#nevertheless i like my life full of adventures betrayals and love

[unhonestlymirror]

Also I've recently realized my Dad is Serizawa Katsuya kinnie, and he even looks like him, what the helllllll

[yelenasdog]

bonnie and clyde (billy/4 x fem reader)

genre: angst

summary: there were five people at the funeral of billy jones. why did two, more specifically one, of them leave?

words: 1.3k

warnings: just vv sad my guy. literally no fluff i hate it here </3 mentions of death, billy’s funeral, and crying.

a/n: yo so idk if billy’s last name is jones but i saw someone on here refer to him as billy jones and i think it’s just bc of ben’s last name but anyway LMFAO. i for some reason couldn’t stop thinking abt this and so i wrote it (as one does fkefnkerjn). also y/n was not used so if u wanted to read this as an x another character or x an oc it would work as well. enjoy :)

🌃🌃🌃

There were five people at the funeral of Billy Jones.

This was common knowledge who would listen long enough to hear the vigilante talk about the experience he had only seen from afar, his own heart growing tender during, or at any mention of, the moment.

But Billy always failed to explain the situation with a full grip, to its entire truth. As to why, most anyone could figure out.

He was afraid.

Afraid of getting her hurt, afraid of thinking of her for just a moment too long, afraid of his impulse driving him to get his ass right back up and go say he still loved her.

Four was afraid of a plethora of horrible scenarios that could occur if he let the truth about his funeral slide to anyone except One (which was bad enough that he had to know by default as it was).

And the irony of it all, was how miniscule and ineffective something like who had left his funeral early and as to why, would be to anyone else on the team.

Sure they all had their secrets that would seep into the pool that was their little family, Three’s mother, One’s lover, Two and Three’s infatuation with each other (though, that one wasn’t really a secret).

Not to mention, Four despised painting her in a bad light, allowing others to think for a fraction of a second that she didn’t leave because her already frail heart couldn’t handle to see her beloved’s name etched onto a gray stone in a patchy field of a horrible green, couldn’t handle the idea that their Bonnie and Clyde reminiscent days (minus the killing of 13 people, that is) had come to an end.

There were two people at the funeral of Billy Jones who left early.

The first? An old friend from his hometown.

He was a wealthy businessman now, having abandoned the life of pretty crime and rush of his youth. He showed up to Four’s not-so-celebration of life in an ashen tux with an obsidian tie and shiny oxfords, and barely a minute into the service he had begun checking his shiny Rolex, probably counting down the seconds until he would be considered late to some important meeting for whatever corporate hoax he was a part of to be able to stay afloat. How ironic.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock

The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to her, while the action itself felt like somewhat of a betrayal, even though Billy and the businessman hadn’t talked in years. It was a kind enough gesture that he had even come to begin with.

But she didn’t care.

Because before the service had even started, salty droplets were rolling down her reddened cheeks, dampening her hoodie, his hoodie, that she had coiled so tightly around herself and her limbs, almost like a corset.

So when the businessman turned to go after what could maybe have been a measly few minutes, she could barely control her anger.

But she did, for Billy. She sucked it up and stayed put, keeping her eyes trained to his mother who was now speaking, her striking emerald eyes also obviously wet. But in reality, Billy had wanted his former lover to turn around and smack that prick square in the face.

But then 4 took some time and realized that if it were the other way around and she had been dead, he could conjure in his mind how distressed he would be to where he would prefer to focus on wallowing in his sadness for her and her only, not be consumed by anger for some random fellow.

Billy truly wanted to leave One where he stood, wanted to run to where her shaking was escalating from ever so slightly to violently as could be, wrapping her in his strong arms she already missed. The strong arms that she believed should have kept him safe when he was dangling from that damned building with that damned necklace in his mouth.

The image could have been some renaissance painting with how beautiful he looked, even then, on the brink of what the world would know as the death of Billy Jones.

In fact, most of Billy’s and the girl’s adventures could be different renaissance paintings. Alive and free, bursting with vibrant colors and emotions that weren’t able to be captured with words, so rather, they were thrown on a canvas in what was somehow a meticulously put together flurry.

