd most possibly said you want my husband, OK I'm giving him to you free of charge, enjoy, but I don't accept returns.      

I don't understand any of these female leads, why did they made their world revolve around men. 

We just can't blame SEO for wrecking marriage, it's a two way street 

 It's just despicable.   Nothing to good to say.      Ending was another disaster, happy ending for CEO & Seok Hoon, who least deserve happiness.  

Nothing for Hong Joo & Min Woo

I'll always remmeber Seok Hyun as the guy who sold his soul for 1 million dollars  

CEO & Seok Hoon are the last ones that deserved any happiness, she should have died and Seok Hoon should have turned into a monk after her death, end of story..   

Both Min Woo & Seok Hoon are cheaters, CEO Seo Young is the marriage wrecker they don't deserve anything at all, I have no mercy for cheaters and marriage wreckers. 

Hong Joo didn't wreck her own marriage, when her husband asked for forgiveness his heart was already belonged to CEO Seo Young, so there was no reason for her to forgive her  husband, and there was no guarantee he was not gonna be Seo Young's shadow.  

Hong Joon really cared for Roy maybe more than his own dad.  

At the very end when CEO Seo Young told she's sorry to Hong Joon and she said she can't even give children to Seok Hoon (due to cancer they removed her ovaries & uterus), but I still didn't even feel sorry for her.  Sorry no Sorry

Maybe that was her Karma. 

Snack Fever Korean Snack Box

Tokyo Treat Snack Box

[tmiquotepage]

SILVER WAR: AN OFFICIALLY UNOFFICIAL FAN FICTION

Description: War has come. Mare, Cal, and the rest of the Rebellion against King Maven have taken the final step and an all out war across the continent ensues. Blood will be drawn on both sides of the fight. But whose side will run dry first? **This is my fan fiction version of what could happen in RQ4. Spoilers for all the previous RQ books!**

One

Mare

I fight the urge to punch yet another wall. Pain radiates from my scarlet-marred knuckles all the way up my arm and my shoulder, not doing anything to dispel the thoughts plaguing my mind.

Cal chose his crown. More than that, he’s chosen it over me. After swearing up and down for months that he didn’t want it, the smallest promise of getting his kingdom back has lured him away from whatever I thought we had. He didn’t choose me. He’ll never choose me.

I wish the thought would hurt more. I wish I could bring myself to cry or scream or even punch the wall one more time. But I don’t have any emotion left. All I have is the twinge of my abused hand and the sense of utter and complete emptiness. Between the battle, and Cal, and everything else that’s happened to me in the past year, I’m simply drained.

“You’re not saying anything,” Farley states plainly, arms crossed over her chest. “Not like any of the Barrows to keep their mouths shut.” Though her face is a mask of disinterest, I’ve known her long enough to recognize the slightest concern in her voice. It should infuriate me, but the lick of anger that shoots through me dies before I even really feel it.

“What am I supposed to say?” I mutter. When I said it in my mind, it came out as a haughty retort. Instead, it comes out flat. The muddy ground slops around my boots as I turn to slink back against the cool rock wall behind me. I can’t meet Farley’s gaze—not right now, not like this—so I cast my gaze down to the battered flesh of my hand.

I poke at one of the dark bruises, nearly black beneath the skin. The pain is biting, but momentary, and I barely have time to wince before it ebbs back into a dull ache. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve fractured a bone or two. Maybe even broken one.

I’m reminded of Gisa’s hand, after that chaotic day in Summerton, what feels like a lifetime ago. Her slim fingers, better suited to sewing than thieving, catching on a Silver’s bag as she tried to rob them. To help me, I recall. To help steal the money Kilorn and I would need to pay Farley to escape conscription. Gisa’s been healed since, as I’m sure I’ll be soon enough. But I don’t think the image of shattering bones and bruise-painted skin afterward will ever be purged from my mind.

“This alliance had to happen, Mare,” Premier Davidson interjects, breaking me from my reverie with his patented calm tone. I meet his impassive gaze with a glare. How dare you lecture me on what had to happen? You don’t know me. You don’t get to talk to me right now. Ignoring the flurry of messages I try to convey through my eyes, Davidson just continues. “With the war in the Lakelands over, the King is finally able to dedicate his time and forces to defeating the Revolution. With a King on our side, the rightful King that Maven helped usurp, we will be more powerful than ever. And with the Reds and Newbloods and Silvers behind him? Tiberias will be undefeatable.”

