#should have probably stayed exiled for another century

[rubynrut]

This diva

[ashes-writing-corner]

Welp I said I was gonna update before going to work so here it is! Hope you guys like it ^^

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, and @xanth420

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 2

I think I've seen this film before, and I didn't like the ending…

The halls were all too familiar to him. He knew this place still like he knew the backs of his hands. The castle, the prison, he grew up in, lived in, and was imprisoned in. Whether imprisoned by duty, or by that wretched curse, it was a prison. Of course, Orlok knew he only had himself to blame. He had done this all to himself. His usage of dark magic, his deal which, in hindsight, was doomed to fail from the start.

Întristare, another one of his wolfhounds, followed him out to the dining room. Always staying at his side. Fitting, considering her name. Durere was most likely patrolling the grounds, though there was no serious danger here. But he couldn't explain that to his canines. He doubted they were even truly aware of the situation…

This new world was so alike to the one he knew before. The world of the living, but it seemed to be in a state of eternal winter. A place built of memories, mostly painful ones, it wasn’t quite hell. Honestly Orlok was expecting to go to that place of fire and brimstone, he’d been ready for it for centuries. Death was better than a state in between, having to live off the lifeblood of others to maintain his own. Immortality wasn’t worth it. He knew if he had a chance to go back and undo it, he would’ve.

So many regrets…too many. And for what? What was left when one lost everything that mattered? What was left after…

Orlok stopped his thoughts right there. No. No. He would not dare speak her name again. Or dare to think of her ever again. He didn’t deserve the momentary, fleeting comfort the thoughts of her brought, the memories of better days long, long since passed. Days of warmth, days of comfort…

He didn’t deserve them. Didn’t deserve to remember them. For him, submersion into the waters of chaos would not have been a relief but a punishment. If anyone deserved to be forgotten, it was Orlok himself. And he damn well knew it.

But just like in life, the vampire couldn’t bring himself to let go. He clung to whatever shred of life he still had like a man drowning. And yet, he took no comfort in it. He never had. Regret had been fast coming, and now it was mostly all he could feel.

“Perhaps I should’ve called one of you Căinţà” his long fingered hand pet the head of Întristare, “I would’ve had all of those…emotions made flesh following me. Truly following me”.

He thought he had a chance to gain a semblance of that ever elusive humanity back. He laid in unrest for centuries in the dark, his spirit wandering restlessly, seeking something to rise again for. And he found it…well…to be more accurate, it had found him. He and Ellen had met spiritually, like two souls at a crossroads, standing opposite of one another, going in different directions. He could’ve ignored her. He probably should have now that he thought about it. But Orlok…couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore her. Her voice was like a sad little spirit reaching out to him through the darkness, through time and distance it seemed. Unfortunately, he still had an appreciation for beauty, and her nature had reminded him so much of her…Orlok didn’t dare think to ignore her call at the time.

And like an obedient dog, he answered. Taking control, he made the pact with Ellen. She would be his and his alone, ever eternally. Orlok thought that perhaps through this sweet soul, he could gain back a little humanity he so desperately craved. He needed to feel…something. Anything! Anything other than anger, sorrow, and grief! It was maddening.

But a pure being like her couldn’t love a monster like him for all that he was. A vampire’s love was...dark, frightening to most. Dominating. Suffocating by human standards. But he was there. He was there for her whenever she called, faithfully. Be it in dreams or in that strange crossroads realm. He was there for her. He listened, learned all he could about her, but kept his secrets his own. There was an attachment, but Orlok could not dare bring himself to call it love.

Love was for humans. For the living. Not for monsters like him, or pure beings like her. Love was Inferior to them, as he told Ellen. At least inferior to her, but Orlok? No…he didn’t deserve it. Lust was easy though. Lust was better to feel, drowning out the pain and regret that plagued him.

But not the anger. The anger was the most regrettable part of all of it. His fury had taken over him, and he had taken it out on Ellen eventually. The first time he lashed out, the first time he got a taste of that power over her, Orlok was addicted. Finally he had control over something, someone. He had effectively taken his pain, his regret, his sorrow, turned it into anger, and inflicted it on someone else.

Inflicted it on Ellen.

The vampire closed his eyes hard, his clawed hands balling into fists. It wasn’t an excuse. There was none. He harmed her, he liked hurting her. He got away with it. And Ellen had been helpless to fight back, her own power practically ineffective against him and his. He became cruel, became more selfish and possessive. There was still a tiny part of him that hated it, hated himself.

So Orlok pulled away. It wasn’t easy, but he did for a time. And during that time, Ellen met Thomas. When he felt she found someone else, it sparked that rage, that possessive fury once more. Like a wildfire, it burned through him. How dare this boy, this…insignificant mortal, try and take what was his? Why did HE get to enjoy what Orlok himself was long since denied?

Even now, his clawed hands balled into fists at the audacity. Thomas was a fool, stepping into matters which he knew nothing of. Nor was he ever supposed to know. Useless little mouse of a man…

The wolfhound whined softly, pressing her head against his balled fist as if asking for pets. Her master willingly gave, letting himself just feel the softness of her fur against his cold hand. They were good hounds, all three of them. He definitely should’ve named them better, now that he was thinking about it.

“There has to be a better way than this. Some way we can…learn to just exist around each other until Chaos calls for us” Orlok thought aloud.

He was still figuring out what this world was. There were rules, ones they both had to abide by, but it was figuring them all out that was proving to be a problem. The biggest one was the one she exploited: A private space couldn’t be entered without the owner’s permission. Orlok still had his powers, but didn’t seem to have the vampiric tendencies anymore. He didn’t need to feed, and the day no longer affected him. He felt almost human again, back to just being what he was before a vampire: a sorcerer and nothing more. Every room seemed to hold a piece of them both, something important from both of their lives.

Currently, there were lilacs on the table. Lilacs were important to them both, but this was something important to Ellen. Orlok glared at them, realizing what they were: Her wedding bouquet from when she married Thomas. The bouquet was there, dead set in the middle of the table as if to mock and taunt him. Orlok growled, feeling that possessive anger drive him again. He raised a hand and the bouquet burst into flames, making Întristare bark and snarl in surprise. The count watched the flowers burn to ash, glaring the whole time. The fire eventually died, leaving nothing but the scent of burned flowers.

Orlok watched. Waited. Dared…

Only to be a mix of angry and disappointed as the bouquet brought itself back to life, the ashes reverting back to their original arrangement. The Count raked his claws down the table in fury, swearing in Dacian. He hated this arrangement, absolutely despised it. It was like the very realm itself was taunting him at this point, not just the memory of Thomas. Lilacs were fine; they were his and Ellen’s flowers, but dammit why did he have to suffer these in particular?!

At the same time though, he realized something interesting. Looking at the table, his claw marks stayed as they were. Orlok realized he discovered another rule: They could not destroy each other’s memories, but they could destroy or damage their own. Interesting…he wondered if they could destroy them together…

“That’d be…cathartic. In a maddening sort of way” Orlok thought aloud.

The idea of going around and breaking everything, letting all that pent up anger out…it was tempting to say the least. No doubt Ellen had a lot of pent up anger herself, and to see all of that unleashed? The thought alone made him shudder in the most delightful way. Plus the prospect of angry sex afterwards was…enticing.

The count growled and pinched the bridge of his nose. Now was not the time for that, definitely not the time. He needed to focus, and focus on something that wasn’t enticing right now.

“That woman is going to be the third death of me, I swear…” he sighed in annoyance.

She was already his second death, so of course Ellen would, unknowingly, go for a third. Orlok glanced up again at the bouquet of lilacs, and glared. At the very least he could burn them over and over again for some quick anger management.

But honestly, how long would that last? Honestly, he wondered, how long any of this would last before disaster, once again struck?

It always did.

Eventually…

If you guys enjoyed please comment, like, and reblog! Also if you wanna be added to the taglist let me know ^^ your support means the world to me! Thank you so much! 💜🖤💜

[john-laurens-hamilton]

John W. Mulligan and Charles Adams.

Would you believe me if I told you Hercules Mulligan's son and John Adam’s son were lovers? Well, maybe you would think it's a made-up story to satisfy the gay-historic-thirst of the Hamilton musical fans, but I assure you, it was a real story.

Charles Adams was the younger brother of John Quincy Adams, who was very noticeably the favorite child. He grew up with the same education as his brother, and there was not much difference between them until, at his return from school in London, Charles got a job working at Alexander Hamilton’s law firm. There, he met another young man his age, whose father was an old acquaintance of Hamilton’s: John W. Mulligan, Hercules Mulligan's son. We don't know when their relationship started, but soon after, they moved in together. They were, at this time, handsome and wealthy men in age to marry, but neither did so. Both seemed to enjoy the company of the other best.

It was, more or less, a year after they moved in together, when John Adams visited his son. His brother John Quincy was thriving in the world of politics, and the man wanted an update on how Charles was doing at Hamilton's law firm. By visiting their home, Adams quickly realized Charles and John’s relationship transcended friendship, and this horrorized him. How could his son give in to the sin of Sodom? Even though Thomas Jefferson had changed the penalty for it from death by hanging to castration in 1776, the risk of getting caught and ruining his reputation was too high, and so Adams tried to force Charles to break up with John.

But the two young men loved each other too much to simply give in to his orders. This is when John ran to Hamilton, asking him for help, confiding in his father's old friend. As a side note, this is another proof of Hamilton's bisexuality being known between his inner circle: why would John trust him with his own homosexuality if he thought Alexander wouldn't be supportive? Theorizing, Alexander probably told his first friend in the Colonies about his ‘proclivities not limited to the fairer sex’, in his own nephew’s words, which would mean Hercules knew about John's relationship with Charles, probably being the one to advice him to ask for help from Hamilton.

Alexander understood their problem. He probably saw himself and Laurens in them, and so he wrote to Baron von Sugar Daddy—I mean, Baron von Steuben—about John and Charles’ problem. Now, a bit about Baron von Steuben before continuing with the story—Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben was an openly homosexual man who was exiled from Prussia for it. In the Colonies, he rapidly joined the army and ascended to General. Washington didn't seem to care about the Baron’s past in Europe, letting him have his own military facility where he did a number of very gay things. Two should be highlighted: first one, the party he held with his aides where pants were not allowed, and the second is his three closest soldiers: his personal assistant, Pierre Stephen du Ponceau (though this one gives me a bitter feeling, as Pierre was only 17), William North and Benjamin Walker, who were his lovers and formally adopted (the homosexual replacement for marriage in the 18th century) to be in his will at his death later. Now, carrying on, von Steuben was a protector of homosexual men of the time: by sending Charles and John away to him, Alexander was shielding them from Adams and giving a safe space to be open about their relationship. 

This is how they moved in with von Steuben, with whom they stayed for a happy year, being together. However, after this year passed, the Baron wanted to move upstate: while John desired to become his personal assistant and move with him, Charles desperately wanted to stay in the city. They parted ways, though this wasn't the end of their relationship: Charles got married and had two daughters, and he often left them at home while being off visiting his lover at von Steuben’s. It was on a day when Adams decided to show up uninvited to their home and he found his daughter-in-law and granddaughters alone. When questioning them for his son’s location, he was incredibly mad. Everybody knew the Baron was gay, and this only confirmed his suspicions. We have a register of the colorful vocabulary he used to refer to his son to Abigail, highlighting the following: “rake” (meaning the equivalent to manwhore) and “buck”, which meant an effeminate man. After this, he properly disowned Charles.

Charles died young of a liver infection probably caused by a genetic condition, or perhaps, alcoholism. John outlived him and von Steuben, being present on his will.

They were, indeed, very gay.

[korememeprompts]

UNDER THE CUT ARE ROLEPLAY PROMPTS FROM EPISODES 12-15 OF MAGNIFICENT CENTURY, change pronouns as desired / preferred.

“ understood ? or I shall need be more cruel. “

“ did those women upset you ? “

“ you haven’t shown interest in your parcels.”

“ even that angel of a woman was mad at you. “

“ ‘ be nice’, you said, ‘ act friendly. give them gifts. ‘ “

“ his word is law. “

“ I couldn’t stay in my chamber. I couldn’t sleep. “

“ don’t turn your back on me, you are my only confidante.”

“ please leave. it’s alright. “

“ of course he is a young and promising man but experience is an important quality. and that position requires a great deal of it. “

“ he has been educated in matters of statement for some time now. don’t be unfair.”

“ I have been patient. I have been very patient. “

“ it is his majesty’s will, let us hope it is for the best. “

“ maybe you should join the council too.”

“ I accept everything you have said about me. the insults, too. it is true, I am a servant. “

“ who do you think you are ? I will exile you. I will say anything I want.”

“ be prepared, they won’t let us remain in this palace. “

“ he is even more powerful, we will not find peace again. “

“ you haven’t asked for anything for yourself for ten years. “

“ I will never find peace in this palace. “

“ my darling son, look at me. I am with you, you will be alright. “

“ has something happened, mother ? “

“ mother, why am I so unlucky ? “

“ there is death in my fate again. “

“ I wait at your door just to see your face.”

“ the children should see their brother. “

“ we can have dinner together, I will make the preparations.”

“ I will die of curiosity, I am going. “

“ I have waited and prayed for so long for this happiness. “

“ I will accept no mistakes, as you know.”

“ his majesty’s family and his prince must be defended from all harm. “

“ you will fall so suddenly from that high perch — I will topple you. “

“ no can come between his majesty and me. “

“ I will love you until my last breath. “

“ the other night I waited for you until the morning. “

“ you are always so sad. I wonder if there is another cause for your sadness ? “

“ will you defend yourself when you should be only ashamed ? disgraceful!”

“ it made me realize my heart had no value. i’ve disgraced my family. “

“ for grief rots the heart.”

“ are you going to play it, or have you forgotten how to do it ? “

“ I’ve spent my entire life grieving for my family.

“ being unfair is the worst sin. “

“ how many people have died because of his wrong decision ? you have shed tears for our losses. you have forgotten, but I have not. “

“ it was time, I did what was necessary. “

“ I decide who deserves what.”

“ I have listened to you and mother my whole life. “

“ I’ve taken everything you said as an order. I was content with the fate you had chosen for me. I would rather die than embarrass you. I will make your wish a reality, do not doubt it. “

“the news we were waiting for has come.”

“ we are going to be together, even if we have to die for it. “

“ you are the mother of my children. you are my joy, peace, and blessing. “

“ the man I love looks at me and doesn’t trust me. “

“ I’ve come to you leaving my rank and office behind. “

“ if I don’t get out alive, don’t let my grave be here. “

“ he wishes to appear before you, your majesty. “

“ very well, you stay. I’ll go by myself. “

“ let me see their faces, let me hug them. “

“ your mother is here, I will never leave you. “

“ so they’ve finally understood I’m innocent. have they forgiven me ? “

“ this stubbornness will only harm you. “

“ do I not hold love in reverence ? “

“ queen mother, I’ve heard something. but I did not know if it was true. “

“ does my opinion carry any weight ? “

“ I have heard some whispers about that matter, and I haven’t taken them seriously, as they’re probably false….”

“ if you don’t chose your friends wisely, you’ll likely end up disappointed.”

“ he is wise, and experienced, but his ambition takes precedence over his reason.”

“ it’s not with you whom I’m displeased, it is my heart. “

“ you’re troubled, I can see it. “

“ those who love expect respect for their love too, she hasn’t committed a crime. “

“ it is very hurtful that my existence and my opinions have no value in the eyes of my children.”

“ is too much to expect respect for my decisions ? “

“ has she ever disobeyed you ? “

“ I dedicated my life to your service _ years ago, I’ll serve you for another _ years if I live long enough. “

“ my worry is that you’re being unfair to yourself. “

“ my purpose, my life, is you. “

“ forgive me if I’ve overstepped. “

“ personally I would not even wish to consider it. “

“ I will do everything in my power to rid you of this misery, your majesty. “

“ I have spoken to his majesty countless times on your behalf, I want you to be very happy. “

“ I’ll do everything I can, don’t worry. “

“ see who cries to see you leave, see who rejoices. no one likes you. everyone is happy that you are going. “

“our home will be at peace again. “

“ as far as I am concerned, you are the same. “

“ don’t fall for her tears, she is a snake!”

“ does my opinion on my daughter’s happiness count for nothing ? “

“ have them prepare my horse, I wish to go. “

“ don’t blame anyone, you’ve brought this on yourself. “

“ i want to buy some fabric, silk fabric.”

“ tell him that his mother would give her life for him. “

“ I won’t leave you, we share the same fate. “

“___, my beautiful girl, your fate won’t be like your mother’s, I promise you. I promise. “

“ she is your sister, don’t make her suffer. “

“ I’m sorry. I am in pain. please forgive me. “

“ write it down. write whatever is in your heart. “

“ play it sometime and soothe our souls. “

“ what am I to do with a palace without you in it ? “

“ master of my heart, body and soul. “

“ what was spoken in this room is not to leave this room. “

“ I will see to this matter personally. “

“ I’ve had beautiful dreams. “

“ I am not expecting good news from that council. “

“ I am grateful that I still have my life. “

“ I have fought my way up to this position tooth and nail. “

“ your majesty, I am aware of your concerns, but…. “

“ I found sanctuary with you. “

“ you are my family, and my love. “

“ what if he is angry when he reads it ? “

“ she leaves my heart and conscience to be the judge. “

“ you draw well, you are skilled. “

“ leave us alone. “

“ I have been separated from my child. “

“ if you do what I say, everything will be alright. “

“ you will obey, you will abide, you will submit. you will do as you are told and there will be no more fights. “

“ aren’t you the one who was most glad that I am gone ? “

“ I take your silence as a yes. “

“ I won’t kneel before that woman, I would rather die. “

“ it has been a while since we last had a talk. how are you ? “

“ you have never upset me, never hurt me. “

“ I have always wanted you to be happy. “

“ I believe that our fate will keep us together. “

“ I don’t know what happens, or what you live through behind these great doors, but I know of your heart. “

“ have they given you the one thing you’ve always wanted ? happiness and peace ? “

“ nobody is as wise as you, you have a big heart. “

“ are you jealous ? “

“ I want it to be beautiful, it has to be perfect. “

“ his majesty wanted to have a conversation, I am grateful. “

“ the whole family is going to be at the private garden tomorrow. “

“ he has been restless since his mother left. “

“ it would be a pleasure, your majesty. “

“ I can feel you are upset, if you like we can postpone the entertainment. “

“ I would envy anyone who is close with you, your majesty. “

“ I would only entrust you with yourself. “

“ my only friend, welcome. “

“ I won’t forget what you did for me. “

“ please don’t insist, it will put me in a difficult situation. “

“ forgive me, I shouldn’t have done that. “

“ shhh! I could barely put him to sleep. “

“ be patient, ask for forgiveness, beg for it if you need to. “

“ she is a mother, like you. “

“ he has been crying all day, only seeing his mother made him stop. “

“ I will be staying out of everything from now on; soon I will be leaving this palace too. “

“ I am not going to cause anymore trouble. “

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This is it! The last chapter before the epilogue!

It's also the end of a sort of riddle I've been leaving between chapters... I wonder if anyone even noticed, haha

I decided against splitting this chapter, so it's extra long!

Its name is "Famous Fate"

Page 59 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 16:

My brothers, who endured the agony of exile, Who suffered many winters in the cold cage, Were once knights, only to fall, They too, were called Beast. The young maiden, who left your companion, A pure heart, was her only sin, To not pray for a daemon’s death, only for her to live, She too, was called Beast. A man, fallen in battle, Abandoned by all but Death, but by worms of the earth, He too, was called Beast. The hunter, the knight tells, Who chases monsters, who alleges to be righteous, He calls himself, a hero. He is no better man than us, the knight says, One who declares himself justice, one who proclaims to be above the word of God, Is one we, as oath-bound knights, Must send to be judged, by the only true measurer, By the only arbiter still by our side, by Death itself.

“I know I won’t be able to understand, probably never will, but… I have to ask, Simon. Why didn’t you reach out? You knew how to contact me. I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t think there was enough of me left to save, Captain.”

“...What changed then?”

He looks away for a moment, to blue eyes that never knew fear from him. To arms that refused to hurt him. To a man that showed him more kindness than he ever deserved.

“I met Johnny.”

Ghost watches Soap sort through the supplies the 141 brought with them, wondering what kind of new contraptions the Sergeant’s vivid mind is imagining up right now. He’s grown sickly fond of them, just like everything else Johnny does.

Compromised, a voice growls in the back of his head. You’re only worsening a future pain, only making the inevitable betrayal more torturous.

No pain would make this any less worth it, another voice answers. It doesn’t matter if their destiny only holds blood and ruin, Simon would stay with Johnny as long as he’s wanted. And even then, maybe just a little more.

He senses the presence of another person a moment before Gaz speaks up, “Ghost.”

“...Gaz.” he answers, curious.

The Lieutenant shifts in his place, shoulders taut and squared, “since we’re going to work together, for this mission at least, I figured I should… apologize.”

Apologize?

Gaz continues, his eyes finally landing somewhere on his mask, “Soap explained to me, you never tried to hurt him, after that time we caught you two. I shouldn’t have jumped into conclusions.”

Ghost tilts his head, “I’d doubt your capabilities if you didn’t.” he looks back at Johnny, huffing when the Sergeant grumbles in Scots, “I’m glad he has someone like you on his side.”

Gaz’s mouth hangs open in surprise. He shakes it off to say, “It’s- of course.” Ghost can tell he’s hesitating at his next sentence, “I still have a hard time comprehending you were Simon Riley all along… You’re a bloody legend in the SAS.”

“I suppose they had an easier time making my death seem heroic than trying to actually save me.” Ghost mutters lowly. Gaz just nods slowly, eyes dropping to the ground.

And that’s a kicker, isn’t it? That apparently, the SAS made him a myth, someone for the rookies to look up to, a glamorized shell of a man that no one, including himself, will ever live up to. The same men that left him to die, now say his name with fondness and admiration.

Funny, how those same men now fear him enough to send the 141 on him. Ghost wants to grin with the twisted satisfaction it gives him.

“What’s your name, Lieutenant?” Ghost eventually asks.

“Huh? Uh, Kyle Garrick.” Gaz raises a brow.

Soap gathers up the last of his creations, face turning to his to nod, “Garrick. I know we started on the wrong foot-”

“Understatement of the century.” Gaz offhandedly remarks.

“-But you can trust me with Soap’s six. And I hope we can trust each other on ours, as well.”

Garrick blinks, expression growing serious. He then nods, offering a hand to shake, “enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that?”

Ghost hums, taking the hand and squeezing. He can feel, even from their short interactions, how Johnny and Gaz were cut from the same honest cloth.

He takes off his mask, “affirmative. Let’s move.”

Price’s eyes mellow, the hand on his bicep squeezing gently, “that lad is something else, isn’t he?”

Simon’s scars stretch with a small smile, “I thought he was an idiot, at first. Saving me, giving me another chance again and again. No matter what, he refused to kill me.” he breathes out slowly, the numbness of his limbs ebbing at last, “whoever discharged him was a goddamn moron.”

The Captain sighs, “I tried convincing Shepherd to let him off the hook, but the bastard was mental. He had Makarov in the palm of his hand, wanted to show off how he locked up the worst criminal of the decade, only for MacTavish to choke him out on exfil.”

It was Shepherd, then? Of course it’s that bloody wanker. Ghost can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest, “and here’s Johnny, fucking everything up for the higher ups yet again.”

God, what did he do to deserve meeting this man…

Konservy warehouse is a large building, surrounded by silos and containers. At least they’ll have some cover, besides the shadows of the night. Ghost can tell the offloading garage is blessedly open, even from the road their vehicle has parked in, meaning infiltration will be easier than they originally thought.

A thunder makes them all look up to the sky. A heavy storm is brewing, threatening to cover the stars and moon. Good. The darkness is their ally.

They jump out of the truck, gathering around the trunk, doing final checks to their gears. His hands move automatically, in the same way all of them were trained in the SAS. Some part of him is unsettled, the one that labelled himself a lost cause, a monster, a sinner with no salvation.

But as he looks up, at the masked faces surrounding him, Simon can’t call the position he’s in anything but atonement. 

He’ll carve forgiveness from the Hunter’s flesh, write amends with their blood. Untie the last knot on his self-made noose.

The poison in Simon’s body makes itself known at all times now – an uncomfortable buzzing tightening around his knuckles, weaving through sinews and leaving little pinpricks of pain. He looks towards Johnny, his blue eyes a silver grey in the moonlight.

Price wordlessly nods to him, a silent check. Simon schools his features and nods back.

They begin making their way to the garage door, the tall grass their only cover. The Captain motions to the left, where two guards stand under a weak light. Garrick pulls out his EBR, and not two seconds later, both soldiers fall dead with silenced shots. Their group continues pushing forward.

Soap stops walking in front of him, struggling with something. He stops besides him, watching for a moment as he tries to get something out of his pack.

He leans in to whisper, “what are you trying to get, Johnny?”

The Sergeant freezes, “I made some proximity mines with the C4 Price brought, but they’re stuck down there-”

Simon reaches into the pack, gently moving Soap’s hand aside. Their fingers wrap around the bomb at the same time, “you ought to organize it better, what would you do if you were alone?” he admonished.

Johnny’s eyes widen a little, before they crescent in a hidden smile, “but I’m not alone, am I? Ah got ye.”

Soap pulls away, quietly catching up to Gaz and Price. Simon, for his part, stays motionless for far too long, his brain looping Johnny’s words again and again.

It strikes him then, a sudden stab to his heart, that Soap trusts him. With his weapons, with his wounds, with his six.

Johnny trusts him. Simon fights down a smile, happiness overflowing him. He trusts him.

The others send him a confused stare, when Simon doesn’t move. He finally unsticks his legs and sneaks in, eyes instantly drawn to Johnny strapping his unhinged bombs under each vehicle, his “gifts” for any hostile trying to get reinforcements in the future.

Simon can’t force down the smile that his lips form then, when the Sergeant turns around and gives him a thumbs up, almost child like and so at odds with the amount of potential destruction he just planted in the garage.

The others return from clearing the area, Price readjusting his bucket hat over the mask (which looks as daft as it sounds, but Simon can’t help but feel fond of that stupid hat), giving Simon one last look, “how are you feeling, son?”

“Solid.” he flexes his hands, testing the numbness. It’s not enough to inhibit his performance, not yet at least.

Price places a hand on his shoulder, patting it, “good, keep it that way. Our mission may officially be to eliminate the Hunter, but finding an antidote is no less important.” Price’s face darkens, “don’t take unnecessary risks, Simon. I… I don’t want to lose you again.”

Simon swallows thickly, unused to this amount of people caring for his fate. It was far easier to accept a bloody end when no one was there to mourn him, “...I’ll do my best, Captain.”

Price’s moustache lifts with a smile, “good lad. I’ll see you when it’s all over.” he gives him one last pat before drawing away, “let’s move out, Gaz! We need to clear the way for our boys.”

Gaz gives Soap a fist bump and comes by the Captain’s side, “we’ll radio in when you have a way through.”

“Solid copy.” Soap responds, finished with the mine setting, “give ‘em hell, mate.”

Garrick grins, “as always.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to fight?”

Simon scoffs, “I don’t ‘ave a choice, Captain.”

“I am giving you a choice right now. If you think you can’t fight… We can take the Hunter down without you.” Price says, expression severe.

He thinks about it. It is not only a matter of what he wants. When working with a team, he must take into consideration that his inability to fight will endanger the others.

“The poison gives me enough warnings to know a few minutes ahead when I’ll be incapacitated. If I fall while we fight, I’ll be able to secure myself beforehand.” he rolls his wrists, muscling through the pain of regaining feeling, “you’ll need every help you can get. Don’t do my mistake, do not underestimate the Hunter.”

“We won’t, I just need to know-”

“I’ll be fine, Price. Been fighting my whole life with much less.”

“...I know, son. That’s why I would prefer you didn’t.” Price’s brows pull down in sorrow, “but I trust your judgement.”

“...Can’t ask for more than that, John.”

Johnny is silent beside him, eyes glued to the exit he’s overwatching. They’ve been waiting for Price and Gaz’s go-ahead for several slow minutes now, each trickling more sluggishly than the other. The pinpricks on Simon’s hands are growing – he doesn’t have much time.