On that rainy day, the weather so fitting to what she had been feeling, she wished for nothing more than to somehow place herself back into those non-existent paintings, to even for a fraction of a second bask in his never ending love like some sort of oasis.

She wanted to run her fingers through his golden curls one last time, kiss his forehead goodnight one last time, to tell him she loved him more than anything in this universe, one last time.

But she didn’t, and she wouldn’t ever get to.

And her one final chance to say what she wanted him to hear, she had missed out on, as that’s when she had left.

It was long after the uptight man in the fitted suit, long after his crying mother had gone from where she was speaking up front, back to the shadows of her baby’s grim event that she should never have had been alive to see.

She had managed to drag herself halfway up to where his casket was sitting just above the ground, trying to not look at the box a second too long.

Rather, she pretended there was a pair of rose colored glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, helping her pretend that this was all some big misunderstanding, that Billy was just pulling one of his infamous pranks.

He would pop out from behind the tent covering the few who stood with their feet shifting on the damp soil, or perhaps from the headstone of his very own grave. She would gasp or shriek and then smack his arm, lecturing him as he grabbed his chest, doubling over in laughter, the sound like music to her ears.

God, what she would do to hear that sound one more time.

Nevertheless, in the end he would stand up, and wipe her tears from her sweet face, pressing gentle kisses on either of her cheeks to rid her of that pout he hated to admit he loved. She would crack a small smile and he would punch a celebratory fist in the air at the gesture, leaving her to only shake her head at his antics. He would sling an arm around her shoulders, nustling close to her as they would exit the graveyard, never coming back until the inevitable day they both had lived their happiest and fullest lives together.

He would say “You know you love me.” And without a doubt, every time, she would say “Yeah, I do.”

But not this time.

This time, she would let her eyes wander to a tall tree just over the hill, slimming her puffy eyes. She rubbed them and did a double take, and swore that for a moment she had seen what looked like his figure next to one of someone she had never seen before.

And that’s when she left.

She let out an ugly sob, running as fast as her feet could take her to wherever that wasn’t there, the sound of her shoes against the cold ground muted, but the sound of her uneven breathing was anything but.

As for all she knew, it was her mind playing a cruel, cruel, trick on her. Or even her mind trying to give her some sort of closure to move on.

Whatever it was, though, was simply too much for her to process, too much to handle. So she had left, given up on what she didn’t know was her only chance to give a proper goodbye.

“You think she saw you?”

“I hope so.”

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we vibing w this?? i hope so hehe. WAIT PUN NOT INTENDED LMFAO I DID THAT PERIODT! anyway, have a wonderful day/night, and go drink water and eat protein, it’s all abt intention!! i love u! also if u have any questions abt this fic pls do lmk bc ik some of it was kinda weird! 

p.s., pls pls pls reblog this! this is my first ben related fic and ik when it’s ur first fic for a fandom they can flop so it would be very cool if y’all could help me out a lil bit :) either way ily, thank u! kk bye

xx hj

[whovianfeminism]

Whovian Feminism Reviews  “The Woman Who Fell To Earth”

It feels like I’ve been waiting ages for this. And finally, she’s here. And she was brilliant.

Doctor Who made an exuberant return to our screens with a new showrunner, an almost entirely new creative team, and — for the first time in the show’s historic 55 year run — a woman as the new Doctor. “The Woman Who Fell to Earth” was a busy episode with an impossibly long list of introductions to make, and yet it managed to welcome the Doctor’s new “fam” in a story filled with horror, humor, and plenty of heart. 

I won’t lie — I needed this episode to be good. After fighting for a woman to be the Doctor for so hard and for so long, I don’t think I could’ve handled the heartbreak if it had been subpar. It’s not really fair that TV shows and movies with women leads are held to such impossibly high standards, but that’s the unfortunate side-effect of sidelining women for so long and featuring them in the lead role so infrequently. Our hopes and expectations are so high precisely because we have such limited opportunities. Thankfully, “The Woman Who Fell to Earth” met and even outperformed our expectations. The very few trolls who are still harassing supportive fans were drowned out by the overwhelmingly positive response to Whittaker and her new friends, and the ratings went through the roof. Whittaker has utterly captured the fandom, and more importantly, she’s brought in an entirely new generation of fans.