His name is Cal, I want to snap at the Premier. Tiberias is his father. But the words don’t make it past my lips. I can’t find it in me to fight for him right now.

“Fighting together,” Davidson continues in his placating voice, “we can wipe Archeon off the map, and the boy king along with it.”

Even the thought of Maven cuts through me, sharper than any blade of Evangeline Samos. After all he’s done, the pain he’s caused and the blood he’s spilt, I want nothing more than to storm the capital and separate his twisted head from the rest of his body. I want to display it on a pike for all in the kingdom to see that true evil can be defeated.

But the Premier doesn’t know Cal like I do. He doesn’t know about our conversation, about Cal’s musings on whether or not his brother could be fixed. If, by some miracle, someone could reverse the irreparable damage Elara inflicted on him growing up. Davidson wants Cal and Maven to kill each other. He doesn’t know that Cal, for all his posturing and planning, can never hurt his brother if there is any chance that he doesn’t have to. Even a miniscule chance. Even this fool’s chance.

He believes Cal is a weapon to be wielded. He doesn’t know that Cal will break with the Guard and go his own way the moment his needs aren’t being met. But again, I don’t tell Davidson my thoughts. I’m too exhausted. Instead, I simply shrug at him and drop my gaze. “Whatever.”

To my side, Farley scoffs. Though motherhood has softened her at moments, I can tell she’s getting fed up with my angsty teenager bullshit. I’m surprised she’s tolerated it as long as she has, actually.

The Premier stares at me, awkwardly fidgeting with one hand. His lips work overtime, trying to form words before he can even figure out which he wants to say. In the end, he says nothing, as we are interrupted by subtle whoosh of air as Arezzo appears beside Davidson. Once, I might have jumped at the sudden intrusion. Now, I barely notice. So much time with Shade helped me in that regard.

My gaze falls on the teleporter’s shaking hands and wide eyes as she reaches out and puts a hand on the Premier’s shoulder. Her voice trembles as she speaks. “Sir. You’re needed in Command.”

He furrows a brow, a question forming on his lips. But, before he or anyone else can get a word out, both Arezzo and the Premier disappear. I’m left alone in the street with Farley. Both of us wait a moment before speaking, still processing what’s just happened.

Farley takes a step in the direction from which we’ve come. “Come on. Let’s go see what the fuss is all about. I’ll be damned if the Princeling shuts me out of a meeting now that he’s got his crown back.”

She’s already a good distance away before she realizes I haven’t moved with her. She halts, turning back to me with a questioning gaze. “Mare?”

His crown. His crown. The words swirl in my head incessantly, taunting me, driving me as mad as the boy who currently wears the dreadful crown of fire and flames.

It was easy to label Maven as the evil brother the night he snatched that blasted piece of metal from his father’s still-cooling silverblood. A child driven by a lust for power. Strength. It was easy to make him a villain. But right now, I can only think that Cal may be exactly the same, if not worse. A man promised the throne his whole life, only for his brother to steal it out from under him. He's vengeful. His bloodlust unmatched. If given the chance, would he be a better ruler than Maven? Worse? Or, in the worst of worse possibilities, could he be exactly the same?

“I wish I’d never met him,” I mutter under my breath. I only realize I’ve spoken aloud when Farley cocks her head to the side in confusion.

She crosses her arms again and steps back toward me. “Cal?”

I nod. “Don’t you think about it? How different the world would be if I had never come into the picture?” Maven had asked me something similar one day at Whitefire. The day I’d had the opportunity to drown him in the bath. The day I’d been too weak to end all of this. He’d asked me if I would take it all back. Going to the Palace, losing my brother, causing so much death. My answer had been easy then. No. So what’s changed?

Cal, my mind taunts me. Cal’s changed. I’ve felt true heartbreak, and it somehow hurts more than anything else I’ve endured so far.