“Ye think they need backup?” Soap eventually breaks the silence.

“If they’re compromised, we won’t be able to save them now, Sergeant.” as much as he hates the idea of leaving Price and Gaz to fend for themselves, they all knew the risks of splitting up. “For now, assume they’re still solid.”

“Aye, LT- shite, uh-” Johnny fumbles through the words, turning around to give Simon an apologetic look.

He huffs in slight amusement, at how much Soap seems to care if a word hurts him or not.

“It’s alright, Johnny.” he stops the Sergeant from continuing to backtrack.

Johnny’s teeth click shut, and he frowns, sheepishly asking, “...ye sure? It seemed to really bother ye, before…”

‘I wasn’t willing to lay my life for you, before’ he wants to say.

‘I didn’t have your trust, before’

‘I didn’t have trust in myself to lead you, before’

“You’ve earned it, Johnny.” he settles on. It seems to be the right choice, when Soap’s eyes almost close with how wide his grin must be. Simon hates the mask covering his face, for hiding that smile from him.

Their comms choose this moment to start crackling, and Price’s tinny voice comes through, “CCTV room is under our control, haven’t located the Hunter just yet.”

Simon radios back, “have you been spotted?”

“We may not be the Ghost, but we’re still professionals, mate.” Gaz joins in.

“Have ye professionals spotted any potential spot fer the Hunter to hide in?” Soap asks, his eyes still squinting with a smile.

“Still looking, this place is massive.” Price grumbles, “start making your way to the machinery room at the center, take out anyone on the way. I’m seeing a lot of equipment there, but no soldiers…”

“Copy.” Simon clicks his comms off, motioning with his head for Soap to take point.

The halls of the warehouse are eerily empty, little mementos of past life barely clinging to the barren concrete walls. Not for the first time, Simon wonders why the Hunter chose this city, out of all of them.

Soap’s careful steps thump behind him, a calming presence at his back. Simon is not used to trusting, but trusting Johnny feels… natural.

Not for the first time, Simon thanks whatever brought him to Soap. Fate, destiny, a God he doesn’t truly believe in, it doesn’t matter.

He shakes off those thoughts. If it was important for him to be at his best before he met Soap, now it matters a thousand times over, because he’s not alone anymore.

Their fates are interlinked now. And Simon refuses to be the reason they all fall.

He won’t fail his team a second time.

“After all of this is said and done… What will you do?”

Simon grunts as he sits up, finally able to move his torso. He stalls his answer for a moment, the truth so simple it scares him. “...I don’t know.”

He may have been lost many times in his life, tossed between his father’s cruel hands and the cartel’s, but he always had a goal.

‘Get out’

Now, though? The only thing he wants to run away from is the shell of a monster he was before meeting Johnny. A weapon, to be picked up and discarded as needed. 

Price must’ve seen a conflict twisting his expression, because he starts talking again, “I’d have you back in our ranks in a heartbeat, you know. But I don’t think that’s what you need.”

Simon frowns at the ground, hands massaging his aching legs, “and what do you think I need?”

“Someone to ground you. Make sure you don’t forget yourself again.”

“Someone like Johnny, then.”

“Another hostile on your 3, Simon.”

“Copy.”

Simon steps around another stack of crates, every move calculated and muted. The unsuspecting soldier walks right past him, arms relaxed on his weapon.

He waits for him to reach the end of the hallway, and the moment the soldier starts turning, Simon claps a hand over his mouth and slices his neck in a well practiced motion. He catches the body and shoves it into a nearby storage room. “Anyone else, Garrick?”

“You’re clear for now.” Gaz responds. He continues guiding Simon through the mess of halls that lead to the main room of the warehouse, alerting him to enemies. Soap has separated from him about ten minutes ago, taking the other rooms and making sure no one will be alive to raise any alarms.

Even if Price is keeping an eye on Johnny, Simon would’ve much preferred if he was in his sights. But he trusts the Captain.

“Any sign of the Hunter showing on CCTV?” Soap radios in, voice steady and calm.

Price sighs, “negative-”

“Wait-” Gaz cuts him off, “next to the main conveyor belt, right in the middle of the main room, is that…”

Simon holds his breath in anticipation as the line goes silent, Price and Gaz likely attempting to verify the ID.

“Skull mask, that’s them. Soap, Simon, PID on the Hunter!” Price nearly shouts.

Gaz’s voice is far more tense than before when he adds, “it seems like they know something’s wrong, prepare for combat!”

Shit, “Johnny, where are you right now?” they can’t be separated if they’ve been discovered.

“On my way to ye- fuck!” grunts and muted punches fill the comms, the sounds of struggle a sinking feeling in Simon’s chest.

Simon starts running. “Price, where is he?!” these bloody hallways all look the fucking same! He retraces his steps to the point he and Johnny split ways.

“Turn left, he’s straight ahead from there!”

He almost slams into the wall with how fast he turns, but the pain is barely registered when he spots Johnny.

Johnny, whose chest is heaving, three dead soldiers at his feet. His bright blue eyes meet his, “Simon?”

He’s capable. You can trust that he won’t die on you.

He blinks a few times before asking, “what’s your status, Sergeant?”

Soap wipes a bloody knife on his pants, “solid. Let’s move.”

“Your cover is blown. Soldiers are making their way to you!” Gaz tells them, “they’re going to the trucks to the front exit, might be trying to get reinforcements!”

He doesn’t need to see Soap’s mouth to know the way it curves into a dangerous grin, “they won’t get far.”

Simon slings his rifle around, toggling the safety off, “time to go loud, Johnny.”

Soap does the same, “with pleasure.”

The sounds of shots line up with his heartbeat. In a fast-paced melody of war, Simon and Johnny continue pushing hostiles back, headshot after headshot.

Heavy drops of rain shake the roof, thunder booming so close to them, Simon feels it in his heart.

Somewhere amidst the battle, several far away explosions rattle the warehouse, the soldiers in front of them taken by surprise. Simon thinks he can hear Johnny chuckling darkly under his breath.

Red paints the walls, brushstrokes of blood and fallen soldiers of the Hunter. It gives Simon newfound strength to push through the growing pain in his limbs, a blinding rush of adrenaline that lies to him sweetly, convincing him he could resist the poison in his heart.

One second, he’s shooting down enemy after enemy.

The next, he falls.

His gun clatters to the ground, legs convulsing uncontrollably. Simon uses the last of his powers to drag himself around the corner, to cover.

“Simon?! Fuck-” Johnny appears a moment later, attempting to scan him for injuries between shots, “poison?”

Simon groans, “affirm. Sorry, Johnny.” shame bubbles in him. He should be right beside Soap, helping him fight, and the poison decides to take it away from him.

He should be stronger than this.

“None of that, mo chridhe.” Johnny says softly, taking down another hostile, “I’ll clear this wave, and we’ll get ye to a better spot.”

How could he be so gentle while killing people? Simon lays back down with a smile, loosening his muscles and letting the poison have its way.

Soap gets the last of them and returns to his side, looping arms under his shoulders and heaving him up, “steamin’ Jesus, ye weigh as much as a baby elephant.” he complains under his breath.

Simon chuckles, hissing as the jostling shoots pain up his limbs, “you’re just short, Sergeant.”

“Away an’ bile yer heid, bastard…”

Soap drags him to one of the side rooms, a storage unit that seems like it hasn’t seen the light of day for decades. About this time, Simon wishes he had his mask on, if only to filter all the bloody dust in this room.

Johnny fusses over him for a few seconds, until Simon stops him, “I’ll be fine, Soap. Once I regain movement, I’ll come to you.”

Soap stops, hands frozen on his shoulders. He frowns like he wants to argue, but he rises to his feet all the same. “I kept yer comms open, so if ye hear anyone gettin’ close-”

“I’ll radio in. Don’t worry.” Simon smiles, “go.”

Johnny opens the door, hesitating. Simon is about to order him again when Soap unexpectedly turns around, takes three loud steps towards him, and rips his mask off.

“What are you doing, Johnny-”

Warm, shaky hands cup his face, tilt it up. Johnny bends down, and softly kisses his forehead.

In the space between them, he whispers, “I’ll come back for ye, Simon. I promise.”

He puts the mask back on, and leaves.

Simon’s heart burns, his cheeks surely bright pink. He doesn’t know if it’s from the poison, or from…

No, the tight grip around his heart is definitely from the poison. An agonizing ache wraps around his chest, heavier than 6 feet of dirt. Simon’s lungs shudder for a breath.

He can distantly hear the others talk on comms, but the blood rushing through his ears prevents him from deciphering what they’re saying. Simon understands then, that this might be the end. With the poison gripping his lungs, and the lingering warmth of Johnny’s lips, Simon closes his eyes.

His last thought is of regret, that Johnny won’t be able to keep his promise.

“-The Hunter, they’re going after-”

Simon groans, unimaginable pain thumping at his head. Couldn’t death have at least taken that away from him?

The rain beats in incessant song in his head.

“-Wait for backup, MacTavish-!”

MacTavish… Johnny….. Simon remembers the kiss, his promise, and smiles. 

“-Can’t-”

“-SOAP-!!!”

Garrick sounds frantic. What are they shouting about?

Gunshots make his brows crease. Fighting someone… Where is he?

The warehouse. Price, Garrick. The Hunter.

“Johnny…” Simon rasps. A loud static is buzzing on comms. He pays it no mind.

He needs to get up. His limbs don’t shake anymore, but his lungs hurt like he breathed in sandpaper. Simon whimpers, pushing himself forward.

His rifle is laying right next to him. Trembling fingers wrap around the weapon, and with gritted teeth, Simon manages to take it with him as he gets up. He stumbles through the door, blearily noticing the trail of bodies leading deeper into the warehouse.

Simon follows the paths of blood.

He doesn’t know how long it took him to walk all the way to the central room of the warehouse, time slipping between the cracks in his mind. It’s so hard to breathe, dark spots take permanent residence in the edges of Simon’s vision.

The lights went out before he woke up, plunging the building into shades of red, the emergency lights making the blood appear black.

Only one light remains, a spotlight encompassing two figures. A crimson skull makes Simon’s steps falter.

The Hunter.

Their gun pointed directly at Johnny’s head.

It takes everything Simon has left in him to lift his gun. His lips move around a prayer, a plea to whoever is out there listening.

His fingers shake around the trigger.

He takes one last heaving breath, his eyes wide with fear.

The Hunter’s head moves from Johnny to him.

Simon shoots.

His bullet hits the Hunter’s arm, the rifle in their hands getting knocked away and sliding under a conveyor belt.

Johnny turns around, blue eyes shining in the light.

Simon smiles.

“...Simon…?” Johnny asks.

He falls unconscious not a moment later.

Several minutes earlier

Soap closes the door on the storage room. He takes a second to roughly scrub down his face. What the fuck did he just do?! Did he bloody lose it?!!

“Soap, what’s your status?” Price asks over the radio.

“Solid. Poison got Simon, left him in a storage room.”

The Captain sighs, “we will keep an eye on the door, son. He’ll be safe.” Soap exhales shakily. “More hostiles your way, keep pushing Soap.”

“Copy.”

No time to consider his fuckin’ action. He needs to focus.

He hears the rumbling steps of soldiers echoing through the empty halls, and pulls out a flash grenade. Now that he’s alone, he can start using some of his more… lethal equipment.

Soap huddles behind a filing cabinet, throwing the flash over his shoulder. Even though he covers his eyes, his vision is still painted bright red for a moment. He pops out of cover, noting the disoriented soldiers clutching at their eyes and ears, and methodically dusts them.

From here on out, it is total chaos.

Drill charges, Semtex, frags, every explosive in Soap’s arsenal gets thrown at seemingly endless waves of soldiers. He moves on instincts, hands shooting at targets his mind didn’t even register yet.

It is only when he gets to the main machinery room, that he comes back to himself.

Sentry turrets have been set up at the entrance, waiting for him.

Soap rolls away not a moment too soon, the floor he just stood on turning to shattered bits of concrete in seconds. 

“Captain, they have sentries!” Gaz yells, “Soap is pinned!”

Soap scans the room he’s in, noting the snaking cables wrapping around the sentries legs. Following them, he spots a large electrical enclosure. If he could create a shock, the sentries will stop working…

A thunder rattles the windows around them, soldiers spreading out in search of him. “On your 9, Soap!” Price informs him, and he shoots two soldiers getting too close to his position.

The rain… if he can get it to drop on the enclosure…

Soap scans the roof for any weak points. There!

“Captain, Gaz, are there any hostiles around me?” he growls into his mic.

Gaz answers, “Negative, what are you-”

“Ah’m gonna drop the power to take the sentries down, might take out the CCTV.”

One beat passes before Price replies, “understood. We will come back you up if it goes.”

“Solid copy, Captain.” Soap lines up a shot at a precariously placed piece of the roofing. With only the iron sights on his rifle, it takes precious moments to aim and finally press the trigger. The hairs on Soap’s nape raise as he hears soldiers close in on him.

Time slows as he watches the water spill down, flooding the electrical enclosure.

“He’s here! Get him!” A soldier shouts to his left.

The warehouse instantly falls dark. The electric hum stops, making Soap’s surroundings eerily silent.

He ducks away, sneaking around crates and containers, moving position to the soldiers’ flank, and just as the red emergency lights turn on, he strikes.

5 shots, and they’re down.

“The CCTVs are out, we’re making our way to you. Do not engage the Hunter alone, Soap.” Price orders through comms.

Soap lifts his hand to press the button to answer, but a new group of soldiers appears, shots wild as they spray the area he’s in. He jumps back, searching for his attackers, tracking the glint of the gunmetal. He shoots them, bodies falling, and for a moment he believes he’s in the clear.

Pinpricks at the back of his neck make him turn.

Soap’s eyes widen as he comes face to face with the Hunter.

They stare at each other for a second, before the Hunter simply walks away.

Back towards the way he came from, towards… Simon!

“Soap?! Soap, give me sitrep, now!” Price yells, snapping him out of shock.

“Price, the Hunter, they’re going after Simon!” Soap doesn’t have time to figure out how the Hunter knows that, no time to figure out how he knows that.

“Wait for backup, MacTavish! That’s an order!”

“I can’t let Simon die, Captain!”

At those words, the Hunter snaps their gaze to him, and with near inhuman speed, lift their gun and shoot.

Pain shoots through his right shoulder, making him drop his gun. Soap bites down a scream of agony, the burning of the gunshot spreading down his arm.

“SOAP-!!!”

The butt-end of a gun comes at his head, Soap falling to the ground on his back to avoid it.

A single light turns on above them, the sharp shadows casted on the grotesque red skull mask hiding the Hunter’s eyes.

The commander circles him, Soap crawling towards his gun. If he could only-

The Hunter kicks it away, the firearm clattering when it hits one of the metal support structures keeping the warehouse’s roof up. The reverberating sound bounces on the barren walls.

“I’ll never let ye kill Simon.” Soap snarls, desperation clawing at his chest. He frantically searches for an exit, a way to stall the Hunter, before they line the barrel of their rifle with his head.

He’s going to die here, Soap realizes.

He won’t be able to fulfill his promise to Simon.

A shot from behind him makes him jump, the bullet hitting the Hunter’s hand, making their gun fly off and land under a conveyor belt.

Soap turns around, heart beating out of his chest.

Simon stands behind him, his form shaking, face even paler than usual, standing out against the red lights.

“...Simon…?” 

Simon crumples, body falling heavily to the ground.

“-NO-!” Soap rushes to him, when a blade unsheathing makes him freeze.

The Hunter is flexing their injured hand, a knife held tightly in the other. Soap growls.

So this is how it’s going to be, huh?

Soap searches Simon for a moment, unsheathing his knife. The blade is long and cruel, one he’s seen take so many lives in the short time they’ve known each other. It’s only fair it will take one more.

Soap gets his feet under him, grunting at the pain from his wound.

They start circling each other, waiting for the other to strike first. The Hunter’s head moves for a second away from him, to look at Simon.

That’s when Soap rushes in, knife in his left hand, slicing at the Hunter’s other arm. He jumps away before the commander can retaliate, and they start trading blows.

Soap manages a cut at their wrist, bright red blood mixing with their uniform. The Hunter slashes at his injured shoulder, making Soap yell.

He disengages for a moment to catch his breath, watching the Hunter do the same. He feels doomed for a moment, when he realizes he’s fighting a soldier that bested even the Ghost.

How could he win?!

Another blow to his torso that Soap barely evades. He tries to go for the Hunter’s neck, only for them to block it, shoving Soap away with frightening force.

Think, MacTavish! You’ve always been shorter, weaker, younger than both your squad mates and your opponents!

Take those disadvantages, and make them work!

Soap inhales sharply, dodging another lethal attack. The Hunter is far stronger than him, if they managed to get a stab in…

A sharp grin stretches on his lips. Soap twirls around the Hunter, their knife predictably following with immense speed.

He lets it sink into his left shoulder, and he pushes towards it, snarling as it sinks in further.

The Hunter attempts to take it out, but it sank far too deep. Soap locks eyes with the red skull.

In a wide arc, Soap swings his knife, and slices the Hunter’s neck.

Blood sprays on his face, as the commander clutches at him, a pathetic attempt to keep themselves standing.

Soap freezes when he hears the Hunter talk.

Their voice is startlingly old, decrepit, as they whisper, “You are nothing but a Blind Man… a Beast… following… a Beast… you will not be more than that… you will die… monsters…..”

The Hunter’s grip slips from his biceps, and they fall to the ground, dead.

Soap stares at the blood spreading on the floor, as an unsettling sense that this has happened before washes over him.

He shakes it off when his eyes drift away towards Simon’s still form.

Soap falls to his knees, frantically searching the Hunter’s body, “Fuck, c’mon, c’mon…”

His fingers brush over a set of vials and syringes at their hip, and he yanks them off, trembling fingers slipping while he tried to get the liquid in the syringe.

Once he manages to fill one, Soap throws away the rest, crawling to Simon and tilting his head to access his neck. The poison has blackened his veins, the injection site the epicenter. Soap stabs it and pushes the liquid from the needle into Simon.

He sits back, arms pulsing pain from both of his wounds, the Hunter’s knife still in his shoulder.

“Simon… Mo leannan, please.” his eyes start to water, uncoordinated hands pawing at Simon’s chest, “please, wake up…”

He places a bloody hand over Simon’s cheek, tears now streaming down his face, “I kept my promise… I told you I’ll come back, right?” his voice cracks, “now ye just have to come back to me… Please…”

Soap feels his adrenaline waning, leaving him tired, so fucking tired. He rests his head on Simon’s chest, sobbing at the stillness of it.

“I…” Soap closes his eyes, “I wanted to tell ye…” his exhales shudder out of him, “I love ye…”

Ba-dump

Soap stills. Did he imagine…?

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-

“Fuck…” Simon groans. Soap’s head shoots up, and his brown eyes soften, “Johnny?”

Soap barks a laugh, blinking away tears.

Simon’s eyes trail down, to the knife in his shoulder, “fucking ‘ell, Soap, how did you manage that?!”

“The Hunter…” 

“Is he…” Simon stares behind him, at the growing puddle of blood, “fuck, Johnny, you took him out by yourself?”

“You and me, Simon.”

Simon smiles up at him, dark eyes breathtakingly deep. He sighs a moment later, slowly getting up to walk to the body of the commander. Soap follows.

Simon takes hold of the red skull mask, staring intently at it before taking it off.

Beneath it, was a face Soap feels he’s seen before, yet in the weeks following, he could not remember. The only feature burned into his memory were the four scars slashed across the Hunter’s face.

The claws of an animal.

Simon examines the mask. It looks similar to Ghost’s, but the red skull is sculpted to look furious, a permanent frown on it.

Simon offers it to Soap, who gives him a confused look.

“You’ve earned it.”

Soap stares at Simon, before taking the mask. 

The two of them swivel their heads back when a pair of footsteps sound through the hallway behind them. Simon slides a knife down his sleeve, ready to fight, when the source is revealed to be Price and Gaz.

“Soap, bloody hell mate, we told you to-” Gaz’s brows slowly rise as he registers Simon, and then the mask in Soap’s hand.

Price approaches them, “the antidote…?”

“Administered.” Soap says, “it’s over.”

The warehouse falls silent as they process the words.

The Hunter is dead.

It is done.

Page 63 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 17:

And the Beast attacked, cruel claws reaching the hunter, His eyes blinded, by blood and rage, And the Beast says to the Blind Man, you will fight as equals. The Blind Man, the Fallen Knight, Takes a sword, and strikes the hunter down, And as his blood became one with the dirt, the hunter tells, You are not but a Blind Man, not but a beast following a beast, You will not be more, you will die Monsters. And the hunter falls silent, forevermore belonging to death.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Genshin Boys would be Horrible as Disney Princes

Headcanon and Reader Perspective, Drabble

Sojourner Special (Followers Event)

Despite being the gentleman and sweethearts that they are, in the wrong hands, of badly aligned context and universal rules these boys can barely function as princes given their own ideals.

Diluc in Cinderella

Shortest one, oops.

Our Diluc would honestly be too busy for balls if we're doing this canonically, night time of all times. He's not your prince tonight, he's off somewhere doing Knight stuff...

If by chance you did catch him in the ball and he did indulge you with your dance until you escapaded at midnight, he's not gonna question it.

And since he didn't even REMEMBER your face, the next day just goes on as usual. No decree for searching the whole land for your foot or anything, it's just a normal day after a party.

"They left without a word, no name or promise, who am I to say no when they clearly don't want to stay?"

He's a gentleman. Too gentlemanly...

Childe in Sleeping Beauty

In this scenario, Childe embraces his knight-ness more than the princely aspect. I mean sure, he danced with you in the forest all so lovingly, sang along to your pretty lil voice. But when the prophecy came, his focus changed—

To the thrill of fighting a big ass green fire breathing dragon! Big woah, Childe had soooo much fun fighting it that he didn't even cheese it.

He lived for every hour of the fight and made it as slow as possible. Taunting, playing with his PREY- mid-fight the dragon would realize just how strong and horrifying Prince Childe is, but the entertainment had started, and the dance won't end until Childe wills it.

When he DID finally slay the damned thing, he'll come up to your quarters and stare at your sleeping body, and then think "Hey, if them being put under this spell gave me the fight of the century? What if ANOTHER dragon comes? That would be amazing!" No waking up for you, or the whole city for that matter.

Albedo in Frog Princess

You... You don't even get the chance to be the frog princess in here... simply because he himself REFUSES to change back to normal. You have never met a man so intelligent, much more a frog.

"I know of which you are not, I won't be fooled by cardboard crowns and secondhand dresses," you choke as he berates every fiber of your being, "It matters not, I still have much to learn about the life of an amphibian."

He disappears after that and you've never heard from him ever again, although at the back of your mind you're pretty sure he's a live and well, that bastard is too smart to end up as roadkill.

And well, you're right, he's out there in the world of frogs doing frog things. Triumphant over frog science and the other talking creatures he may meet.

He'll also find a way to revert himself back to normal, either making his own cure or just enlisting the help of a princess to bargain.

He might come to you upon the logic of marriage counting you as princess, but don't get too hyped, you won't be treated as his wife. He'd be too busy putting his frog research into paper...

Zhongli in Beauty and the Beast

A beast he may be, he's still dignified and elegant, upholding his end of the bargain so long as the other does the same.

Your father may have trespassed and have taken some flowers in his domain but well, really it's such a petty crime that can easily be solvable. And even if there needs to be punishment incured...

When you stumble to the mansion in search of your father, ready to take his place from his jail cell, you find him and the beast (ohh half-dragon Zhongles) by an elegant table drinking cups of tea with light conversation. Huh?

"There is no need to fret, your father and I are just discussing the terms of our contract. He spoke of his woodworks that I wish to commission in exchange, such good potential should not be wasted."

You can also, well, pay off things within contract? But either way, it would be hella awakward, he won't impose on your life and most certainly not about the curse when you had so much to live for.

Kaeya in Rapunzel

Little bitch, thru and thru. If Eugene is such a criminal, he's taking it TENFOLD.

He's not even gonna be the slightest bit trustworthy for you, little Rapunzel, because he raises so many red flags your frying pan wouldn't even be enough to threaten him. He probably has a really thick skull, and your resolve won't be able to smack that pretty face.

Bargaining won't work, he'd sleight of hand his way out and get the crown knowing you'd hid it in the pot immediately, and then just backflip outta there.

If you manage to get him to get you out, he's not gonna be of help either. Kaeya would be amused with toying with you, leaving you in the dark as you get scared shitless/dance around with some tavern criminals. Otherwise, ehh...

One way or another, he's gonna find a way to get you off his case. Either forcing you to travel with companions that's headed to the city anyways or forcefully knocking you out and heaving you back to your tower.

"You have a mother that never ages lock you up in this tower? Nu uh, sweetie, I'm not dealing with the dark forces of witchery when I'm already well off with the crown."

He got the crown.

Venti in Snow White

I'm sorry what? Free apples? Eternal sleep in a beautiful bed? He's gonna be glad to just take your place. (Spoilers, he would)

He'd be most definitely entertained with your dwarves, playing his tunes. You life would be filled with his lyre as he plays around, not even caring about the other implications of yours or his status in this woodland forest.

You ran away from home? Cool, freedom, man. Wish he could the same without jeopardizing the kingdom and his family. He'd probably take the apple too just for you~

During your rest, he'll come up with the most eloquent song to play for your seven dwarves as he watches your fate sadly. How peaceful you looked, away from the world and from the grips of death.

The dwarves would force him to please try and break the spell, and he'll shrug and indulge- except it didn't break the spell, as he expected it to be. And they are clueless on who else you had encountered in your life to even spare a true love's kiss.

"How saddening, the princess lays. Maddening to those around as they'd say, if only my kiss was enough for the curse to sway." You died, ouch.

Xiao in Mulan

Brutal. Brutal. Brutal. His voicelines would come in sooooo handy here, oh my goodness.

If you miraculously bypassed his analytical gaze enough to hide your sexuality, you're going to die in his training program. He's not gonna go easy on you, not when the fate of the nation lies upon your capability to keep up. You're gonna go through far worse than what true Mulan went through, and you may or may not just die in the process.

If by chance you survived, this would warrant enough respect to not kill you (oh, you lived) but you better not show up again.

He's never gonna be delighted to see your traitorous face again, he can save China on his own, thank you very much. And you know he can. Try and approach him, and a sword would be at your neck once again.

"Foolish gremlin, you think you had the right to present yourself after the treason you willfully committed? We won't crumble at the loss of one person, your job here is done." How sad.

Cyno in Little Mermaid

First of all, wack, mermaids exist! Sadly, that's nothing new for him. He knows a lot with that intelligent mind of his, so it would be no surprise that the existence of such mythical creatures doesn't make him bat an eyelash. He's been living near water, he's not that stupid.

With that in mind, your presence in your first meeting is going to be bad. Very bad. Cyno knows about sirens and he's not at all gonna fall for it, and if by chance he had known you before the ship was wrecked, he's probably gonna be veryyy keen in capturing you instead.

So if by chance you're stupid enough to interact with him and DESIRE to be on land with him, you're gonna deal with a lot of problems.

You're not getting that kiss easily. No, it's a huge challenge. He'd be repulsed in your naivety and will most likely be more concerned on your voice than ever. He'd be so kind to try and give a shot in helping with the cure but it's not the cure you needed.

He'll drown himself in every literature in full concentration just to see if there's any text he can find about curses and muteness. His curiousity would get the best of him, and you'll barely see him after you managed to explain your predicament without the need for words. Octopus woman doesn't even need to show up to intervene.

"A kiss? Surely not, such ailment won't be cured by fairytale methods." And then he goes back to his library once again. And you will be seafoam the next sunrise. Or was it sunset?

"So now that we've established these grounds," Exiled turns to the other two in the area, "Maybe, these boys would be better off as princesses."

And so the trio concocts a new type of fairytale, collaborated to masterpieces soon after.

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @struggljng @ellitx @kookieyachi @dandelion-dreams

[eclipsebythedawn]

Smothered Flames & Shadows (Part 1)

Hi guys! So this is my first fanfiction ever, and I’m honestly not sure if it’s even good but I thought I wanted to share some Gwynriel with you all :) I have a sort of story planned out and this will likely have more parts. I’m pretty sure I will continue this story since I have more stuff planned out (hence the part 1) but right now it’s just some Gwynriel crumbs. Hope you guys will enjoy it and stay safe wherever you are. 