Nevertheless, you could practically feel the tension about the Doctor being a woman running through the episode. The Doctor herself was notably unbothered by the change, simply asking “Does it suit me?” (God, yes it does). But her final monologue was squarely aimed at the audience:

Because we’re all capable of the most incredible change. We can evolve while still staying true to who we are. We can honor who we’ve been and choose who we want to be next.

This is a final Hail Mary throw to the fans who were still unconvinced. Each Doctor is new and different from the one who came before, building and changing and evolving the character over the decades. This is just another evolution — grounded in the show’s deep history but looking forward and beginning to embrace the character’s full potential. It’s a deliberate choice to embrace the future, instead of remaining stagnant and trapped in the past. 

Jodie Whittaker knew the importance of the role she took on, and she performed it brilliantly. It’s always difficult to judge a new Doctor in their first episode, since they are supposed to be a bit unbalanced and chaotic post-regeneration. But even when the Doctor didn’t quite have a grip on who they are, Whittaker was a force to watch, attacking every new scene with an unquenchable energy that was utterly captivating. She captured the Doctor’s earnest, childlike joy just as easily as she assumed the Doctor’s strident anger. 

It’s incredible that Whittaker didn’t extensively watch Doctor Who before assuming the role, because there’s echoes of so many previous Doctors in her own performance, from Patrick Troughton’s physical humor to David Tennant’s hectic energy. Between the out-of-commission TARDIS, the big new family, and the cobbled together bits of Earth and alien tech, I was even getting a Pertwee-ish vibe from this story. But the Thirteenth Doctor is clearly stamping out her own personality. When the Third Doctor would’ve tried to escape Earth, she lingered. Where the Tenth Doctor would have gotten carried away, she focused. 

The moment I truly fell in love with her was when, frustrated by her inability to get anything done without her sonic screwdriver, she decided to go ahead and build one herself. It’s been alluded to before that the Doctor has made their own sonic, but this is the first time we’ve ever seen them do it onscreen (the last two Doctors had theirs magically supplied by the TARDIS). That sequence, set to Segun Akionla’s gorgeous score, is going to be iconic. This is a Doctor who is going to do things on her terms and build it her own damn self.

But the Doctor can’t do everything on her own, and her new friends show quite a lot of potential. Yaz was given the least attention this episode, but I have a feeling she’s going to be the one to watch. She’s driven, ambitious, and ready to run into danger — perfect companion material. But Yaz is a cop, and she’s used to being in a position of authority in dangerous situations. We’ve already seen her clash with the Thirteenth Doctor over who will be in charge, and I have a feeling that we haven’t seen the end of that conflict. 

Ryan was the true heart of this story. He’s earnest and sweet, even if he has his moments of explosive frustration. He’s also curious and open to believing some of the more incredible things that the Doctor says. Together, Yaz and Ryan balance each other perfectly. Yaz pulls Ryan into trying new and dangerous things, and Ryan encourages Yaz to be more open to accepting that the world is a bit wilder than she could’ve possibly imagined. 

I’m still warming up to Graham. He had a few comedic moments, and his relationship with Grace was adorable, but on his own he’s a little bit harder to handle. He was prickly with Ryan in a way that was uncomfortable to watch; I actually cringed when he suggested Ryan would blame his mistake granting access to the Stenza on his disability. He’s also more inclined to leave a dangerous situation, which doesn’t make him a natural candidate to be a companion. I'm curious if his character will grow or change at all while traveling with the Doctor. 

Representation was a quiet focus of this story. In addition to the first woman Doctor, we had three POC lead characters, a diverse supporting cast, an interracial relationship, a nontraditional family unit, and a character with a disability. And none of these was a huge deal, it was simply reflective of the world in which we — and these fictional characters — inhabit. 

Doctor Who has had a mixed record of handling disability, but I was pleasantly surprised by how well Ryan’s dyspraxia was handled. It wasn’t magically caused by aliens and wasn’t miraculously cured by the end of the episode. It wasn’t the key to solving the issue at hand, but it didn’t limit Ryan from being a hero either. It introduced the disability to thousands of viewers without stigma or shame, and since the episode aired the internet has been filled with thrilled responses from people with dyspraxia.