Farley shrugs, though I can see her composure slipping. She’s pissed at me for even thinking about this. Join the club. “Dwelling on the past is pointless, Mare. We can’t change what happened. And even if we could, nothing that’s happened is entirely on you. This revolution would have happened with or without you.”

“Maybe,” I acknowledge, leaning my pulsing head back against the wall and shutting my eyes against the beaming sun above. Exhaustion and the migraine poking needles into my brain make my bones feel like nothing more than dead limbs on the winter trees back in the Stilts. “But not with the Newbloods.”

Farley pauses, considering this. To my surprise, she doesn’t argue. “You’re right. We would have built our forces, but never enough. It would have been a bloodbath. Especially for the Reds. Without you, without the Newbloods, no one would have thought any sort of revolution possible.”

Tears prick my eyes, though I don’t know if it’s from sheer emotion, the throb in my head, the biting ache in my hand, or all three working together against me. “Do you ever wonder if maybe it would have been for the best?”

The ugly question hangs stagnant in the air for a moment, neither of us willing to touch it immediately. Eventually, Farley tries. “You don’t mean–”

“I mean,” I cut her off, “that a lot less blood would be running in the streets of Norta, of the entire continent, right now if I’d never gotten that job at the palace. If I’d never gone looking for a way out of conscription.”

Farely bristles at the insinuation. She’s the one who gave us the astronomical price for escaping conscription. I guess in her mind, by blaming that for all our troubles, I’m also blaming her. I’m not, but I don’t get the chance to explain before she’s doling out her words, each sentence like another blow. “If you’d never gone looking, you’d be dead by now. Kilorn too, probably. The boy’s great at fishing and talking, but not exactly fighting. Not to mention the dozens of other Red soldiers, murdered every day on the front lines.”

“Are they any better off now?” I shoot back. “Look around. Blood flows in rivers all around us. It’s everywhere. That’s all I see anymore is blood. We kill them. They kill us in retaliation. It doesn’t even matter where it started anymore. It’s blood for blood for blood for blood until we’re all bled dry. Red and Silver.” I take a breath, recomposing myself. I hadn’t meant to say this much, especially not to Farley. But it’s been a thought dragging on my mind for far longer than I care to admit. “We know the price being paid. But what’s the cost? The real cost?” I open my eyes to look at her. Anger, confusion, and a deep, profound disappointment fight for dominance on her face. “Do we fight to make sure that everyone knows loss equally? So no one goes to sleep at night without fearing to not see the dawn the next morning? You can’t tell me you don’t think about what life would be if I’d never fallen into Queenstrial.”

“I try to focus more on the here and now, the people I’ve sworn to protect and fight for, instead of moping about,” she retorts, her calm façade from earlier quickly melting into nonexistence.

“I’m sorry,” I scoff. “Are you saying that you haven’t noticed that, even after all the bloodshed, we’re headed straight back to square one here? Cal on the throne? Silvers in charge, or completely wiped out. Neither side even considering a happy medium.”

“Mare–”

“No, you know what?” I continue, so far gone, I don’t even care anymore. “Forget all of that. Forget the Reds and the Silvers and the Newbloods for five seconds. Think of yourself. If I’d never met Cal, Shade would be alive.” His name sticks in my throat, but I continue anyway. “Clara would have a father, and you’d be happy, no matter the war’s outcome.” I shrug, shoulders and head growing ever heavier with the headache eating at the base of my skull. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Farley’s contemplative grimace twists into a positively feral snarl, and it is at this moment that I realize how monumentally I have overstepped. She stalks across the street to me, looking like a woman possessed. She pulls me forward by my good arm, so harshly I fear she might dislocate my shoulder, and slaps me clear across the face.

I stifle a gasp as the crack resonates through the empty streets of Corvium. Farley may not be Silver, not a strongarm with muscles of steel, but her blow still sends me staggering backward. I bring my uninjured hand up to my face, the touch cool against the hot blood flowing to the handprint burning on my cheek. When I finally meet her eyes with my own incredulous stare, her lips are set in a thin line and her eyes shoot daggers through me.

“How dare you.” She doesn’t shout. She doesn’t need to. Her quiet, perfect articulation is lethal. “Shade gave his life for this cause. Because that’s who he was. If this particular chain of events hadn’t happened, he’d still probably be dead sooner or later because that’s just who he was. Same as me.” She gestures to the scars on her face, stark in the harsh sunlight. “I wear my scars, even knowing a healer could take them away, even knowing that they’re not the prettiest, because I earned them. Because I am a fighter and, like Shade, I would die for this cause. That’s who I am.”

I gulp, suddenly cotton mouthed. I want to speak, to tell her I understand, that I’m sorry. Where I can’t find the words to interject, Farley seems to steal my diction for herself and continue. “And Cal is taking that crown because it’s who he is. He may be kind, and brilliant, and decent looking. But, stars above, Mare, he’s a Prince. A Silver Prince. It’s who he has always been, whether you’ve forgotten or not. The crown of Norta is what he’s been working for his entire life. It’s his birthright. And as much as you want this to be some pretty little fantasy world where the boy sacrifices everything for the girl, it’s not going to happen. Because Cal knows, in his heart, who he is, Mare.”

She pauses, features softening as the tension in her shoulder seeps from her muscles. She reaches out to touch and I almost flinch, before I realize she’s just reaching for my hand. “I know it hurts right now. It hurts like a bitch, because you really did love him.” Love. I bristle at the word. Of course I loved him. I’d admitted as much to him. But it was so much stranger to hear someone else say it. “But you can’t give up everything about yourself chasing after him. He knows who he is,” she reiterates, squeezing my hand. “But do you know who you are, Mare Barrow?”

No. The answer pops into my head immediately, much to my despair. I am only eighteen years old. I’ve spent the better part of the past year trying to save everyone I care about, and trying to save the world from falling into ruin in the meantime. I’ve trusted people and I’ve been betrayed. I thought I knew people, thought I knew what drove them, only to find out that my instincts could not be more wrong. And now, staring into Farley’s eyes, hearing her question, I wonder if all that pain and confusion is because I don’t know myself at all.

Her words still echo in my mind when a runner dashes around the corner, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he approaches Farley. Not a Newblood, but rather a Red soldier. Judging by the sun embroidered on the sash around his wrist, he’s one of Farley’s men. Well, a boy, really. He can’t be more than sixteen. Farley catches him by the arm as he tries to stop, slipping in the mud. “Coulson,” she acknowledges him. “What’s wrong?”

Coulson coughs, still trying to reign in his breathing. “Command, ma’am.” I think I catch a glimmer of irritation in Farley’s eyes at the moniker, but it’s gone before I can be sure it was anything more than a trick of the light. “They need you in Command.”

“What’s going on?”

The boy’s eyes fall on me, but flick back to Farley almost instantly. “The king,” he stutters. “There’s a broadcast.”

“He’s on the screen more than he’s on his throne lately. What’s different about this speech?”

Again, Coulson’s gaze shifts to me, an accusatory glare flaring behind cool grey. “It’s not just a speech.”

* * *

The door to the administrative tower is ajar when we reach it. Premier Davidson, Colonel Farley, Queen Anabel, and the entire Samos family await us. And Cal, of course. Only Evangeline seems to notice our arrival, which she acknowledges with a short dip of her head in my direction before nailing her eyes back to the video screen which enraptures the room’s other occupants.

Maven’s familiar features do, in fact, grace the screen. Harsh shadows below his eyes—the ones so like his mother’s—age him, making him seem far older than just seventeen. The crown of flames, that cursed piece of metal that everyone seems so obsessed with, weighs down his carefully styled curls. But he does not seem weighted. He seems strangely happy.

He speaks animatedly from a podium, though the frame is too cropped for me to tell anything about where he is, other than the fact that he certainly isn’t at Whitefire. Still, the lights, the pale white color of the vaulted walls and ceilings behind him tickle the edges of my memory with a vague sense of recognition.

“What’s he doing?” I ask the deathly silent room. Cal is the only one to even notice my words. He tears his gaze away from the video screen to meet mine, searching for something in my eyes. An answer, I guess. Resolution. Something to say that we’re okay after our fight. Subtly, I shake my head at him. This isn’t the time. Farley’s right. Cal has his duty, his life. And I have mine.

“Just watch,” Davidson mutters. In his hands, he holds a smaller video screen. A flick of his wrist brings the volume on the larger screen up, and Maven’s voice fills the space.

“Even in the face of betrayal, Norta is strong as ever,” he announces, to the cheers of thousands. The way the sound echoes brings forward flashes of memories from the not so distant past, but I can’t put two and two together. I’m too distracted by the words befalling the little King’s mouth. “We rise, ever more powerful.”

The camera pulls back slightly, allowing the person beside him to come into view. Iris Cygnet. Princess of the Lakelanders and now, Queen of Norta. Maven’s wife. Like the first time I met her, she does not wear the dripping jewels or ostentatious clothing of a courtier. Rather, she wears a simple light blue gown, tied with a garish sash of red and black around her waist. A crown of golden flames interspersed with sapphires in the shape of water droplets adorns her dark hair. Though I try not to notice, my eyes also fall to the wedding band on her finger.

Cal’s voice cuts through the room. “Who the hell is that?”

“Your new sister-in-law,” Ptolemus sneers.

“The Lakelands and Norta stand now, united as one,” Maven continues, gripping Iris’s hand. It’s not the awkward touch he occasionally shared with Evangeline, but it’s also not the comforting touch he shared with me. It’s political, kind. But not loving. “And together, I give you my word that every last member of the Scarlet Guard will be hunted down and destroyed within the year. Soon, the peace we’ve worked to create will no longer be threatened by these terrorists!”

The crowd cheers, and suddenly the room around is stifling. This time, I can’t tell if it’s Cal’s doing, or my own lungs failing me.

“And, my dear people, I assure you,” Maven adds when the crowd dies down a little. He turns to the camera with a fierce expression, one not meant for anyone around him, or anyone else that may be watching. His look cuts through the screen directly into me, as if he stands only a few feet away. Whatever is about to happen, it’s for me and me alone. “I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

Maven claps, shattering the moment. I have to force myself not to jump at the sudden intrusion on our moment. “But enough talk. Let’s get to it. The real reason you’ve all tuned in today.” The camera cuts from Maven’s close-up to an all too familiar sight that sets my teeth on edge. Judging from the tension in Cal’s shoulders, I can tell he recognizes the arena as well.

When I lived in the Stilts, arenas full of people were a weekly occurrence. Feats in which Silvers fought each other with abilities helped to keep would-be rebels from hoping and dreaming of ever defeating the Silver elite. But this isn’t any arena. It’s the Bowl of Bones. And this is no ordinary Feat. “The Scarlet Guard may soon be extinct, but to the Newbloods only, who I’ve welcomed into my home, who have betrayed both myself and the country, I provide these small mercies.”

On one side of the arena, from a doorway I recognize intimately, a man steps forward, an Arven Silent ghosting behind him. One hand grips a shiny sword, while a few inches above, his wrists are wrapped in familiar Silent Stone manacles. I vaguely remember him from my time at Whitefire. But he’s not a lord of one of the High Houses. He’s not even Silver. He is one of Maven’s Newblood recruits. A Wrecker, I remember. Like Nix or Damarian, with virtually indestructible skin. A feeling of dread pools in my stomach and I pull into myself as the realization dawns on me. The change in posture does not go unnoticed by Farley, who glances from me back to the screen with an increased sense of anxiety.

A woman around my mother’s age enters from the other side of the Bowl of Bones, looking small in her ill-fitting armor. The small battle ax weighs her tiny arms down more than the manacles or the Arven woman behind her. Her familiar features are another slap in the face. Her, I certainly remember. Halley. She’d been a servant for an Eagrie family. I was there the day she came before Maven and showed us her ability–detecting the abilities of other. It was this ability that allowed her to expose Nanny, the shapeshifting Newblood Cal had sent to court to keep tabs on me. Nanny had chosen the Scarlet Guard’s way out and swallowed a suicide pill before she could be interrogated, much to Maven’s dismay. The memory makes me shudder.

Maven’s threats from months ago wander back into my mind. While I stayed at Whitefire, the Newbloods I helped lure there would be safe. Cared for like the soldiers Maven wanted to turn them into. But if I went against him, fought him, they wouldn’t be so lucky.

I didn’t just leave. I escaped, along with fifty other Newbloods, and the entire Samos family. I’d humiliated him on his wedding day, of all days. And now, with his second defeat at Corvium, he’s facing an uprising. Watching the video screen now, it seems that he hasn’t exactly turned the other cheek. He knows what he’s doing. And somehow, though I’m not sure how, he knows I’m watching. He knows how much this will hurt me.

“Lords Arven, if you please,” Maven says in a booming voice, gesturing to the two Newbloods’ Silent guards. They follow his cue, backing out of the arena and leaving the two terrified Reds alone to face each other. The guards don’t, I notice with a lurch of nausea, remove the Silent Stone manacles.

“I don’t understand.” Farley squints at the screen in confusion. “If it’s an arena fight between Newbloods, why does he leave the manacles on?”

“Because it’s not just a fight,” I answer in barely more than a whisper.

Cal inclines his head in my direction, nodding without looking at me. “It’s an execution.”

No one answers. We can only watch. Everyone in the room is painfully aware of just how far away from the capital we are. How useless we are to stop this.

Along the wall of the arena, dozens of Silvers step forward. Judging from the colors emblazoned on their uniforms, and the fact that they all wear the same face, they—rather, he—hails from House Tyros. Clones. But they don’t attack. They merely seem to guard the exits, ready to stop any attempt at escape.

“Begin,” Maven bellows. The Bowl of Bones surges with the cheers of thousands of Silvers. Both Halley and the Wrecker hesitate, staying where they are in confusion. Even from here, I can see the tremors running through them. I did this. My words brought them to Archeon. And my escape put them in this prison of death.

The moments of inactivity in the arena are broken by a sudden flurry of activity as both the Newbloods fall to their knees, choking and clutching at their throats. Among the sea of Tyros faces appear two tall Silvers with dark skin and equally dark eyes, clad in the blue uniforms. Lakelands windweavers. The ones who survived or didn’t make it to the battle at Corvium only a few hours ago. Maven certainly is quick on his feet, I’ll give him that.

Maven waves a hand at the Lakelanders, and they release Halley and the Wrecker instantly, allowing the air they’ve stolen back into their lungs. Both champions collapse into the fine sand.

“Come now,” Maven condescends to them, as if they are nothing more than stubborn children refusing to listen to reason. “Play nicely. This does not have to be the end. For one of you at least,” he adds with a cruel, cold smirk.

My heart sinks as his words rattle me. Small mercies, he’d said.

Cal was wrong. We both were. This isn’t an execution. It’s so much worse.

This is a fight to the death. And there can be only one winner.

There will be no martyr tonight. No Red blood spilt by the unmatched Silvers. This won’t be ammunition against the elite, as the executions of the old days may once have been. This is different. The only Red blood spilled tonight will be drawn by another Red. Newblood versus Newblood.

The Feats of First Friday delighted in shedding Silver blood to show us that we were inferior beings. To keep us in our place. But now, with this little show, Maven has unlocked an even worse way of smothering the rebellion, one that replaces the all-too-valuable Silver blood with the disposable crimson blood that flows in our veins. His message speaks volumes, even without him speaking a word.

Even with abilities, even with power, we will always be Red. We will always be disposable. We will always be inferior. Tonight, one Red will die, and one will walk out of the arena alive, if only in body. As I turn to leave the administration building, I wonder which would be worse. To die at the hands of someone you thought was your friend? Or to be the one forced to take that life, and then live with it for the rest of your own existence?

[jeebie-sims]

Super Late “Welcome” Post

Hi all! Here’s a little get to know you type post, since I totally forgot to make on two months ago when I started this blog. oops. 

General Stuff:

My name is [REDACTED], but on here I go by Doomy or Jeebie.

I’m 18 and from Chicago, Illinois. 

My hobbies outside of The Sims include writing, band, and cooking. 

I know how to play three instruments; flute, tuba, and piano. 

Currently reading: Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis

My favorite band is Thank You Scientist

My favorite food is frutti de mare. 

PS: Please reblog this if you’re a sims 2 simblr too! I need more people on my dash.

(Under the cut: Sims stuff.)

Simblr related stuff

Do you use cheats?

I almost spend more time cheating than actually playing the game. The Sim Manipulator and the Sim Blender have saved my game from death on far too many occasions. 

Do you kill sims on purpose?

Yeah, but mostly for story progression.

Do you make male sims more than female sims (Vise Versa)

I make more male sims than female sims but I’m trying to work on that!

What was your first sim’s name?

My very very first sim was named Sparkle Shine . I made her on The Sims 2 on Playstation 2. 

My first sim on PC was a face 1 male sim named Carter Brooks. I might post him again one day, who knows. 

What was your first expansion pack you bought?

None of them. I got them all through the Ultimate Collection sale. 

For sims 3 though, High End Loft Stuff. 

How many sims games do you own?

All of them except for TS2 PSP.

Have you tried making a celebrity sim?

No.

Have you made CC before? Or atleast try to?

One day I do plan to make CC. I absolutely ADORE Minsooky’s makeup looks and I’d love to convert a few of them to my Sims game1

 How many GB/MB C do you have?

As of right now, 24 March 2020, 3.7GB. It’s a long time since I checked and I’m happy to say that it’s not nearly as big as I thought. 

Does your game crash often?

Surprisingly never!

Worst mistake that has ever happened in your game?

I incorrectly deleted a Multi PT set and I had to reinstall. I learned how to backup my CC and my game after that. ._.

 What 🌍 do you play the most?

Right now, it’s my Belladonna Cove & Pleasantview Uberhood I’ve been posting.

Your most favorite cc/mod creators?

I have far too many! Here’s just a couple. 

lillith-sims peppermint-ginger enayla deedee-sims berrynooboos pooklet midgethetree

Is your mods 📂 organized?

Just barely. 

Your sim inspiration?

My sims inspo mostly comes from books, movies, tv, music, and other blogs on here of course.

emperorofthedark sims2nights 

Do you get attached to your sims?

YES very much so. Not so attatched that I won’t kill them, but definitely attached enough to spoil them and play them often. 

I play favorites with my sims. But all of my sims can be my favorite. 

When did you last play?

Last night.

What kind of simblr are you?

An uberhood-legacy general simming one. I’m trying to develop some sort of aesthetic, and it’s coming along reeeally sloooowly. 

Do you play with townies? Who is your favorite?

I play townies more often than I play CAS sims. My favorites are Ajay Loner, John Burb, Tara DeBateau, Kimberly Cordial, Lola Curious, and Mary-Sue Pleasant. 

I’ve also come to enjoy playing Don Lothario, too. I know he’s horrible with the cheating and general douchebaggery but I just love to play him. 

Your favorite/Least favorite 🌍?

I love Belladonna Cove, and Pleasantview. Strangetown is a close third, only because I LOVE the Curious, Singles, Grunt, and Loner families, but I can’t stand playing the Beakers, Smiths, and Specters. 

My least favorite neighborhoods are Riverblossom Hills, Desiderata Valley, and Veronaville. The first two are boring in my opinion, but I’m definitely going to give Veronaville a second try. 

Your favorite/Least favorite sub-🌍?

My favorite subhood has to be Downtown of course! It reminds me of Chicago. 

My least favorite subhood has to be Bluewater Village. I lowkey hate the Open for Business gameplay. 

Least favorite expansion/Most favorite expansion?

My favorite expansion is tied between Apartment Life and Nightlife. 

My least favorite is Freetime, and also University. Maybe I was playing it wrong, but the University gameplay was really boring to me! if anyone has some ideas or pointers, my ask box is always open. 

Do you listen to 🎶 when you play? If so, what songs?

I don’t listen to music when I play because i enjoy listening to the ambiance and sounds from the game itself. 

Have you played any other Sims games besides 2 & 3?  

I’ve played Sims 1, The Sims Life Stories, Castaway Stories, The Urbs, Sims Medieval, and the console titles.

Have you ever make a sim-self?

I made a sim-self one time, and it was for a project I had in my French class. 

Who is the sim in your icon? 

That’s my CAS sim and current favorite, Juan Quixote. More info about him later. 

It’s a pleasure to be back on Tumblr (I haven’t been here since 2016), and I’m looking forward to being a part of the simming community on here.