(How are we gonna wait like ten years for the Gwynriel book because I believe in you SJM you MUST MUST give us Gwynriel ??!) 

Ps. This is the updated version, I added a new chunk for Azriel’s reaction. (Updated on 26 April 2021)

Azriel's wings flapped as he patrolled the skies. The dense cloud cover as well as the fading sunlight disguised his presence and he needed minimal effort to remain hidden. His shadows could taste the looming chaos and flitted around him warningly.

Be careful, be careful.

He could hear through their thoughts and saw through their lingering words. All was quiet here, it seemed. He would much rather preferred to be stationed at the ethereally beautiful Dawn Court, their High Lord serene but with an inner strength that was unflappable, instead of... here.

The Autumn Court held no such delights. Yes, the scenery was more than picturesque -- its flora suspended in eternal autumn, the golden-brown leaves swirling leisurely through the air, their russet color so much like a certain male that was mated to a certain girl he could never have.

Allow me to make one thing very clear. You are to stay away from her.

Unbidden, his brother's fury-driven words cut into his muddled thoughts. Azriel knew that he was old and cranky and Rhys didn't deserve his anger and resentment after what he went through for all of them, but he was... gods, he was so damn tired.

The first female outside of Mor who had caught his eyes -- of course she had to be denied from him. Cauldron knew that the Mother had never shone its light on him, not that he even deserved to be embraced by Her warmth.

His mind finally allowed him to remember the beautiful brunette always on the back of his mind. Her doe-like eyes, sweet smile and that alluring scent, so pure and innocent and arousing and --

Fuck.

Azriel adjusted himself, his pants stifling and uncomfortable. Shit. He was in deep shit. But he couldn't stop himself from fantasizing about how she would taste, how she would look when he made her come.

Rhys's words from the other day, during solstice so many months ago, hadn't helped. Azriel's desperate lust had only grown even more to the point that he was actively avoiding the second Archeron sister so she wouldn't scent his arousal.

For that matter, so his two brothers wouldn't catch him lusting after her especially after the warning he was given.

And she seemed to be avoiding him too.

Azriel made one more round in the skies, the night as chilly and familiar as his own shadows that seemed strangely subdued now. His thoughts continued to stray towards...

Elain.

Beautiful, clean, pure, worthy Elain. He was none of those things, he knew that. Had resigned himself to it after five centuries of futile pining for a female that never returned his desires. He did not blame Mor. Could not blame Mor. He was tainted and she deserved someone better than him.

But when he saw Elain... Their unlikely friendship had gradually turned into something more. It had only continued to develop after Elain was Made High Fae and he became even more attuned to her, constantly sharing the same space. And for the first time since Mor, he wanted. He wanted to have what his two brothers had. It was wrong and it was selfish, but he saw Rhys and Cassian and he wondered --

Maybe the Cauldron had made a mistake. Three sisters of blood and three brothers of choice. Two thirds fulfilled, and somewhere deep down inside, he had been uselessly, worthlessly holding onto hope.

He had not dared to whisper it out loud until Rhys caught him just before their kiss. And Rhys reaction had only served to remind him why he was wrong for her. Why Elain deserved someone else.

But for the first time in his life, he wanted to throw caution to the wind.

Deciding that all was well and not wanting to remain a second longer, Azriel gathered his shadows and prepared to winnow back to home. He frowned when his shadows flittered over him... disapprovingly?

Yes, that was disapproval. His lips tightened as they swirled around him angrily.

What the hell was wrong with them tonight?

Azriel yanked on his petulant shadows. They continued to ignore him, some even going as far as to ignore him.

He scowled. His shadows were stepping out of line more and more frequently as thought something was bothering him.

Or someone.

He shoved aside the image of tendrils dancing and singing around a certain redhead, her bright teal eyes laughing and --

Azriel forcibly winnowed and dragged his disobeying shadows after him, leaping across the miles between the Autumn Court and home within a single step, resigning himself to a lonely night -- as always.

~~~

The night was alive.

It was a comforting blanket draped over her, Gwyn mused silently.

But she felt dead.

It was going to be one of those nights, then. Those nights when she woke up screaming, drenched in sweat only to realize it was just another nightmare. That reality was like a noose tied around her neck, dragging her further down into the pits of Hell where she belonged.

She would never meet Catrin even in death. Because her lovely, beautiful sister who had shone like the brightest star was amongst the stars in the heavens. That single thought was the only thing pushing her forward on the worst of nights.

On nights where flinging herself out of a high balcony on the impossible chance that she would see Catrin again seemed possible. Gwyn had thought that that was before.

Before Nesta, before Emerie, before meeting her Valkyrie sisters whom she knew would and had walked with her through pain and darkness and led her back.

But even after so much training, nothing had changed. She was still the cowardly, timid, broken doll she thought she had left behind.

Gwyn sighed even as sadness and pain, always so much pain, swelled inside her. Logically she knew she wasn't thinking straight. If Nesta or Emerie were here, they would be chiding her for her thoughts, the former sharp but mindful, and the latter firm but gentle. A small smile came onto her faces at all the memories they shared.

The cutting of the ribbon. Winning the obstacle course that served as the Blood Rite Qualifier. And then winning the actual Blood Rite itself while Nesta -- unyielding, unflinching -- held the lines for Gwyn and Emerie to be crowned as Carynthians.

And now, Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony. Despite everything she was feeling, Gwyn was happy for her friend.

Her sister by choice.

She knew Nesta deserved Cassian as he did her, and she felt genuine happiness for the pair. It was obvious during the long months of initial, grueling training that there was a spark between the two. An attraction that could not be denied.

She longed to find that love though in truth Gwyn knew she might never be ready for it.

Her point was further proven yesterday when Nesta had invited them during a break in training to her mating ceremony, held in a week's time. Gwyn knew that preparations were already underway and she was as honored and grateful as Emerie to be invited, but still she had hesitated, especially at the list of invited and accepted guests.

It wasn't mortifyingly long since Nesta only wanted close friends and family and Cassian only wanted the High Lord, Rhysand and Azriel, but the guest was filled with important names that made Gwyn nervous just to hear them.

The High Lord and High Lady were enough to make her dizzy. And then there was the High Lord's Second and Third, both formidable females in their own right. Gwyn thought wryly though that Emerie had seemed flustered and even blushed a little when her ears caught on a certain someone's name in the list Nesta had shared.

She was happy for her friend too. Emerie deserved friendship -- and love, if that relationship could blossom. But she knew better than interfere when her own relationships were so precarious.

The Prince of Adriata was coming, along with Mother above, the High Lord of the Day Court, Helion. Nesta's younger sister Elain was on the list as well though Nesta's face had clouded a bit when she read her name out loud. And then there was her mate -- Lucien Vanserra.

The supposedly exiled son of the High Lord of Autumn, who had ties to numerous Courts and was a valuable ally.

It was silly and stupid but amidst this sea of important names, Gwyn had wondered on more than one occasion what she could even do there. She had immediately scolded herself mentally, that she would be attending the ceremony for Nesta and even Cassian, who had become a bit of an older brother figure to her, and she would have Emerie with her.

She knew Emerie would fight anyone who dared to even look at her the wrong way.

But the larger part of Gwyn was scared. So many people would be attending, especially the males. It wasn't as if Helion or Lucien would randomly pounce on her, and that her fear was irrational, but she couldn't stop thinking about them. Couldn't stop thinking about that day where so many males surrounded her, where that hateful Hybern commander had ordered her held down, had pummeled into her as silent tears fell down her face, had laughed in her face and --

Gwyn counted the stars in the sky in time to her quickened breathing. Deep breaths, she told herself. When she couldn't sleep on nights like these she would train until nearly the breaking of dawn. She should get up from her position on the ground.

Probably.

But lying on the cold floor of the training area atop the House of Wind was a refreshing change. After having been coped up in the library for two years, she had finally decided to join Nesta in her morning training sessions with Cassian.

It was quite possibly the best decision she had ever made.

But still... But still, the doubt lingered. It festered. It thrived on her pain and self-hatred, quietly growing on nights like these.

It thrived at the fact that Emerie had accepted the invitation immediately, but Gwyn, worthless, selfish Gwyn had not. Was she so pathetic that she couldn't even congratulate her friend on her special day?

She should really get up. Perhaps train a bit more, instead of lying here wallowing in her dark thoughts.

Then a tiny tendril of shadow-kissed power gently prodded her arm. She startled, turning around and half-getting up.

She already knew who would be standing before her with his usual contemplative silence.

Azriel.

He was before her and she froze for one second. A twinge of fear crept in at his closeness, at the nearness of another male, so suddenly and unpredicted --

Azriel took a step back, saying softly, "I'm sorry if I surprised you."

Gwyn blinked. The shadowsinger was nothing but the epitome of manners and he had likely scented her fear.

"It's fine." And that was true. Her fear had instantly washed away as abruptly as it had arrived upon realizing who was here.

Azriel would never hurt her, Gwyn was sure of that.

She cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the awkward silence that had descended.

"Are you here for something?" She winced slightly at her choice of words. This was his home. She had no right to even utter such a question when she was the outsider.

Before Azriel could reply, another shadow darted out and wrapped itself around her arm before rushing back to its master. Gwyn felt the corners of her lips twitched up as the shadowsinger blinked once, twice in... shock.

"Did you forget your favorite dagger again?" She teased and was rewarded with a faint blush on his cheeks. His lovely and if she dared say, adorable shadows had given her the courage she needed.

To her surprise, he played along. "Have you seen an eighteen-inch dagger anywhere?"

Gwyn burst out laughing at the ridiculous statement.

"May I remind you that it's a dagger you have misplaced -- not a sword?"

"Forgive me if my memory fails sometimes." Was she seeing things or was there a twinkle in his eyes?

"Well, you do seem to forget things rather easily." Oh, she was certain! Amusement ran deep inside his hazel eyes and Gwyn felt breathless for a second, mesmerized by the beautiful male.

Staring into his eyes... She smiled at him, a genuine crinkling of her eyes. He had lifted her mood within seconds of his arrival.

Azriel seemed to freeze for a second, his usual stillness somehow magnifying. Intensifying. His shadows writhed around and she had the odd feeling that he was struggling to control them.

She blinked, and the moment passed.

"Were you training?" Azriel motioned towards her sweaty body. She nodded mutely, still caught up in what had occurred. Was it just her imagination? Looking at the stoic Illyrian standing before her, Gwyn decided she was just too tired, and her mind was playing tricks on her.

"...My help?"

Gwyn snapped out of her thoughts, head jerking up. "What?"

Azriel cocked an eyebrow at her obvious inattentiveness and she felt herself blushing. She chided herself mentally.

"Do you require my help?" He repeated the question, that faint amusement still dancing in his eyes.

"Wait. Are you asking to train me?" Another eyebrow raise.

"Were you expecting me to teach you the benefits of lying on the cold floor in the middle of the night?" He replied dryly.

Gwyn scowled and immediately stood up.

"Uh-huh. I was expecting you to fling your arms about and start serenading me."

"Is that a demand?" Azriel chuckled quietly. Gwyn thought that might be the most heavenly sound she had ever heard.

"Is that a challenge?" Gwyn shot back, not missing a beat.

The corners of his lips twitched up. Gwyn wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, her competitive streak setting in. She was also excited for this match because truth be told, she had been training everyday in anticipation of wiping the floor with the shadowsinger. It was her secret fantasy.

Not that it would happen anytime still but... Still.

"You can help me with my training. But on one condition."

Azriel contemplated her more seriously before he nodded his head.

"We fight now. Hand-to-hand."

~~~

The night was alive.

And Gwyneth Berdara was the full moon that accompanied it, shining brightly even amidst the darkness. She was so lovely, yet he sensed something pure and burning thriving inside her. His shadows yearned to flit around her, touch her, dance and sing for her. He had to keep them on a tight leash, and they were unhappy.

Little tendrils of darkness swirled around him petulantly. They wanted to go to Gwyn. Would have gone to her without his intervention. One stray thread snuck out and nearly coiled around Gwyn's wrist before he snatched it back in time. He could have sworn his own shadows growled at him. But he had bigger things to focus on.

Like the fact that Gwyn had just challenged Azriel to a duel.

Once again, his shadows had failed to mention that she was here. There was no quick escape that didn't end in awkwardness so he had stayed -- and so far he was... contented. Being around her seemed to have that effect on himself.

She was humming to herself as she stretched, preparing her body before their fight. His shadows buzzed around excitedly, seeming to forget about their earlier disagreement. He supposed there was no question who they were rooting for.

"Ready?" He asked Gwyn. She nodded, then held up a hand.

"Wait." She retied her ponytail, not letting even a single strand of her coppery chestnut obstructing her vision. He admired her competitiveness, her courage and strength in always fighting for the best.

Meeting her by chance here again reminded him of solstice, and his mind wandered to Elain before he slammed down his thoughts.

Focus. He had watched and trained Gwyn enough to know that she was a threat: an emerging dark horse that proved unpredictable and cunning. He also knew she had silently studied his fighting style enough to know more than just a few of his preferred tricks.

They circled each other, neither one of them making the first move.

He had drilled into her what signs to look out for, what feints and what blockings would be an unexpected yet effective counterattack that he was more than a little wary.

Still, he decided to make the first move, which was so out of his usual style that he hoped she would be unprepared. He had the feeling that she already knew he was going to attack first though as she sidestepped him and threw a punch.

Like he was expecting. He grabbed it and pulled her towards him to jilt her balance, but she was already expecting that and swept out her leg, forcing him to move unless he wanted to end up on the ground. The next move he had perfected to mastery.

He pretended to feint left when he was actually aiming for the left. A cheap shot, but he had also taught her that no real fights were clean and honest. She twisted her body but they both knew she wouldn't dodged in time.

At the last moment, his shadows decided to move and --

Capture his fucking hand. They wrapped themselves around him and his eyes widened as he was stopped mid-throw by his own shadows. The scenario would have been laughable if he wasn't in so much disbelief. They had never outright hindered him in any battles before.

He cursed, barely dodging the next kick Gwyn sent his way. They broke apart again and Gwyn asked, "Something wrong?" She glanced towards his wayward shadows and he had a strong feeling she knew.  

He shook his head, glaring at his swirling shadows. They just blinked up at him innocently.

Don't hurt her. Don't hurt her. Lovely mistress lovely mistress lovely mistress.

He gritted his teeth. Their fancy for Gwyn had reached the point of obsession but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she squinted and then broke into a grin.

"Aha. I thought I saw your little friends earlier." At her words, his shadows flew towards her joyfully, happy to be recognized. Azriel rubbed his neck as his shadows neared Gwyn, knowing that she had to secretly hate them for being so ugly and tainted and unworthy --

Gwyn bent down. What she did next would stay in his memories forever. Holding out an arm, she let his shadows coiled around the entire length, wisps of midnight trailing her as she walked towards Azriel.

His shadows were happier than he had ever known them to be. He could feel their joy with every step she took, sense the way they were telling him to look look look look.

Then Gwyn smiled at him, her teal eyes so clear and large.