But there was one major failure in this story — Grace’s death.

Of all the Doctor’s new friends, Grace was the most suited to being the Doctor’s companion. She wasn’t afraid to run towards danger — in fact, she loved every moment of it. She kept her eye on the bigger picture and always asked the right questions. And she kept everyone in check, including the Doctor (and that’s no small task). She would’ve loved every moment of adventure in the TARDIS. Instead, she was summarily killed off just as her adventure was getting started.

I was following the conversation on Twitter during the simulcast premiere. While everyone was sad at Grace’s untimely death, the disappointment was particularly pronounced amongst black women. I highly encourage everyone to read Tai Gooden’s review in Hypable and listen to the TARBIS (Time and Relative Blackness in Space) podcast’s response to hear directly from black women and understand why they were so hurt by Grace’s death.

In my mind, Grace’s death is absolutely an example of fridging —a death created for the sole purpose of causing Ryan and Graham grief and propelling their characters forward. Her final words were to encourage Graham not to be afraid without her. Ryan’s YouTube commentary, where he grieves over her death, anchors the beginning and end of the story. And given that Ryan and Graham never got along well on their own, Grace’s death will almost certainly be a recurring theme between them now that they’re trapped in space together. It was such an unnecessary waste of a fascinating and vibrant character. For a story that was so intensely focused on presenting an inclusive and progressive vision of Doctor Who, fridging a black woman in the very first episode was an egregious betrayal.

The one caveat here is that Grace was described in early press releases as a “returning character,” which seems to imply that she will be in future episodes. I suspect that she’ll be seen in flashbacks, or that the TARDIS team will travel back in time and see her at an earlier point in her life (or it was a deliberate misdirection and Grace won’t be seen again). But it is possible that Grace’s death will somehow be reversed. I would appreciate that. However, bringing Grace back to life won’t erase the damage that’s been done. Her death will still have been used to motivate Ryan and Graham. And it will still have been a disappointing moment in what should have been a fresh start for weary fans.

[starcunning]

Notes to Selves

... and sometimes, after you pull teeth for a week, you get something, anyway.

Shasi has never spent the night before a battle with someone she loved. Until now.

This story contains MSQ spoilers for FFXIV Patch 4.4, “Prelude in Violet,” and 4.5, “Requiem for Heroes.”

12th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Windsday.

You will not write anything today because you would rather forget all that has transpired. You want to forget the sight of him crumpling to the floor, a greater agony than that which passed before. Committing it to paper would make it real, and you cannot allow that now.

I am here, real as everything you reject. I will remember for you, to spare you the pain of forgetting later. —F

14th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Lightningday.

You never got out of bed yesterday. Today you roused yourself only to meet with the Seedseer. She cannot feel his soul. I write this for you not because I think you will forget, but because you cannot bear to write it for yourself.

We were doing so well. —F

15th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Lightsday.

En route to Revenant’s Toll to seek Augurelt’s counsel. A reliable source before; occasionally a comfort. Questions to consider:

- What news of the First?

- Thancred’s previous exposure to Ascian influence a factor?

- Why not Lyse?

Slender hope of answers. World ever turns on such slender hopes.

17th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Darksday. Full moon.

Arrived at Rising Stones late yesterday. Early start to the morning in hopes situation would be swiftly resolved. Augurelt joined us just before noon. Another vision; situation compounded. Rhul and Augurelt now added to the list of incapacitated. Thancred to be transferred from Ala Mhigo to Mor Dhona.

18th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Firesday.

May as well keep them all in one place.

Shpoki left the Rising Stones yesterday, and you let her. We know that move, don’t we? Break and run before anyone sees we’re upset? Today we wrote a letter to Matoya. We wrote three letters. You didn’t like any of them enough to send. We’ll try again tomorrow. —F

22nd Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Lightningday.

Sent letters to Master Matoya; Y’mhitra Rhul; the Forum of Sharlayan. No kin to contact for Augurelt or Waters. Overtures are being made to the Alchemists’ Guild and Prioress Dewla. Heard an interesting rumor about the fate of Heartstrike recently. Considering purchasing information from the Dutiful Sisters. Scions’ coffers empty. Personal funds in good shape.

24th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Darksday.

Arya is talking about going looking for X’rhun. You think she hopes this is something he can solve, like the problem of the Nightkin. You hadn’t considered that, but thinking about it made you recall your dealings with Ishgardian orthodoxy in that pursuit.

Haldrath never decayed either, did he? —F

31st Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Darksday.

You took your bracelet off for a week, locked the stone it held in a drawer, tried not to think of me. You are telling yourself it is about the journals. It isn’t, is it? You are angry I have no answers for you. I wish I did.

You thought of me in my exile, and wondered if you had killed me. That isn’t how it works, is it? I cannot live without you, but my death is temporary. And some shade of me lingers with you still. You can still hear me scream inside your skull even when you cast me into the dark and curse my name for not doing enough.

Nobody hears you screaming. —F

1st Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Firesday. New Moon.

Arya departed yesterday. Alisaie thusly deprived of closest companionship. Fond of her as I am, our closeness is not without difficulty in these circumstances.

2nd Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Earthsday.

Which is worse: not to know what has become of someone you love, or to be certain of their ill fate?

5th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Iceday.

Traveled to Ul’dah to meet with Prioress Dewla. Nothing. Returned home to the Goblet. Should be in Mor Dhona. Letter awaited me at the house from the Sisters, who have heard of no artifact with such effects as was described.

6th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Lightningday.

When you wake screaming in the night, it is only us you awaken. You tell yourself this is preferable.

Alisaie reminds me of Rielle. —F

7th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Lightsday.

Meeting today with Captain Firebird. She is already apprised of the news. Thancred counted her a personal friend. I do not know what aid she can offer, but determined to explore all avenues.

10th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Earthsday.

Departed Ul’dah for Ala Mhigo. While in Ul’dah was elevated to Flame Captain. Poor consolation prize. Firebird is alright; sympathetic ear. Am come to collect the research notes of Aulus mal Asina.

12th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Windsday.

Yesterday you sat in Thancred’s apartment trying to make sense of the Medicus’s notes. At sunset you went into the city, and stood there in the place where he ripped your soul from your body, and tried to recall how it was you put yourself back together.

It didn’t hurt half so much when he did it. You walked from his laboratory to the room where the Alliance all met, and you thought about being torn apart, self from self. You thought about the voice and the words and the fear and the pain.

The fear and the pain that were Thancred’s last moments in this world before he was severed from himself. You would have given anything to spare him that. Would that I could have told you how. Would that I could tell you anything now.

You would trade your place with any of them. That is your nature. The thing you are afraid to admit to yourself is that you would trade me for them, too. You are angry with me. You are right to be angry. I am here. —F

13th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Iceday.

You went to the Menagerie today. Why did you go there? This is a rhetorical question. It hurt you to stand there, in the wan winter sun, and listen to the wind blow through bare trees. Every step you took on cobbles you once stained with blood drove knives into your heart. You are suffering, so you sought out suffering.

You stood in the dry grass, and reached for your linkpearl, thinking: if you call Urianger, he’ll help you figure this out. Urianger has always helped you figure it out.

Thancred’s loss you never forget. It is a black moon that eclipses the terrible light of the others’ stillness and silence. You hated yourself then for forgetting. It was a moment’s lapse, and you will bear the guilt for a long, long time.

Instants become eons. —F

14th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Lightningday.

The others are come to Ala Mhigo, though they have little to report. Shpoki tells me Y’mhitra has arrived; has enlisted the aid of the Sons of Saint Coinach to research her sister’s condition and that of the others. Sophronia mentioned that she and Alisaie get along; there is a small relief in that. One worries.

Spent the early evening in a game of Sink—one of Shpoki’s devising, last played on the banks of the Thaliak. Alone then too, or at least without him. Sank any number of things, though not my troubles. Figure emerged from the Lochs thereafter; four of us were sufficient to subdue it. Proof remitted to Clan Centurio.

Depart Ala Mhigo tomorrow in the company of Lensha Hathaar, who has been aiding Garlond Ironworks in some project.

19th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Watersday.

Ironworks has experienced a similar thinning of ranks; tol Scaeva incapacitated in the course of this project, along with engineers Biggs and Wedge. Conscious, however; unlikely to have succumbed to the same pernicious influence as felled the Scions.

Garlond thinks of Bojza often. Reviews the data in anticipation of some new project. Scaeva takes ill to bed-rest. Keeps offering to replace my sword with one more befitting “an adventurer of my caliber.”

Not sure whether he intends to replace Fray’s blade or Zenos’s. In either case, uninterested.

25th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Firesday.

Who is Lensha Hathaar? Claims to have been a longtime member of the Scions; Shpoki claims to have found her at her apartment. Assuming she means the one abutting the Hanging Cat. Skeptical of any recruit we find in a bar; nevertheless shows promise.

Starlight Celebration ongoing. Some mail finds me in Gyr Abania—cards; wellwishes; etc. Wish it did not.

31st Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Lightsday.

Last day of Starlight. Glad when it’s over.

I didn’t get you anything.

1st Sun of Halone’s Moon

Firesday. New moon.

I didn’t get you anything either. —F

6th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightningday.

Brief recess from duties with Hathaar in Gyr Abania. Returned to Ul’dah to fulfill charitable obligation. Raising funds for the arts in Ul’dah. Bought a foolish number of candles. Sophronia materialized halfway through the evening; followed me home.

Seems to think all this pain is worthwhile for having gotten to learn the taste of chocolate. I do not think he understands.

7th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightsday.

How can he? He has lived this life for a handful of months at most. You have carried this for six years. You are certain there is no one yet he loves, but how can you be sure? He is fond of you, or are you pretending to ignore that? —F

12th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Windsday.

It does not matter who is fond of me. To seek comfort without Thancred’s knowledge is betrayal unforgivable, and unworthy of us both.

Returned to Gyr Abania. Midgardsormr seemed familiar with Hathaar. No answers to be found, for the elder dragon now slumbers. Not the same sickness as plagued the Scions. Nevertheless, our allies fall away, one by one.

14th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightningday.

But our obligations persist. Received call from Tataru that I am needed at Reisen Temple. The Firebird elected to accompany me. Her interest in Suzaku is personal, given the imagery of her epithet. As she is afflicted with the same blessings as I, this shall be allowed.

It is the smallest repayment of her kindness to me as host whilst in Ul’dah.

16th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Darksday.

You and the Firebird went to the temple yesterday to quell the Aramitama of the auspice Suzaku. A fair number of words new to my travels with you there. Nevertheless, the concepts are familiar: a Darkside untempered ever threatens to destroy.

Hers was not the rage of Byakko but an untempered grief. One thinks of these things as a dark ocean, a vast plain of ink, but a single drop breaks the surface and bestirs a tempest. So too with the firebird—your presence was a potent reminder of all she had lost.

As hers was to you.

Her lover perished in the fires of self-sacrifice. It is an end I can see for you all too easily. You would mourn your dead for centuries, I think, were you allowed the opportunity. For all that I have come to carry your burdens, you have not put aside the pain of loss wholly.

Not that I think you ever will. Or should, for that matter. It was no exaggeration when I told you that there was never another like you, nor shall there be. Part of that is your reserve of aether—what another might call determination, or force of soul. Part of that is the scope of your suffering.

It is a hard thing to celebrate, so I will not ask you to. —F

18th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Earthsday.

Dinner last night with van Hydrus’s widow. Did not expect Garlemald to have any knowledge of like situations, and indeed they did not. Hope her discretion is trustworthy, else fear the consequences of letting an Imperial citizen know of the Scions’ compromised strength.

19th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Watersday

Krile is returned to Kugane from the expedition; seems of hearty disposition. She has not heard the voice nor felt the call—curious oversight. Wondering about Alphinaud. No word from him since investigating the Burn several months ago.

21st Sun of Halone’s Moon

Iceheart. Returned with Krile to Mor Dhona. Firebird is resuming her regular duties. Alisaie and Krile agreed it past time we called upon Master Matoya. Rising early tomorrow to depart.

22nd Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightningday.

All lives severed. No trail to follow. Felt the call again; Krile too. Word comes from Ala Mhigo that Populares defectors have arrived there.

23rd Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightsday.