"Your shadows are beautiful."

~~~

"Your shadows are beautiful."

Azriel stood still. His entire body was frozen, and even his heart seemed to cease its beating.

Gwyn took a step back at whatever expression was on his face. What she said... Did she understand that what she said -- no one had ever deigned to voice before?

Did she look at his hideous soul and scarred hands?

Did she see how truly stained he was?

He wanted to believe she did. He had never wanted something more than Gwyn seeing him, truly seeing him be true. But if it were true...

How could his shadows be beautiful?

"I'm -- I'm sorry for stepping out of line." She stuttered out, her eyes wide.

Azriel glanced up sharply, snapped out of his trance. She looked horrified and was stammering out another apology, her pitch high and wobbly.

Shit.

Before he could process what he was saying, words tumbled out of his mouth, aided by the push of an impatient shadow desperate to right all things wrong.

"It is I who should be apologizing." His voice was a soft whisper in the night breeze. Gwyn paused halfway through her long speech and she stood there gaping at him.

"I am sorry, Gwyn." Azriel truly was. He could feel the shame gnawing at him. Yet another mistake. Yet another disappointment. He was a lowly half-breed bastard. His "little friends" curled around his tightening fists anxiously. He could not quite meet her eyes as chagrin dragged him down and whispered,"I should not have reacted the way I did."

He did not know what to expect. The infamous spymaster that was Azriel could never anticipate any of Gwyn's actions. She was an enigma, a mystery that constantly evaded him, the light at the end of the tunnel that shied away from him at every twist and turn.

He saw Gwyn take a deep breath from his peripheral vision and steeled himself. He gathered the remnants of his scattered mask, ready to return to just the High Lord's spymaster.

And then Gwyn spoke.

"I... I do not know your story. I do not know the dark tales that define your past. But I know you. And I know that whatever it is... It does not define you. It does not define the male I see standing before me. It cannot define the male who saved my very life, who --" Here her voice caught and she had to stop for a moment.

Azriel's heart clenched painfully. He did not know why but... He wanted to hug her and show her that her past had never defined her. Not for him, not for Nesta or Emerie and he wanted her to know that it shouldn't for herself.

"Who placed that cloak upon me with such gentle hands." She continued softly, gazing down at his scarred palms. And for the first time in a sea of forever, Azriel did not feel the urge to hide his shadow-kissed hands. Those same shadows began to swirl towards Gwyn and she did not flinch.

She only continued staring at him with those eyes that could see through everything. Did he want them to see through him? Yes.

She sees. And she is not afraid. Azriel's shadows basked them in a cocoon of living darkness.

"I refuse to let your past define you. I do not accept that. So fight. Your story... even if it never comes to me, there is nothing it can tell me that I don't already know. You are brave, thoughtful and so, so kind. You and Cassian trusted me to survive and conquer the Rite as you two had trusted Nesta and Emerie. If not then both of you would have stormed in immediately, and no law could have overruled you. So please... Please believe in me like you did. Just this once, if nothing else." Gwyn finished a little breathlessly and he knew she had rushed through the last part because she was nervous.

But somehow the bit that stuck out to him was her thinking he used to believe in her. He did, but used to? He still did. And he wanted her to know that, more than anything. He wanted Gwyn to know that he had never stop believing in her.

And seeing Gwyn's crestfallen face as each second passed and he still remained silently, he knew she was thinking the worst.

He wanted her smile back. His shadows wanted that too.

But more than anything, they both wanted her to sing again. And looking at her dispirited expression, at that moment even his shadows were unsure whether she would find her voice again.

She had spilled her thoughts to him, and he was standing there like an idiot.

Your words, Azriel. Use your words.

His shadows were begging him to say something. Anything, please please please.

As she turned to leave, he finally found his voice. The voice she unknowingly helped him find.

"Gwyn, I'm sorry -- please wait." She paused, hesitating as her eyes met his. Azriel did not know what to say. He was incapable of saying anything but "sorry", that word so pathetic and useless. Sorry was not enough when Rhys was captured by Amarantha. Sorry was not enough when Feyre was forced to sacrifice herself for their -- for his sake. Sorry was not enough when Elain was taken away by the Cauldron in the middle of the night.

Sorry had never been enough and never would be. Azriel was a stupid, foolish idiot.

"Azriel." Gwyn spoke his name softly. He tore himself away from his useless thoughts and looked at her.

She... did not look upset. She did not look angry, nor sad, nor frustrated. Instead, understanding lay in those warm teal eyes.

"I'm not pushing you to share about yourself. You are not obliged to just because I rambled on about my thoughts." Gwyn's eyes were indeed filled with apology and remorse though she had a small smile.

"You will always be my friend. And I will wait for you, even if the day you want to share about yourself never comes. Because I know you will do the same for me."

Somehow, in that moment when even time seemed to have held its breath, when even the Mother seemed to be watching, Azriel felt something in him shifted. In the distant, he could have sworn a phoenix's song filled his veins, a song of smothered flames and shadows.

"Besides, I think the silent, brooding type fits you better than Cassian's I-wrecked-one-tiny-unimportant-useless-building hotheadedness." Gwyn teased.

The distant calling seemed to grow louder, and Azriel could have sworn --

He could have sworn that a faraway glow beckoned him. And his shadows were more restless than ever, nearly tearing away from their master in their excitement.

So when Gwyn grinned at him, he smiled back.

The stars twinkling overhead seemed to beam back too. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt contented. It was a feeling he had not experienced since... Since solstice. And back then he was with Gwyn, too, he realized abruptly. It was this female before him who had brought him not once, but twice such longed-for peace and quiet.

Gwyn was wrong. It was not his shadows who were beautiful.

It was her.

It was the Valkyrie who had walked beside Death -- and never cowered.

Never feared, never faltered.

Gwyneth Berdara was a secret, lovely beauty.

Sorry for any grammatical errors (or just errors in general) since I’m writing on my own right now. Thanks for reading and stay tune for part 2 <3

Updated comment: Hi guys, so I added a new bit about Azriel’s reaction. I was planning out the whole story so it’s taking a while and I’m sorry about the wait. I’m nearly done with planning things out chapter-by-chapter so part 2 is on its way. Thank you for staying with me 

xoxo

Dawn ~

[meterokinesis]

How It Feels to Have a Heartbeat

Read it on AO3!

Part of the ATLA Big Bang 2020! I’ll be rbing art for this fic as well.

Summary: From the time he was a child, Sokka has seen ghosts. After years of dejection, he's learned to keep his observations to himself. This works fine until their mother is killed at the hands of a Fire Nation soldier and Sokka begins to see Kya everywhere, always lingering next to Katara. After being thrust into the Avatar's mission, Sokka must grapple with his abilities on a large scale.

(Or, five times Sokka saw ghosts and one time he didn't.)

Sokka was three years old the first time he saw a ghost.

His grandfather, his father’s father that is, had died a few weeks before. Sokka’s parents had explained that he was now in the Spirit World, where he would watch over them. That didn’t explain why Ataatattiaq lingered by their doorway the day after he was buried, but Sokka noticed how he followed Dad around during his first few days as chief, and how he smiled at Hakoda’s good work. Two weeks later Attatattiaq was gone, but Sokka still felt him in the way Dad smiled and performed his duties as chief. He felt his grandfather in the pride Hakota had for his children too.

                                           ________________

The ghosts didn’t stop after that.

Sokka became used to seeing them, and by the time he was ten it wasn’t unusual to occasionally see the spirits of the recently passed spending a few extra days with their loved ones before they moved on to the Spirit World. He’d even worked out general rules for how they acted:

1) They can’t wander around however they want. They have to be attached to someone or something—like a loved one or their most prized possession. 2) They can’t speak. Or at least, they can’t speak to Sokka. 3) They can touch things, but the physical world won’t feel it. 4) They’ll stay as long as they need to, and no longer.

Sokka never told anyone about the ghosts because he didn’t need to. Gram Gram handled all the spiritual goings-on in the Southern Water Tribe, and she always told him to stop making up stories. So he did. It was more fun to have a secret, anyway.

                                          ________________

Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

Well, to be more precise, everything changed when the Fire Nation killed his mom.

He remembered the grey, sooty snow that littered the pristine white hills of the South Pole. He remembered how Katara cried when she told him and Dad. He remembered running home, only to be kept outside to take care of Katara while his father tended to their mother. He remembered Hakoda telling them that Kya was gone. Not dead, gone. And he remembered the chill in the air as they buried her, the only casualty. And he remembered seeing her again.

The night Sokka buried his mother, he tossed and turned. The polar leopard pelt he slept on was made of needles, irritating him with every movement. Too exhausted to sleep, he opened his eyes to a faint blue glow emanating from the corner of the room.

Sokka moved his head just slightly, the figure quickly coming into sight. There was Kya, hand sweeping over Katara’s hair the way she used to when they were toddlers and refused to go to sleep. She looked at his sister with this mixture of indescribable warmth and love and sacrifice, the kind Gram Gram would tell stories about on the coldest nights of the year. Kya didn’t look up, though Sokka stayed awake until dawn began to break. The entire night he watched her while she watched Katara, their own quiet vigil.

Kya wasn’t there every day, but Sokka got used to her presence. She watched as Katara learned to sew, her face never losing its eternal pride—even when Katara dropped a stitch. She smiled as Katara progressed in her waterbending. She held her daughter when Hakoda left for the war. Sokka swore he even saw her cry the first time Katara healed someone.

She never looked at Sokka, but that was okay. Katara needed it more.

                                          ________________

When Sokka and Katara found Aang, she kept her distance. Instead of staying a few feet away from Katara, she now hovered on the edges of Sokka’s vision, a barely-visible gleam of blue. That should have been the first clue that something was wrong with Aang, an early hint to exile him before he got them all killed.

Sokka should have known that danger follows the Avatar wherever he goes.

Kya flickered in front of Sokka, her edges fuzzy in a way he’d never seen them before. Katara was nowhere to be seen.

Sokka pushed himself to a standing position, trying to approach his mother. In five years, this was the first time she’d ever reached out for him, the first time she’d looked away from Katara. Kya pointed, and in the distance Sokka saw the outline of the abandoned Fire Nation battleship.

He was running before the flare even fired.

When Katara and Aang came back, he had already made up his mind. Get the Air Nomad out of his tribe, make sure Katara was okay, and prepare for war. As he banished Aang, he saw Kya run her hand over Katara’s hair just like always. She didn’t glance his way.

When the Fire Nation attacked for the second time, Sokka was sure of one thing: he would defend his tribe or die trying. His war paint was smooth and wet on his face, a feeling he by now knew all too well, but he refused to let it show. Fifteen was probably too young to die, but it was worth it for Katara. He would protect her, just like he always had.

He understood Kya. Though he and Katara fought on an almost daily basis, he couldn’t imagine letting someone hurt her. At least, not while he was alive.

                                          ________________

As Sokka clung to Aang—the Avatar’s—giant sky bison, he tried to hold his head high. He had done it, or at least part of it. Katara was safe, the village was safe, and now Katara could become a waterbending master—just as Mom had wanted it. He tried to ignore how Kya sat in the corner of Appa’s saddle, the deepest sadness he’d ever seen in her blue eyes. He’d done the best he could.

Maybe one day he’d be able to explain it to her.

                                          ________________

The Southern Air Temple was a graveyard.

This wasn’t a surprise, of course. No one had seen Airbenders in a century, and any who had managed to survive the Fire Nation’s attacks were clever enough to know that living at an Air Temple was a death wish. But Aang still believed, so Sokka said nothing.

As Appa set down at the temple, all Sokka could see were ghosts. Old men, young boys, those with arrows and those without. They milled about, playing games and pulling pranks. One, an arrowless boy who looked about Katara’s age, played hide and seek with a group of younger kids. They were all so young.

Sokka watched the game unfold, and after about ten minutes a pattern seemed to emerge. The boys would play for a few minutes, then reset. They always went to the same hiding spots, and the same kids were always found. These children—ghosts, they were ghosts—were trapped in an endless loop of playtime. An eternity of childhood. Sokka couldn’t remember what that felt like.

He watched in silence for another few moments, wondering what it was like to grow up playing for fun and not for war. Sokka had known since the day he was born that one day he’d be a warrior. It was inevitable, a fact of the universe. The sky was blue, polar orcas ate turtle seals, and Sokka was made for battle. It was nice, in a way, knowing what your path was from birth. Then the Avatar had to screw it all up.

The day went on. Aang and Sokka played airball. Sokka got thrown into a wall. He and Katara argued over whether to tell Aang about the Fire Nation helmet. Sokka got buried in snow. The usual.

Sokka shook the snow off him for the fourth time that week and followed Aang and Katara toward the temple. The ghosts were denser here, and older as well. Where the younger boys had no arrows, these ghosts did. They were dressed in monk clothes as well, and many sported beards. They milled around, a few pulling off to the side to speak in small groups. Sokka did his best to avoid them, but as they got closer to the sanctuary, it was impossible. A few spirits passed through Sokka, and though he didn’t feel anything, he shivered.

Aang opened the sanctuary, and the crush of spirits was gone. There was nothing, except for Aang and the soft glow he gave off. This was almost worse than the overwhelming crowd, sort of like the second after coming inside while a snowstorm rages. After feeling everything, it was disorienting to feel nothing at all. Sokka lingered near the door, half in the quiet and half out of it. A foot in both worlds, just like him.

When Aang finished talking with his past lives, Sokka was the first one outside. Aang gave off an uncomfortable sort of glow, as if his spirit multiplied and divided itself when the occasion arose. He waxed and waned like the moon, and Sokka didn’t know what to do with that. Aang didn’t fit into the rules, didn’t fit into his plan. He liked the kid, sure, but something about him felt wrong.

His stomach clawed at itself, and for the third time that day Sokka remembered how little he’d had to eat. Unlike Aang, not everyone could live on plants alone.

WHRRRRRR.

Sokka glanced at Aang for confirmation, but deep down he knew. The Fire Nation had tracked them, and they had the disadvantage. He reached back and his fingers closed on his club, ready to attack. He’d join these spirits of people long-dead, wandering through cold empty halls.

Instead, an animal hopped out.

“How about we eat it?” Sokka blurted out, his stomach rumbling in agreement. Aang glared at him, then picked across the temple, following the rodent—was it a rodent? Or maybe a monkey?—down a stone path. Maybe they could eat it later.

The lemur—he had decided it was a lemur—was constantly just out of reach, and quick, light-footed Aang reached the destination first.

“Hey, did you find th-” Sokka started as the structure came into view, but cut himself off.

By the time Sokka stepped into the tent, Aang was on the floor, a spirit gently rubbing circles on his back. A spirit that looked a lot like the statue near the entrance.

“Hey buddy,” Sokka said, voice hushed, “I was kidding about eating the lemur.” Aang didn’t respond, and only then did the various masses cluttered near the walls begin to take shape. Specifically, they were pieces of Fire Nation armor. Broadly, they were tokens of death. He reached out to touch Aang, maybe to comfort him the way he used to comfort Katara.

Instead, Aang began to rise, his eyes and tattoos a blinding white. Sokka gasped and reeled backward, the cold packed dirt leaving scuffs on his palms. The wind picked up, whipping Sokka around like a rag doll. Aang was both living and not, a ghost in a human’s body and a person with a spirit’s abilities. He was hard to look at, and even harder to breathe around. For a twelve year old, his soul felt centuries old. Maybe it was the Avatar thing, but part of it just felt like Aang.

Sokka clung to the stone tiles of the temple, scrabbling for a secure hold. If he really wanted to, Aang could throw him off the mountain without a second thought. But he wouldn’t… right?

Katara materialized in the corner of Sokka’s vision, her arm thrown over her face as a shield against the wind. She screamed something inaudible to him, but when he opened his mouth to respond it was as if the breath was stolen from his lungs.

Everything went black at the edges as Sokka tried to regain oxygen, sputtering and coughing as he gripped the stone tiles.

Katara pulled at the back of his shirt, using him as a tether. In his ear, she screamed, “What’s happening?”

“He found out Gyatso died,” Sokka yelled back, pushing himself up on wobbly legs. Blindly, he fumbled for Katara’s hand, the way that Southern Water Tribe kids had been taught to do in times of danger. When things were rough, grab a buddy. Sokka was lucky enough to have a built-in one.

“Aang!” Katara began, shouting over the howl of the wind. “This isn’t you!”

Aang glowed in response, but did not speak.

“I know how you must feel. I lost my mother to the Fire Nation. But just because you lose a part of your family doesn’t mean you lose all of it! Sokka and you and I are our own family now. But you have to calm down, it’s not safe!”

Sokka bit back a retort about how both of them lost a mother, instead holding Katara up as the wind tore at her hair.

The glow dimmed as Aang sank back to the ground and the windstorm quieted. After a minute or two, it was just the three of them. Katara stumbled toward Aang to wrap him in a hug, and Sokka followed a second later. He hesitated on the edge of the group before deciding to clap Aang on the shoulder the way he’d seen the men in his village do.

“Aang?” Sokka croaked, his voice still raw. “Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean they aren’t still with us. They’re looking down at us, somewhere. Gyatso is probably so proud of you.”

Aang nodded silently, then forced himself to his feet. Katara followed close behind, ready to catch him if he should fall. Sokka lingered for a second, and he was rewarded with the blue spectre of Monk Gyatso blinking into reality beside him.

Gyatso gazed after Aang and Katara in silence, a soft smile on his face. Then, he turned to Sokka and gave a shallow bow, which Sokka quickly returned. Gyatso winked, and then he was gone, the only trace of him a light breeze ruffling Sokka’s hair.

Sokka grinned to himself, then sprinted after the others.

“Hey, so are we going to get something to eat or what?”

                                          ________________

Something about Yue was special.

It wasn’t just that she was pretty, because Suki had been pretty too.Yue was ethereal, the kind of girl people wrote poems about. Something about her drew him in, but he couldn’t name what. Yue seemed to contain multitudes, an ocean so deep that Sokka would never reach the bottom. But he was fine with drowning while he tried.

Yue seemed most at home under the moonlight. It made her brighter somehow, like she shined from the inside out. Sokka had never known someone like that, as far as he knew, but she seemed familiar.

The Northern Water Tribe wasn’t anything close to what Sokka had expected. Katara fumed whenever she came home from healing lessons, and Kya glared at Pakku when he came close, as if he had somehow slighted her. Maybe he had—Sokka didn’t pretend to know anything about ghost rivalries.

Speaking of rivalries, he hated how the boys in the village looked at Yue, like she was a piece of seal jerky or something. He heard Hahn talking about the power he’d have once they were married, about how pretty she was. Those things were true, of course, but she was so much more than that. She was funny, and kind, and smarter than anyone gave her credit for. It took everything in him not to tell her so each time he saw her.

Quick jokes turned to conversations turned to secret meetings. On nights when the village was silent and the moon was bright, the pair sat under the stars and talked about everything they could think of. Yue, while isolated, had been taught by the finest tutors. She was a master of philosophy and storytelling, and once confessed to Sokka that if she wasn’t a princess—if she wasn’t bound by duty to be nothing more than a pretty doll made of snow and glass—that she would have liked to see the world, to perhaps go to the mythic spirit library. In return, Sokka shared his adventures, recounting battles and run-ins with the Fire Nation. Most of all, he told her about home.

On one such night, he finally confessed, something he had never done before.

“I have something to tell you, but you have to keep it a secret,” he blurted out in the middle of a discussion about snow rat legends.

Yue leveled him a look, her gaze probably kinder than he deserved.

“Who will I tell? My mother? Hahn? The moon?” It was a jest, but she was earnest. Her gloved hand crept over top of his, holding it in place. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

Sokka nodded, swallowing hard. “This is going to sound strange, maybe even like I’m lying, but I’m not. This is the truth, I swear on my Gram Gram’s grave. Well, she’s not dead yet but you get the point…” he rambled.

“I see ghosts. Or spirits, I guess you could call them? Either way, I see them. A lot. Like my mom. And my grandfather, for a little while. And all the Airbenders. They don’t talk or anything, but they’re there. And I know it doesn’t make sense because y’know, science, but I’m not crazy an-”

“Sokka.” She cut him off, leaning in. “I believe you.”

He blinked back, startled. Then he blinked again.

“You do?”

“I do.” She relaxed back against the hard-packed snow wall of the building behind them. “There are much stranger things in this world than a boy who sees spirits. Maybe that’s how you found Avatar Aang—your spiritual connection.”

This was not how he had expected this conversation to go by any means. Screaming or horror he had prepared for, but not Yue’s easy fascination.

She was still talking, but he hadn’t caught most of it.

“I’m sorry, what?” He asked meekly, trying to feign a smile.

“Tell me about them!” She responded, her face bright. “I want to hear all about the spirits you’ve seen.”

“Ah.” Suddenly his mouth was drier than the desert, like he had just drunk seawater. “Well, the first one was my granddad. He disappeared after a few weeks, after my dad took over as chief. Then there were a few more, like people who went out for hunts and didn’t come back. I’d see them wandering through the village and realize that they’d died out there. Those ones were particularly sad, because I didn’t really understand death yet. I was a little kid, y’know? It took a few times before I started to recognize who was a homecoming warrior and who was just a ghost.” Yue nodded sagely, patting his hand comfortingly.

“Then my mom was killed when I was ten. Katara took it pretty hard, she was the one to find her. Mom hangs around more often than not, keeping an eye on her. She doesn’t really interact with me, just Katara. I think that’s fine. We can both protect her.” He peeled his gaze from their intertwined fingers up towards Yue’s face. The way she looked at him made his heart ache. Her other hand came up to cup his face, and in this barren, frigid place she was so incredibly warm.

He leaned forward, expecting a kiss, but she remained where she was.

“You are spectacular, Sokka. I cannot wait to see who you become.”

A second confession caught in his throat, but it died as he took in the way she looked at him. Instead, he smiled. This could be enough.

“Thank you, Princess.” That’s right, Princess. Not only that, but a princess who was betrothed to someone else.

Yet still, that night when he crawled into his camp roll, he couldn’t help but smile. What had once been a shadowy weight on his shoulders was now a gentle secret held between Sokka, Yue, and the moon.

                                          ________________

The clandestine meetings had only grown from there. They rode on Appa and went on long walks, ever the picture of North-South friendship. But at night, they’d sneak out to the walls of the city to have the things never afforded to them. Sokka’s childhood, or at least his adolescence, had been built on war games and paranoia. Yue’s had been similarly solitary. As the only daughter of the chief, her experiences with her peers had been limited to formal dinners and suitors vying for her hand.

In a way, things had only gotten better since Sokka told her about his spirit-sight. They were bound by something neither could explain and did not particularly care to attempt to.

Occasionally, these meetings resulted in acting as juvenile as possible, other times they’d sit and have serious discussions until the sun began to rise over the horizon. This was both of those.

Sokka shushed Yue’s giggles as he dropped a snowball off the top of the wall, ducking back down as it landed on the head of the sleeping guard below. A glove slapped over his mouth did a valiant effort of suppressing his laughter, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her doing the same. Could Hahn do this, make her laugh like she had never seen joy before? He doubted it. He doubted Hahn would ever do anything that would make him worthy of Yue’s attention, much less her hand in marriage.

“You’re looking at me like that again,” she murmured, the mirth gone from her voice.

“Like what?” Sokka asked incredulously, but deep down he knew.

“Like you love me,” she said simply, her gaze not wavering.

Sokka’s heart plummeted to his stomach, but gallantly he responded in a wobbly voice, “And what if I do?”

Yue smiled as if that was the saddest thing she had ever heard.

“I’m betrothed to Hahn, Sokka. I need to do this, for my people. It’s my duty, just as protecting your tribe is yours.”

Once, Sokka had watched as an ice shelf plummeted into the sea after a particularly warm summer. It had been the loudest sound he’d ever heard, a gut-wrenching, booming, cracking noise. Now, the sound of his heart splintering had beaten it out.

“You’re not marrying your people, you’re marrying Hahn. Hahn, who doesn’t care about you at all. Not the way I do.” He grasped her hands tight, holding on for dear life. “No, Sokka. This is how it has to be,” she said wetly, and it was only then that he realized she was crying. “You have to let me go.”

He nodded numbly and released her hands, but did not stand. She looked at him through tear-tipped eyelashes, and a beat of hesitation filled the air. Yue leaned in and placed a single kiss on his cheek, then rose from their secluded spot and walked into the night. Sokka sat there, slumped against the wall. He wondered if broken hearts had ghosts too.

                                          ________________

The achingly quiet peace of the Northern Water Tribe didn’t last long, but he hadn’t been naive enough to think it would. It seemed as if no matter what, the Fire Nation would always come through to destroy it all again.

He butted heads with Hahn, to no one’s surprise, so Chief Arnook had assigned him as Yue’s bodyguard. It took everything in him to tamp down the little flutter his heart had made. She had made it clear that no matter how she felt, she would marry Hahn. And Sokka had to deal with that, the way he had dealt with all of the other little heartbreaks.

Grey snow fell over the Tribe like an omen of doom. Fear twisted in Sokka’s gut, and it took everything in him not to immediately abscond with Yue to somewhere that the Fire Nation would never reach, if such a place existed. But that wasn’t his job, and it wasn’t what Yue wanted.

The next day flew by in a flurry of movement. The Fire Nation attacked, then stopped, then began again. Katara and Aang were struggling to hone their waterbending in time for battle. The Northern Water Tribe troops clearly knew as little about their enemy as the Fire Nation knew about them, and Sokka, ever the strategist, could not see an outcome where they would make it out alive.

It all came down to Yue, as many things did. The Spirit Oasis was beautiful, a spot of tropical warmth in the arctic desert. Unfortunately, the sheer energy of it was overwhelming. There was so much there, a quality Sokka couldn’t hope to quantify. It was like how the iceberg felt, magnified by a hundred. It seemed that Kya agreed, because she lingered outside with him. His mother’s blue-ish figure remained just out of reach, but if he tried to forget that she’s dead, she could almost be real. Almost.

Yue burst out of the Oasis, panting.

“The Avatar’s floating and glowing and Katara says it’ll be fine but we need to go get help and—”

“Woah, woah, woah, catch your breath. He’s in the Avatar state. We can go get Appa, but Aang can take care of himself,” Sokka reassured her, leading her away from the Oasis and toward the city. Kya watched reproachfully from outside the Oasis, refusing to leave Katara. That was fine, at least she’d have one of them.

Sokka doesn’t worry until he sees Kya waiting next to Appa, her mouth pinched in the way it always got when she had bad news. Even after six years, Sokka had that look seared into his memory.

Katara.

He grabbed Yue’s hand and pulled her into Appa, then raced back to the Oasis. He had already lost his parents to the Fire Nation, albeit in very different ways. He refused to lose his sister too.

Of course, because this was Sokka’s life and very few things can ever go the way they were meant to, Aang got kidnapped. In the middle of a siege. By the Fire Nation. Lovely. At least Katara was okay. If anything happened to her… well, Sokka wasn’t sure what he’d do. Nothing good, no doubt.

This is how Sokka ended up driving a Flying Bison with a saddle full of the Avatar, his kid sister, the girl he loved but could not have, and the unconscious disgraced prince of the Fire Nation.

Then, as if the night could not get any worse, the moon turned blood red. Of course it did.

Yue slumped against Sokka, her eyelids going slack. His heart pounded in his ears. Something, that ethereal ineffable quality that Yue had always possessed was gone now, disappeared into thin air.

“Something’s wrong with Yue,” he hissed, only to find Aang already nodding.

Yue coughed weakly, and Sokka handed the reins off to Katara in order to cradle Yue’s head in his lap.

“I was very sick as a baby,” she began quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind. “I didn’t cry or even open my eyes, and they said that I wouldn’t live very long. My father had seen a vision when I was born of me as the Moon Spirit, so he prayed to Tui every day for my recovery. He placed me in the Oasis on a full moon, and Tui healed me by giving me a little piece of her life force.”

Sokka’s mouth dropped open, but he bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything. So this was what had been different about Yue, in addition to everything else he liked about her. She had been touched by spirits, just as he had. Twin flames of a living spirit and a boy who saw ghosts.

Wordlessly, Katara steered them toward the Oasis. Sokka saw a man in Fire Nation armor below, holding a large white fish above his head. Yue gasped, and tears began to run down her cheeks. Sokka silently wiped them away.

Aang and Katara climbed onto the snow when they landed, but Sokka remained with Yue. Katara and Aang could save the day with their bending, but Sokka would always save the people.

Everyone was yelling and Sokka clung to Yue, his boomerang in his free hand. He could do this small thing, he could save her. He had to.

Sokka had forgotten that, in the stories, spirits moved on when they had to. No sooner and no later. He was but an observer, a stowaway audience to the wheel of time.

                                          ________________

Sokka lowered Yue next to the pool, but his hand still clung to hers.

“Sokka,” she began, not unkindly. “You have to let me go.”

“No,” he pleaded, squeezing tighter.

“Yes,” she murmured, and before he could speak, she was pressing her lips to his. Her hand came up to cup his face, just like it had all those nights before, and he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He couldn’t tell whether it was hers or his.

She turned to touch the white fish, and Sokka watched as her spirit flowed out of her and into it. Someone—the old man who had been watching—placed it back in the water. Sokka cradled her body, even though he knew she wasn’t Yue anymore.

Katara and Aang hung back, but Sokka tipped up his head to see Yue floating over the pool. She looked like a goddess or something in a white flowing robe. Just like all the other ghosts, she looked painfully real.