The palace, again; the same room. Maxima quo Priscus waiting. Took his leave of Alphinaud months ago, brought defectors and news. Imperials using Black Rose again. Thought that weapon lost.

No weapon against us is ever lost.

24th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Darksday. Back to Doma and Lord Hien, bringing word of Imperial invasion. Problem of Doman security remains. Ironworks offers a solution in the form of energy barrier like unto that which secluded Azys Lla.

One thinks of Ysayle’s sacrifice, and of the late van Hydrus. One thinks of Bojza and the barrier Garlond birthed from his father’s data.

When all is in readiness we go to the Burn.

28th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Windsday.

Gaius van Baelsar lives. Alphinaud sleeps.

4th Sun of Menphina’s Moon

Watersday.

Arya called you when you returned from the poor aether of the Burn, and you spoke to X’rhun. You told him to come to Ala Mhigo if he meant to fight for it, for this may be his last opportunity. You have thought much and not at all of what Gaius Baelsar told you upon those white sands.

He claims to have destroyed the stores and the production facilities for Black Rose, and told you it was Zenos yae Galvus who signed the order for its making. We know the truth, don’t we? Your enemy wears your lover’s face. Again.

Your pain is so close to the surface. You think they can look at you and see me behind your eyes. What would they see if I were not here to be you when you cannot?

Something’s up with Hathaar and Baelsar, by the way. —F

6th Sun of Menphina’s Moon

Lightningsday.

Porta Praetoria. We march northeast with Lord Hien and what few Domans could make the aetherial journey. There is a warcamp. We are outmatched. The plan is this: parley and stall for time and reinforcements.

8th Sun of Menphina’s Moon

Darksday.

“Sun” bears no meaning here, as no light reaches this place. You have felt the thinness of aether in the world everywhere you have walked. It reminds you of Carteneau. Everything about this reminds you of Carteneau: the massing Imperials, the oppressive weight of the sky overhead.

You think of your mother and how she died on that plain. How your whole world was destroyed not just in the Calamity, but in its legacy.

The others are arriving at camp, slowly. Sophronia came with Lyse Hext; Shpoki and Hathaar have been with you all along. The Tumet lad came, too. Such a bright face in this terrible darkness; you think you will not forgive yourself for bringing him here.

Alisaie is glad to be reunited with Arya and X’rhun. You feel a pang of envy at that, don’t you? You refuse to put a name to it—you whose mother is dead and whose father is not your father.

You’ll figure it out sooner or later.

Speaking of fathers, it’s Zenos’s who will sit across the table from you. Your request for parley has been granted, two days hence. Tomorrow you and Shpoki will go and prepare the site.

10th Sun of Menphina’s Moon

Earthsday.

Surprises at the table.

Not how poorly it went—you were ready for that, eager for that, even if you left your sword behind so you could pretend you weren’t. You brought an Imperial defector into that room with you—and Sophronia’s not the only one of your companions with a grudge.

Nor were you surprised by all his arguments. You’d had them with Zenos before, after all. And some of them with van Hydrus, and with his wife. Baelsar might have told you a few more useful things before you had to hear them from His Radiance’s smirking lips, but so it goes.

They should have known better than to bring a Weapon of Light to a peace summit. How else could it end but with the opening of old wounds?

(Well—in lungfuls of seawater, or crystals detonating in a burst of unstable aether, or a simple punch or two.)

All of these sufficed to see you held at gunpoint—you and Hathaar both with barrels against your chin. But. “Don’t waste the ammunition.” That was the Imperial decree, was it not? You think he wants you dead. If he wanted you dead, wouldn’t he have killed you in the tent? Why didn’t you die there?

What a curious question. Still, you do not think your reprieve will last long. And yet it will last longer than you think.

It would last longer still if you’d take my offer. It’s not too late to go, to find a place that does not know X’shasi Kilntreader and wants nothing from her. That does not demand she rise in the morning and join the front lines against an army greater and more powerful than the one that marches behind her.

We’re so alike, Shasi Souleater, in ways you haven’t allowed yourself to see just yet. But you won’t run. I know you.

And when His Radiance offered you a place—at his side; under his heel—you said no.

The world turns on that slender hope. —F