She floated down to him and touched her forehead to his. Yue mouthed something, but he couldn’t hear her. She never knew the rules, how could she? He’d never gotten the chance to tell her. Her dainty hands tipped his chin toward hers and she kissed him, but all he felt was air. It was the thought that counted.

And then she was gone, filtering away like moonlight through the clouds. Instinctively, he squeezed where she once was, but there was nothing but air.

Sokka slumped forward, and out of the corner of his vision, he saw a hand touch his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see Katara or even Aang, but instead there was Kya. She smoothed a hand over his wolf tail and he could see her mouth the words to the old lullaby she used to sing to them when they were young.

And all at once, Sokka began to cry.

                                          ________________

There was a tea shop in the middle ring that Aang liked, which meant that Sokka was usually the one who had to get everyone’s orders. He didn’t mind so much; the old man who ran it was nice and gave him advice. None of it really made sense, but Sokka appreciated it nonetheless.

The only downside of this was the ghost that lingered in the shop. It was silent, like all ghosts, but it had this quiet energy about it. Him — it was a him. Sokka had taken to calling him “Topknot Man,” in honor of his topknot. It was vaguely Fire Nation, but it wasn’t as if Sokka could ask about it. What would he say? There’s a spirit of a young man who looks like he could be Fire Nation sitting in your shop all the time. What gives? He wasn’t an idiot.

The ghost was sitting by the window today, watching the people pass by with a smile. The old man—Mushu—was talking a mile a minute. His son or nephew or something was adjusting well. He’d had a date and it hadn’t been terrible, all that jazz. Sokka nodded along, but he was watching the ghost instead.

“Sokka? Did your thoughts get buried by badgermoles?” A raspy voice asked, drawing Sokka back.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking about stuff,” he responded sheepishly.

“Ah, yes, stuff. My nephew is incredibly concerned with it as well.”

“The Spirit World. I’ve been thinking of it a lot.”

Mushu nodded. “It is a lot to consider. There are many things we will never know about our spirits after they’ve left their bodies.”

“I… I like to think that sometimes people stick around,” Sokka murmured into his drink.

“Well, of course they do. But that’s only for the spirits to know.”

“The spirits. Of course,” he sighed and paid for his drink. “Thanks Mushu, have a nice afternoon.”

As he walked by the ghost on his way to the door, Sokka could swear the man smiled.

                                          ________________

Jet was an asshole. But that didn’t mean he deserved to die.

There was something indescribable about actually watching someone die. It was like one second they were there—whole and full of a brightness Sokka had spent his whole life trying to describe. And then it was gone, and in its place a shell. That’s what Jet was like; one second a candle burned, and in the next it was snuffed out. It was nothing like Yue’s death, which felt painfully natural. Jet’s death was a hitch of breath, a cut-off sentence.

Sokka pulled Katara away from the body, leaving Smellerbee and Longshot to their friend. He buried his face in the top of her hair, trying not to pull her hair-loopies. When he looked up, it took everything in him not to gasp. There was Jet alright, hovering next to his body and looking sadly at his friends. Sokka reached out, but Katara just hugged him tighter. Right, no one else could see him.

Jet glanced over at Sokka and gave one, solitary nod—the kind Sokka associated with warriors and people who played at being them. But he swallowed hard and nodded back. He blinked, and Jet was gone.

                                          ________________

Jet wasn’t like Kya—there was no rhyme or reason to when he showed up. Sometimes it was in the thick of battle, like the attack on Ba Sing Se, and others it was during quiet, forgettable moments. Nonetheless, he was a welcome presence. The rebels never seemed to notice his presence directly, but they relaxed when he was nearby. They fought better too.

And every now and then, Jet would look Sokka’s way and smile or nod or wink. In those moments, Sokka would forget he wasn’t alone, just for a second.

                                          ________________

Even in death, Jet seemed to harbor an affection for Katara. Sokka, of course, was not fond of this.

Katara lingered by the bow of the ship—Hakoda’s ship—staring off into the waves. Aang was below decks, trying not to die and ruin everything. And Sokka? Well, he’d spent his days plotting their next steps. He made plans for as many contingencies as possible: if Aang was fine, if Aang died, if Aang lived but couldn’t be the Avatar.

The wind teased at his wolftail, curling the edges of the maps he had laid out on the ship’s deck. Ahead, an otherworldly glow flickered. Sokka glanced up and stifled a gasp. On the railing sat Jet. Had he been flesh and blood and bone, he and Katara would have been close enough to touch—close enough to kiss. Instead, he stared out at the waves beside her, contemplating something Sokka couldn’t put his finger on.

“Katara!” Sokka cried out, waving his hands at her. “Can you come over and look at this?” She rolled her eyes, but complied, leaving Jet and the sea behind. Katara bent over the maps and plans, and Sokka stared over her head to make eye contact with Jet. Quickly, he pointed from himself to the spirit in that childish I’m-watching-you way then bowed his head as well. Sokka almost missed the way Jet stuck out his tongue back at him.

                                          ________________

Sokka used to hate Zuko, and everyone knew it. He was stuck-up and jerk-y and not worth Team Avatar’s time. It didn’t help that he was pretty enough to make Sokka’s heart skip a beat, even with the scar. Especially with the scar.

It didn’t matter what he thought about Zuko—what mattered was fixing everything after they’d broken it all apart. At times, Sokka found himself staring at his ceiling, wondering why exactly they had been the ones chosen for this. They were kids after all—powerful kids, but kids nonetheless. A bender for each element, with an incredible warrior and a boy who saw what shouldn’t be seen to boot.

The war had been over for a week, and Sokka tried not to notice the ghosts that crowded the streets of the Fire Nation. There were so many—all of them aimlessly wandering. Sokka darted through the palace in a desperate and frantic hope of escaping them. After multiple wrong turns and frequent evil glances from the staff, he finally ended up outside the right door.

Sokka raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could connect, Zuko opened the ornate door.

“Come in,” he muttered and moved aside to make room for Sokka. The two had become almost-maybe-friends since Zuko joined them to defeat Ozai. In the weeks since, the twerp had started to grow on Sokka, not that he’d ever admit it.

“So, what’s up? What did you call me here for, your princeliness?” Sokka drawled, plopping back on a fancy chair and propping his legs up.

“I need the White Lotus’ help,” Zuko began.

“Then why ask me? Your uncle or Piandao would love to help.”

“Because… because I can’t tell them!” Zuko sputtered.

“Why?” Even Sokka couldn’t tell if it meant why not or why me.

Zuko did not meet his eyes. “Because it’s stupid. They’re just going to dismiss me as foolish. You have their favor for some reason, and I don’t know if I can do this alone.”

Sokka looked up, startled, at Zuko’s outburst. They were friends, sure, but Sokka had already had his magical Zuko field trip. On the other hand, anything that was too silly for the White Lotus was usually right up Sokka’s alley. “Okay, okay, I’ll help. What is it?”

“I need to find the person who killed my mother,” Zuko whispered, as if he was on the edge of tears.

Killed his mother. That… well, that didn’t make sense. He would have seen Zuko’s mom by now if she was dead. Someone that Zuko loved this much wouldn’t just abandon him after she died, right?

“... If I tell you something, you have to promise not to freak out,” Sokka began slowly.

“Okay?” Zuko rolled his eyes, but sat down on the chair opposite Sokka anyway.

“So, uh, I can kinda see ghosts? Like spirits. Of dead people.”

Zuko frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“Like my mom? She shows up every now and then. And Jet hangs out with the rebels and Iroh has this kid who’s always at the tea shop—”

“Lu Ten?” Zuko interrupted, shooting to his feet.

“Maybe? He has a topknot with a fancy thing in it.”

Zuko nodded and began to pace around the room. “But why are you telling me this?”

Sokka cleared his throat loudly. “Because… because if your mom cared about you the way you said she did, she’d be here. At the very least, I’d be able to feel her. But she isn’t, so how can she be dead?” He mumbled.

Zuko stopped in his tracks, but didn’t say anything. Sokka pulled at his collar sheepishly, his stomach churning with every silent second that passed.

“Thank you,” Zuko finally said, his voice just a hint rawer than usual. Then, he began to stalk toward the door.

Sokka’s heart pounded. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Did he think that Sokka was crazy? Was he going to call the guards?

“Wait!” He called out desperately, “Where are you going?”

Zuko tossed the barest glance over his shoulder. “We have a lot of work to do.”

                                          ________________

It had been three weeks since Sokka’s confession, and the days had been filled with preparations. Zuko and Sokka would soon set out on an expedition to find his mom, and Sokka would be lying if he said it didn’t make him seven kinds of nervous. Zuko had named him as his official security detail to limit the amount of people tagging along, and it did nothing to quell the queasiness in Sokka’s stomach.

This isn’t going to end up like Yue, he told himself. You’re not in danger. You’re going to help Zuko find his mom. He grimaced and adjusted the pack on his shoulders. For someone with so much money, Zuko seemed too eager to rough it.

Sokka looked out over the entry hall of the Fire Palace. A shadow flickered in the corner of his vision, but when he looked there was nothing there. He shoved down his dismay. Of course Kya wouldn’t come to see him off. She was probably checking on Katara or doing ghost errands or something.

But there it was, that flicker again. This time it came from the columns that lined the hall. Glancing at Zuko, who was talking to the guards before their departure, Sokka slipped over to the other end of the hall.

Leaning against the ornate wall was Topknot Man, who Sokka had gleaned was actually Lu Ten. Lu Ten grinned at Sokka, then drifted closer. Stopping a foot away, he looked at Sokka, then at Zuko, then back at Sokka. He reached out with a single, transparent hand and placed it on Sokka’s shoulder. Though there was no substance to him, Sokka could feel its weight.

Be careful with him, Sokka could hear in the back of his mind, like the words to a song long forgotten. He stood agape, as Lu Ten tried to cuff him upside the head and drifted away. Was this a shovel talk? Could ghosts do those?

“Sokka?” Zuko called somewhere behind him.

Sokka started. “Coming!” He returned, before crossing back to the not-ghost-hunting party. Zuko smiled as he came into view, and Sokka grinned back. Maybe this was why the spirits had chosen him. Maybe it had all been for this moment, when he’d finally get to help.

As the pair walked into the light of the rising morning, Sokka couldn’t help but think that he was finally done with ghosts. He was ready to join the living.

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Longest Night (Indruck)

Prompt for the 31st was : Halloween.

Thank you so much to everyone for reading and sharing these fills! I had a great time writing them. And thank you to @thats-amnesty-babe for playing in this space with me on Discord.

Happy Halloween!

Halloween doesn’t exist on Sylvain. However, as in many places, there are rituals and celebrations to mark the end of the growing season, days to remember the departed. For Sylphs, these are marked by The Longest Night, the time when malevolent, restless spirits roam free. 

Tradition dictates gathering with friends to hunker down until darn, dimming lights to keep the spirits from knowing you are home, telling scary stories to keep everyone alert against danger, and eating to keep up energy.

In practice, this means having a giant sleepover and binging on sweets. 

Tradition also suggests that, should attendees have romantic designs on each other, they can use this night to demonstrate their willingness to protect each other. 

In practice, this means inviting a crush to the celebration in hopes of cuddling up in a dark corner. 

Exiled Sylphs continued this tradition, setting on Halloween to avoid detection. And they kept all the practices, especially the romantic ones.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m so excited” Indrid, perched near the fireplace, looks up from his sketch, “I have not celebrated The Longest Night properly in a century.”

“Yeah, we’ve had to keep it kinda low-key in the past because, y’know, no one knew there were a bunch of Sylphs up here.” Barclay shoos the mothman aside so he can tend the fire, “so we’re gonna do it up a little more this time. You inviting anyone?”

“No” the reply is far too fast, “I, that is, there are people I might invite as friends, but none in the more, ah, traditional sense.”

Barclay dusts off his hands, “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

The cook nods and flicks his gaze over Indrid’s shoulder. He turns in time to see Duck walk through the lobby doors, chatting with Ned as he helps the older man navigate on still-recovering legs. 

“I don’t know what you are implying, Barclay.”

“That spending half your nights at his house, getting invited on hikes--and then going on them--with him, and the amount of doodles on that page that are his face might be a sign you’ve got a crush on a certain human.”

“I do not,'' Indrid quickly flips to a new page.

“You can’t hide it from me, Cold. I know what I’m talking about.” He teases, standing and stretching his arms, “and the reason I know just got off work, so I’m gonna go see him.”

“Yes, yes, run along and kiss your human.” Indrid waves his hand, aware of booted footfalls getting closer. 

“Hey ‘Drid.” 

“Hello, Duck. Are you staying long?” He tries, as always, to keep his eyes on the ranger’s jacket so he won’t melt into a useless puddle at the first sign of a smile. 

“Nah, promised I’d meet Juno for dinner. Speakin of which,” Duck sits down next to him, making them face to face, “you wanna get dinner or, uh, lunch on Saturday?”

Is he smiling like that because he likes the idea of taking Indrid out? Or is it due to being excited to see his friend later? Is it just because Duck smiles easily? Regardless, Indrid should probably speak rather than stare at him. 

He glances sideways, catches Barclay mouthing something to him in Sylph. 

Fine, he will do this. If it turns to a disaster, he can blame Bigfoot.  

“Actually, Duck, I was wondering if you were coming to the party on Saturday…”

----------------------

Right before Duck arrives at the Lodge around ten at night Indrid, grooming his feathers for the fifth time in an hour, runs through his plan once more. 

Step one: Choose darkest corner for movie viewing. Arrange for optimal comfort. 

Step two: Bring Duck all his favorite foods as an offering of affection. 

Step three: Date Duck.

The first two steps go off perfectly; Duck takes the seat Indrid offers him without so much as looking at the other options and takes the plate of candy, baked goods, and other snacks Indrid offers him with a grin. 

To increase his chances of a smooth flirtation, he spreads his wings, showing off the green and blue light crackling in his usually white and grey feather speckles.

The human doesn’t notice, likely due to the presence of many candles, the fire, and string lights. But halfway through the movie, Duck adjusts so the right wing drapes over his shoulder. 

Indrid, thanks to future sight, sees all the jumpscares in the movie coming. Duck only jolts on the first few, but then a well-executed one makes him jump into Indrid’s lap. 

As the post-jumpscare giggles ripple through the room, Duck looks up at him.

“Damn, you’re real comfy all mothed out.”

“Thank you” Indrid flicks his antenna, proud, and reaches for the plate, “Snicker?”

Duck opens his mouth in reply, and Indrid feeds it to him. The human angles himself back towards the T.V, shoulder and part of his back resting against Indrid’s chest. 

“Are you comfortable?” Indrid dips his head to mumuring in Duck’s ear. 

“Yep, you’re all nice and fluffy. Pick good snacks too.” 

“I was to pick your favorites.”

Duck’s smile changes to something surprised, “Oh, uh, thanks.”

Indrid purrs, low and quiet, as they focus back on the movie. He knows Duck cannot purr in answer to show his interest, but he’s on alert for any sign that indicates the same general thing.

“Aw, knew you’d be all happy and shit tonight” Duck tips his head back so he’s looking up at Indrid, “there’s enough sugar here to keep you satisfied for months.”

Summoning all his charm, Indrid runs a claw through Duck’s hair, “There is a lot of candy present, but there is only one sweet thing I need.”

Duck arches an eyebrow, “Nog?”

His charm, and nerve, crawls back into the shadows, “sure.”

“I can go check the fridge if you want. Close enough to nog season for there to be some.”

Indrid tries again, wrapping his arms cautiously around Duck’s waist, “But I do not want you to leave,  you're so warm and pleasant to hold. Like a teddy bear.”

A chuckle, fingers stroking his cheek, “Aww, the big ol' cryptid needs a teddy bear for the scary movie. That's real cute. Be right back with that nog.” He pats Indrid’s arms and the cryptid releases him, tracking him through the room until he’s out of sight. 

“I am in hell” Indrid mutters. 

“One of your own making.” Barclay, empty tray in hand, stares down at him, “usually helps to check if a human knows Sylph customs ahead of time. I get the feeling Duck’s got no idea about this one.”

“But plenty of that was flirtation by human standards! Perhaps I am truly terrible at this. Then again, maybe if I show off my wings a bit more..”

“Oh my fucking god just tell him.” Barclay clangs his forehead into the tray in frustration. 

A drawl calls out from the kitchen, “Hey ‘Drid, can you give me a hand?”

The cook shoves the tray into Indrid’s grasp, “That’s your cue.”

The kitchen is dark save for the light from the fridge as Duck reaches into it. 

“There is some nog back here. Need you to carry the glasses, since I’m grabbin’ some refills for Mama and Ned too. Kinda wish I could turn on the lights, but I don’t wanna ruin the moo--oh damn!” The last thing Indrid sees before the refrigerator shuts is Duck smiling, “your wings are lightin up. Do they always do that?” 

“No. Do you, ah, like it?”

“Yeah.” Duck steps forward, holding out the glasses so Indrid will take them, but his eyes never leave Indrid’s wings, “can you control it, like a cuttlefish?”

Indrid inches forward, still holding his hand, “They are emotion based. See?” He traces his claw tips up Duck’s wrist and glows brighter. 

“Oh.” Duck smirks up at him, “movie scarin you that bad?”

The Sylph growls in frustration, not at Duck but at himself, at the fear that rises up and chokes the truth before it reaches his tongue. 

“Wait, are you mad about something?” Duck frowns, worried. Indrid can’t stand the sight of him even a little bit upset, but the words still won’t come. So he does the next best thing, leans down to bump their foreheads together.

“‘Drid?”

“It is nothing, shall we go back to the movie?”

The human rubs their foreheads once, “Yeah.”

As they make their way back to their viewing spot, Indrid decides he will not press the matter further; he will follow Duck’s lead, keep the evening as romantic or platonic as the human desires. More than successful flirtation, more than a kiss, what he wants is to be near Duck and for Duck to be happy. 

The movies give way to a round of scary stories by the fire, Stern and Dani proving the most consistently terrifying. In spite of their talent, Indrid is not the best audience; he responds too soon, doesn’t yelp in horror at the right moments, and sometimes laughs at reactions he sees coming. The upside of this is Duck finds it hysterical, though he tries not to break the mood for everyone else, burying the laughter in the fluff of Indrid’s chest. 

Were Indrid optimistic he’d think Duck was using each bout of laughter to cuddle closer, to leave his cheek on Indrids down and his hands toying with the feathers of his wings. They opt for another round of movies, and the human grumbles when Indrid stands up to retrieve more food, nestles right back in his arms the moment he returns.

The Masque of the Red Death is not as terrible as the other films of the night, but even it cannot distract Indrid when Duck’s hands lazily card through his wings. It occurs to him, with the kind of clarity that only comes hand in hand with fear, that there is no way Duck is familiar with mothperson anatomy and his fingers are  about to hit an extremely sensitive part of his wing.

An involuntary purr buzzes out of him. Duck grins up at him, pleased, and touches the same patch of his wing again, scritching and massaging it as Indrid becomes one with the pillows, going pliable and relaxed under the human’s touch. It’s not sexual, not yet anyway, but sweet Sylvain does it feel good. 

“Indrid, for crying out loud, you’re flashing MAGENTA! Get a room already.”

He sits up, glaring at Barclay, pointing a claw at Agent Stern cuddled up in his lap and petting his fur. Duck’s gaze ping-pongs between them, gaining more understanding with each pass. He does nothing else until Barclay and Stern face the screen once more. Then he grips Indrid’s chin, forcing him to look down. 

“You after another kind of sugar, sugar?” His playful smile transforms into one of pure, wicked delight. 

“I, ah, I” this is his chance, and also the moment his mind goes blank and his wings flutter helplessly. 

Duck presses his free hand into the sensitive patch of wing, “Explain. Now.”

He had no idea Duck could sound that way, voice a little deeper and rougher than usual. It lights up long ignored corners of his mind, and he chirrs with nervous arousal, wings flashing white and pale green.

“I’m waitin.” Duck tightens his grip with both hands.

Indrid chirps, forces it to become a sentence, “The Longest Night is, is, ah, traditionally used for flirtation.”

“So that is what you've been tryin to do.” 

“You could, ah, could tell?”

“YepWHOAHfuck.” Duck faceplants into the pillows as Indrid, glasses thrown on, scrambles to his feet and sprints down the closest hallway. He feels rather like the heroine two movies ago, running in twists and turns through the darkness. 

Reaching the farthest hall from the lobby, he slumps against the wall, panting. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“AH!” He backs into the corner, Duck holding out his hands in a gesture of calm. 

“‘Drid, the Lodge ain’t that big. Kinda easy to follow you.” He places his hand lightly on Indrid’s arm, ‘I’m sorry if I came on too strong a minute ago. But will you please just tell me what's going on so I don’t fuck up again?”

“You didn’t fuck up, Duck. I did. I, at first I thought I was being obvious, assumed you knew the customs associated with tonight. Then when I realized my error, I thought I was being too subtle and should just leave it be. But if you knew this whole time then I...I assumed I had been making a fool of myself and you were not interested. Hence the embarrassed flight from the room.”

Duck’s hand slides down his arm, curling around his fingers, “What’d you think all that cuddlin you was? Orthe  pettin you?”

“I…” He pulls his hand free, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Duck lets him go, takes a step back, expression gentle but puzzled “I had a hunch you were tryin to put the moves on me, but when you didn’t up the ante I figured I was wrong. I mean, you can see the future, why not just look and see what I’d do?”

“I am not always good at reading subtext, and sometimes I require explicit confirmation of things to notice them. As for my powers I, ah, I was afraid to even look.”

“Afraid? Indrid, I saw you tied up by goatmen and you looked calm. How is askin me out scarier than that?”

“Because I have not felt this attached to someone in years! And…” he stares at the patterned carpet, “and in the first scenario, only I was hurt. If I made an error here, you might be hurt too, think I had only been kind to you for selfish reasons or manipulated you. I do not enjoy that sight, even in futures that never come to pass.” Heart creeping up his throat, he meets Duck’s eyes, “now it is my turn for a question: why did you follow me just now?”

“I was worried about you. I care about you, fluffball.”

“I am only a fluffball part of the time.”

“I know, care about you when you’re a beanpole too.” Duck touches is cheek and, as it always does, the touch makes Indrid turn into the way a sunflower turns into the light, “‘Drid, if you wanna be more than friends, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Would…” Indrid squeezes his eyes shut, “would you like to go out with me, Duck Newton?” 

A kiss the lips, lighter than moth wings. 

“Yeah, sugar, I would.”

Indrid embraces him, chirping excitedly, tries to lift the ranger and spin them around before remembering he can't do so in his human form. Then his feet are off the ground as Duck picks him up, kissing him soundly. 

“Chosen strength has its pluses.”

“Indeed.”

“You want me to put you down?”

“Not just yet.”

“So tell me, mothman of mine, what does magenta mean?”

“Ah” his skin reddens, “desire. And since you are about to ask, green is comfort and blue is affection.”

“And the white?”

“....Submission.”

Duck tosses his head back with a laugh, setting Indrid down, “shoulda used that voice on you sooner I guess.”

“Yes.” Indrid purrs, slipping his hands into Duck’s back pockets

“Plenty of time for me to bust it out later. C’mon, let’s go finish the movie.”

Returning to a chorus of “about time” form their friends, they hunker down in their same spot, Duck resting against the pillows with Indrid’s head in his lap, the Sylph purring as Duck rubs his neck and pets his hair. They make it through two more movies before people start dropping off to sleep. Indrid joins them eventually, snuggling down beneath a plaid blanket with Duck’s head on his chest and his friends snoring or chatting softly all around him. 

And the morning after the Longest Night, Indrid Cold takes his new boyfriend out for breakfast.

[weavingthetapestry]

Places to Go: Tullibardine Chapel

A small kirk sheltered by Scots pines, Tullibardine Chapel has an air of tranquility and simple elegance. Formerly the private chapel of the Murrays of Tullibardine, it is one of the few buildings of its kind in Scotland to have survived with many of its medieval details intact.

The Murrays acquired the lands of Tullibardine in the late thirteenth century, when William ‘de Moravia’ married a daughter of the steward of Strathearn. Later, through judicious marriages and court connections, they first became earls of Tullibardine and then Dukes of Atholl. But even as lairds the Murrays were a significant power in late mediaeval Perthshire. In those days Tullibardine Castle was one of their main strongholds, and the close proximity of royal residences like Stirling meant that the Castle also hosted several notable guests. Mary, Queen of Scots, stayed there in December of 1566 (allegedly in the company of the earl of Bothwell). One laird of Tullibardine became Master of Household to the young James VI, while his aunt Annabella Murray, Countess of Mar, oversaw the king’s upbringing. Thus James VI was also a frequent visitor and it was he who created the earldom of Tullibardine in 1606. The king is known to have attended the wedding of the laird of Tullibardine’s daughter Lilias Murray, though it is unclear whether this took place at Tullibardine itself. The castle grounds were probably an impressive sight too: the sixteenth century writer Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie claimed that a group of hawthorns at the “zeit of Tilliebairne”* had been planted in the shape of the Great Michael by some of the wrights who worked on the famous ship.

Thus the tower at Tullibardine, though presumably on a small-scale, was apparently comfortable and imposing enough for the lairds to host royalty and fashion an impressive self-image. But the spiritual needs of a late mediaeval noble family were just as important as their political prestige, and a chapel could both shape the family’s public image and secure their private wellbeing. The current chapel at Tullibardine, which originally stood at a small distance from the castle, was allegedly founded by David Murray in 1446, “in honour of our blessed Saviour”. At least this was the story according to the eighteenth century writer John Spottiswoode, and his assertion is partly supported by the chapel’s internal evidence, though no surviving contemporary document explicitly confirms the tale. A chapel certainly existed by 1455, when a charter in favour of David’s son William Murray of Tullibardine mentions it as an existing structure. In this charter, King James II stated that his “familiar shieldbearer” William Murray has “intended to endow and infeft certain chaplains in the chapel of Tullibardine”. Since the earls of Strathearn had previously endowed a chaplain in the kirk of Muthill, but duties pertaining to the chaplaincy had not been undertaken for some time, James transferred the chaplaincy to Tullibardine. He also granted his patronage and gift of the chaplaincy to William Murray and his heirs.

The charter indicates that Tullibardine Chapel was an important project for the Murrays. Interestingly though, no official references to the chapel in the fifteenth, sixteenth, or seventeenth centuries describe Tullibardine chapel as a collegiate church, even though later writers have frequently claimed this. Collegiate foundations were increasingly popular with the Scottish nobility during the late Middle Ages, but, although such a foundation might have been planned for Tullibardine, there is no evidence that this ever took place.

The 1455 charter serves as an early indication of the chapel’s purpose and significance. Judging by its architecture the current chapel does appear to have been constructed in the mid-fifteenth century. However it was also substantially remodelled and enlarged around 1500, when the western tower was added. One remnant of the original design is the late Gothic ‘uncusped’ loop tracery on the windows. Despite the apparent simplicity of the chapel, features such as this window tracery have been taken as evidence that its builder was acutely aware of contemporary European architectural fashions. Another interesting feature is the survival of the chapel’s original timber collarbeam roof, a rare thing in Scotland. Several coats of arms belonging to members of the Murray family adorn the walls and roof corbels, although some of these armorial panels were probably moved when the chapel was reconstructed. They include the arms of the chapel’s alleged founder David Murray and his wife Margaret Colquhoun, as well as those of his parents, another David Murray and Isabel Stewart. A later member of the family, Andrew Murray, married a lady named Margaret Barclay c.1499, around the same time that the chapel was renovated, and although they were buried elsewhere, their coats of arms can also be seen there. Aside from such details- carved in stone and thus less perishable than books and vestments- the chapel’s interior seems quite sparse and bare today. Originally though the mediaeval building probably housed several richly furnished altars and some of the piscinas (hand-washing stations for priests) can still be seen in the walls. But the sumptuous display favoured in even the smallest mediaeval chapels was soon to be swept away entirely by the Reformation of 1560, when Scotland broke with the Catholic Church and Protestantism became the established faith of the realm.

Tullibardine was used chiefly as a private burial place after the Reformation, but there are signs that the transition from one faith to another was not entirely smooth. Four years after the “official” Reformation, a priest named Sir Patrick Fergy was summoned before the “Superintendent” of Fife, Fothriff, and Strathearn to answer the charge that he had taken it upon himself “to prech and minister the sacramentis wythowtyn lawfull admission, and for drawing of the pepill to the chapel of Tulebarne fra thar parroche kyrk”. Fergy did not obey the summons and so it was decided that he should be summoned for a second admonition. It is not known whether Fergy compeared on that occasion, nor what kind of punishment he might have received for his defiance. We are also in the dark as to the laird of Tullibardine’s views on the situation, even though it was going on right under his family’s nose. Nonetheless the case does provide a glimpse into what must have been a complex religious situation in sixteenth century Perthshire, no less for the ordinary parishioner than for the nobility. It also raises the possibility that private worship continued in the chapel after the Reformation, albeit unofficially.

Even as Tullibardine chapel’s public role diminished, the castle was still of some importance. Royal visits must have been considerably rarer after James VI succeeded to the English throne in 1603, and the Murrays of Tullibardine themselves acquired greater titles and estates, but the tower at Tullibardine still witnessed some notable events. During the first half of the eighteenth century, the castle was the home of Lord George Murray, a kinsman of the Duke of Atholl and famous for his participation in the Jacobite Risings of 1715, 1719, and 1745. During the last of these, Tullibardine Castle played host to a Jacobite garrison and was visited by Charles Edward Stuart. In less warlike times, Lord Murray often resided with his family at Tullibardine, and one of his daughters, who sadly died in infancy, seems to have been buried in the chapel. Lord George himself expressed a wish to be buried there as well but he was forced to flee into exile on the continent after the failure of the ’45, and so his body was interred “over the water” at Medemblick, in the Netherlands.

After Lord George’s exile Tullibardine castle entered a period of slow decline. Much of the fabric of the building was removed in 1747. Some years earlier plans had been made for the old tower to be replaced by a fashionable new house designed by William Adam, but these never materialised. A sketch of the mediaeval chapel made in 1789 shows the castle in the background- a roofless, tumbledown ruin. Tullibardine castle was finally demolished in 1833, and the family chapel, whose very existence had for centuries been defined by its proximity to the laird’s house, now stands alone. We are thus all the more fortunate for its survival, and both its attractive situation and interesting mediaeval features make Tullibardine chapel well worth a visit.

(Tullibardine Chapel, with the castle ruins in the background, as sketched in 1789. Reproduced with permission of the National Libraries of Scotland, under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 License)

Sources and notes may be found under the ‘read more’ button.

* “zeit” is presumaby “yett”, the old Scots word for gate.

Selected Bibliography:

- “Account of All the Religious Houses That Were in Scotland at the Time of the Reformation”, by John Spottiswood, in “An Historical Catalogue of the Scottish Bishops Down to the Year 1688″, by Reverend Robert Keith.

- Seventh Report of the Royal Commission on Historical Manuscripts, Part 2 (Duke of Atholl papers)

- “Register of the Ministers, Elders, and Deacons of the Congregation of St Andrews”, volume 4, Part 1 (St Andrews Kirk Session Register), edited by David Hay Fleming

- “Statement of Significance: Tullibardine Chapel”, Historic Environment Scotland

- “The Historie and Croniclis of Scotland From the Slauchter of King James the First to the Ane Thousande Five Hundreith Thrie Scoir Fiftein Zeir”, by Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie, volume 1 edited Aeneas J. G. Mackay. 

- “Late Gothic Architecture in Scotland: Considerations on the Influence of the Low Countries”, by Richard Fawcett in ‘Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries Scotland’, 112 (1982) 

- “Aspects of Timber in Renaissance and Post-Renaissance Scotland: The Case of Stirling Palace”, Thorsten Hanke

- “Register of the Privy Seal of Scotland”, Vol. 5, ed. M. Livingstone

- “The Household and Court of King James VI”, Amy L. Juhala

- “Memoirs of the Affairs of Scotland”, by David Moysie, ed. James Dennistoun for the Bannatyne Club

- “Calendar of State Papers, Scotland”, Volume 10, 1589-93, ed. William K. Boyd and Henry W. Meikle

- “The Indictment of Mary Queen of Scots, as Derived from a Manuscript in the University Library at Cambridge, Hitherto Unpublished”, by George Buchanan, edited by R.H. Mahon

[reallifesultanas]

Portrait of Rüstem Pasha/Rüsztem Pasa portréja

Rüstem Pasha is one of the most controversial figures in Ottoman history, a model of fidelity and deceit at the same time, as his loyalty to his wife and mother-in-law is legendary, yet he is considered the greatest responsible in the death of Prince Mustafa. But what is the truth? Was Rüstem a loyal statesman, rare as the white raven or the greatest traitor and killer of the empire?

Origin and upbringing

Rüstem, according to his own account, was of Croatian descent, born as the son of a swineherd between 1500 and 1505. At least one of his brothers is known, Sinan, with whom they came to Istanbul through the devşirme system. His brother also became an influential pasha over time. He studied in the Enderum along with other intelligent boys who were considered suitable for education. Those who did not have the intelligence to get to Enderum were assigned to the Janissaries or other militaries. Rüstem was a particularly intelligent and talented man, he excelled among the other students of Endrum with his knowledge. He was fluent in at least three languages ​​and also had special talents in close fight and military warfare. He was also a particularly sober, calm man who never acted recklessly.

The beginning of his rise

Opinions are divided on how Rüstem drew the Sultan's attention to himself. According to some sources, during the battle of Mohács in 1526 he acted as the sultan's weapon bearer and Suleiman noticed his loyalty and intelligence here. Others say once, Rustem, through a window, saw Suleiman passing under the window and he saw how the Sultan drop something accidentally. Rüstem throwing himself out the window to return the object to the Sultan. If the latter is true, then Rüstem arrived in Ottoman history with a hard entry.

Either way, around the mid-1520s, Suleiman had certainly recognized Rüstem’s talents and appointed him one of his personal men. He became the chief supervisor of the sultan's stables and the stirrup holder when the ruler got on the horse. With this position, Rüstem could actually go anywhere with the Sultan, during which, of course, the Sultan had time to get to know him more and more. Around this time he could also spend time with the sons of Suleiman, as his sons often rode out with the sultan or accompanied him on a campaigns. So he was already in relatively close contact with the sultan's sons here, especially with Prince Mehmed, who spent a lot of time with Suleiman, and his younger brother, Selim. But it is also possible that he also had the opportunity to see or even meet his later wife, Suleiman’s daughter, Mihrimah, as according to some sources, she also rode out with his father occasionally.

The rise of Rüstem, scared several others. Suleiman's confidant, Ibrahim, for example, according to a 1534 report, said he did not particularly like Rüstem. And the reason for this was that the sultan had repeatedly accepted Rüstem's advices and raised the man higher and higher, and Ibrahim was afraid for his own position and perhaps he was jealous that someone else was near the sultan besides him. Ibrahim made a special effort to get rid of Rüstem. It was Ibrahim, who made him the beylerbey of Diyarbakir. With this, he exiled Rüstem to the Iranian border, hoping he will be forgotten there. However, Rüstem did not think so and did an excellent job in Diyarbakir, forging an advantage from his exile.

Suleiman, after Rüstem proved his abilites in Diyarbakir, made the man the beylerbey of Anatolia in 1538, and then in 1539 finally elevated him to the rank of vizier, and also gave him one of the greatest positions a pasha could ever attain, making him Damad (son-in-law). Suleiman gave his daughter Mihrimah to him.

His marriage to Mihrimah Sultan

The marriage of an imperial princess has always been a serious political decision. In Mihrimah's case, Suleiman had probably long ago decided that Rüstem should be her husband. In vain did Hürrem Sultan want another husband, Suleiman immediately rejected Hürrem's proposal, the young and handsome Egyptian beylerbey as a husband candidate. Why did Suleiman choose Rüstem? He definitely wanted a husband to her daughter who was loyal to her and to the Empire, thus avoiding having to be replaced, executed, and thus orphaning her own grandchildren. In addition, he wanted a husband who was fit to hold high positions so that he could stay in Istanbul with her daughter, since Suleiman, who was famously devoted to her daughter, surely did not want her daughter to live away from him. So Rüstem proved to be a perfect choice.

Suleiman's strong determination to Rüstem, is also shown by the fact that despite the gossip spread by Rüstem's enemies that he had leprosy, Suleiman did not changed his mind, but sent his personal doctor to examine Rüstem. The doctor, while examining Rüstem, found a louse on him, which ruled out that he had leprosy. Knowing the particularly demanding nature of Rüstem and knowing the fact that he changed his clothes daily, it cannot be ruled out that the lice were put on him as an intrigue of his own. All the obstacles were removed from the healty Rüstem.

Mihrimah was 17 at that time, and Rüstem was described to be twice as old as the sultana, so he was about 34 years old. Suddenly it seems like a big age difference, but compared to the age difference of the other sultanas and their husbands, Mihrimah was quite lucky. True, Rüstem was probably not the kind of man, teenage girls dreamed of, as he was described as a short and red-faced man, yet he guaranteed that Mihrimah could stay with her family in Istanbul forever and could gain serious political influence with him. In addition, Rüstem knew Mihrimah's brothers well, so it was clear that he will be on Mihrimah's and her brother's side in the fight for the throne.

The wedding was finally held in the fall of 1539, along with the circumcision ceremony of Mihrimah's two younger brothers, Bayezid and Cihangir. The ceremony eventually lasted for 15 days, and whole of Istanbul was celebrating with the family.

His marriage to Mihrimah was clearly not a love match, but all indications are that over time they have learned to respect and accept each other. Their marriage was crowned in 1541 by the birth of their daughter, Ayşe Hümaşah. Unfortunately, there is not much evidence of Rüstem’s relationship with his daughter, but based on second-hand evidences they were close to each other. Over time, Mihrimah and Rüstem had a son, Osman, who unfortunately died young. The time of the boy's death is unknown.

Political rise

In 1541 Rüstem was the second vizier, so he advanced nicely. In this position, the sultan made him the head of the Hungarian campaign of the year. This was a very important appointment in Rüstem’s career. The Kingdom of Hungary lost its king János Szapolyai the previous year, whose successor was only a two-week-old boy. As a result of the unexpected event, Habsburg Ferdinand immediately launched an attack to gain even more shares from the Kingdom of Hungary. Therefore, the Ottomans could not wait so they launched an attacked. Eventually in the end they won and were able to tore Hungary into three parts for more than a century. Transylvania and Eastern-Tiszta area remained in Izabella and her infant son, János Zsigmond's hands for 10,000 HUF rax for a year. The Highlands, Croatia, Western Transdanubia, Slavonia remained in the hands of the Habsburgs, while areas between the Danube and Tisza river were under the control of the Sultan. Rüstem played a major role in the fact that Transylvania and the area of Eastern-Tiszta was able to stay in the hands of Izabella and his infant son. The sultan had planned it differently. Suleiman wanted to annex all of Transylvania and the Eastern-Tisza area to the Empire, and wanted to take Izabella and her son to Ottoman captivity in Istanbul. However, Izabella sent pleading letters to Hürrem Sultana and the Mihrimah Sultana and also sent gifts and ambassadors to Rüstem. Rüstem, enjoying the support of Mihrimah and Hürrem, finally succeeded in convincing the sultan to leave Isabella and his son as ruler of Transylvania and Eastern-Tiszta area. This was a huge step and a success, as Suleiman had reacted very aggressively for Isabella's previous plea. Isabella a few months ago asked for the release of two Hungarian lords who were captives of the Sultan. Suleiman refused the request and immediately executed the two lords. With such a background, it is particularly interesting that Rüstem, Mihrimah and Hürrem were able to convince the Sultan. Their intentions are unknown. Mihrimah and Hürrem perhaps stood by the woman because they felt sorry for her, but Rüstem perhaps had a more rational point of view: the Ottomans most probably wouln't be able to keep Transylvania under their rule, and its loss would have been unpleasant for them, so it was better to make the rulers of it to their vassals.

The former event also shows well that Suleiman respected Rüstem very much, but still he denied from him the grace he had previously given to Ibrahim. He never allowed Rüstem as close to himself as he let Ibrahim anno. Mihrimah and Hürrem objected to this, according to several sources, as they tried to persuade the Sultan to let Rüstem closer to him. However, the sultan always replied that "it was enough for me to commit such foolishness once." This is a good indication of how deeply Suleiman was hurt by Ibrahim’s betrayal and was certainly afraid of having to endure something similar once again.

However, the Sultan's slight distancing did not deter Rüstem from having the same intimate relationship with the ambassadors as Ibrahim had previously done. The ambassadors, without exception, described Rüstem as one who really likes to talk to them about himself. He often boasted, ironically, to what heights the son of a swineherd could ascend in the Ottoman Empire. In addition, the ambassadors also noted how intelligent the pasha is, especially enthusiastic about all matters and making decisions in a very forward-looking manner. And the most important thing, which did not escape the attention of the ambassadors, was that Rüstem, unlike Ibrahim, always spoke of himself as a subordinate of the Sultan, was loyal to the Sultan to the extreme and was famously incorruptible.

In 1544 Rüstem finally received the title of Grand Vizier, which Suleiman had given him knowing he was an ally of Hürrem and Mihrimah. As a Grand Vizier, he was always praised by the ambassadors and the Sultan was pleased with him. His most important success as Grand Vizier was that he managed to fill the imperial treasury. He used every possible solution to this, for example, he sold the flowers and vegetables grown in the palace gardens. Because of this, he was considered by many to be greedy, but nonetheless, in the end, he eventually managed to solve the empire’s financial problems, which Ibrahim had only exacerbated before. The other brilliant solution he ran to make money was to blackmail the ambassadors. He wanted them to come with most expensive gifts possible. If a gift wasn’t expensive enough, he simply didn’t receive the ambassadors. Because of this, the ambassadors complained a lot to their rulers and were ashamed to ask for more money and gifts. Each year, he asked more and more from the ambassadors. One of the ambassadors, the clever, Alvise Renier, eliminated this problem, by sending 100 gold ducats in every year to Rüstem before he could ask for more. It may seem greedy, but Rüstem delivered most of these gifts and money - unlike the previous Grand Vizier - to the Imperial Treasury and retained only some of those which were personal gifts. It was the "greed" of Rüstem that kept the financial background of the empire stable for the second half of Suleiman's reign, however, Rüstem was not popular among the people of Istanbul.

The fight of the Rüstem-Hürrem-Mihrimah coalition against Prince Mustafa

Rüstem as Mihrimah’s husband was clearly committed to Mihrimah’s full-brothers. Especially that he knew the princes closely, while he had no connection with Mustafa. In my opinion, that is why it is a mistake to condemn Rüstem for his choice. Which man would support a prince who poses a threat to his wife and brother-in-laws? Plus, Mustafa never liked Rüstem Pasha, so if he wouldn't be against Mustafa, that would cause his death.

How the coalition fought Mustafa is not exactly known, as they left no evidence. Most likely, their basic principle was that all the naturally occurring faults of Mustafa were said to the sultan, while in the case of the sons of Hürrem these mistakes were hide. Thus, in fact, without slander or lies, they were able to weaken Mustafa in the eyes of his father. In addition, Rüstem, as Grand Vizier, became the deputy of the Sultan and could decide on a great many things. Thus, Mustafa also had to ask him for support when in 1549 the Georgians assassinated the governor of Erzurum. Mustafa asked for a supportive army from Rüstem so that he could oust the Georgians beyond the borders of the empire. However, Rüstem ignored and then rejected the request, as it would have been dangerous to send soldiers to the highly supported Prince Mustafa. In addition, the possible success of Mustafa would have further increased his popularity and perhaps Suleiman would have recognized his son’s virtues. However, we must not be sure that all this took place without Suleiman's knowledge. It is very likely that Rüstem informed Suleiman about Mustafa's request. Mustafa's popularity, however, had so far threatened the Sultan's rule, so it was not in Suleiman's interest to send an army to Mustafa. A few years later, a similar Georgian attack took place, with a similar outcome.

Suleiman's health gradually deteriorated, and his gout caused him more and more difficulties from the second half of the 1540s, and he put even more burden on Rüstem's shoulder. He had to organize and lead campaigns instead of the sultan. The people and soldiers did not like the sultan's absence very much and more and more rumors were spread that the empire needed a new, warrior-like, healthy sultan. This problem culminated in 1552. Rüstem led the army, which consisted of 50,000 soldiers, most of whom were Janissaries. Shortly after their departure, he received word that the sultan was very ill, perhaps on his death. Rüstem did not continue the campaign in such circumstances, but camped, for he was afraid to get too far away from the capital. He feared that Mustafa, if he took the news of the events, with the help of the Janissaries, could easily march into the capital and execute the sons of Hürrem after taking the throne. The sultan's health soon began to improve, so that Rüstem could continue the campaign. However, the difficulties were not over here. When the army reached the intersection between Amasya and Konya, the Janissaries decided to pay their respects to their future sultan, Mustafa, in Amasya. Rüstem ordered the Janissaries not to leave the camp and continue their journey, but the Janissaries rebelled and most of them headed for Amasya. Rüstem continued his journey along with the leading agha of the Janissaries and some loyal Janissaries towards Konya. Mustafa, to top of the trouble, welcomed the Janissaries and received their greetings. Rüstem immediately wrote a letter to the Sultan about the events, but Suleiman did not believe that his son had done so and made the Janissaries solely responsible. Returning to Istanbul, Rustem told Suleiman again what had happened, proving with evidence that Mustafa had indeed distributed money and food to the Janissaries. The Sultan told Rüsztem not to talk nonsense. However, Rüstem also continued and recounted the rumors circulating in the camp that Mustafa was planning a revolt against the Sultan with the help of Tahmasp Sah, a Persian ruler. Although Suleiman was still dismissive with Rüstem, he certainly began to suspect his son because he ordered an investigation into the case.

Suleiman the following year, in 1553, to prove his suitability, himself led his troops into battle. In August 1553 they left Istanbul and headed east. However, Suleiman's goal was not primarily the campaign, but the execution of his son, Mustafa, on the pretext of the campaign. Mustafa joined his father's troops at Ereğli and, despite the opposition of his supporters, he went to the sultan's tent, where he was executed. The execution of the prince provoked a huge rebellion in the army, the soldiers demanding a scapegoat. Suleiman, to save himself and his sons who were with him, made Rüstem Pasha responsible and relieved him of his position. That night, Rüstem secretly left the camp, just in time because the angry Janissaries broke into his tent soon after and wanted to kill him. The ambassadors who covered the events raised the possibility that Rüstem himself had asked for his replacement to save his own life and that of the Sultan. This raises the possibility that the Sultan and Rüstem have reached some secret agreement that Rüstem will be replaced, but will return to his position for the first capable time. This possibility is also made probable by the fact that Rüstem, although no longer a Grand Vizier, returned to Istanbul and continued to behave like a Grand Vizier. Despite Kara Ahmed Pasa becoming the new Grand Vizier, Rüstem continued to receive the ambassadors in his palace as if nothing had happened. He also went to the mosque with the same splendor and accompaniment as before, and even clearly told the ambassadors not to worry, he would return to his office soon. And as a faithful follower of the sultan, he would not have dared to do this without the Sultan's knowledge. His wife and mother-in-law either did not know about the secret unity — or wisely pretended not to know about it — constantly bombarded Suleiman with letters and asked him to forgive Rüstem and let him return to his office.

Back to the top

The newly appointed Grand Vizier, Kara Ahmed Pasha, Suleiman's brother-in-law, did not live up to expectations, so in 1555 he was executed by the order of the Sultan. Many also suspect the Rüstem-Hürrem-Mihrimah triumvirate was behind his execution. However, it cannot be ruled out that the Sultan chose the unsuitable Kara Ahmed as Grand Vizier with the purpose, to put Rüstem back in position as soon as possible. Either way, with the death of Kara Ahmed on September 29, 1555, Suleiman, who had just returned to Istanbul, reappointed Rüstem as Grand Vizier.

Unfortunately, after his return to office, there was not much peace during his reign. In 1558, the health of the Hürrem Sultan began to deteriorate. This fact alone has immeasurably overwhelmed Rüstem. According to a report in early April, the Grand Vizier was very "depressed and troubled" by the illness of the Haseki Sultan. On April 15, Hürrem passed away, and Rüstem lost one of his most influential supporters, his ally, with whom he worked for nearly 20 years. According to all accounts, Rüstem was deeply saddened by the death of his mother-in-law. Unfortunately, however, he did not have time to mourn. Suleiman was completely shattered, so Rüstem had to perform all the duties of the sultan, he also had to support his shattered wife and daughter as well. In addition, soon Prince Bayezid rebelled against his father.

Most sources mention that Rüstem favored Prince Bayezid over Selim, but we do not know the exact background of this. In any case, no matter how much he liked and supported Bayezid, at no point could he help. The prince did not disarm even at the repeated request of the sultan, and eventually, after losing the battle, he fled to Suleiman's chief enemy, Tahmasp Sah. It doesn't matter how hard Rüstem tried, he was not able to save Bayezid, moreover his health began to deteriorate rapidly in 1560.

His death and legacy

Rüstem finally died on July 10 1561, after a long illness. He was prepared for death, as he left behind a very detailed, precise testament. In it, he disposed of each of his property and possessions. He described which part of his property he would leave to the state, which to his foundations, which to the foundations of the Hürrem Sultana and which to the foundations of Mihrimah, and what he would leave of his personal belongings to his wife and daughter, Ayşe Hümaşah. He entrusted some of his charities to his wife and others to his daughter. The fact that he left nothing to his son raises the possibility that Osman died before his father.

Although the people did not like him, we now know clearly that it was due to the ingenious solutions of Rüstem that they managed to conceal the decline of the empire throughout Suleiman's reign. Rüstem was one of the few statesmen who did not accept bribes, who placed the Sultan before all things, and who died a natural death, in his position, as a Grand Vizier. In addition, Rüstem, although he had a huge wealth, did a lot of charity and lived quite modestly compared to his rank.

Rüstem took great care to build his own mosque, but death intervened. His mosque - one of the most magnificent mosques in Istanbul today - was finally completed by Mihrimah Sultan. And Rüstem - since his own complex wasn't ready - rests in the Şehzade Mosque complex, close to Princes Mehmed and Cihangir.

Used sources: L. Peirce - The imperial harem; L. Peirce - Empress of the East; Z. Atçil - Why Did Süleyman the Magnificent Execute His Son Şehzade Mustafa in 1553; C. Imber - The Ottoman Empire 1300-1650; Y. Öztuna - Kanuni Sultan Süleyman

*    *     *

Rüsztem Pasa az Oszmán történelem egyik legellentmondásosabb figurája, egyszerre a hűség és az álnokság példaképe, hiszen hűsége a feleségéhez és anyósához legendás, azonban ő tartják a legnagyobb felelősnek Musztafa herceg halálában. Na de mi az igazság? Hűséges államférfi volt Rüsztem, ami ritka mint a fehérholló vagy a birodalom legnagyobb árulója és gyilkosa?

Eredete és neveltetése

Rüsztem pasa, saját elmondása szerint horvát származású volt, egy kondás fiaként született nagyjából 1500 és 1505 között. Legalább egy testvére ismert, Sinan, akivel együtt kerültek a devşirme rendszeren keresztül Isztambulba. Testvéréből is befolyásos pasa vált idővel. Az Enderumban tanult a többi intelligens fiúval egyetemben, akiket megfelelőnek tartottak a továbbtanulásra. Akik nem ide kerültek, azok a janicsárságba vagy más katonai szervbe lettek beosztva. Rüsztem különösen intelligens és tehetséges férfi volt, tudásával kiemelkedett már az Endrum többi diákja közül is. Legalább három nyelven folyékonyan beszélt, különös tehetsége volt a közelharc és katonai hadviselés terén is. Emellett különösen józan, nyugodt férfi volt, aki sosem cselekedett meggondolatlanul.

A felemelkedés kezdete

Arról megoszlanak a vélemények, hogy Rüsztem hogyan hívta fel magára a szultán figyelmét. Egyes források szerint az 1526-os mohácsi csata során a szultán fegyverhordozójaként tevékenykedett és Szulejmán itt figyelt fel hűségére és intelligenciájára. Mások szerint egyszer Rüsztem egy ablakon keresztül látta, amint az ablak alatt elhaladó Szulejmán elejt valamit, mire kivetette magát az ablakon, hogy visszaadja a szultánnak a tárgyat. Ha utóbbi igaz, akkor Rüsztem kemény belépővel érkezett meg az oszmán történelembe.

Akárhogyan is, Szulejmán az 1520-as évek közepe táján már egész biztosan felismerte Rüsztem tehetségét és kinevezte egyik személyes emberének. Rüsztem feladata volt a szultán lovának ellátása, a kengyel tartása, amikor a szultán felszállt a lóra. Ezzel a beosztással Rüsztem tulajdonképpen mindenhová a szultánnal tarthatott, amelynek során természetesen a szultánnak volt ideje megismerni őt. Ez idő tájt Rüsztem, Szulejmán fiaival is időt tölthetett, hiszen a fiai gyakran lovagoltak ki a szultánnal vagy kísérték el hadjáratra. Rüsztem tehát már itt viszonylag közeli kapcsolatba került a szultán fiaival, különös tekintettel a Szulejmánnal sok időt töltő Mehmed herceggel és vérszerinti öccsével Szelimmel. De az sem kizárt, hogy arra is volt lehetősége, hogy láthassa vagy akár találkozhasson későbbi feleségével, Szulejmán lányával, Mihrimahval, hiszen néhány forrás szerint alkalmanként ő is kilovagolt édesapjával.

Rüsztem felemelkedése többeknek is szemetszúrt. Szulejmán bizalmasa, Ibrahim például egy 1534-es követi jelentés szerint különösen nem kedvelte Rüsztemet. Ennek oka pedig az volt, hogy a szultán egyre többször fogadta meg Rüsztem tanácsait és egyre magasabbra emelte a férfit, Ibrahim pedig féltette saját pozícióját és talán féltékeny volt arra, hogy valaki más is a szultán közelében van rajtakívül. Ibrahim különösen igyekezett Rüsztemmel kibabrálni, például ő volt az, aki Diyarbakir helytartójává tette meg. Ezzel Rüsztemet az iráni határ mellé száműzte, azt remélve, hogy ott elfelejtődik. Rüsztem azonban nem így gondolta és kiváló munkát végezve Diyarbakirban, előnyt kovácsolt száműzetéséből.

Szulejmán miután Rüsztem bizonyított Diyarbakirban, Anatólia beglerbégévé tette meg a férfit 1538-ban, majd 1539-ben végre vezíri rangra is emelte, és emellett neki adta az egyik legnagyobb tisztséget, amit egy pasa valaha is elérhet, Damaddá (vő) tette, mikor neki adta lánya, Mihrimah kezét.

Házassága Mihrimah szultánával

Egy birodalmi szultána házassága mindig komoly politikai döntés volt. Mihrimah esetében nagy valószínűséggel Szulejmán már régen eldöntötte, hogy Rüsztem lesz a férje, ugyanis hiába akart Hürrem szultána más férjet, Szulejmán egyből elutasította Hürrem javaslatát, a fiatal és jóképű egyiptomi beglerbéget, mint férjjelöltet. Hogy Szulejmán miért Rüsztemet választotta? Mindenképp olyan férjet akart lánya mellé, aki hűséges hozzá, ezzel elkerülve, hogy le kelljen váltani, ki kelljen végeztetni, ezzel pedig árvává tennie saját unokáit. Emellett olyan férjet akart, aki alkalmas arra, hogy magas beosztásokat viseljen, ezzel pedig Isztambulban maradhasson, hiszen Szulejmán - aki híresen elkötelezett volt lánya iránt - nem akarta, hogy kislánya tőle távol éljen. Rüsztem tökéletes választásnak bizonyult.

Szulejmán erős elhatározását Rüsztem mellett az is mutatja, hogy hiába terjesztették Rüsztem ellenségei, hogy a férfi leprás, Szulejmán nem hitte el, hanem maga küldte oda személyes orvosát, hogy vizsgálja meg Rüsztemet. Az orvos miközben Rüsztemet vizsgálta, egy tetvet talált a férfin, ami kizárta, hogy leprás lett volna. Ismerve Rüsztem különösen igényes természetét, azt, hogy a kor szokásaihoz nem feltétlen illeszkedve, naponta cserélte ruháit, nem kizárt, hogy a tetű Rüsztem cselszövéseként került rá. Az egészségesnek ítélt Rüsztem elől pedig minden akadály elhárult.

Mihrimah 17 éves volt ekkor, Rüsztem pedig a leírások alapján kétszer annyi idős volt, mint a szultána, tehát nagyjából 34 éves. Hirtelen nagy korkülönbségnek tűnik, ám a többi szultána és férjeik korkülönbségéhez képest, ez kész főnyeremény volt Mihrimah számára. Igaz, Rüsztem valószínűleg nem az férfi volt, akiről a kamaszlányok álmodoznak, hiszen követi leírások alapján alacsony és vörösképű férfi volt, mégis garantálta, hogy Mihrimah Isztambulban a családja körében maradhasson örökre és komoly politikai befolyást is jelentett neki Rüsztem. Emellett Rüsztem jól ismerte Mihrimah testvéreit, így egyértelmű volt, hogy a trónért folyó harcban az ő és testvérei oldalán fog állni mindhalálig.

Az esküvőt végül 1539 őszén rendezték meg, együtt Mihrimah két öccse - Bayezid és Cihangir - körülmetélési szertartásával. Az ünnepség végül 15 napig tartott, egész Isztambul a családdal együtt ünnepelt.

Házassága Mihrimah szultánával nyilvánvalóan nem szerelmi házasság volt, azonban minden jel arra utal, hogy idővel megtanulták kölcsönösen tisztelni és elfogadni egymást. Házasságukat 1541-ben lányuk, Ayşe Hümaşah születése koronázta meg. Sajnos nem áll rendelkezésre sok bizonyíték Rüsztem viszonyáról lányával, de közvetett források szerint közel álltak egymáshoz. Idővel egy fiuk is született, Osman, aki azonban sajnálatos módon fiatalon elhunyt. A fiú halálának ideje sajnos nem ismert.

Politikai emelkedése

1541-ben Rüsztem már a második vezír volt, tehát szépen haladt felfelé a ranglétrán. Ezen beosztásában őt tette meg a szultán az azévi magyar hadjárat fejévé. Rüsztem pályafutásában ez igen fontos kinevezés volt. A Magyar Királyság ugyanis előző évben vesztette el királyát Szapolyai Jánost, akinek utódja egy kéthetes kisfiú volt csupán. A váratlan esemény hatására a Habsburg uralkodó Ferdinánd azonnal támadásba lendült, hogy még több részt szerezzen meg a Magyar Királyságból. Ezért az oszmánok nem várhattak, és támadásba lendültek és végül szakították hosszú időre három részre Magyarországot. A Tiszántúl és Erdély Izabella és csecsemő fia János Zsigmond kezén maradt évi 10.000Ft adó fejében, a Felvidék, Horvátország, Nyugat- Dunántúl, Szlavónia a Habsburgok kezén maradt, míg a Duna menti területek – a Szultán ellenőrzése alatt álltak. Rüsztemnek itt abban volt komoly szerepe, hogy végül a Tiszántúl és Erdély Izabella és csecsemő fia kezén maradhatott. A szultán ugyanis máshogy tervezte. Szulejmán be akarta kebelezni egész Erdélyt és a Tiszántúlt, Izabellát pedig fiával együtt török fogságba kívánta vitetni Isztambulba. Izabella azonban könyörgő leveleket küldött Hürrem szultánának és Mihrimah szultánának és emellett ajándékokat és követeket küldött Rüsztemhez is. Rüsztem pasa végül sikerrel győzte meg, Mihrimah és Hürrem támogatását élvezve a szultánt arról, hogy hagyja meg Izabellát és fiát Erdély és a Tiszántúl uralkodójaként. Ez hatalmas lépés és siker volt, Szulejmán ugyanis alig néhány hónappal korábban igen agresszív módon utasította el Izabella könyörgését két török fogságban senyvedő magyar főúr elengedésére vonatkozóan. Szulejmán a kérést elutasította és azonnal kivégeztette a két fogjot. Ilyen háttérrel különösen érdekes, hogy Rüsztem, Mihrimah és Hürrem képesek voltak meggyőzni a szultánt. Szándékaik nem ismertek. Mihrimah és Hürrem talán Izabella anyai és asszonyi könyörgése miatt álltak a nő mellé, Rüsztem pedig talán racionálisabb szempontból. Ugyanis meglehetősen kis eséllyel sikerült volna az oszmánoknak végérvényesen megtartani Erdélyt, elvesztése pedig kellemetlen lett volna számukra.

Az előbbi esemény is jól mutatja, hogy Szulejmán igen nagyra tartotta Rüsztemet, azonban megtagadta tőle azt a kegyet, amit korábban Ibrahimnak megadott. Sosem engedte magához olyan közel a férfit, mint anno Ibrahimot. Ezt Mihrimah és Hürrem több forrás szerint is nehezményezte, ugyanis igyekeztek rávenni a szultánt, hogy engedje magához közelebb Rüsztemet. A szultán azonban minduntalan úgy felelt, hogy "ekkora ostobaságot elég volt egyszer elkövetnem". Ez jól mutatja, hogy Szulejmánt milyen mélyen bántotta Ibrahim árulása és minden bizonnyal félt, hogy még egyszer el kelljen viseljen hasonlót.

Azonban a szultán enyhe távolságtartása nem hátráltatta abban Rüsztemet, hogy a követekkel ugyanolyan bensőséges viszonyt tudjon ápolni, mint korábban Ibrahim tette. A követek kivétel nélkül úgy jellemezték Rüsztemet, mint aki igen szeret magáról beszélni nekik. Gyakran dicsekedett ironikus módon azzal, hogy egy kondás fia milyen magasságokig tudott emelkedni az Oszmán Birodalomban. Emellett a követek azt is megjegyezték, hogy milyen eszes a pasa, különösen lelkes minden üggyel kapcsolatban és igen előrelátó módon hoz döntéseket. A legfontosabb pedig, ami a követek figyelmét sem kerülte el az volt, hogy Rüsztem - Ibrahimmal ellentétben - mindig a szultán alattvalójaként beszélt magáról, a szultánhoz a végletekig hűséges volt és híresen megvesztegethetetlen volt.

1544-ben végül Rüsztem megkapta a nagyvezíri címet, melyet Szulejmán abban a tudatban adott neki, hogy tisztában volt vele, Rüsztem, Hürrem és Mihrimah szövetségese. Rüsztemet nagyvezírként a követek mindig dicsérték és a szultán is elégedett volt vele. Legfontosabb sikere nagyvezírként az volt, hogy sikerült a birodalmi kincstárat megtöltenie. Ehhez minden létező megoldást bevetett, például attól sem riadt vissza, hogy a palota kertjében termő virágokat és zöldségeket eladja. Emiatt sokan kapzsinak és garasoskodónak tartották, ám ettől függetlenül végül neki sikerült megoldani a birodalom anyagi problémáit, melyeket Ibrahim korábban csak tovább rontott. Rüsztem másik zseniális megoldása a pénzszerzésre nem volt más, mint a követektől kizsarolni, hogy minél drágább ajándékokkal halmozzák el őt és a szultánt. Ha nem volt elég drága egy ajándék, egyszerűen a követeket nem fogadta. Emiatt több követ is panaszkodott uralkodójának és szégyenkezve kért több pénzt és ajándékot. Minden évben egyre többet kért a követektől, melyet az egyik okos követ, Alvise Renier azzal küszöbölt ki, hogy kérés nélkül évente küldött 100 arany dukátot a pasának, mielőtt az többért kérhetett volna. Kapzsiságnak tűnhet, azonban Rüsztem ezen ajándékok nagyrészét - a korábbi nagyvezírrel ellentétben - beszolgáltatta a birodalmi kincstárba és csupán a személyesen neki érkezők egy részét tartotta meg. Rüsztem "kapzsisága" volt az, ami Szulejmán uralkodásának második felére stabilan tartotta a birodalom anyagi hátterét, azonban ettől függetlenül, Rüsztem nem volt népszerű a nép szemében.

A Rüsztem-Hürrem-Mihrimah koalíció harca Musztafa herceg ellen

Rüsztem, mint Mihrimah férje egyértelműen elkötelezett volt Mihrimah öccsei iránt. Különösen, hogy közelről ismerte a hercegeket, míg Musztafával nem volt semmilyen kapcsolata. Véleményem szerint éppen ezért hiba Rüsztemet elítélni választása miatt. Melyik férfi támogatná azt a herceget, aki veszélyt jelent feleségére és sógoraira? Mindemellett Musztafa sosem kedvelte Rüsztem Pasát, tehát a herceg oldalán biztos lefokozás várta volna Rüsztemet.

Az, hogy a triumvirátus hogyan harcolt Musztafa ellen, pontosan nem ismert, hiszen nem hagytak maguk után bizonyítékokat. Nagy valószínűséggel az alapelvük az volt, hogy Musztafa minden - természetesen előforduló - hibáját és ballépését a szultán elé tárták, míg Hürrem fiai esetében ezeket eltitkolták. Így tulajdonképpen rágalmazás és hazugságok nélkül tudták meggyengíteni Musztafát apja szemében. Mindemellett Rüsztem nagyvezírként a szultán helyettese lett, és nagyon sok dologban dönthetett. Így Musztafának is tőle kellett támogatást kérni, amikor 1549-ben a grúzok meggyilkolták Erzurum helytartóját. Musztafa támogató hadsereget kért Rüsztemtől, hogy kizavarhassa a grúzokat a birodalom határán túlra. Rüsztem azonban figyelmen kívül hagyta majd elutasította a kérést, ugyanis veszélyes lett volna a nagy támogatottságú Musztafa herceg számára katonákat küldeni. Emellett pedig Musztafa esetleges sikere tovább növelte volna népszerűségét és talán Szulejmán is elismerte volna fia erényeit. Azonban nem szabad biztosnak lennünk abban, hogy mindez Szulejmán tudomása nélkül zajlott. Igen valószínű, hogy Rüsztem tudatta Szulejmánnal Musztafa kérését. Musztafa népszerűsége azonban eddigre már veszélyeztette a szultán uralmát, így Szulejmánnak se állt érdekében sereget küldeni Musztafa számára. Néhány évvel később hasonló grúz támadás zajlott le, hasonló kimenetellel.

Szulejmán egészsége fokozatosan romlott, a köszvénye egyre többször okozott számára nehézségeket az 1540-es évek második felétől kezdve, ezzel pedig mégtöbb teher nyomta Rüsztem vállát. Neki kellett a szultán helyett hadjáratokat szervezni és vezetni. A népnek és katonáknak pedig nagyon nem tetszett a szultán távolléte és egyre több olyan pletyka kapott szárnyra, hogy a birodalomnak új, harcos kedvű, egészséges szultánra van szüksége. Ez a probléma 1552-ben csúcsosodott. Rüsztem vezette a hadsereget, amely 50 000 katonából állt, melyek nagyrésze janicsár volt. Nemsokkal indulásuk után hírt kapott arról, hogy a szultán nagyon beteg, talán a halálán van. Rüsztem ilyen körülmények között nem folytatta a hadjáratot, hanem letáborozott, hiszen félt távol kerülni a fővárostól. Attól tartott, hogy Musztafa ha hírét veszi az eseményeknek a janicsárok élén könnyűszerrel masírozhatna a fővárosba és végeztethetné ki Hürrem fiait. A szultán egészsége hamarosan javulni kezdett, így Rüsztem folytathatta a hadjáratot. Azonban itt még nem volt vége a nehézségeknek. Amikor a hadsereg az Amasya és Konya közti kereszteződéshez ért, a janicsárok úgy döntöttek, hogy tiszteletüket teszik Amasyában jövendő szultánjuknak, Musztafának. Rüsztem megparancsolta a janicsároknak, hogy ne hagyják el a tábort és folytassák útjukat, a janicsárok azonban mit sem törődve vele fellázadtak és legtöbbjük Amasyába vette az irányt. Rüsztem a janicsárok vezető agájával és néhány hűséges janicsárral együtt folytatta útját Konya irányába. Musztafa pedig tovább tetézve a bajt vendégül látta a janicsárokat és fogadta üdvözlésüket. Rüsztem azonnal levelet írt a szultánnak az eseményekről, Szulejmán azonban nem hitte el, hogy fia ilyet tett volna és a janicsárokat tette meg egyedüli felelősöknek. Rüsztem Isztambulba visszatérve újra elmondta Szulejmánnak a történteket, bizonyítékokkal alátámasztva, hogy Musztafa bizony pénzt és ételt osztott a janicsároknak. A szultán magából kikelve közölte Rüsztemmel, hogy ne beszéljen badarságokat. Rüsztem azonban folytatta és elmesélte a táborban keringő pletykákat is, miszerint Musztafa lázadást tervez a szultán ellen Tahmasp Sah, perzsa uralkodó segítségével. Szulejmán bár továbbra is elutasító volt Rüsztemmel, minden bizonnyal gyanakodni kezdett fiára mert az eset kivizsgálását rendelte el.

Szulejmán a következő évben, 1553-ban, hogy bizonyítsa alkalmasságát maga vezette csapatait harcba. 1553 augusztusában hagyták el Isztambult és indultak kelet felé. Szulejmán célja azonban elsősorban nem a hadjárat volt, hanem hadjárat ürügyén fia, Musztafa kivégeztetése. Musztafa Ereğlinél csatlakozott apja csapataihoz és támogatóinak ellenkezése ellenére is a szultán elé járult, aki a sátrában kivégeztette. A herceg kivégzése hatalmas lázadást váltott ki a hadseregben, a katonák bűnbakot követeltek. Szulejmán, hogy mentse önmagát és vele tartózkodó fiait, Rüsztem pasát tette meg felelőssé és leváltotta pozíciójából. Aznap éjjel pedig Rüsztem titokban elhagyta a tábort, épp időben mert a dühös janicsárok nemsokkal később betörtek sátrába és meg akarták lincselni. A követek akik tudósítottak az eseményekről felvetették annak lehetőségét, hogy Rüsztem maga kérte leváltását, hogy mentse saját és a szultán életét is. Ez felveti annak a lehetőségét, hogy a szultán és Rüsztem valamilyen titkos egyezséget kötöttek, miszerint Rüsztem le lesz ugyan váltva, de az első adandó alkalommal újra visszakerül majd pozíciójába. Ezt az eshetőséget valószínűsíti az is, hogy Rüsztem, bár már nem volt nagyvezír, Isztambulba visszatérve továbbra is úgy viselkedett, mint a nagyvezír. Annak dacára, hogy Kara Ahmed Pasa lett az új nagyvezír, Rüsztem továbbra is úgy fogadta a követeket palotájában, mintha mi sem történt volna. Emellett a mecsetbe is ugyanazzal a pompával és kísérettel járt, mint korábban, sőt egyértelműen ki is mondta a követeknek, hogy ne aggódjanak, hamarosan visszakerül pozíciójába. Ezt pedig a hűséges Rüsztem nem merte volna megtenni a szultán tudomása nélkül. Neje és anyósa vagy nem tudott a titkos egyességről - vagy bölcsen úgy tettek, mintha nem tudnának róla -, állandó jelleggel levelekkel bombázták Szulejmánt és kérték, hogy bocsásson meg Rüsztemnek és adja vissza tisztségét.

Vissza a csúcsra

Az újonnan kinevezett nagyvezír, Kara Ahmed Pasa, Szulejmán sógora, nem váltotta be a hozzá fűzött reményeket, így 1555-ben kivégeztette a szultán. Sokan kivégzése mögött is a Rüsztem-Hürrem-Mihrimah triumvirátust sejtik. Azonban azt sem lehet kizárni, hogy a szultán okkal választotta a nem túl alkalmas Kara Ahmedet nagyvezírnek, hogy mielőbb visszahelyezhesse Rüsztemet a pozícióba. Akárhogyan is, Kara Ahmed halálával 1555. szeptember 29-én az Isztambulba épphogy visszatérő Szulejmán újra kinevezte Rüsztemet nagyvezírré.

Visszatérése után sajnálatosan nem sok béke volt uralkodása alatt. 1558-ban Hürrem szultána egészsége romlani kezdett. Már ez a tény is mérhetetlenül lesújtotta Rüsztemet. Egy április eleji jelentés szerint a nagyvezír igen "lehangolt és gondterhelt" volt a haszeki szultána betegsége miatt. Április 15-én pedig Hürrem elhunyt, ezzel Rüsztem elveszítette egyik legbefolyásosabb támogatóját, szövetségesét, akivel majd 20 évig dolgoztak együtt. Minden beszámoló szerint Rüsztemet mélyen megviselte anyósa halála. Sajnálatos módon azonban nem volt ideje gyászolni. Szulejmán teljesen összetört, így Rüsztemnek kellett a szultán minden feladatát ellátni, támogatnia kellett szintén összetört feleségét és lányát is. Emellett pedig hamarosan elszabadult a pokol, amikor Bayezid herceg fellázadt apja ellen.

A legtöbb forrás úgy említi, hogy Rüsztem Pasa Bayezid herceget favorizálta Szelimmel szemben, azonban nem tudjuk ennek pontos hátterét. Mindenesetre akármennyire is kedvelte és támogatta Bayezidet, egy ponton túl ő sem segíthetett. A herceg a szultán többszöri kérésére sem fegyverkezett le és végül a csata elvesztése után Szulejmán legfőbb ellenségéhez Tahmasp Sahhoz menekült. Rüsztem ezen események alatt ha akarta sem tudta volna megmenteni Bayezidet és egészsége is rohamosan romlani kezdett 1560-ban.

Halála és hagyatéka

Rüsztem 1561-ben végül hosszas betegség után hunyt el július 10-én. Készült a halálra, ugyanis igen részletes, precíz végakaratot hagyott hátra. Ebben vagyonának és tulajdonainak mindegyikéről rendelkezett. Leírta, hogy vagyonának mely részét hagyja az államra, melyet alapítványaira, melyet Hürrem szultána alapítványára és melyet Mihrimah szultána alapítványaira, valamint, hogy mit hagy személyes dolgai közül feleségére és lányára, Ayşe Hümaşahra. Jótékony szervezeteinek egy részét felesége irányítására bízta, másik részét pedig lányáéra. Az, hogy fiára nem hagyott semmit felveti annak a lehetőségét, hogy Oszmán apja előtt hunyt el.

Bár a nép nem kedvelte, ma már egyértelműen tudjuk, hogy Rüsztem zseniális megoldásainak volt köszönhető, hogy a birodalom hanyatlását sikerült végig eltitkolni Szulejmán uralkodása alatt. Rüsztem egyike volt azon kevés államférfinak, aki nem fogadott el kenőpénzt, aki a szultán iránti hűségét minden elé helyezte és aki természetes halállal, eredeti pozíciójában, nagyvezírként hunyt el. Emellett Rüsztem, bár hatalmas vagyonnal rendelkezett rengetet jótékonykodott és meglehetősen szerényen élt rangjához képest.

Rüsztem nagy gondot fordított saját mecsetjének építtetésére, azonban a halál közbe szólt. Mecsetjét - mely a mai Isztambul egyik legpompásabb mecsetje - végül Mihrimah szultána fejeztette be. Rüsztem pedig - saját komplexuma nem révén alkalmas a temetésre - a Şehzade mecset komplexumban nyugszik, közel Mehmed és Cihangir hercegekhez.

Felhasznált források: L. Peirce - The imperial harem; L. Peirce - Empress of the East; Z. Atçil - Why Did Süleyman the Magnificent Execute His Son Şehzade Mustafa in 1553; C. Imber - The Ottoman Empire 1300-1650; Y. Öztuna - Kanuni Sultan Süleyman

[centipedall]

Mister Lincoln, I presume?

Charlie Smith walked to the edge of the small cliff and looked at the old stone bridge. The thing was older than most of the city’s buildings, and the tales surrounding it were the subject of today’s investigation. It was a seven-foot drop from the cliff down onto the beach peppered with broken bottles, shards of metal, and probably tetanus. She looked downwards and sighed. What she had to do for a good picture. Charlie sat down at the edge before scooting herself off into the spiky pit of disease.

The cliff bent inwards from the top, forming a rather spacious pit that formed one of the city’s biggest populations of homeless. Of course, the sharp bits were more prominent inside than out- partly from the wind blowing in, and partly from the denizens themselves. Also scattered along the floor was Fourth of July apparel. The people, like the ground, were weirdly patriotic. A man was dressed in a tattered tank-top, with flag-patterned socks and a star-and-striped top hat. A woman had a large white winter coat over her bare chest emblazoned with the words “Uncle Sam Wants You!” and a grimacing eagle on the back. Another (almost completely naked) person had a flag wrapped around their head like a turban, and a lot of pennies and flag patches in a circle on the floor around them.

Charlie figured that these people were the best to talk with about the bridge. After all, some of them had spent half a century here. They should have some great stories. Unfortunately, no one looked like they wanted to illuminate her. Well, a couple twenties (provided by the website, of course) should fix that.

“Hey! Any of y’all want some easy money? You just gotta answer me a few questions ‘bout that bridge.” Charlie drawled.

Most of the people glared at her. A few went so far as to give her the middle finger. One old man whispered some unfortunate words under his breath. All in all, it was a tough crowd.

“I’ll help out, ma’am. There’s actually some pretty interesting stuff on the underside. Come on, walk with me.” The nude in the turban stood up and started walking. This was met with a chorus of displeasure.

“Jesus, Rick, don’t be an asshole.”

“Boo!”

“Don’t come crying to me when She gets mad.”

Charlie started to follow this Rick guy, but she felt someone grab her arm. A young man looked up at her. He opened and closed his mouth several times before actually speaking.

“Uh, miss, you sh-should, uh, take this. I-I’m s-sorry for bothering you. Please don’t be mad.” The kid held a penny out in front of her. Charlie wrested her arm from his grip and walked away.

“No! Wait, uh, oh g-god, I’m so sorry for y-y-yelling. Please, miss. P-please take it.” The kid seemed to be on the verge of crying.

“Alright, guy. Don’t get mad, okay? See? I’m taking the penny.” She slowly took it from him and put it in her pocket. She took a few steps back, then rushed to Rick, who was standing almost under the bridge.

“So, Rick, what’s so special? I don’t see anything money-worthy.”

“Oh, you can only see it directly underneath the bridge. Come on, follow me.” The man disappeared into the shadows under the bridge.

Charlie hesitated for a moment before following him.

The first thing Charlie noticed was the strange feeling. It was like cold metal was constantly running up and down between all of her muscles. The second thing she noticed was that everything around was dark, although she could still see things in a couple foot radius. Rick stood next to her, and he was hard to look at. In fact, anything that wasn’t obscured by darkness was uncomfortable to see. It was like every color was subtly altered in a way that hurt her eyes. She felt like she had spent the whole morning inside, only coming out at noon.

Squinting her eyes, Charlie said, “Rick? What’s happening? Are- are you seeing this?” She started to back away from him.

He laughed and said, “Pretty interesting, right?” The chuckling abruptly stopped, followed by an alert, “Wait, stay. She’s almost here.”

After the sentence ended, a scraping, metallic noise emanated from in front of them. It was a horrendous sound, like thousands of nails scraping along the marble floor. The noise got closer and closer, until Charlie wanted to collapse with her hands over her ears. Then, it encircled them, the noise buffeting Charlie from all angles. Finally, it ended in front of them. And the solemn copper face of Abraham Lincoln- top hat and all- emerged from the shadows.

As the rest of his upper body revealed itself, Charlie busted out laughing. Jesus. All that tension just for some guy in a Lincoln suit? She would’ve been angry about the waste of time, but this was just too good of a punchline.

“Ok friend. Thanks for the laugh, but you’re not getting the money. If you’ll excuse me, I gotta go find someone else who’ll gimme a better story. Unless you and your buddy got some good folklore?”

“Lincoln” continued to come out of the darkness. The head rose up to a good eight feet above the ground, and the massive copper chest showed. The arms seemed to be around six feet long. Against the relatively proportionate head and chest, they made quite the impact. The bottom of its chin dropped out, revealing a toothless mouth of wet gums and a long tongue. Drool dripped onto the floor.

“What… Is… How…” Charlie stammered, before coalescing her thoughts into “The fuck?”

“Here you go, madame.” Rick said, before tossing one of the flag patches to the thing.

“Excellent. And what is your payment, miss?” The copper behemoth’s voice was high and feminine, and seemed to emanate from its tongue.

“Payment? What do you mean? Wait, Rick, where are you going?”

“See ya, ma’am.” He chuckled to himself and walked out of the shadows.

Charlie started to follow him, but Lincoln swerved in front of her with surprising speed. One of the arms drifted towards her, causing Charlie to backpedal.

“Stay now. I need payment. An egg or a strip of clothing, perhaps.” The eyes of the statue stared a good couple of feet above her.

Oh god, an egg? Like, a breakfast egg or the other kind? Charlie shuddered and felt bile building in her throat. She quickly tore a piece off her shirt. “Here. Here you go. Can I go?”

“No, I don’t want your second skin! I want your clothing!”

“But… this is… what?” Charlie’s voice trailed off.

“Shall I have to keep you until you produce an egg? For shame, to be unprepared. And may I say, you are not showing much deference towards your first Lord.” The thing sounded a little offended in a patronizing way. “He did create your beautiful country. Um-Air-Ika, yes?”

“I’m… sorry? Are you talking about George Washington?”

“Bah! I won’t fall for your tricks! That man was merely a pretender to the first Lord’s throne! Alas, him and his barons had to usurp Abraham's palace with their spiteful treachery! Thankfully, his twin Carver threw him out- with the help of my Hypogaean siblings. Truthfully, the Court had their own plans for that day. I do thank them for implanting Kenny. He did good with reaching our brothers of the Æther. If only they could pull him down from the moon, his barony would start behaving, I tell you that!” The thing snapped out of her tirade and tittered. “How now brown cow, you won’t get me distracted so easily!”

“What are you talking about?” Charlie had lost all fear to the onset of confusion.

“Enfantés these days! Here, let me show you!” It retracted into the darkness for a moment, only to come back with a thick, tattered book between its hands.

“Peer, and become educated!” It shouted… pridefully?

Charlie walked up to the book. It was covered in dried mud, and had many pages torn out. The thing pointed to a page with pictures of the presidents, with their time in office printed under each picture.

“See? Now, this book caters to the Pretender, so it shows him first. However, we all know that Lord Lincoln was the first one. And here. Kenny on the moon, and his barons below him.” It pointed to JFK before gesturing at the presidents that came after him.

Then, it flipped through the pages, first showing her a picture of Benjamin Franklin, then one of an astronaut- probably Armstrong. “Look! I have exclusive pictures of the Pretender’s chief wizard- you know, the one who invented the Frenchman-Powered Juggernaut and bifocals. What a shame he killed Tesla. Now that man, he was an excellent ambassador and wizard. His death ray was just charming! Ooh! I also have a picture of Kenny taken during his exile on the moon! Oh, how sad it is.”

Suddenly, the thing dropped the book. “Wait, I forgot to show you my style! Oh, look upon it, how beautiful it is!”

The thing quickly moved, becoming much closer to Charlie’s body. Then, it curved around her. Charlie saw that, instead of legs, it had a long, thick, wet, ophidian tail that reminded her of intestines. Stuck to the tail were thousands of pennies, almost covering it. The tail went off into the darkness, with no signs of stopping.

“Yeah, that’s, uh, nice, I guess. I like how it’s… covered in pennies?”

“I prefer the term eggs. It’s scientifically accurate. Slang absolutely disgusts me.”

“I’m sorry? Did you say eggs? Wait a second, wait a second.” Charlie dug in her pockets for pennies. She only found one, and showed it to the creature.

“Is this good?”

“Oh, how delightful! Here, give it to me!” Lincoln stretched out a hand.

Charlie tentatively dropped it in its palm, and asked, “So, I can go now, right?”

“Oh yes, dearie, you can leave.”

Charlie started to walk away, then stopped and looked back at the creature. “Actually, one more thing. What would’ve happened if I didn’t give you my pen- uh, egg?”

“Well, dear, I would’ve just kept talking to you until you birthed one! Or I became impatient and retrieved one from within you. I don’t know where they are stored, so I might’ve had to root around in there for a while.”

Charlie paled, took a few steps, and was back out of the shadows. She shuddered as her body returned to normal, then quickly strode towards the encampment. Rick was gonna get a piece of her mind.

“Hey Rick, you asshole!” She yelled. The man walked away from his spot and looked at her.

“Why did you leave me in there? And what was that?”

“We aren’t sure, ma’am. And you said you wanted a story.” He gave her a big, goofy, genuine grin. Oh.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Rick. I thought you were being… well, whatever. But that thing was dangerous. I could’ve died.”

“Don’t worry ma’am. We were gonna go in with some iron if you weren’t out in a bit.”

“Iron? What does that do?” She asked.

“Haven’t you ever heard the stories?” He looked at her with incredulity.

“Uh, I guess not. Listen, I have to go. How can I get out of here?” She said.

“It’s on the other side of the bridge!” He smiled.

“Oh fuck me.”

When Charlie got home, she quickly wrote up the story. Rick wasn’t wrong. It was certainly interesting. Her boss loved it too. He was going to put it in the fiction section, but he was proud of her for expanding into fiction. In fact, he wanted her to write more!

Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the story was pulled back and scrapped. Her boss told her they had no control over it, and gave her some money in condolence. Meanwhile, the bridge was quickly and quietly dismantled over the course of a night. When the next heavy rain came down, thousands of pennies were washed down the riverbed. As well as the copper head of Abraham Lincoln, pierced with iron.

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, September 22, 2021

Trudeau’s Liberals win Canada election, but miss majority (AP) Canadians gave Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Liberal Party a victory in Monday’s parliamentary elections, but his gamble to win a majority of seats failed and nearly mirrored the result of two years ago. Trudeau’s Liberals were leading or elected in 156 seats—one less than they won 2019, and 14 short of the 170 needed for a majority in the House of Commons. The Conservatives were leading or elected in 121 seats, the same number they won in 2019. The leftist New Democrats were leading or elected in 27, a gain of three seats, while the Quebec-based Bloc Québécois remained unchanged with 32 seats and the Greens were down to two. “Trudeau lost his gamble to get a majority so I would say this is a bittersweet victory for him,” said Daniel Béland, a political science professor at McGill University in Montreal. “Basically we are back to square one, as the new minority parliament will look like the previous one. Trudeau and the Liberals saved their skin and will stay in power, but many Canadians who didn’t want this late summer, pandemic election are probably not amused about the whole situation,” he said.

COVID has killed about as many Americans as the 1918-19 flu (AP) COVID-19 has now killed about as many Americans as the 1918-19 Spanish flu pandemic did—approximately 675,000. And like the worldwide scourge of a century ago, the coronavirus may never entirely disappear from our midst. Instead, scientists hope the virus that causes COVID-19 becomes a mild seasonal bug as human immunity strengthens through vaccination and repeated infection. That would take time. “We hope it will be like getting a cold, but there’s no guarantee,” said Emory University biologist Rustom Antia, who suggests an optimistic scenario in which this could happen over a few years. For now, the pandemic still has the United States and other parts of the world firmly in its jaws.

Why Louisiana’s Electric Grid Failed in Hurricane Ida (NYT) Just weeks before Hurricane Ida knocked out power to much of Louisiana, leaving its residents exposed to extreme heat and humidity, the chief executive of Entergy, the state’s biggest utility company, told Wall Street that it had been upgrading power lines and equipment to withstand big storms. That statement would soon be tested. On the last Sunday in August, Hurricane Ida made landfall in Louisiana and dealt a catastrophic blow to Entergy’s power lines, towers and poles, many of which were built decades ago to withstand much weaker hurricanes. The storm damaged eight high-voltage transmission lines that supply power to New Orleans along with scores of the company’s towers throughout the state. Hundreds of thousands of homes and businesses were without power for days. Ida damaged or destroyed 31,000 poles that carry lower-voltage distribution lines in neighborhoods, nearly twice as many as Hurricane Katrina, according to Entergy. Lawmakers and regulators require utilities to ensure safe, reliable service at an affordable cost. The grid failure after Ida is the latest display of how power companies are struggling to fulfill those obligations as climate change increases the frequency and severity of extreme weather. In California, electricity providers have been forced to shut off power to tens of thousands of customers in recent years to prevent their equipment from setting off wildfires and to reduce energy demand during heat waves. In February, the grid in most of Texas failed during a winter storm, leaving millions of people without power and heat for days.

White House faces bipartisan backlash on Haitian migrants (AP) The White House is facing sharp condemnation from Democrats for its handling of the influx of Haitian migrants at the U.S. southern border, after images of U.S. Border Patrol agents on horseback using aggressive tactics went viral this week. Striking video of agents maneuvering their horses to forcibly block and move migrants attempting to cross the border has sparked resounding criticism from Democrats on Capitol Hill, who are calling on the Biden administration to end its use of a pandemic-era authority to deport migrants without giving them an opportunity to seek asylum in the United States. At the same time, the administration continues to face attacks from Republicans, who say Biden isn’t doing enough to deal with what they call a “crisis” at the border. Immigration is a complex issue, one no administration has been able to fix in decades. And Biden is trapped between conflicting interests of broadcasting compassion while dealing with throngs of migrants coming to the country—illegally—seeking a better life.

Haitian journey to Texas border starts in South America (AP) Robins Exile downed a traditional meal of plantains and chicken at a restaurant run by Haitian immigrants, just a short walk from the walled border with the United States. He arrived the night before and went there seeking advice: Should he try to get to the U.S., or was it better to settle in Mexico? Discussion Monday at the Tijuana restaurant offered a snapshot of Haitians’ diaspora in the Western Hemisphere that picked up steam in 2016 and has shown little sign of easing, demonstrated most recently by the more than 14,000 mostly Haitian migrants assembled around a bridge in Del Rio, a town of only 35,000 people. Of the roughly 1.8 million Haitians living outside their homeland, the United States is home to the largest Haitian immigrant population in the world, numbering 705,000 people from the Western Hemisphere’s poorest country. Significant numbers also live in Latin American countries like Chile, which is home to an estimated 69,000 Haitians. Nearly all Haitians reach the U.S. border on a well-worn route: Fly to Brazil, Chile or elsewhere in South America. If jobs dry up, slowly move through Central America and Mexico by bus and on foot to wait—perhaps years—in northern border cities like Tijuana for the right time to enter the United States and claim asylum.

‘We were them:’ Vietnamese Americans help Afghan refugees (AP) In the faces of Afghans desperate to leave their country after U.S. forces withdrew, Thuy Do sees her own family, decades earlier and thousands of miles away. A 39-year-old doctor in Seattle, Washington, Do remembers hearing how her parents sought to leave Saigon after Vietnam fell to communist rule in 1975 and the American military airlifted out allies in the final hours. It took years for her family to finally get out of the country, after several failed attempts, and make their way to the United States, carrying two sets of clothes a piece and a combined $300. When they finally arrived, she was 9 years old. These stories and early memories drove Do and her husband Jesse Robbins to reach out to assist Afghans fleeing their country now. The couple has a vacant rental home and decided to offer it up to refugee resettlement groups, which furnished it for newly arriving Afghans in need of a place to stay. “We were them 40 years ago,” Do said. “With the fall of Saigon in 1975, this was us.” The crisis in Afghanistan has spurred many Vietnamese Americans to donate money to refugee resettlement groups and raise their hands to help by providing housing, furniture and legal assistance to newly arriving Afghans.

‘Crisis of trust’: France bristles at US submarine deal (AP) France’s top diplomat declared Monday that there is a “crisis of trust” in the United States after a Pacific defense deal stung France and left Europe wondering about its longtime ally across the Atlantic. France canceled meetings with British and Australian officials and worked to rally EU allies behind its push for more European sovereignty after being humiliated by a major Pacific defense pact orchestrated by the U.S. Speaking to reporters in New York, French Foreign Minister Jean-Yves Le Drian said European countries won’t let Washington leave them behind when shaping its foreign policy. Le Drian reiterated complaints that his country was sandbagged by the submarine deal between the U.S., Britain and Australia, which led to France losing a contract to sell subs to Australia. Washington, London and Canberra say the deal bolsters their commitment to the Indo-Pacific region, and it has widely been seen as an effort to counter an increasingly assertive China. But Le Drian, who is in New York to represent France at the U.N. General Assembly, said it was a “brutal, unexpected and unexplained breach” of a contract—and a relationship.

Pedestrians take to the streets of Paris to celebrate the city’s seventh annual ‘day without cars’ (Business Insider) On Sunday, Paris turned over its streets to pedestrians so that citizens and visitors could enjoy its seventh annual “day without cars.” Announced by socialist mayor Anne Hidalgo in 2015, the city received enthusiastic support from both ordinary Parisians and unlikely parties including the head of a French drivers’ association, USA Today reported. From 11 a.m. to 6 p.m., cars, motorcycles, and scooters are banned throughout Paris, and any offenders face a fine of 135 euros, according to the Paris Without A Car website. Certain vehicles like buses, emergency vehicles, taxis, and private drivers are allowed to circulate, although their speed is limited to 20-30 kilometers per hour (12-19 miles per hour) in certain areas. Events at this year’s “day without cars” included a techno parade, picnic, bicycle fair, rollerblading marathon, and street art exhibitions, according to the event website.

More evacuations as lava gushes from Canaries volcano (Reuters) Lava gushing from the Canary Islands’ first volcanic eruption on land in 50 years has forced authorities to evacuate another part of El Paso municipality on the island of La Palma and to urge sightseers attracted by the phenomenon to stay away. About 6,000 of the 80,000 people living on the island have been forced to leave their homes to escape the eruption so far, TVE said. The volcano started erupting on Sunday after La Palma, the most northwestern island in the Canaries archipelago, had been rocked by thousands of quakes in the prior days. It has shot lava hundreds of metres into the air, engulfed forests and sent molten rock towards the ocean over a sparsely populated area of La Palma. Experts say that if and when the lava reaches the sea, it could trigger more explosions and clouds of toxic gases.

Magnitude 6.0 earthquake strikes near Melbourne (Reuters) An earthquake with a 6.0 magnitude struck near Melbourne in Australia on Wednesday, Geoscience Australia said, causing damage to buildings in the country’s second largest city and sending tremors throughout neighbouring states. The quake’s epicentre was near the rural town of Mansfield in the state of Victoria, about 200 km (124 miles) northeast of Melbourne, and was at a depth of 10 km (six miles). The quake was felt as far away as city of Adelaide, 800 km (500 miles) to the west in the state of South Australia, and Sydney, 900 km (600 miles) to the north in New South Wales state, although there were no reports of damage outside Melbourne and no reports of injuries.

‘An iron curtain’: Australia’s covid rules are stranding people at state borders (Washington Post) The four figures huddled in the shade on the side of the highway, eight miles from a border they had hardly noticed until it slammed shut behind them. As flies buzzed and crows circled and their supplies ran low, they waited for emails that would allow them to leave New South Wales and return to their home state of South Australia. Teresa Young and her husband had been stuck at the rest stop—little more than a toilet in the middle of the Outback—for 10 days. “All of a sudden, Australia has been cut up like pieces of a cake,” the 75-year-old said on a recent day. Welcome to covid-era Australia, where state border closures designed to keep the coronavirus from spreading have turned retired office workers into roadside nomads. When the pandemic began, many Australians found that the leaders of the country’s six states and two territories, rather than the federal government, suddenly controlled the most vital things in people’s lives, including who could go to work and where they could travel. The closures have upended domestic travel and stranded scores of Australians internally, even as a vaccination ramp-up means some states—and international airports—will soon open up. People in Sydney could find it easier to fly to Singapore or Los Angeles than to Adelaide.

Sudan’s coup attempt (Foreign Policy) Sudanese state media reported a “failed coup attempt” early Tuesday morning. The coup reportedly involved an attempt to take control of the state radio services. If confirmed, the attempted power grab would be the fourth putsch attempt the African continent has seen this year, following military takeovers in Guinea and Chad and an unsuccessful coup in Niger.

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: The Apparition Ch 2

Please comment!

-

You looked around the room, glad to finally have arrived in Norway. Some part of you wondered if Loki had given you some of his ghostly powers to get you through the flight. Maybe you had hallucinated yourself through it. Nothing really felt real since he had spoken to you.

You had been in all but a daze to order airplane tickets, book a room in this small hotel and find travel that would take you to New Asgard where Loki's brother would be. Nothing really felt real, well nothing but Loki, only Loki you were certain had been real.

Looking down at your phone at the single text message from Trish, wondering where you were. She had stopped at your house to check on you but you hadn't answered. You thought of stories of other peoples' friends, their phones probably would've blown up if they had left the country. Still, it had only been a few hours.

You leaned against the door, sliding to the ground and felt tears welling in your eyes, hands rising to your face. A sob rose in your throat.

Once more the room went dark, but this time that oppressive air didn't come with it, something lighter, more comforting. A green mist rose around you and Loki was kneeling before you, hand on your knee, the other on your shoulder.

Whispering softly, Loki whispered, 'Shh, darling, you're alright, I'm here. Everything is going to be fine.'

You leaned forward, slumping into him and sobbed freely, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and let the tears fall. 'I can't believe I did that, I just left everything behind on a whim...'

'I know, it was very brave.' Loki swallowed hard, 'You've done so much for me.'

You looked up at him, 'I would do it again too.'

'You always have.' Loki stroked his fingers through your hair and smiled comfortingly down at you. 'Here, let's not sit on the floor.'

'Can you tell me about, well me?'

Loki hummed thoughtfully, 'Why don't you change into something more comfortable, you've had a long journey, prepare yourself for bed, then I will. Tomorrow is going to be a long day as well.'

You grinned, thinking of the impending bedtime story. 'Ok.'

An amused smile settled on Loki's face and you hurried to the bathroom with your suitcase, readying yourself for bed. You shut the door behind yourself, wondering if he was able to see you, suddenly self conscious. Did you mind? A blush crept on your cheeks as you changed, back to the door and careful to cover yourself as best you could. Changing as fast as you could in case he might catch a glimpse, but did it matter since you had once been married, were you ready for that? So many thoughts ran through your head, you shook them away as you finished getting ready for bed and hurried back out, worried once more that he might be gone.

To your relief, Loki was sitting idly on the bed, staring around the room and taking in the sights. He was laying on his back, propped up against a pillow, fingers laced across his chest. When you entered the room, he started for a moment upon seeing you, but quickly relaxed and smiled, patting the bed for you to sit beside him.

'We have been best friends for centuries.' Loki began, gazing at you fondly, pulling back the blankets and moving aside so he can tuck you in. 'You were one of my mother's ladies in waiting, so you were always among nobility. My mother the queen.'

'You seem princely.'

Loki nodded, 'I was king for a time, the throne fell to me, this part gets complicated. But you stood beside me as ever, when the line of succession fell upon my shoulders. My brother's friends schemed against me, you would not stand for it. They shut you down as well. I would have been eternally grateful had I known that you stood with me but sadly I was quickly otherwise occupied.' You tilted your head curiously. 'Thor had been banished at the time and came back and usurped me but there was more to it than that, it was a complicated and messy affair. A dark time came afterward and I don't want to burden you with the full details, but you never lost hope in me. After that time I returned to Asgard from a time of exile and darkness. I had committed many grievous crimes perhaps under duress, it is hard to say.'

'Perhaps you should tell me what happened to you.'

Loki grit his teeth and looked away, 'I can't.'

You licked your lips and nodded, snuggling closer to him. 'When you're ready then.'

He turned back to you, surprised that you weren't pressing the matter. Slowly he nodded back at you. 'Bad things happened to me.' He whispered softly, reaching up idly touching at the blood on his face. Loki glanced away, then back at you, 'Odin blamed me, people... people died. I was locked away, sworn to never see another again. My mother decided that she would see me in secret regardless of Odin, my adoptive father's wishes. She often sent her ladies in waiting, including you, she knew how fond we were of each other and I appreciated her sending you to my side. Our relationship grew.' He smiled at the memories, then sighed, 'During my imprisonment, Asgard was attacked and my mother was killed. I was alone once more, though you tried your best to sneak down and see me, you could not cross the barrier without her magic. Eventually my brother devised a plan that allowed for my freedom but at the cost of my apparent death.'

'Is that...?'

Loki chuckled, 'Surprisingly no. I somehow survived, barely though. I returned to Asgard and found Odin half mad and ready to execute Thor for treason. I saved my brother's life, and admittedly my own as well as my sanity from returning to my cell as Thor had promised. So I took advantage of the situation and disguised myself as Odin. I had to fake my death. All of Asgard mourned you included but as soon as I was able, I told you and we had a secret marriage. I took you in as one of Odin's personal ladies-in-waiting so you could always be by my side. Sadly this didn't last. Thor returned from living on Midgard and Ragnorak came upon, Asgard was destroyed and while our people fled, the same being that...' Loki paused, searching for words. 'The one I don't wish to speak about.'

'The one that hurt you so badly earlier?'

'Yes.'

'That being returned for revenge on Asgard. It killed half our people, his name is Thanos, I don't fear it, but the death toll he's taken.' Loki sighed and shook his head, 'The damage he has done. And ultimately taking my life. I hoped you might escape, but he killed half our people before allowing Asgard to escape.' Loki pursed his lips. 'You were not one of the survivors to my horror.'

You felt tears well in your eyes at the thought of what must have happened.

'I woke up as I am, drifting in space, searching among the lifeless. I found your beautiful self...' Loki choked out the words. 'All I could do was hold you, whispering your name over and over again, begging you to wake up. Our ship was destroyed, Thor had long since been saved.' He swallowed, 'No one was coming back for you.'

Tears fell freely down your face and you realized that Loki couldn't cry as he stared at you dry eyed. What he must be feeling. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him to your bosom, stroking his hair and holding him tightly. 'I'm here now.' You whispered.

'It's been so long since I held you.' Loki whispered back, 'So many years.' You could hear the sob in his throat that wouldn't break, the choking gasp, 'I've looked for you for so long.'

'I'm here now, Loki, I'm here.'

Loki nodded, nuzzling his face against your chest. 'You're here.'

You trailed your fingers through his hair, humming any calming song you could think of, rocking him back and forth. Slowly you closed your eyes, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. You started to doze. The weight of him pressed against you just felt right, and you smiled. 'I'm here.' You repeated around your humming, still rocking gently. A small yawn escaped your lips and you felt darkness ebbing at the edge of your eyes.

Loki opened his eyes as you finally drifted off, a small smile touching at his mouth as he looked down at you, not moving from your ironfast grip, deciding it would be best to just stay put, hugging you through the night.

[dailyaudiobible]

12/05/2020 DAB Transcript

Hosea 1:1-3:5, 1 John 5:1-21, Psalms 124:1-8, Proverbs 29:5-8

Today is the 5th day of December welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it’s great to be here with you today as we continue our journey and conclude another one of our weeks together. And in doing that we’re also opening up a new book and actually moving into the final grouping of books in the Old Testament and these are known as the minor prophets only. And when we talked of the major prophets, we…we clarified that major and minor doesn't mean the level of importance. It has more to do with the length and how much material is in the text. So, the minor prophets are shorter, and they encompass the last 12 books of the Old Testament beginning here in Hosea and ending with the final book of the Old Testament, Malachi. So, we have…I mean it’s December 5th and we have 12 more books to go through in the Old Testament, and so that tells you, generally speaking, how quickly we’re gonna be moving. And we've been moving rather quickly through some of the shorter letters in the New Testament, which we will continue to do until we arrive at the final book in the New Testament which is the book of Revelation. And we’ll be arriving there. But now that we are moving into the minor prophets let's talk about this first one. Hosea that we’re…that we’re gonna read.

Introduction to the book of Hosea:

Hosea probably lived somewhere in the vicinity of the eighth century BC, and he probably saw the disintegration of his own land, which was the northern kingdom of Israel. And we remember in the Scriptures the Assyrian Empire came in and conquered the northern kingdom, the northern 10 tribes of Israel and carried them into exile and they were dispersed. They’re known as the diaspora. They were never really cohesive tribes ever again. They disappeared from history as tribes. And it's likely that Hosea was there and saw this. There are many scholars that believe that Hosea's prophecies were eventually collected together in written form in the southern kingdom of Judah after the Assyrian conquest was over. But like so many of the other things in the Bible, we don't know for sure these…this is just where…where we are in looking at where did these texts come…like what's their pedigree? So much is unknown. What is known is what's in the contents of the book of Hosea. And the theme of marriage is in the book of Hosea, not so much relating to man and woman, but more relating to a covenantal relationship with God. And this won't be the first time that marriage has been used as an illustration, but it's perhaps the most potent. So, often we hear the prophets coming and speaking of adultery. The adulterer, the covenant breaker, Israel, God's people, the covenant breaker or the spiritual idolater. And we understand that people were chasing after other gods besides the most-high God and giving themselves in worship, giving their hearts, giving their lives, giving their agendas, giving their money, giving their goods to false gods. And God the most-high God considered this adulteress. We read these things in the Bible, and often just kind of move beyond them just kind of read through them without understanding the implications, but adultery is something that the implications are evident. Some of us in the sound of my voice have been through this, but nobody doesn't understand what we're talking about here. And, so, if your spouse gives herself or himself, gives their body to somebody else, gives their heart to somebody else, their motivations begin this shift to somebody else while they’re married to you then this is…I don't even know…I mean…it's disorienting, it's hurtful, it's painful, it's torture, it just brings up the worst of the worst inside of us. It brings depression and anxiety and what's going to come next and what about the children…it's just an awful, awful thing and we can understand that in our own lives’ context. Hosea helps us understand that this is how God looks at His people when they give themselves to something that is false, choosing something that is false, and giving their heart and life and worship to something else besides the one that loves them passionately, the spouse in this…in this analogy. Then we begin to understand God's reaction, we begin to understand the things that he says to the prophets, the betrayal of His people. It's like being betrayed by your spouse. And, so, we hear the language of…of…of a lover who is heartbroken and longs for his lost love, and longs for a way to be restored to the one that he loves. And Hosea presents this more clearly and more poignantly than, at least in my opinion, anywhere else in the Scriptures, partly because God asks Hosea to make his life a living prophecy. So, as will see, Hosea is instructed by the Lord to marry a prostitute and her name is Gomer. And Gomer represents the idolatrous harlotry prostitution of Israel, spiritual prostitution. And, so, Hosea and Gomer have children together, and then God instructs Hosea that each child is to be given a prophetic name that speaks directly to Israel. And then Gomer, Hosea's wife that was a former prostitute is then again unfaithful to Hosea. So, he divorces her, and this represents God casting Israel away. And then Hosea’s told to go back in pursuit of Gomer, once again. And he had to eventually buy her back. So, this woman who had been his spouse who had had his children who had formerly been a harlot and went back into adultery had to be bought back, which she was by Hosea. And this represents just how far God is willing to go to be reunited, to be restored to those that He loves. And, so, as we read through this, if we will just consider our own lives, look at our own lives and the ways that we have been a betrayer, the ways that we have committed the same type of adultery. Maybe we’re not bowing down to a statue, but whatever it is we are giving ourselves to, whatever we are looking for to bring us life, whatever we are giving our heart to and our time to and our focus to can be an idol. So, let's begin. Hosea chapters 1 through 3 and we’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for another week and we just look at the calendar and observe there’s only three more weekends in this year. And, so, we have a ways to go and we have a lot of territory to cover, and we’re going to be covering massive territory in a quick amount of time as we move toward the conclusion of the Bible. And then we know we just start over again. This is the rhythm of our lives, but we mark this. We see this. We’re here now encountering the first weekend in this month of December and moving toward the second Sunday in Advent. So, we know where we are, but we also know how much we need You and the imagery in the book of Hosea today, it seems to show us how much You want us, how much You desire us and how much pain it brings when we are unfaithful. And we look to You and acknowledge that You have always been faithful. And, so, our own lives, our own actions can condemn us, and yet You talk of restoration, You talk of being reunited. You talk of coming home again. And, so, this is where we want to be. We don't ever want to wander. We actually don't ever want to wander, ever, ever, ever again. And, so, now that we have this imagery that when we do wonder when we do give ourselves to something else, thinking that it will be our security or that it will be our life, or that it will be the thing that fulfills us we are turning away and being unfaithful. So, come Holy Spirit we have no desire for this to be a part of our story ever again. We cannot do that without Your guidance. And yes, indeed we have to pay attention. And yes, indeed we have to stay awake to what You are doing. And yes, indeed we are grateful that Your word counsels us in that direction, but we have to do the work and participate, as we have learned from the letters recently. We can say whatever we want. Its ultimately what we live that is saying what we believe. And, so, come Holy Spirit, lead us into all truth and help us be awake and aware to see and respond to it. We pray this in the name of Jesus our Savior. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base it is…that’s the website for the Global Fire, for the Daily Audio Bible, for the community here, for…for everything that's happening around here. So, check that out.

Its Christmas times so we've been talking about that for the last week I guess and just talkin’ about how…well…we've passed the international shipping deadline. We’re still good domestically. We don't have a Christmas box this year, but we tried to make it so you can make your own Christmas box and Just browse and peruse the resources that are available in the Daily Audio Bible Shop, everything from things to write with, things to read or things to listen to. Check out the family Christmas album that we released a couple years ago. That makes a fantastic soundtrack for the season. The Christmas album is called family Christmas and you can look it up like on Google play or iTunes or anywhere you can stream music, Spotify, whatever. Just look for family Christmas and look for my name Brian Hardin and you should find it. And we released this a couple years ago as…well...as a companion to the season. And if you've been around here this long and gone all the way through the Bible this year you see the rhythms. There are rhythms in the week and brand-new shiny sparkly new weeks and there rhythms in the month and this…just the rhythm of life centered around the fact that we are going to devote a certain portion of the day, small as it might be to staying in the rhythm and allowing God's word to be a part of our lives and staying in community as we move through the Scriptures. And, so, we released really really contemplative, lushly orchestrated Christmas album a couple years ago that's really meant to be that…that go to album when you want to shut off all the lights except for the Christmas tree, right, or just whatever Christmas lights you have…just maybe a fireplace...maybe you don’t but, you know what I'm talking about. You shut off all the lights and then just…the glow and the calm and the piece and the quiet can descend upon you. This is meant to be the soundtrack for those moments. So, check that out. You can stream it, like I said, on Spotify Apple mucic, Google play or wherever, or you can get a physical copy of it as well as a digital…digital version at the Daily Audio Bible Shop. And there's a bunch of other resources. The Klean Kanteens that we have talked about, although I gotta tell if those survive past the first of the week, like I think they'll be gone by then. So, if you're thinking about it, don't wait. They'll be gone. We only get those rarely and so they go pretty quickly when we do. The Klean Kanteens are there. The God of Your Story, the written resource that is a January 1st through December 31st devotional that contains some of the gold of all of these years. And this is year 16 of the things that we've talked about as we’ve gone to the Scriptures. And, so, it is a great companion to the Daily Audio Bible. It's a great invitation to the Daily Audio Bible and it's a great one-year resource for people who just want to read through the Bible, but don't always…aren’t always able to grasp the context. And, so, the God of your story does a really good job in written form of what we do here every day. So, that's just a handful of resources, but check those out. If you spend $40 or more in the Daily Audio Bible shop. We will include in your order and you'll see it show up in your order if you pass the $40, the Daily Audio Bible Christmas ornament for 2020 and it's got Daily Audio Bible 2020 on it and its got our words for the year, which were “Vision” and “Settle”. And they are right there on the ornaments. So, check that out in the Daily Audio Bible Shop.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com as well. There is a link on the homepage. I thank you humbly and deeply for your partnership here as we approach the end of the year. Cannot thank you enough. We can't be here if we’re not here together. And, so, I thank you. There’s a link on the homepage. If you are using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if that is your preference, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you a prayer request or encouragement 877-942-4253 is the number to dial or you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button up at the top and share from there.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello DAB family this is Brother Ox praying for Carla Jean and her family. Father God we hear Carla Jeans tearful request for prayer. Her husband has come under heavy affliction and with his diabetic ketoacidosis condition as well as the new diagnosis of COVID- 19 and he’s in ICU. We’ve heard how she and her son had to…to shake him to…to even go to the hospital and now with them…them demonstrating system symptoms of Covid themselves they sounded rattled Lord. I lift up my sister right now along with many others in the DAB family undoubtably declaring that COVId-19 and diabetic ketoacidosis are names and those names will kneel before the name of Jesus. And, so, we declare such right now in Jesus’ name that these symptoms will leave this family, that they and I…I pray to encourage them that they need not fear what they see, that they need not be caught in the circumstance but to fix their eyes on the Lord who is good and is faithful to see us through. He is our shelter. He is our refuge. We replace ourselves under the shadow of the most-high God and we know that we are dearly loved and dearly protected. And, so, we lift up our prayers to our good, good Father. May she and her family be encouraged and lifted up. Stay well Carla. We love you.

Hey Daily Audio Bible family it’s Nobody Gets Left Behind in Colorado. It’s funny, I put a reminder on my phone to remind me once a month to just put a log on the campfire and just connect with the family from all over the world. I always like to think of it as a preview into heaven and how it says that there’ll be multitudes glorifying God. So, I just wanted to let you all know that we have about 14 to 16 people in Colorado that are reading the Daily Audio Bible together and this year we’re gonna have a year end Bible reading celebration and gonna go through the Daily Audio Bible Shop today and find some unique gifts to give out and I just want just celebrate being one big, you know, family and us throwing one big giant log on the fire from Colorado to end this year in celebration just because God is so good and all glory be to Him. In Jesus’ name. Amen. Love you guys. Hope you’re all doing well. I’m praying for you all I listen to your prayers. You all mean so much to me.

Hi, my beautiful family this is Suzanne calling from Albuquerque. Michaela from Gloucester, I have been overjoyed to hear your voice again. I missed you. I know you mentioned you had been going through some…some difficult times and I’m not sure what was going on there, but I am so glad to hear you again and welcome back to us. We love you very much. Michaela your heart is a beautiful example to all of us. You open your arms, your heart, the arms of your heart so big that you often pray for…for people in other religions, people in countries we don’t often hear that much about and you just…your heart is huge and I just…I’m just so grateful for your example of Jesus’ love. And I’m very happy to hear your voice again.

Hey Daily Audio Bible it’s Christy from Ohio. I just came back from a couple hour trip for my parents back to where I live, and we had our first like snowstorm of the year. So, the last hour or so the snow was coming down and already sticking which has kind of made me think that, yeah, it seems like a lot of the US is getting a lot of their first big snow of the season, which made me think of all of the truckers out there and it’s always important to pray for our truckers. But just thinking now especially with, you know, how people make, you know, other drivers just make more mistakes the first couple snows and there’s more accidents. And, you know, truckers have to be out there no matter what. So, just thinking of you Terry the Trucker and I know there’s probably a lot of other truckers too that listen. I think Jeanette from Oklahoma City, I think you used to be a trucker. I might be wrong. But anyways just wanted to let you guys know that I’m thinking of the truckers out there and, yeah, we should all just, yeah, be in prayer for their safety. So, all right. Talk to guys later.

Hi this is Goldberry in the Sequatchie Valley of Tennessee. I am a first time caller and I’ve been listening since March and I wanted to say thank you to Brian and for this wonderful ministry and for the Daily Audio Bible family that I have come to feel a part of. I am so grateful for the beautiful hearts for Jesus that I hear every day and for the prayers that are requested and prayed for each day. I’m calling to ask for your prayers for my daughter. She is 21. She has an eating disorder. She knows the Lord and loves him dearly but is really struggling with this. She is married and her and her husband lost a baby. He was…had a genetic problem and he…she carried him to term. Even though they said that she could abort him they carried him to term, and he died shortly after he was born. This has been a tragic loss for my daughter and for our whole family. My daughter would like to have another baby but there’s a 25% chance that this could recur. So, I wanted to ask that you would pray that my daughter would be healed of her eating disorder and would be able to have a healthy baby and also that her and her husband would be able to stop vaping. Thank you so much for your prayers. God bless you all.

[content-to-convert]

VIDEO DIDN’T KILL THE RADIO STAR...

VIDEO DIDN’T KILL THE RADIO STAR it just made him dress nicer 

By Pat Mellon 

Speaking of your brand evolving, PODCASTS are now a wise bullet to have in the arsenal of promotional weapons. In the early 2000's, for instance, you didn't have the option to record and distribute a PODCAST. The technology didn't exist to even IDENTIFY, much less create one- if you typed PODCAST into an email in 2002, it would have been flagged as a misspelling. 

But now, thanks to Audioblogging, re-branded as PODCASTING thanks to the iPOD, you can reach a targeted captive audience in a car on a long commute, with content that they've actually sought out. It's essentially a radio infomercial for the lifestyle of your product, without the PAID-PROGRAMMING aftertaste. Plenty of people have been slow to warm to the idea of such self-promotion and have waited to see if the technology and its effectiveness sustained or if it waned, the way QR codes did, or video discs did until the invention of the DVD. It can be an amazingly powerful part of your brand. 

Many rejected podcasting, as I did initially, as a waste of energy. In fairness, early on when there were no networks for podcasting and its business model was less focused than now, it smacked of self-congratulatory volunteer work. I saw it as an infringement on my profession. I have 15 years of radio hosting experience. I saw podcasts as competition. In my short-sighted view then, I didn't see the full potential of a podcast. I just saw it as people wanting my job. But as time went on, I began to see the ways, at least in terms of in-car entertainment, that podcasting was the future. And like the cryptic fortune cookie says, "Kill Your Darlings". Or maybe go with the less-confusing, "Reinvent Your Business Constantly. The End Goal May Be The Same But The Tools and Methods Evolve Constantly" which is a Ken Tucker quote I saw on a Snapple Cap. Or even the more direct, "You Have To Reinvent To Stay Fresh and In The Game" which Madonna said once. 

But early on, I saw it as the enemy - the way news journalists must have felt when FREELANCERS started getting a lot of the work in the late 90's. I thought, "If all you need to broadcast is a computer and an opinion, why the hell did I major in Broadcasting? It's like everyone becoming a Youtuber or a Social Media Influencer (seriously, that is NOT a good name. It's just saying what you're doing. It lacks creativity, like naming the glass thing you drink out of a "glass". Or the room with the bed a "bedroom". Or the thing you swing on a "swing". Or the... Sorry-I'll move on.) Anybody can become a Social Media Influencer these days, (and if they're under 14 and haven't been trying for half their lives then you might want to make sure they're breathing) and that means fame, sometimes money, but more important: LIKES. I overheard my 8 year-old playing with her friends and they were pretending there was a genie or something granting wishes and one girl asked for a pony, and another asked for a house of chocolate, and my daughter asked for a million LIKES on her video. LIKES are currency for pre-teen popularity. And LIKES or even merely PAGE VIEWS can be currency in the grown-up world of business. My point is that anyone with a computer and a camera can make money on Youtube if they hustle. It's simply the new normal. It's great, if not dangerous. We've yet to see the fallout of a generation raised on Youtubing, unless, of course, you count cautionary tales like Logan Paul or Jo Jo Siwa, both of whom are rich. It's simply another entertainment option for kids. I kinda thought podcasting was that, but for adults who only wanted quasi-fame; to show-off. But it's bigger than that.

If you're a plumber, for instance, and you want to maximize business, you probably want a decent social media footprint, some solid YELP reviews, and maybe even a podcast. Toilet clogged? Click here for an interview with master plumbers from all over. It's not the ONLY thing you should do. It's ONE of the things you should do.

On the consumer side, you have to realize that traffic, especially the bumper-to-bumper kind, is GOLD to a radio talk show host. People listen the most in their cars, so DJ's in New York and Los Angeles, the #1 and #2 radio markets depending on who you ask*, for instance, who entertain on the radio, are always on their toes to stay funny and relevant because it's so easy to push a button and change the station.

Then suddenly there was a new game in town. People were bypassing the radio altogether and plugging external sources into car sound systems, removing the commercials and unwanted Morning Zoo shenanigans, and rendering my entire college education and training void. My only hope was wishing death to the podcast movement, which I think I did a couple of times on the radio accompanied by a sound effect of a toilet flushing (Take THAT, Podcasting!). It didn't work. I kept hearing the word. Podcast. (eerie voice) PODD CAAAST! My head was in the sand. People would say to me, "you should do a podcast" and I'd cringe and wildly swing fists at imaginary ghosts who were accusing me of "Resting on your laurels" and "Holding on too tight.”

It took a while, but I get the appeal and, more importantly, the power of the Podcast. It's like a book-on-tape for the 21st century- 10 times as cool, though, because it's technologically relevant, and can be different every time you listen. So we agree that podcasts are real. And we acknowledge that there is room for many things on the dashboard of a car, be them outlets, or additional buttons. And we agree that the the way we do business is always changing and we have to adapt to some degree. So why all the hub bub? Because we can't have an intelligent conversation about the delicate existence of Podcasts without talking about Shane Gillis, the comedian who was hired and fired by Saturday Night Live in the same week last year. We need to understand the power of what it was that torpedoed his streetcar (tune into Mixed Metaphors with Pat Mellon Tuesdays on The Podd Couple, right after Poddamnit at 8, and Pod of Thunder with Gene Simmons at 8:17) He and a buddy do this show, this podcast, it's like a radio show but you don't listen to it on your grandpa's Victrola, you tether your MP3 player to the radio inside grandpa's Camry, and there's bad language, which there never is on traditional, boring old dumb talk radio, so right away, it's awesome (honestly, the only difference between Howard Stern on radio and Howard Stern on satellite is the F word) and the internet allows curses and take that, Mr. Suit and Tie, and this is going to be amazing. And on one particular show from 2018, Gillis said "chink" when describing someone in Chinatown. Not a huge scandal, but I guess you'd have to ask Roseanne Barr if the internet can get you into to any kind of trouble. She was exiled from the the entire US for a social media post that mentioned race and monkeys. And the same new normal that allows John Q. Anybody to do a podcast ALSO watches everything you do online and will sink you if it sees something it does not like. America can be confusing that way. Freedom of speech and freedom of complaining about freedom of speech are always at each other's throats, it seems. And you can't have it both ways. The guy who alerted the world to Bill Cosby's dating rituals online is loved by many but is also shunned by others, but that guy knows what he did and he knows not to complain about the ones who, well, complain. It's the price you pay.

The point is, you need to constantly be hustling and using all of technology’s modern tools to get your product out (they’re not burning DVD’s anymore) and maybe one of those avenues is a podcast with salty language, and maybe that podcast exists among your body of work that clients can enjoy whenever they want.

But we live in a new age of retroactive outrage. Eddie Murphy was on SNL and is arguably the most talented person the show has produced. He did a stand-up special in which he explores “What if Mr. T were a Faggot?” It was inflammatory and it was insensitive and it was homophobic (though that buzzword was still a decade from conception) because the premise of the joke- the attribution of homosexual behavior to a big, strong, black man being marginalized as solely predatory sodomy - crossed the line. When I spell it out like that it looks horrible. But it’s a simple comedic device: assigning unlikely behavior to someone for comedic purposes. It’s the fish-out-of-water gag. It’s why we had Mork, and Alf, and Balkie from Perfect Strangers. It’s Freaky Friday. It’s why The Rock playing a babysitter or a tooth fairy is funny. Murphy did this AFTER he was on SNL. But if has been released before he auditioned, do you think he’d have been hired? 

  Of course he would have. Because the Mr. T thing was a small part of that special (though, I recall, an extremely quotable part) and the people who didn’t like or appreciate the language didn’t have the bionic megaphone of the internet so they could get their outrage all over your conscience. The point is that your podcast is a reflection of your brand. You have to weigh your desire to speak freely and loosely with your desire to keep the Cancel Culture at bay. At a MINIMUM, though, you should keep things clean for your clients, listeners, and most importantly, your potential customers. Shane Gillis missed out of being on SNL and fame, instead on infamy because he broke one of society's biggest rules:he said something controversial out loud. Granted, it was in bad taste, but if that were a crime half of us would be in jail. It's just important to remember that your language on a work-based podcast should be professional, which I realize cannot be defined easily, but maybe stay away from slang and cursing. Just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD.