#this isn’t meant to be ableist or anything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crippy-tangerine · 2 months ago

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This post is going to talk in depth about dental/oral hygiene and ways to (hopefully) make it easier. There will be a summary at the end- look for the bold orange text. This post is aimed at other disabled people, but abled folk are welcome too (just don’t derail or be ableist, please!).

If this is not a post you wish to see, or you just don’t want any advice/ideas for this, that’s ok!! We don’t want to give unsolicited advice, so now is the time to scroll! Okay love you 🫰.

If you want to read though, hi! On we go now, under the cut:

Hey! So, we were thinking recently about how tiring/challenging disability can make keeping your teeth clean. And we manage to keep pretty good dental health (/not bragging, just stating because it is relevant to this!) so we wanted to share what has helped us in the past and currently to look after our teeth best we can?

This is not going to be a guilt-trippy post (we hope anyways, if anything comes off like that please tell us and we shall change that shit!), we are all about just doing what you can. Okay, so:

1. If you struggle to brush your teeth because of the taste/strength of the taste of your toothpaste/mouthwash- you can change the brand & flavour. This is the one we’ve seen suggested a lot elsewhere so this may be already well known- but we did want to add a specific recommendation; if the mint flavouring in dental products being too strong is why you struggle to brush your teeth, there are brands that will do other flavours like strawberry or apple. When we were littler we got braces and got given this special orthodontic toothpaste with matching flavour mouthwash. It was an apple flavoured one- but not in an overly sweet way, just this fairly neutral, mild & minimally minty way.? It still contains mint afawk, but it is not the dominant flavour in our memories. We didn’t remember it having mint at all actually- we only saw it when we went to look it up for this. Anyways, the brand is “VITIS”- the one we had is marketed mainly towards people with dental appliances like braces, but from what we can tell that’s mainly because it has some ingredients that are meant to help any small little cuts or abrasions caused by the braces rubbing against your mouth, and not because nobody else can use it? Linked both the toothpaste & mouthwash below so it’s easier to find. (This isn’t sponsored or something by the way- this is just the ones we have personally tried & know!)

2. If the alcohol content in mouthwash is a risk factor for you/the alcohol is a sensory issue/the alcohol dries out your mouth & causes issues- there are brands that don’t put any alcohol in their mouthwashes. At all. Some brands also do alcohol-free versions of their main-line mouthwash aimed at kids. Which also means they may do it in fun flavours that, again, don’t have mint as the main flavour.

3. If the texture/size of the toothbrush itself causes sensory issues- there’s a lot of ways the design and bristle-strength of the toothbrush can be changed. If you find the bristles too hard/strong/coarse and it hurts your mouth- look for kids-range toothbrushes! They tend to have softer bristles that don’t give as much resistance when you brush your teeth. The toothbrush heads will also be smaller too. Some will also have more bendy stems (? The long bit that you hold) if that is something you need to think about too. For adult toothbrushes you can also get toothbrushes that have harder, stronger, thicker bristles than standard, if you need more sensory input. There are also some that will come with rubbery textures around some of the bristles. You can also get toothbrushes where there are textured rubbery parts on the stem (handle?) as well, which we like because of the added sensory input and because it makes the toothbrush softer and easier to hold for us. The rubber might also help if you also end up chewing your toothbrush at all, as it makes it less hard?

4. If the energy/motion/executive functioning it takes to physically move the toothbrush around your mouth is too much to deal with- it could be worth looking into electric toothbrushes? They seem to be (a lot) more expensive than manual toothbrushes, but if you feel it would help you to not have as much energy spent on dental routines, it might be worth looking into! The ones we have seen let you switch out the type of head you put on the toothbrush stem (which you can charge when the battery runs out)- so there should still be ways to customise things like texture & resistance. It removes the element of brushing back-and-forth over the same tooth, as you basically just hold the brush over each tooth and the toothbrush does the work. We do want to mention though that they can vibrate a fair bit (it feels like a buzzing in your hand when you hold it and on your teeth if that makes sense?). Which is maybe welcome sensory input for you! If you’re like us though that’s a big no-no, so that’s maybe something to bear in mind if you look into it.

5. If you just can’t handle the act of brushing your teeth at all right now- first of all, that’s okay. It’s not some moral or personal failing like we’ve seen some people imply. You just keep on getting by, however that looks for you at the moment. If you can’t keep to a routine (for example “brush twice a day, once in the morning & once at night”), you can change it. Or you can have no routine at all, and just do the things you can manage at whatever point in the day/night you feel up to it. If you need to go with brushing your teeth once a day? That’s so fair! If you don’t have the energy to hold a toothbrush to your mouth, it is an option to skip the brushing and go for only mouthwash. If you are too fatigued and/or bedbound and can’t brush your teeth with toothpaste/mouthwash? That’s ok! You could always try out things like taking a mouthful of water and swooshing it around your mouth (to try get any little bits of food or anything out from between your teeth). If you have some energy, but not the ability to get to a sink/basin/whatever to brush your teeth? There are chewing gums that are made to help with oral hygiene that you could try out. We know that personally the taste in our mouth can cause sensory issues, so this might help if you really want to brush your teeth but can’t in the moment. If you have limited energy for personal hygiene and don’t have the energy to physically carry out lots of tasks in a day? We’ve been there. It’s hard, and sometimes you just can’t get to everything, and that’s okay. If you like, you can try to merge hygiene tasks together- for example, brushing your teeth in the shower. Like, take your toothbrush into the shower with you. You could sit on the floor if it’s easier (we do!) and do your brushing routine whilst you shower.

6. If you struggle with brushing teeth because it feels like a demand/isn’t rewarding/is just generally difficult or unpleasant- this is a gentle reminder that you do not actually have to follow set rules about routines if they don’t help you. If demands like ��you need to brush your teeth at this set time!” make you feel stressed out or upset, you can ignore them if you fancy it. Who’s to say you can’t do it an hour later? Or earlier? Five minutes later than expected because fuck being told what to do? Endless options really. If you struggle with the routine because it feels too boring, bland or just not worth the effort it takes? You can make that shit more interesting if you want. Put on some music with a fun rhythm and try to match your teeth-brushing with it. Get yourself a toothbrush with your favourite character or animal on it. Decorate the space where you brush your teeth- and if you need a checklist of actions around the routine, write it up and put it there for you to look at & remind yourself. Give yourself little & consistent rewards in whatever capacity you find most helpful every time you brush your teeth if it helps. If you feel up to it, make a chart where you can put fun stickers every time you brush your teeth. You brushed your teeth yesterday? Boom, gold star shiny sticker for you on the chart. You tried out using mouthwash today? Boom, another shiny sticker. And if you just find the task of brushing your teeth unpleasant- we want you to know that’s understandable. Personal hygiene can just be a lot to do and maintain!! If you want to try out doing more oral hygeine stuff/try to maintain a schedule but are just dreading it- we recommend distractions. In whatever form works for you. Brush your teeth with your favourite songs blaring through your headphones. Put on your favourite cartoon or show and watch it whilst you try out using mouthwash. If you’re extra good at multitasking, brush your teeth with one hand and use a fidget toy in the other,,, so many options really, if you can think of anything that’d be helpful to you personally, try it. Worst case scenario, it doesn’t work. And you know what- that’s ok too. It’s ok if none of this stuff helps you. Sometimes things are just really fucking hard, and that’s not your fault.

7. If you have memory issues/lose time/struggle to organise and remember what you need to do for oral hygiene- we cannot recommend phone reminders enough. Not alarms (loud and stressful for us!), reminders. On Apple phones there’s an app that’s just called “Reminders”. It’s basically an app where you can set up lists of tasks/appointments/important dates and give them time and date stamps. When that time/day comes, it just gives you a little pop-up notification the same as any other notifications you have from other apps. It’s quiet, and for us at least it means we’re more inclined to go do it because it feels less stressful. We’re actually very fond of this app now so if a separate post talking about how we use it would be helpful we can try to make one ☺️. But more broadly speaking; if you will find it useful, get your hands on an app that will send you a visible reminder of what you want to do with your dental hygiene. Be as specific as you want, set as many as you want. We put an example of how we do this below in smaller text (so it’s easier to skip if you don’t want it!). Skip the small text if you just want to continue the main post.

• Small and optional example here! When we have to do something and know we won’t like it/will struggle with the steps to do it, we will set a series of reminders. They may look like this: Alarm 1, “X thing needs doing in 40 minutes!”. Alarm 2 (30 minutes later), “time to get up and start preparing to do X thing now!”. Alarm 3 (5 minutes later), “Good job, it’s time to start doing X thing now! Remember that you need to do [insert steps for the task here]!”. Alarm 4 (5 minutes later again), “Great job, you did X thing! Time for [insert reward]”. You can set separate alarms for each individual step if you want to as well. We’ve also found that encouraging language in the reminders makes us way more receptive to doing the task (and not being angry about it while doing it). You could also set a fun ringtone to the alarms if that would help. Okay, back to the main post now!

Hello again! Continuing on for point 7. If phone reminders aren’t for you, or you don’t check your phone enough for them to be useful- physical calendar-type charts may be helpful! If you put a physical chart somewhere you will see it, and make it big enough that you’ll catch sight of the written reminders on it, that could help if you’re struggling to keep up with dental stuff because you just don’t remember. You could put it somewhere like beside your bed, next to your medication (if you take any), on the wall outside your bathroom, or on your desk/fridge/front door if those are places you see/go to regularly. And decorate it if you like!! Spend time making the chart if you like, design it however you want- make it a fun thing to look at and engage with. A physical calendar may also help if you lose time and can’t remember when you last did certain dental things. If you check off what you do/don’t do each day, then hopefully when you next lose time you’ll have at least some idea of what has/hasn’t been done recently. If written reminders don’t work for you though, and you’d rather have a physical and verbal reminder, consider enlisting the help of others if they’re available and up for it! If you live with others that would be okay with doing this (for example your partner/partners, a parent/guardian, a roommate, a carer, a sibling), you could always request that they help you out by verbally reminding you to brush your teeth/use floss or gum/use mouthwash. If they want to/are able to and it’s something you’d find helpful- you could also consider some hand-over-hand physical guidance to help you complete dental hygiene tasks. For example, if you have a carer, you could request that one of the things they help out with is reminding and physically helping you to brush your teeth. You could also request that they give verbal instructions and/or encouragement throughout the task, so that you don’t get stuck or confused part way through what you’re doing.

8. Miscellaneous things we didn’t manage to fit in earlier- there are likely a lot of disability aids out there to help with things like physically holding the toothbrush to your mouth. We don’t have enough information on them- so we don’t feel able to give proper advice on this, especially as we haven’t tried any out ourselves. But they’re out there!! There are other things like keeping hydrated that will help you out a lot, from what we have seen! Dehydration means you produce less saliva, which can have an impact on your dental health. So if you can, keep water close by you (for example by your bed, by your desk, somewhere visible in your kitchen, in your work/school bag). If nothing else, we find that drinking enough water means our mouth doesn’t feel uncomfortably dry and start tasting “funny”, as we call it. Water bottles are your friend if you’re prone to spilling/knocking cups of water over, and if you need to get non-reusable plastic straws to help you drink more? Do it. If you spend a lot/all of your time in bed, you can keep a lot of water beside it- along with any chewing gum, mouthwash or floss you may want- and somewhere to spit out the gum/mouthwash (could literally just be an empty cup or bowl, there are no rules!). If you have braces (or just generally struggle to get into all the hard-to-clean areas in your mouth, like between your teeth) there are these little things called “Interdental Brushes” that are specifically designed to make it easier for you to get into any hard-to-access places in/around/between your teeth. They have a small plastic handle, and then a single, pointy bit of bendy wire that is covered in little bristles. It is basically a tiny, pointy toothbrush for spots you’re struggling to clean. The bristles come in lots of different sizes (for different-sized spaces in your teeth!). There are also versions with much longer (and slimmer) handles- similar to an actual toothbrush. We’ve found them helpful because unlike a toothbrush, the heads can be bent at different angles so you can get behind your teeth easier. We’ll link the ones we use below (again not sponsored, just don’t feel comfy recommending brands we haven’t tried!). You also, by the way, do not have to use any energy over the bare minimum to do dental hygiene stuff. You want to sit on the bathroom floor to brush your teeth? Go for it, it’s what we do too! You wanna lie propped up in bed to use dental floss? Awesome! Just please, please make sure you don’t lie on your back to use dental health stuff that could be accidentally swallowed or choked on. On that note- if using certain dental health items/substances will be physically dangerous to you in any way, please be careful, either don’t use them or make sure you have assistance/support using them. Safety is the priority. And good luck if you try any of this, we really hope at least some of it can be useful!

With that, we will probably end our long-form rambling there. We have undoubtedly missed things (feel free to add on!) but we hope this helps 💖. Below will be a TLDR (we realise this is so much text, so it will summarise key points!). We will also put the links we promised at the bottom.

TLDR for the post:

- You can change the size, shape, texture and resistance of your toothbrush. Kid’s toothbrushes are also an option!

- You can change the flavour and strength of your toothpaste and mouthwash. There are types that aren’t so minty, or minty at all! We’ve seen strawberry and apple flavours.

- You can get mouthwash with zero alcohol content. Look for types aimed at younger children.

- You can get electric toothbrushes. They’re more expensive, but worth the investment if they’ll help you save energy/prevent symptom flares. Do be aware they vibrate when you hold them and they vibrate when they touch your teeth.

- You don’t actually have to follow set timetables/routines for dental hygiene if they don’t help you/make things harder. Mess around with the routines if you like. Do what you can, when you can.

- Reminders are a thing! Phone reminders/alarms, physical copies of timetables/charts/reminders you can put up around your space, verbal reminders from people you live with… We personally use phone reminders.

- Chewing gum that helps with dental health exists. If you can’t brush your teeth/use mouthwash/floss but you have enough energy to chew for a bit, this might help!

- You can give yourself little rewards every time you manage a dental hygiene task. Because go you! Sticker charts are what come to mind, but do whatever you find helps you best 💖.

- Staying hydrated is important! For lots of reasons, but also for dental health!

- Interdental brushes are a thing, and they’re made to get between your teeth or behind any braces you may have.

- Use as little energy as you can. Sit on the floor to brush your teeth. Brush your teeth in the shower. Floss while you sit up in bed. Literally just do what you can, where you can, when you can. No rules to this stuff except “do what’s possible” & “stay as safe as you can manage”.

- If you have people around who can help, and would be willing to help? Ask!! Anything from verbal reminders to hand-over-hand guidance is an option if you want it and can get it.

- Make it fun and/or give yourself distractions! Loud music, your favourite show, YouTube video essays, stimming at the same time… All options!! And you can decorate your dental hygiene products and buy a toothbrush with your favourite animal/character on too if you want! Do what you want/can to make it all bearable/doable.

//End of post summary. End of main post.

Below are the links we promised. Number 1 is the VITIS orthodontic apple toothpaste.

Number 2 is the VITIS orthodontic apple mouthwash.

Number 3 is the TePe interdental brushes (we use the pink ones personally). For some reason it won’t show an image on the link sorry, it’s a link to the official TePe site, specifically the page that shows their interdental brushing products 💖.

//End of list of links. Below are the actual links.

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sophieinwonderland · 2 months ago

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Positivity anon.

You will fail then, simply put. If you continue to make yourself out as a monster, you will be reinforcing all of the things anti endos believe. You will be proving that endogenic systems are ableist towards CDD systems, in their minds, regardless of how you treat pro-endo CDD systems.

Did you treat SAS like this? I’ve been around in syscourse far longer than you have, nearly for that decade that you’ve mentioned, and on the internet for far longer than that still. I don’t remember seeing vitriol like this back then. I don’t remember you treating known “monstrous” anti-endos that way.

I don’t remember anything but kindness making this world a better place.

It’s not tone policing to let you know that actively retraumatizing anti endos will do nothing but retraumatize them. You will not make less anti endos this way. You will not make things any safer for endogenjc systems. You won’t be working toward plural acceptance.

Meanwhile, I just had another anti-endo friend of mine come to me to tell me they’ve changed, and they regret how they’ve acted. I’ve worked with this friend to remind them that, while I thought their beliefs about endogenic were horrible and dehumanizing and wrong, I believed they could be a better person, and I knew our differences couldn’t stop us from co-existing. I was the first endogenic system they knew who didn’t treat them like a monster.

When all you’re treated as is a monster, then you will stay a monster. And most days, it feels like that’s what you want. After all, if you didn’t have anti-endos, what would be left of your blog? Isn’t this all you do now? Attacking anti endos as much as possible to further instigate and traumatize them into becoming so monstrous that (somehow) they become irrelevant? I still don’t understand your logic.

This isn’t the plural future I want. When you said the future is plural, I thought you meant we would accept all systems — traumatized or not. Traumatized people will fuck up and make mistakes. Being anti endo is one of those mistakes. What you show to everyone is that making that mistake makes people irredeemable, worthy of the trauma they’ve experienced, and bigots with no hope of reaching a safe environment where they no longer feel the need to lash out.

I just want to show anti endos that there’s a way to change and grow.

Did you treat SAS like this?

Like what?

SAS and I had lots of back and forths, and they certainly weren't always kind on either side.

I didn't yell at them. I tried not to call them names. I didn't use profanity. But at least aside from the very early beginning, I wasn't warm and cuddly to them either.

But if you look at how I handle anti-endos directly when I talk to them... I don't think I've changed my tactics that much. I think if you compared how I responded to SAS 2 years ago, it's probably not much different from how I handle anti-endos directly today.

I'll make the big scary posts every now and then, but those are separate from my direct interactions with anti-endos.

I think that how I engage with individual anti-endos is the same as it's always been. I'll point out flaws in their arguments, I'll counter them with links to academic resources, etc.

I don’t remember anything but kindness making this world a better place.

What about passion?

What about righteous anger?

Would LGBT acceptance have made it as far as it has today (even with as far as it has yet to go) without the Stonewall Riots?

I am not suggesting that we are to the point where we need riots either. Nor that we're enduring the level of systematic oppression as LGBT people in the 60s. But what I am saying is that there's an alternate universe where, when the police raided, the LGBT community at the time bowed their heads and went along in silence because they didn't want to create stir. A universe where there were no riots and no gay pride parade to mark its anniversary.

In that universe, would gay marriage even be legal today?

I look around at this community, and I see so many people who are mistreated by society for being plural. But despite this, they have been conditioned to accept it. They've been conditioned to feel like there is something wrong with them for the way they are, for being plural.

And I want them to know that it's not their fault that they've been mistreated. That they've been bullied. That they've been accused of faking.

And that this shouldn't have to be the way the world is.

That we can change it.

But we can't change it if we aren't angry about it first. If we're complacent and just accept it the way it is, nothing will change.

We need to be willing to come together and loudly proclaim that we will not tolerate intolerance.

I respect what you're doing. I truly do. And I think the endogenic community needs people like you in it, who are willing to reach across to the other side.

But I think it also needs people who are willing to call bigotry what it is.

Because while kindness is great, kindness alone without passion will simply be complacency with the status quo, and acceptance of hate.

And that is unacceptable.

#syscourse

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ironwoodprotectionsquad · 1 year ago

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Okay I 'm that one anon who prefaced that I wasn't attacking and I mention that because I didn't know how to re-identify myself

Anyway I agree without you on how poorly they handled Ironwood's downfall but what else you said continues to baffle me as a writer and as one whose trying to grow and trying to incorporate more characters how would you suggest going about topics of emotionally "throwing away ones humanity" if said character has prosthetics?

Like...and understand I'm trying to figure out how to word this. If you were to take...let's keep rolling with James. As he was before the absolutely asinine commentary on what him sacrificing his arm meant. If his prosthetics are just that and not meant to symbolize anything. Can you talk about him or any character or original creation under the idea of what they could be doing to themselves emotionally or mentally?

I'm really trying to find where to go cause it just seems that with disabled characters writing certain things for them is heavily limited as to what can be done because certain attempts at things could be labeled as ableism when that wasn't the intention either in an a stumble at the execution of an idea or because the audience (and I'm not saying this is Rooster Teeth cause holy shit is it not them) took something about what was being done and applied it to an aspect of the character that the creator wasn't even looking at.

On that note what they did in general with Penny and whatnot was odd but what would you do about a character that if they had the choice didn't want a disability? This is a more of an out of somewhere questions cause typing this I always think of the Spirit Fairer discourse where there was apparently a character who had a wheelchair and I guess at someone point didn't have it anymore and was happy about that. But people got so mad that the developers rewrote the story so the character remaind wheelchaired bound, but that just makes me ask is it wrong for a character to want to be able to not have a wheelchair? Like is it wrong to write a story where a character wants to be able to walk? Like how would you go about having a character having a disability and not wanting their disability anymore?

Honestly anon as I said before I just….wouldn’t. To put it another way, what does having someone throw away their humanity add to the story? Why do you feel like you need it? And why does it need to be the disabled person? All people have humanity because they’re human. Trying to have someone throw away their humanity is…dangerous territory because more often then not those stories tend to rely heavily on either disabilities or mental illness to “justify” that and for obvious reasons that is extremely ableist. And even without using either of those things it still can be interpreted by audiences to be the disability or mental illness’s fault and what made them lose their humanity. It’s…far too tricky a subject for me to think ever is worth it to be in a story.

If you’re asking how to make a disabled character evil that’s entirely different because evil people can still have their humanity because they’re human. They just happen to be an evil person who does bad things. Making Ironwood evil isn’t inherently a bad thing, but CR/WBY saying that losing his arm is a symbol of his lost humanity is. Then repeatedly having the villains be disabled is a problem. It’s important to ask “why does the disabled character have to be evil” when making them a villain because so often disabilities are used a short hand for villainous traits which is ableist and harmful and tells disabled audiences that their disabilities are seen as villainous.

It is generally the job of the author to really think about these things and the tropes that they are relying on for their story. As a society so many people view more metal = less human which just isn’t true and is actively harmful towards disabled people. Do you remember at all the Mars Rover Opportunity? How emotional people got when her last words came out “My battery is low and it's getting dark”. My friend from my discord group put it perfectly: Oppy is all metal but she’s human. She wasn’t born, she was created but she was alive. We loved her to humanity. People mourned when she passed. NASA played a love song for her. Her being metal didn’t matter, just as James being half metal shouldn’t matter, just as anyone having prosthetics shouldn’t matter. They are still humans with humanity, and I just don’t see any reason to write a story about someone willingly throwing away their humanity.

So Ironwood "wanting" to throw away his humanity and becoming more monstrous is ableist. Doing this to any disabled character is ableist because their disability will inherently be used as a shorthand for said monstrousness either by the author or audience.

Here are a few good videos that discuss the topic further and really discuss the issues with disabled villains:

youtube

Some great points the video discusses:

A lot of villains motivation is being "cured" of their disability which stems from this idea that disabled people are miserable and hate being disabled and can only be whole and happy if they are cured. Yes some people would like to have a curse for their disabilities, not everyone wants that and having most villains want that is a problem as it stems from the idea that being disabled is inherently tied to misery and suffering which just isn't true.

It also makes the point about how oftentimes disabilities are used as a visual shorthand for inhumanity in their villains and them merely being disabled and looking "other" is a clue to the audience that said person is evil and even inhuman in far too many cases. We repeatedly see this in RW/BY with Tyrians tail, Cinders Grimm arm, Salem, and James's new prosthetic. All are framed as evil and monstrous to show us how evil they are.

At the end of the day, I think it is crucial to talk to someone who has the disability you want to represent in your work about how you are portraying them. I cannot and do not speak for all disabled people in this discussion and can only really discuss my feelings/the feelings of those I have talked with. When writing disabled characters it is critical to include people with those disabilities in the discussion of how the characters story should go.

#rwde #james ironwood #ironwood protection squad #pro james ironwood #pro ironwood #general ironwood #general dadmiral #dadmiral ironwood #Ableism in RWBY #Ableism in Media

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acertainmoshke · 4 months ago

Text

Snippet (Part 1): Reputation

Ok so it didn't end up really gory in any sense of the word. But I like it anyway. And there will be a little blood in the next part, at least. No real content warnings except mildly ableist language and nongraphic mentions of injuries.

Fuck. Fuck it all. None of my usual ways of subtly getting out of this were about to work. I’d knelt to check on Lynn’s arm—definitely broken, and she was shaking, her crossbow forgotten on the floor—and so the wildlings hadn’t seen me. If they did, at first glance I would pass for a young human of uncertain gender (that had taken a lot of practice). But they were still busy looking at the children. Why was it always children?

Well. I say children. None of them were young like Cassie. Some of them might have even been 20, which for some of them meant they were 40. When I was their age, I was braving beyond the veil and adopting a kid.

But I hadn’t been ready for any of that. And they looked so young. Most of them had lost their weapons and had mild cuts and bruises. They stared at our captors. Our captors stared back, everyone floating in the momentarily calm eye of the storm.

One of the children nearest me—a changeling with tentacles circling her waist like a skirt—sniffed, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Lynn stopped shaking, took a breath, and tried to reach for her crossbow. She barely got halfway there before falling back with a half-stifled groan. She was trembling again, and when I reached out an arm to steady her, her skin felt hot.

The children weren’t up to fighting five grown wildlings. I needed to get Lynn back, now.

Oh, damn it all.

I tried to remember how it had felt, back then. The power rushing just under my skin. The confidence in knowing I was the scariest thing here. The looks on their faces when they realized I wasn’t going to let them run away.

I stood up, flipped my hair back and let it fall messily around my ears. Let my glamour slide away. I felt naked now without it, just as if I had torn off my skirt and sweater, but it had the desired effect. Their eyes flicked to me. I had to step around the children, shorter than almost everyone there, but the swagger it was much too easy to fall back into made me feel taller.

Even when I walked right up to the nearest wildling, who was tall like a tall human with floppy ears and mean-looking claws. Even when I looked straight up, right into his eyes, letting the pain of our gazes fuel the scorn in my voice.

“So you all are still picking on kids, then?”

More than one child bristled behind me, but none of them said anything.

“You have a problem with that, changeling?”

If I miscalculated, if none of them knew who I was, we were in trouble. I didn’t have an ice explosion in me tonight, after everything else I’d done. But surely, surely someone remembered. I couldn’t look that different, only with a few more wrinkles and somewhat fatter. The teeth and eyes were the important parts, and those remained the same.

“I do, yeah,” I hadn’t even planned to change my voice, which was already hard enough, but the old roughness slipped back into it, a hint of an accent I’d long since lost.

I grabbed his faded sweatshirt for good measure and pushed him, letting go and stepping back too fast for him to retaliate. His eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed and he started for me. Fine, then. Not ideal, but I could fight.

“Wait!” It was one of the other wildlings. He was thinner, with half-wing arms and a beak. “Just leave it. Let’s go, this isn’t worth it.”

The first wildling snorted in disbelief. “As if we don’t take on changelings all the time—”

“No. Not that one.” I chanced a glance and was relieved to see his eyes wide with real fear. “That one’s crazy.”

I let myself revel in the memories for a moment, the strength in pouncing off a roof and feeling the crack of ribs under my knees, of getting close enough for them to smell me and realize what I would do to win. My smile was slow and sharp.

“I don’t feel like fighting. You get one chance to leave.”

And they did. Even the skeptical one. Without so much as drawing the switchblade in my back pocket.

Lynn didn’t seem to fully understand what was going on, hunched over her injured arm, but the children backed away as I passed. Yeah, I remembered that feeling, too. But I ignored them; I had gotten them out of a much worse fate, what they thought of me didn’t really matter. So I picked up Lynn’s crossbow with one hand and convinced her to lean on my good shoulder and we headed back down the tunnel towards camp.

Tag list: @stesierra @amielbjacobs @ettawritesnstudies

#moshke writes #writeblr #cold iron #snippet

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gardenofradiostatic · 2 months ago

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our ela class is gonna read a couple excerpts from frankenstein and then do a graded discussion/socratic seminar on it… with a focus on morality and man vs monster (who is the real monster?). will be taking a sip of my water every time

somebody says something vaguely ableist about victor frankenstein

someone calls the creature Frankenstein or Frankenstein doctor

someone calls the book boring

grief, mental illness, and complex trauma are ignored in favor of assigning moral standpoints to characters

A take so absolutely flabbergasting, so wild, so jaw dropping that nobody in the entire history of Frankenstein analysis has ever said anything remotely similar to it is casually voiced.

someone makes a joke about fainting

victor is evil! creature is evil! or other such un-nuanced takes are made

someone name drops victor and I look up because lizard brain recognizes my name

“haha creature greehhhhhurghbleh its alive! something something”

i raise my hand to correct someone, and then put it back down because that’s mean and nobody else cares/knows that

i get spoken over or ignored

I spend ten minutes straight talking about frankenstein without interruptions

nobody has any opinions on it at all and we all just exchange awkward mumbles for 45 minutes

freakenstein? freaky jokes?

gonna time how far into the class I get before I have to leave to use the restroom. to be clear thjs isn’t meant in a “ugh these commoners don’t understand my book… such insubordinate plebs” way. this is meant in a “haha I think it will be interesting to witness a bunch of people experience one of my favorite medias ever for the first time. and even if I don’t agree with what is being said i will enjoy it” way.

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communistkenobi · 2 years ago

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There’s a popular sentiment in political discourse that right wing extremist beliefs - shit like Qanon, but also often just like, antisemitism in general - are indicative of mental illness, or that these beliefs are pathological in origin. There are a lot of arguments against this, but a common one I see in progressive spaces is that this is an ableist argument to make (which is a reasonable response!). However, I don’t think this is persuasive enough on its own to convince people to stop framing it as a mental illness thing (or even why it’s ableist to begin with). I also don’t think people fully understand why it’s a factually incorrect claim, even if they know it’s a problematic framing of the issue. And so I want to attempt to give an explanation for why that framework is wrong, and why believing it will lead you to poor conclusions about political beliefs generally.

This is going to be a long post, so it’ll be going under a cut. If anything doesn’t make sense or people want shit clarified feel free to send me an ask/reply etc. This is primarily aimed at people who might know that it’s wrong to call Nazis or Qanon people mentally ill (even jokingly) but don’t understand why. This is not meant to be an exhaustive explanation, but I want to make a strong case for why it’s shitty to talk about ring wing views in this way.

I’m gonna first talk about disability and mental illness, and then talk a little bit about right wing beliefs - the goal here is to fully explain why it’s ableist, and then move into why it’s an incorrect argument more broadly. The primary sources for this discussion will be two books: one called Absent Citizens, which is a book about disability politics in Canada, and a book called The Authoritarian Personality, which is about a massive research project conducted in America after WWII with the aim of understanding the content and origin of fascistic beliefs. This isn’t going to be an academic essay or whatever, but I do want to draw on academic sources to frame this discussion. I think this is a complex topic that involves a lot of complicated shit and I want to hopefully clarify some of the dimensions of this issue.

why this argument sucks

To begin, I want to break down the argument that people who believe absurd things - like bleach as a cure for covid, for example - are mentally ill. There are a lot of hidden assumptions built into that claim that I don’t think people realize are there. I also think people react to and argue against those hidden assumptions, but they still often go unstated in discourse about the topic.

You often see this claim made against celebrities - Kanye is the most recent example, but Trump is a really common one too. And whatever actual diagnosed mental health issues they have, I’m going to set those aside for the moment, because I don’t think that popular discourse about them being mentally ill is actually about their specific, diagnosed mental illnesses. Kanye would still be antisemitic even if he did not have BPD, but the fact that he does have BPD provides people with a very handy rationalization to explain his horrific views. And if he didn’t have any diagnosed mental illnesses, I doubt that would stop people from claiming he’s mentally ill anyway (which I’ll talk about later).

So, this argument has a couple different assumptions built into it. First, it takes for granted the idea that there is a social and political orthodoxy which is normal, and to fall outside of that orthodoxy means your beliefs are pathological. Views deemed sensible and reasonable (generally centre right to centre left) are equated with mental well-being, and views that are deemed unreasonable are equated with mental illness. What this does is medicalize all political beliefs. Sufficient deviance from the societal norm is therefore a sign of mental instability.

What this also does is medicalize mental illness, which is to say it individualizes it. To make the claim that absurd or dangerous political views are a sign of mental illness is to make the argument that the origins of these views come from an individual, medical deficiency within a person. It ignores the social, economic, cultural, and historical circumstances for why someone may come to believe right wing conspiracy theories (I will explain this in more detail a bit later, so just bracket this for now).

And if you frame the problem of right wing conspiracy in this way, it informs political solutions for how to get rid of these conspiratorial views in society - if antisemitism is a mental illness, then mandated mental health tests that measure political deviancy, or the invention of new mental health diagnoses for right wing extremism, would be a viable solution, right? To take this claim seriously, it would mean inventing a new class of disability, a new type of pathologized person. And once you’ve created this category and placed people into it, what do you do with them? If their beliefs are a matter of neurological deficiency, does that mean they are incapable of being de-radicalized? Should they be put on special medication? Are they even responsible for their own beliefs if there is something wrong with their brain?

And like, this line of argumentation is bad! It’s a defeatist attitude (some people are just bad and there is nothing to be done about it), it makes political beliefs biological (some people are inherently good and others inherently bad), it ignores broader forces that may lead to someone believing these things, and it prescribes policy solutions that are eugenic in nature. If we just get rid of all the bad mentally ill people, society will be fixed. Which means we are now in a very similar political position to right wing beliefs about trans people, jewish people, people of colour, and, of course, disabled people.

The second issue is that it equates “normal” political views with mental fitness, which is often a (hidden) shorthand for moral fitness. This creates a view of society as something that is naturally good, a moral yardstick to measure everyone else by. People with absurd beliefs that shock the public are just not following the rules that will make them a good person. It leaves no room for a critique of those societal norms. Is the current political orthodoxy good? Is it a good yardstick to measure other people by? Is the current state of the world a morally and socially healthy society? What if you think it isn’t? Does that make you mentally ill too?

disability & mental health

I remember right after the 2016 American election there was a very intense focus in the media on Trump being mentally ill. He was charged with infecting the body politic with his mental instability. What this did was place him outside of history, positioning him as an alien invader on an otherwise healthy society. It did not account for the social and economic forces that led to him becoming a key political figure in American politics. It was an abdication of responsibility from mostly liberal people who did not want to confront the problems in society that existed far before Trump got into power, and indeed, allowed him to get there. If you could prove Trump was mentally ill, then that would mean the problem was just that - illness. So, to go back to an earlier point, when people point to Kanye’s bipolar disorder as a reason for his antisemitism, they are not making a medical diagnosis; they are removing his political beliefs from public discourse and placing them in the realm of mental pathology. It is a refusal to meet his beliefs as they exist, and instead insist that they exist outside of society. It also robs him of agency. Something outside of his control is making him do this; you can’t really blame him. It frames bigotry as something a person does without their knowledge or even consent. This external problem is to blame.

And finally, to synthesize these points, the idea that right wing bigotry is a symptom of of mental illness is making the argument that mental illness, and disability more broadly, are medical in nature. This is also a problem! Disability has for decades been seen by activists and academics alike as something that is not biological, or at least not completely. Since around the 70s or 80s, disability activism began pushing the social model of disability, which was in direct opposition to the biological (or medical) model of disability. The social model argues that disability is the product of an unfair and discriminatory society. Disabled people are not biologically broken; society purposefully excludes them.

I think a really instructive example to use to illustrate this is the built environment. Staircases are not naturally occurring phenomena; human societies build them, and there are certain assumptions that go into building stairs as opposed to ramps, or tiered walkways, or other configurations. The inability to climb a set of stairs does not indicate a biological deficit in a human being, the social model argues; it indicates that society is building a world that excludes disabled people from fully participating in it. Framing it this way, the solution to the problem isn’t to force everyone to use the stairs, it is to alter the environment so that it is accessible to everyone. Disability can either be exacerbated or minimized through social change. In the same way, there are a lot of social norms that exclude certain groups of people. Autistic people for example can find a lot of social norms to be confusing and difficult to navigate. It’s worth considering whether these social norms are useful to everyone, and whether it would be better to alter them the same way we might want to alter a staircase to include more people in public life. It’s not that these people are broken or incorrect, it’s that historical institutions, from social values to urban architecture, prescribe certain modes of travel, certain social relationships, that can be more or less harmful to certain groups of people. The same critiques can be made through a feminist lens, or an anti-racist one. What the social model of disability does is introduce the idea of disability as a social category, one that is not a biological destiny but a historically contingent position in society that can be improved through social change.

And more broadly, mental illness has a similar disadvantage. It’s framed as a medical issue, a problem that arises within individual people. Society isn’t the cause of social dysfunction, or depression, or personality disorders; your brain is just broken, and you need to learn how to fit into society better.

And so going back to the original claim, what you’re doing when you make that argument is A) medicalizing political beliefs, and B) accepting that an individualized medical view of mental illness is inherently correct and useful for understanding political conflict.

So that’s one reason why this framework is harmful. It also leads into the other major reason why this view is harmful - it prevents a structural analysis of right wing beliefs. If Kanye West’s antisemitism is a manifestation of his mental illness, this means that antisemitism is itself a medical condition. It comes from nowhere, or to be more charitable, it’s someone pathologically indulging in bigotry. In this framework, the source of the bigotry isn’t the problem; the person being too extreme about it is.

fascism

I’m going to talk about fascism now in a more theoretical way. I think even if you’re on board with everything I’ve said up to this point, it’s still hard to watch someone say something completely absurd and not think there is something mentally wrong with them. Like, who the fuck actually believes that giving your kids bleach or horse heart de-wormer will cure covid? How can bigots keep making claims about jewish people or trans people that are easily proven false every single time? You have to be mentally ill in some way to ignore reality that hard, right? But I want to caution people against framing this as mental illness, even if it’s difficult to find another explanation.

Fascism is a product of history. What I mean by this is that fascism is a response to large social forces, and when fascist movements are successful, they reinforce a lot of those existing social forces. Fascism often takes the form of political ambitions, such as the desire to take over a democratic government, but it goes deeper than that. In The Authoritarian Personality, Adorno (one of the authors) makes the argument that fascism is a particular response people have to the contradictions of capitalism - those contradictions being that you are supposedly this free agent able to make your own choices, yet are constantly crushed under the weight of the ruling class. Human beings are told they are free and yet are constantly alienated from other people as a result of class conflict. The book explores this claim at multiple scales, down to the level of individual families all the way up to society as a whole. We know, for example, that children in abusive households sometimes become abusive people themselves. Not always, or even often, but they sometimes do. Abuse also causes a lot of other, non-abusive social and emotional problems for children who grow up in these environments, often following them into adulthood. This is a particularly horrific environment that people respond in different ways to, and it produces a wide range of issues that people have to grapple with for the rest of their lives. In the same way, harmful societal forces illicit different responses in people, and sometimes, that response is a turn towards fascism.

Adorno describes fascism as an ideology of irrationality. A fascist is someone who embraces the contradictions of capitalism and makes contradiction a core component of their belief system. Or rather, fascism is a belief system that fully accommodates contradiction because of its irrational character. Fascism is often difficult to describe precisely because of this irrationality - in order to make sense of it you need to place it in a rational context, which runs the risk of over-intellectualizing or rationalizing it. This even came up in the methodology section of the book. The researchers couldn’t go around asking people if they were racist or antisemitic, for example, because a bunch of people would say no, even if they were explicitly racist and antisemitic people. In several of the interviews the researchers did, fascistic people would assert that they were not racist and then, in the literal next sentence, would say something horribly racist. And they found that fascistic people would repeat this pattern for many areas of their lives - deny a behaviour, even a trivial one, and then do that exact behaviour a few minutes later. This contradiction is so deeply embedded that it makes investigating what fascists actually believe difficult.

However, to try to give a broad overview, fascism is a singular fixation with power. The way power is distributed in society is along in-group/out-group lines. If you are part of the in-group (white, Christian, able-bodied, cishet, etc) you are deserving of power; if you’re not, then you must be dominated or destroyed. In order to realize this goal of white supremacist power, any belief or behaviour that will further this goal is advantageous, regardless of how truthful it is. This is part of the reason why a lot of right wing conspiracies sound so ridiculous - truth is not a quality that is valuable to them because it could interfere with the pursuit of power. In this framework, Qanon people asserting that ivermectin will cure covid are not making a factual medical claim; what they are doing is saying that the medical establishment cannot be trusted, that a deadly disease killing millions of people can be stopped with an over the counter remedy. Because if covid isn’t real, or is as mild as a seasonal flu, then the current government in power is making illegitimate demands on people to socially distance and wear masks, and therefore the only moral response is to overthrow them and install someone who will stop making those demands. You have to view all right wing conspiratorial claims not as factual but as strategic; you need to evaluate their claims based on what the proposed solution to the problem they’re presenting you with will be. If they’re claiming trans people are grooming children or assaulting people in bathrooms, then the obvious policy response is to bar trans people from any space that contains children or public bathrooms (ie, all public spaces). If Jewish people have undue influence in government, the obvious response is to remove all Jewish people from positions of power. And these are short term solutions - if these minorities are so disgusting that you need to shut them out of public life, the only real solution is to get rid of them entirely. It doesn’t matter that these accusations are demonstrably false; they are “true” to a fascist because they further their political and ideological goals. They have to be true for their power to be realized, and so by virtue of that they are effectively true to a fascist. (This is also why disproving their claims with facts don’t work; they aren’t interested in the truth of any of their claims, because truth is not something they value in their vision of society).

And they don’t even need to be dyed in the wool explicit fascists to be saying this shit! A good portion of this discussion has been about hidden assumptions in discourse. I do things without realizing the full consequences of my behaviour sometimes. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m “doing” something at all because it’s so embedded and normalized in society that it feels natural. I try to catch myself as much as I can to make sure I’m not doing something harmful, but everyone does it. Fascists are just as capable of this. And like, racism and bigotry are part of normal everyday society. The dedicated well-read fascists who know what they’re doing and the shallow incurious racists who just want to be assholes both peddle the same shit and it does the same harm; doing it unintentionally doesn’t make you mentally ill, and being mentally ill doesn’t mean you’re being racist through some kind of medical accident. These people are enacting their political beliefs through their words and behaviour, whether they know the full scope of those beliefs or not, and you should not diminish that agency by arguing that they’re misguided mentally ill people.

It’s also part of the reason why they will deny charges of bigotry. They aren’t necessarily lying to themselves, but they are attempting to exclude types of discourse that would harm their political goals. I’m not racist because racism is bad and what I want isn’t bad. I’m not racist because racism is undue bigotry against racial minorities and mine is fully justified. You can’t trust what they say, but you can trust their intentions, and their intentions are bad.

This post is extremely long already so I’ll wrap it up here. When you see people making outlandish, false, ridiculous claims about a minority group, remember that these people are not expressing mental illness. They are expressing dangerous political views and need to be shut down for political reasons. The status of their mental health is not relevant to solving the problem of bigotry. Laying the blame at the feet of mental illness is an error of both scope and origin; bigotry does not come from illness, it comes from a desire for power, and that is the thing that needs to be stopped.

#book club #erm. hope this makes sense lol #absent citizens is a great book btw highly recommend it even if you are not canadian #it goes into detail about how disability discourse is linked with neoliberalism which I didn’t get into here #but neoliberalism is a huge component of this so. worth checking out

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defensivelee · 3 months ago

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Dona Dona: Never Knowing the Reason Why

The fourth chapter is a story about a boy and his father. Please enjoy. Here is your AO3 link!

CW: graphic violence, descriptions of gore, torture, cannibalism, murder, political assassinations, terrorism, cult-like setting, religious indoctrination, fantastic racism, aphobia, child abuse, ableist language/slurs, underage drinking, underage drug use, alcoholism, smoking, father/son incest, pedophilia, child sexual abuse, slightly graphic gang rape, corrective rape.

William tossed his head back, hitting it against the headboard and coughing as his father lit another cigarette. He turned and buried his nose in the pillow.

“How was that?” he heard his father ask as he lifted himself away from William.

“I don’t know,” William mumbled. His head hurt even more now. He felt his father place a hand on his shoulder, and he fought the urge to shove him away. It felt much too hot and yet it was nothing at all. It shouldn’t have been anything. “I feel sick.”

“That is to be expected. You are young, but I like you when you’ve been drinking, William.” The hand slipped up, resting right on William’s neck, and then it pulled him sharply to the side by his chin. He swallowed as he looked into his father’s endlessly dark eyes. “Then you act like your mother.”

“I really don’t want to know,” William said.

“It’s just as well. She wouldn’t want you to.” His father sat back and shoved William back by his horn. “Go get another drink if you feel so bad.”

Go get another drink, and another one, and another one. A few months ago his father had taught him what tasted best, what worked best, but William couldn’t be bothered to remember in these moments. He was too dizzy, his vision too blurred to know what he was pouring into his glass with shaky hands. It was bitter, downright disgusting, but he knew he’d swallowed worse things. And it would feel better in a moment.

For five years his name had not been William, he was Mary. Perhaps he would have been insulted to be compared to that traitor, or maybe he would have been flattered, but hearing any mention of her now was draining. She had escaped her husband at last, and William often wished he had been able to go with her. But then he had to scold himself for wishing such a thing— he had a destiny to fulfill, and he shouldn’t wish he was anything like her.

If it was late enough, if he looked at his Eastern tail for too long, he found himself wishing, in any case, that she would hold him now.

“Do you ever wish that?” William asked, one hazy day in the streets of New Amsterdam. He wanted to slip down his mask and take a sharp breath of the air, but he knew he would only fall into another coughing fit.

“For my mother to hold me?” Hans winced. “It’s a little too much now, isn’t it?” “I meant your father.”

“William, come on. I’m not in the mood.” He nudged William in the side. “Do you want to go eat somewhere? I can pay.”

“I’m not hungry,” William said, turning away. Truth be told, he didn’t want to waste this day inside. It was so rare for his father to let him out like this, and when he did, he usually sent him with de Witt, whose gaze had become nearly oppressive to William. He knew his place, he knew that wherever he turned he ran into the bars of a cage, and yet de Witt felt the need to remind him, over and over again.

You’re not safe. You know you’re trapped. So why don’t you leave? You can leave. Get out of here, there’s nothing good left for you here.

It was still the talk of traitors. But William remained merciful. Something had to change soon.

Besides, he did have something good here: Hans, and the current walk the two of them were on, where William’s father couldn’t bother them for at least a few hours while he met with some Ally politicians. William thought he might assassinate a few of them, but nothing was set in stone.

“You’re never hungry,” Hans said.

“I just end up throwing up, anyway,” William said with a shrug. “Not worth it.”

“Maybe if you didn’t drink so much,” Hans muttered. “I’m telling you, it can’t be good for you to be drinking every night.”

“Well, first of all, it’s not every night,” William said, tapping his tail against Hans’ back. “It’s just when my father needs me. And second, it’s not just the drinks. He makes me sick, Hans.”

“I- I know, but that doesn’t mean you don’t eat,” Hans said. “You have to try to keep something down.”

So William did eat, though as quickly as possible so they could get outside again. Hans ate more slowly, and he ended up taking his drink with him, which William would occasionally get a sip of. He was feeling maybe good about the rest of the day until his father came to get them, and then his stomach started to ache all over again on the ride back.

Usually he could wait until morning, but when his father was done with him tonight, he had to slip out of bed to vomit right away. And then he bounded downstairs to see Liselotte.

It was rare for them to see each other these days. Without the earring, William could no longer reach her in her dreams, and when he had time to summon her, she was always busy. Or sleeping. Much to his relief, though, tonight she came to him when he called for her.

“William,” she greeted him. “How are you?”

“Same as always,” he said. “And you?”

“Better since last time we saw each other.” She yawned, her teeth glinting in the dim light. “How are things with Hans?”

“Just fine.” William shook himself. “You ask too many questions. Just tell me how the war’s going.” The Eastern and Southern Kingdom had been at it for more than seven years now— didn’t most wars end after that amount of time? Surely the Eastern Kingdom was on the verge of surrendering.

And in all that time he had managed to keep his mouth shut and had never once mentioned his father. She would not worry about him; she had enough of her own to deal with.

“Oh.” She sighed. “Alright.” With that she launched into another one of her long, fascinating explanations about the progress of war among the two kingdoms. William listened closely, especially whenever she mentioned her king. Could Liselotte be considered a traitor to her kingdom for revealing all of this?

It didn’t matter. He would reward her, when he ruled.

It was hard to leave her, knowing that it would be long before they could see each other again. Harder still because he knew there was no guarantee she would return— she was taking part in battles now.

Before he went back to bed, he downed a few bottles of beer, for good measure. The liquid lingered at the back of his throat for too long, and he was tempted to go to the bathroom and force it all out anyway.

“Drinking again?” That was his father’s voice behind him, though William could have guessed he was there without hearing him talk. The smell of smoke was in the air. “Did you think you could do it without me?”

“Sir, please, I’m exhausted,” William said, wincing as he felt his father come up behind him.

“At least kiss your father good night. Who do you think buys all this for you?”

“You could buy anything you wanted,” William mumbled. “It’s nothing special.” He glanced to the side, only for his father to take him by the horns, jerking his head back to force their eyes to meet.

“Yes, William, it’s anything I want,” he said. “Nothing is a guarantee. Maybe you could try smoking instead, it’s good for you.” He held his cigarette up to William’s lips, and in an instant William thought he was seven again. “Is that what you would prefer instead?”

William thought he was choking on the smoke. “N-No, sir-” He turned his head away to cough, so as not to do it in his father’s face. For it was always met with—

His father kissed him, and William nearly fell back on the table.

ENOUGH! he wanted to shriek. He wanted to bite into his father’s tongue, even if the blood would run down his throat; he wanted to rip off the tail coiling around his waist.

Thankfully, his father pulled away soon enough, though he still held him close, his fingers tangled up in his son’s hair. “You know you were always irresistible to me,” he whispered. “Mary.”

“I’m- my name is William.”

“No.” His foot came down on William’s tail. “That name is mine.”

William jolted slightly, but otherwise, he made no sound. Clearly disappointed, his father backed away and left him standing there, alone, his body shaking with every cough it forced out.

He was too pleased to have a hostage a few weeks later all to himself, to twist his devil’s knife in until they were choking on their own blood, until they could only breathe the way he could. He took the photos his father had asked of him using Hans’ phone, and then barked out the orders to drag this worthless nobody back to their cell.

“Damn, William, you could have killed him,” Hans said, walking into the bathroom behind him. William was washing the blood off his hands, scrubbing until his hands burned. “Your father wouldn’t have liked that.”

“He told me I could do what I want as long as they didn’t die,” William said. “He just needs the photos. You know that’s how we negotiate.”

“Maybe save your ire for when we have a Disciple. We can kill them all we want.” Hans narrowed his eyes. “Charles’ brother fetches a high price.”

“We’ll never get our hands on him, Hans,” William said. He glanced at himself in the cracked mirror before looking back at his friend. “And anyway, I’d been waiting for that for too long. I fucking hate being at home.”

“Well, spending your days in dusty old warehouses can’t be the solution,” Hans said. “Maybe you could come over to my house some days.”

“Do you have anyone to kill over there?”

“No, but I have...other things.” Hans smiled, nudging him as they stepped out.”Killing’s like alcohol. It won’t make you feel better forever.”

“And you think you have things that will?”

“No, but there are safer solutions.”

William hesitated. “I’ll ask de Witt to clear it up with my father.”

De Witt had a way with words, though it was growing more obvious to William that his father didn’t quite like him. He agreed to help, of course, but he warned William not to allow himself to be forced into doing anything he didn’t want to do by Hans.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” William rolled his eyes. “You know Hans must obey me.”

“You’re at that age, William, where the devils urge you to please them—”

“I was always at that age,” William sneered. “I know more than anybody else about this shit.”

“No, you don’t,” de Witt said firmly. “You don’t know the meaning of the word consent.”

“I know what it means, damnit! Don’t try to make this another lesson!” William glared at him, then turned away with a huff. “Just...tell my father if you want to make me happy.”

De Witt squeezed his shoulder. “You know all I’ve ever wanted was your happiness. I’ll tell him, but be careful.”

It was a stupid warning, because William had never wanted to please the devils in his life. He had never asked for his father to take him to bed so often, and he had never once looked at someone else and had wanted to do the same. He had decided he was probably too young to understand the urges that overpowered the devils and spirits in the old stories he’d read, but then again, if de Witt was mentioning it now...was it of some importance, after all?

Surely, it didn’t matter. Perhaps he got no urges from the devils because the devils knew not to touch him.

His father agreed to let him go see Hans a few days a week, strangely without much of an objection. He just told William to make sure he never forgot his place above Hans and then sent him off.

He’s wrong. His place was right beside Hans.

What de Witt said hadn’t left his mind, though, so he brought it up to Hans. Did he feel as careless as all those devils? It couldn’t be, after everything he’d heard from William about how awful it was— nobody could actually want that, much less someone as great as Hans.

“So you finally got a talk, huh,” his friend said. He was watching William play with one of his family’s numerous cats on the floor, sitting back on his bed. “Everyone always says it’s normal for our age. It’s like some kind of religious awakening or epiphany we all have.”

“But is it heresy to not want to do those kinds of things?”

“Well, it’s a pointless thing to consider,” Hans said thoughtfully. “How could you not?”

“So- so you do?” William’s heart sank.

“Well, I’m not as crazy as Charles over on the Disciples’ side.” Hans shrugged. “But it’s good for you sometimes, I imagine. There’s this one Ally I think about, Andrena Hensley— she’s really pretty. I wouldn’t mind conquering her.”

“You talk like a devil lord!” William wrinkled his nose and turned away. “Isn’t that tradition just fucked? Just because your enemy lost doesn’t mean they owe you their body. They can owe you other things, like maybe their life, or their blood, but I think that’s worth far less than choice.” He shook his head, glowering at Hans. “When we end up conquering the Allies, when I rule the Devils of Orange-Nassau, we’re not doing any of that shit to them. We’ll just kill them and be on our way.”

“So you’re saying they don’t even deserve that?” Hans snorted. “I respect it.”

“No, Hans, I just think it’s stupid,” William said, curling his tail in nervously. “You know what it means? If we’re captured, beaten...the Disciples can do the same to us.” He couldn’t imagine Charles and James having any problem with that. “And I don’t want them to do it.”

“Well, of course not, it’s disgraceful,” Hans said. “But it’s what we have to do if we lose. Which is impossible,” he added, “because you’ll be leading us.”

“I hope so.” William cleared his throat. “Anyway, I met Andrena when I was a kid, and she was a real bitch.”

“Oh, you did? Lucky!” Hans sighed. “She’s really beautiful, you know...and to think I’ll be among her ranks one day...”

William looked back down at the cat purring on his lap. So was it true, then? Was Hans like all the others? Or was William all wrong here?

As tempted as he was to ask de Witt, he knew it would be embarrassing having to spell out the question, so he asked the only other person who would know very well about this.

“Sir.” William called the name he knew his father by on the day they went out to see some of the Western Kingdom festivals, to see the love the people had for their ancestors. Ever since Mary had died, the two of them had gone out together more often, and not just for the purposes of the Devils— some days they were just bored, not that outings with William’s father made things any better.

“What is it?” His voice sounded rougher than usual, and William heard him coughing at times over the music. There were these occasional reminders that his father was on his last life, and yet here he stood beside his son, still taking drags from his cigarette, with glasses to hide his Over-marks.

“People are always talking about how attraction’s the most divine thing you can feel,” William said. “How it brings us closer to the devils when we act on it. And- and I suppose for the Overlifers it is very important too.”

“Yes, William, it is. Why?”

“Is it bad if I...kind of don’t care?”

“What do you mean, you don’t care?” He saw his father furrow his brow.

“It’s not something I’ve ever thought about,” William admitted. “Save for with yourself, of course, I really have never wanted...any of it.” He wondered if his father would listen if he told him the truth; that, more than anything, he had also never wanted his first lover to be the man who had raised him.

He had a feeling his father already knew. He just didn’t care.

“Really?” His father tilted his head to the side. “Ah, then we have to work on that, don’t we?”

“N-No—”

“That’s not a question.” He glanced around to make sure no one was looking before bringing his son in for a kiss. “Though I am flattered that I’m the only one you think of, this is something we must fix.”

“Oh.” William winced. “Why?”

“Because it isn’t normal,” his father snapped. “Do you know what an Overlifer must do? He is the flawless example of virility and pleasure, and if you cannot prove yourself in that way, then we still have much training left to do.” He sighed and brought his cigarette up to his lips as if the very thought was stressing him out. “Why are there so many things wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” William said. He looked to the side, trying to blink away his tears.

“It’s the Eastern blood in you,” he heard his father say. “I thought about it many times when you were young, you know. Just shooting you in the head like a calf. Humane slaughter, if you will. I never thought you would talk, so I wondered, what was the point? Why not just make another heir if this one was never going to amount to anything? You only ever lived because I decided you would; you must never forget that.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? It only made him nauseous again, so sick that he had to excuse himself to find a building he could vomit in. He didn’t make it in time, of course, and he found himself swaying dizzily in an alley, hearing the distant parade music behind him as he retched until his belly was empty.

Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have killed me. But he had been allowed to live for one purpose, hadn’t he? It would be ungrateful to wish for that now; for he was here, and he had to receive his six lives soon. Once his father was dead.

And what would he do then, without him? Would he know how to live six times over without his father?

How could de Witt dare to suggest it, then, when the Devils of Orange-Nassau needed his father, needed him?

“No, William,” de Witt told him after a particularly difficult dinner at Black&White again. “It’s you who needs them. But it’s not your fault, your father never let you see far beyond this world.”

“Don’t say that,” William said desperately. “I need to stay here, you don’t understand.”

“What I don’t understand is why anyone would want to stay.”

“It’s my destiny! Don’t you know the meaning of the word?!”

“The pain you have been through doesn’t make you better than everyone else.” De Witt narrowed his eyes. “And if you believe pain makes a person superior, then that is very dangerous.”

“Don’t tell me what you think I should know,” William said. “I know.” His voice caught, and he turned away to wipe at his nose. “I don’t need to hear from someone else that I’m not normal.”

“I thought you hated being called normal.” De Witt smiled.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, it’s not fucking funny!” William’s breath quickened, and de Witt opened his arms slightly. William jumped into them like he always had, muffling his loud sobs in de Witt’s chest, shuddering as he felt the hands run through his hair and over his horns.

“I’m sorry, William,” de Witt said softly. “I just can’t stand it. Knowing what you go through everyday, and you expect me to do nothing?”

“I order it.” The next words stuck in William’s throat.

But you don’t have to follow my orders. He swallowed it back and let de Witt hold him in silence instead.

Despite the conversation William and his father had had, nothing much seemed to change from the nights they spent together. William was getting good at forgetting them, if he drank enough. But he always woke up sicker than ever, hardly able to lift his head from his pillow even as his father forced him on his feet.

Hans was starting to visit him more as well, often staying there for days at a time if William’s father was in a nasty mood. He wasn’t in the habit of any sudden, violent outbursts if he knew his vassals were watching. At most there were the pointed comments, slaps to the face, but William was all used to that.

Hans was sometimes there in the mornings, bringing him water and helping him up if he was too dizzy to stand on his own. Then he was there during particularly long nights, when William’s father was done and left his son alone in the room. Hans would sneak inside and let William rest his head on his lap.

It was on the eve of his sixteenth birthday that his father told him what he was going to learn. He said that the problem was in the lack of variety, that undoubtedly there would be defeats under William’s rule, and that he would have to know how to reap the benefits of an Overlifer’s authority. So they would be meeting other people tomorrow, and William would soon know what to do.

“How’s that going to help me?” William asked. “Are they doctors?”

“No. They’re friends of mine. They’ve come for the touch of a divine prince.”

William’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you will obey me, whatever they do to you,” his father said.

“W-Wait, no! That’s not what I wanted!” William cried. “Sir, please, I’ll do anything else you want, I know there have to be better ways to fix this, I- I don’t want to do that! Surely- surely you can’t say that they deserve to touch me.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice.

“Do you have your six lives yet?”

“No...”

“Then they can do whatever they like,” his father went on. “This will help you, William. It will make you a better lover, for me and for anyone else.” He scowled. “Not that you should be thinking of anyone else right now.”

“But I don’t want to do this,” William pleaded. “You’re the only one I’ve ever done this with, and- and I don’t want anyone else. You know me. You can do whatever you want to me to make me better, but not this.” Too late, he realized he was crying. “I don’t know what they’ll do—!”

“William.” That was his father’s warning. “Stop talking.”

So William shut his mouth, though his pleas were still ringing in his ears, plans for what he would say tomorrow to try to talk his father out of this. But nothing was coherent enough, and he ended up crying into Hans’ arms that night, another cat lying beside them on Hans’ bed.

“It’s gonna hurt so bad.”

“I know,” Hans said. “Maybe- maybe de Witt can stop this.”

“Don’t tell him!” William sprung up, trying to make his voice clear enough. “Please, Hans, he’s just- he doesn’t need to know that—!”

“But if we can stop it from happening, William, is it not worth it?” Hans asked, taking his hands.

“No. No.” William shook his head rapidly. “He’ll just try to get me out again! And I can’t go.” He wiped uselessly at his eyes. “I- I don’t even know if this is gonna work. What if I end up hating it even more?”

“It...might be good for you.” But Hans didn’t look very convinced, so William wasn’t, either.

The next day, when he was sixteen, he didn’t eat anything. He couldn’t eat anything. So through sharp pangs of hunger, through the heavy pounding of his head and heart, he let his father drag him to one of the brothels belonging to the Devils of Orange-Nassau, like the place where his mother had died.

“Why- why are we here?” William asked. “Why couldn’t we do this at home? I don’t want anyone to see me.” He was breathing hard, his hand shaking in his father’s grasp. “Sir, please, I’m telling you I don’t need this-”

“And I am telling you that you do.”

“Will you be with me?”

“No.” He shoved William into a dark room, illuminated with nothing but candles that made him wheeze as he tried to protest. “Take off your clothes, they’re almost here.”

“Sir, if anything could make you change your mind—”

“William.”

“I don’t know what to do!”

“William!” his father shouted, throwing him back against the bed. He took William’s thrashing tail and pressed the end of his cigarette to it, and William jumped, biting his tongue so hard he felt it bleed. “This is for your own good!” He began to slip off his belt. William clenched his teeth as his father pulled him in and brought the belt down on his face, hard enough for it to burn.

“Sir—!” It wasn’t the pain that made him cry out, much to his satisfaction; it was the fear. The urgency of what would come next if he couldn’t convince his father. “Please, you don’t understand-”

“I understand very well,” his father snapped. He brought the belt back down on William’s face, again and again until William felt blood running down his cheeks, meeting his tears. His father’s body was like a snare: the more he fought, the more the hands held him down.

He was shoved onto the ground, kicks landing in his side until he managed to pull himself up onto the bed. He knew that was what his father was expecting.

By then he was huffing, pain sharpening at his chest with every breath, and his body was stinging as his father exposed the bruises to the cold air. He was too exhausted to fight back now, even when his father’s guests began to trickle in, about six of them. He only whimpered a little as his father backed away and the unfamiliar hands ran over his legs, jerked his head to the side, took him by the wrists. It did hurt.

“Why’s the little man crying?” he heard a voice ask above him.

“Looks like he’s hurt.”

“Give him some of your fucking heroin, then. These kids are never easy.”

What? William tried to look up, but his head was forced back down, hands coming down on his eyes. He felt someone take his arm, placing kisses all over his wrist right before he felt a needle go through. The only part of his body that could move was his tail, and he lashed it around in terror.

They’re seeing me, their future Overlifer, afraid. He couldn’t stand it.

His tail slowly came to a stop, however, when he felt the stinging on his body begin to ebb away. His headache was still there, but it was as if he was not the one experiencing it. There was no pain, just a new, strange heaviness in his head that brought peace with it. He wanted to be afraid again, to fight back, but he wondered if there was a point when he realized he was so happy. That happiness was not his own, either, like the headache, but it really felt so nice when nothing belonged to him.

I guess this isn’t so bad. He just had to make it through this, and then he’d be perfect. That was a strange word to use for himself, he thought, perfect, as if he wasn’t already everything he wanted to be. In a moment of relief, he came to the conclusion that this was when he would receive his six lives.

One for each of them.

He only felt that he was still crying when they were done, probably centuries later, but he didn’t know why. He had forgotten why he had worried so much. After all, hadn’t it all been so easy? The pain was only there for a moment.

“William.” That was his father’s voice above him. “How was it?”

“I don’t know.” He hoped it was coherent enough; he could hardly understand it himself.

“Well, get dressed. We’re leaving. They tell me you did very well.”

“Did I?” William sat up, wiping at his face. He didn’t know who he was looking at when he glanced down at his own body. There were the bruises his father had left on him, but then there were the bruises on his thighs where heavy knees had pinned them down. None of it hurt like it should have.

It was too easy to fall asleep when they returned. He couldn’t wait for his birthday to be over, though technically it was already past midnight by the time he was in his bed.

Of course his body was entirely sore the next morning, but that was a pain he was already well acquainted with. He was startlingly hungry, so he did eat, and, much to his surprise, he didn’t even feel sick when his father spoke to him just as he was about to leave.

“De Witt will be here in a bit to take you to the Bentincks again,” he said. “You can tell him what you did yesterday if you like, but I cannot tell you if he’ll believe it.”

Should I? William dismissed the thought as soon as it came to him. What was done was done. But he knew that what his father said, at least, was a lie— de Witt always believed him.

Six years ago now, Liselotte had given him the devil’s knife he loved so much. Today, when de Witt came for him, he apologized for not being there yesterday, and handed William a small cardboard box. It hadn’t been wrapped, so William saw immediately what it was: one of those newer phones, with a proper touchscreen like Hans had on his.

“What- what’s this?” he asked. “Did my father tell you to give me this?”

“No, William. I’m giving it to you.” De Witt smiled ruefully as he drove. “I’ll pay for it, but other than that, it’s all yours.”

“Oh,” William said faintly. “Well, he won’t let me take it.” He tried not to let his disappointment show.

“If he finds out, certainly,” de Witt said. “But you don’t have to tell him.”

“What?” William glared at him. “Keeping something from our Overlifer again? How many times do I have to tell you what treason is?”

“A boy like you needs a phone,” de Witt said, glaring right back. “You can call Hans when you like. You can call me when you like, if you ever need anything. I just want you to have something of your own, okay?”

“But- but I don’t-” William was suddenly finding it harder to decline.

“I’ll help you set it on silent,” de Witt said, “so your father never has to hear it. You don’t have to use it all the time, just hide it away and only bring it out if you need me. I’ll come by, alright? And if you ever think you might be in danger, real danger—” He paused to swallow. “Call me, no one else. I’ll take care of it.”

William stared out the window. Wouldn’t it be so nice to be able to reach Hans when he needed it?

“Okay. Thank you.” He supposed he couldn’t be ungrateful and refuse such a gift.

So de Witt was the first contact he saved, and Hans was the second. He was the only other person who could know about this, though he did consider telling Hans’ mother as well. She had always looked upon him with more sympathy than awe or respect.

He ultimately decided not to. He knew that loyalty meant more than any logic to the Bentincks.

“How was yesterday?” Hans asked once they were done with that. “Everything okay?”

William hesitated before nodding. “Yes.” He didn’t know how much of a lie that was; everything seemed okay. “I hardly remember it, anyway.”

“Oh, is that good?”

“I’d say so.” He sighed. “I just- I still feel the same, though.”

“You’re telling me it didn’t work?”

“I didn’t say that.” William swallowed. “It’s not that big of a deal, is it?”

“It’s just so weird, I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Hans said. “Maybe it’s something medical.”

“Or maybe I just don’t feel the need to please the devils,” William snapped. “Maybe others need to please me instead. I don’t need to get involved with any of that because no one actually deserves to touch me.”

“You’re saying you’re supposed to feel like this?”

“Yes.” William nodded firmly. “That’ll be a new doctrine when I rule: all Overlifers must be chaste because no one will ever be worthy enough to sleep with us. If they dare to lay a hand on any common human, especially any Easterner or Southerner, then they don’t deserve to rule.”

“Woah, just absolute chastity? That sounds miserable,” Hans said. “Especially when so much of your image relies on that.” “You know what’s miserable, Hans?” William lashed his tail. “You wanna tell me what’s miserable?”

“Alright, alright, I know,” Hans said. “I’m sorry. But maybe you’ll grow out of it. I know I was a little freaked out when I was younger and I found out what the Allies had to do.”

“You were?” William turned to him.

Hans nodded. “But I don’t mind if what I do can help the cause. I’d do anything to see you leading us at last, William.” He reached out and took William’s hand, the two of them falling silent.

Anything? But you shouldn’t...

“Would you have joined us even if you weren’t born into a family that’s been serving us for centuries?” he asked. He had always wondered.

Hans’ eyes widened in disbelief. “Obviously! I’d have known you were right.”

“When you went to school,” William said, “they didn’t ever tell you anything bad about us? No Ally propaganda?” While he had never gone, Hans certainly had for a while before they’d met, though it would have been just as easy to keep him at home— in Berufungsachse, a child wasn’t required to go to school if they were instead being brought up and educated by a religious circle or institution. It was generally taken to mean that these children were training to be Ally servants or handlers, but nothing about the law said that the Devils of Orange-Nassau weren’t a religious group, so they weren’t technically lying.

Hans tilted his head to the side to think. “They actually didn’t say much about it. There were a few books about Overlifer history in the library, but they all were written by Ally handlers or Allies themselves, so they were probably loads of shit. Oh!” He jumped. “I guess I never told you this. There was a time when I was seven, and me and a few other boys ended up painting Over-marks on ourselves during art class. I think we were just trying to be edgy, but the teacher was furious.”

“What happened?” William asked anxiously.

“Well, she made us wash it all off first, and then she took us to the principal.” Hans scowled. “He was a piece of shit Southerner, of course, so he went on this long-ass rant about how what we were doing was so insensitive and there were kids in that school who’d lost grandparents in the Overlifer wars and how this was a crime in other governorates. Then he took us to the school’s Southern shrine and made us pray and ask for forgiveness from fucking King Louis for forwarding extremist ideals.” He rolled his eyes. “We were fucking seven.”

William snorted. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I really didn’t want to do it, but he made us repeat the prayer after he finished it.” Hans glanced down, as if the memory bothered him. “They called my father, anyway. Told him to teach me how to respect the Allies. But he just thought it was funny.”

“I guess mine would have thought the same.”

“He’d probably scold you for mocking him.”

“Oh, right. Maybe.”

Sometimes Hans understood William’s father far better than even William himself. He often guessed correctly what would happen if they failed to carry out this assignment, if they didn’t bring back this hostage, if William disobeyed his orders in this particular instance. It was hard to figure out what the Overlifer was thinking behind those black, wasp-like eyes, but Hans seemed to time everything perfectly.

“You said he was drinking last night? He probably won’t want you around, then; do you want to come over today?”

“You know he’s still mad about the attacks in Aldebaran, we have to get this done or he’ll kill us, William. At the very least he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t bring your flashy knife today, he’s extra snappish.”

It reminded William too much of his mother, how she had often tried to predict her husband’s moods, and told William to react accordingly. She wasn’t as good at it as Hans was, though. Maybe she would have liked him for that.

De Witt noticed this too, and he brought it up one Northern day after William had turned seventeen. They were waiting to assassinate one of the Ally candidates running for governor here in Berufungsachse, coincidentally Ally Andrena. As it seemed she had won the Master’s favor so far, she would certainly make it difficult for the Devils to operate in New Amsterdam. So they had to kill her, right in the Hoerenkast at the beginning of her meeting hours.

It was so easy. Like the Allies were so sure that everyone unquestionably adored them and would never, ever want to kill them during the time of day when they met with random strangers in private. Their stupid traditions meant their downfall!

De Witt and William walked beside the river far below them, frozen for now. William brushed his tail along the railing of the bridge to knock some of the snow off as de Witt spoke beside him.

“Hans really looks out for you,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it seems his loyalty is to you and not necessarily to the Devils. If you told him to jump off this bridge here, just you, he would.”

“What good would that do?” William asked. “He’s expected to die for me, but I’m not expected to want that.” He shuddered at the thought, the reminder that Hans could have died with his father seven years ago. And all because of James.

“It’s just hypothetical,” de Witt said. “You wouldn’t think he is...” He trailed off, glancing at William, who narrowed his eyes. Was that look supposed to mean something?

“What? Spit it out.”

De Witt sighed. “I think he likes you.”

“I like him too.”

“For Ferocity’s sake, William.” De Witt stifled a laugh. “Romantically interested is what I mean. He’s obviously always been very devoted to you, and the way he looks at you...I know I’ve seen it before.”

“What?” Now there was something William had never imagined. Was it even possible? No, surely not— he would not make the same mistake his father has made, he would marry a Westerner. Hans was out of the question, having not an ounce of devil blood in him. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. You’re at an age of...complicated emotions—”

“Look, even if what you’re saying is true, what am I supposed to do about it?” William cut in. “I can’t do anything my father doesn’t approve of. You know that.”

“You can, because you kept the phone. You just won’t,” de Witt said firmly. “You have a whole world open to you as soon as you turn eighteen, and let me tell you now that he’s not going to let you go easily. You think cults let their children make their own decisions about whether or not they want to stay when they become adults?”

“It’s not a cult,” William said, rolling his eyes. “We just have a mission.”

“A terrorist organization, then?”

“Whatever makes you feel better about what we’re about to do.”

De Witt shook his head. “Well, whatever it is, that’s not the point, William. Effectively, you’re trapped here until you can make the decision to leave. It’s a very hard one, but only you can decide that for yourself and take the first step. Maybe you didn’t have much of a choice as a boy, but now you do.”

“I’m not leaving,” William snapped. “My destiny is to remain here and wait for him to die. Then you can quit worrying about me so much, trying to get me out of here like the destiny of an Overlifer is so bad. I don’t want your concern, okay?”

“I don’t know what else you want me to do. He’ll kill you.” De Witt fixed his fierce gaze on William. “If it isn’t the beatings, it’ll be the drinking, and if it isn’t the drinking, then it’s his visits to your bed. But once you reach a certain age, if the truth comes out that the Devils of Orange-Nassau are still in operation, you won’t be seen merely as an abused child forced to participate.”

Abused child. William wanted to spit the words out of his mouth, even though he hadn’t said them.

“You will be seen,” de Witt continued, “as just another adult, the heir, no less, fully complicit in the attacks, the violence, the assassinations, the drug trafficking, everything that we have done here. I don’t know how much you know about this, but the only reason your father has escaped suspicion in recent years is because his mother made her abuse of him very public.”

“Amalia?” William had heard much about her from other Devils, though she’d been dead long before he was born. Paradoxically he had never heard anything about her from his father.

Oh. Maybe this is why. He swallowed.

“Yes, Amalia,” de Witt said. “She had everything planned from the very beginning. She kept him hidden for a while, a very long time from my understanding, so that no one would question why he had lived for so long when he got his six lives. But then, when she did show him off...I don’t know how exaggerated it was, but you can still find accounts of people who visited her, or she visited them, and always, without fail, she was said to be very cruel to him. The Grand Cabaretian government tried to take him from her multiple times, but you know how elusive she was.”

“Is that why he’s so fucked up?” William felt the beginnings of sympathy, no, empathy, in his chest, but he swallowed it back down.

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” de Witt said. “He should have known to bandage his wounds before he let them bleed out on you. But I don’t think even that would have stopped him. The Overlifers rely on fear to make their power known, and you need to do awful things to be feared.” He sighed, placing a hand on William’s shoulder. “Eventually she did let him go, just to make it look like he had finally escaped and was ready to make his own life, outside of that violent world. But he never did escape, William. He’s still trapped, and his own arrogance will keep him there for as long as he lives. And it will keep you there with him if you don’t decide to leave for yourself, before the government decides it was your choice to grow up this way.”

“It’s my choice to follow my destiny,” William growled. “Just like it was my father’s choice. If I ran away now, when I was so close, what do you think that would make me?”

“It would make you very brave. The bravest boy I know.”

William stopped walking, glaring down at the river. Would it not make him a coward? Having gone through all that pain just to leave on the eve of his rise to power?

“Maybe learning to love- maybe Hans can help you with that,” de Witt said. “You already defy your father in so many ways. Just by waking up each day—”

“I’m tired of waking up,” William spat. “Because nothing changes. Whatever Hans thinks of me, I don’t care. I just need his loyalty, and if that means he has to be in love with me, then so be it.” He flicked his tail dismissively at the thought and kept walking. Hans had indeed grown to be very beautiful in these past few years, and someone like that surely had better options. William could not be one of them; not with his crooked tail, not with his miserable wheezing breaths, and certainly not with his father.

“Where are you going?” de Witt asked.

“To kill Andrena. Like we were ordered to.”

“After everything I just said to you? You want to stay?”

“Look, you can stay here if you want,” William said, turning around again. “But I’m following orders. And if you refuse to help me, this will be the last straw. I’m so serious. I’ll tell my father about everything that you’ve told me over the years. How you think he’s abusing me, how you’ve tried to turn me away from our divine vision, how you’ve even implied that I should kill him under the protection of the Law of Honorable Succession. That’s treason.”

“Oh, William.” De Witt sighed, lifting his head to smile sadly at him. “You know you won’t do that. I’m not going to help you do this, but I will help you leave very soon. I promise.”

“Fuck off, then. You’re useless to me.” With that, William turned around and left de Witt as he was. He expected to hear de Witt following him, like he always had, but the only sound he heard come from behind him was his own tail, whipping about in the air. He was alone.

Turn back. Tell him you’re sorry. He suddenly felt as if he had never regretted anything more in his life. But he had to continue, didn’t he? Like he said he would.

The temptation was so great. And that was why, William realized, de Witt had to go.

The assassination itself was nothing, even without de Witt. William went into the room alone, an hour or so before the Ally was due to come in, and sat behind the magnificent throne, inches away from the artificial stream running around the room. He dipped the tip of his tail in it and lifted it high so that the water would fall over him like rain.

He waited more even after Andrena had come in. He was perfectly still, keeping his tail pressed close to his chest so as not to arouse her sharp senses with any movement behind her. After the first dozen visitors had come in, William darted up and ripped his devil’s knife across her throat from behind her. Ah, faithful blade, who gave no person time to even scream! Just as he thought, it cut the Ally’s life short like it would with anyone else; she was just the same as all of them, after all. With a sigh of relief, he ducked back behind the throne and shut his eyes.

There was a shocked cry from the next visitor, and then this room was full of people like it had never been before, all wanting to get a glimpse of the dying Ally like a falling star. William rolled his eyes and took a slip of paper from his pocket, setting it down on the ground where he had been sitting.

“Écartez vos ailes, Majesté,” he whispered. The paper disintegrated under his fingers, and the shadows all around him began to crawl upwards, much like King Louis’ usual protection spell. He dipped into the shadows on the wall, which fell over him like a cape, and nobody glanced at him as he stepped out of the room. Nobody could even guess he was there.

They would say on the news channels a few weeks later that the visitor who had last been with Andrena wasn’t the assassin after all, like it was initially assumed. There was now much reason to believe that one of the terrorist groups (nobody cared to find out which one, of course) could cast some of the oldest, most challenging spells that summoned reflections of devil rulers. They could hide anywhere now, within the shadows. And, oh, how it frightened the nation.

William’s father watched these reports with grumbling displeasure. Louis never answered when he called. But de Witt praised William as always for the power he was growing into, the power he would supposedly have to abandon.

He has to go. He has to go. Tell him. He knew he had waited too long when de Witt began to speak of his insensible plan, that one day very soon he would bring the Doves here, the guardians and servants of the Master of the Devils, and they would kill his father, if he so wished it.

The day so tempting, so close he could taste his father’s blood on his lips, and yet— it was impossible to think of. No one could leave here; once upon a time he had tried and it had all been a horrible mess where he had lost more than he had gained. That was how traitors died, and William was no traitor.

I have to try, he told himself during a drunken, dizzy night, with his father’s breath as well as his own stinking of alcohol.

“Sir,” he managed through the kisses, trying weakly to push his father away. “I have something for you.”

His father didn’t answer. He leaned in to kiss William’s shoulder, over and over again until he was nearly biting. One of his hands was tangled up in William’s hair and held his head down on the pillow.

“Let me- let me speak,” William said. For that offense he would have had his tail twisted had they been anywhere else, but tonight his father only seemed amused, lying back and watching William sit up with glittering eyes.

“What is it?”

He let it all out in a rush. “Johan de Witt has betrayed you. He has spoken to the Doves— or he says he will, I don’t know— they will come here, they know who you are now. He wants to take me away from you.” Once he was done, he inhaled sharply and then began to cry like he hadn’t in years. He hated how quickly he ran out of breath.

But, to his surprise, his father merely laughed, reaching out to place a hand on William’s shoulder. “Oh, I know all of it. I know everything that goes on here.”

“You do?” William tried to quiet down his gasps, but all he could think about was how de Witt was going to be executed. It shouldn’t have mattered to him; the man had lied to an Overlifer’s face constantly, tried to rip the dynasty right out from under his feet, prayed to devils and Allies alike. He deserved to die, of course...and still, telling himself that only made the idea worse.

“I know that de Witt has not betrayed me,” his father said.

“But he has,” William protested. “Like Mama did. You- you have to stop him—” He broke off with a sob, and his father watched him through his usual bored eyes.

“How do you know? I know everything. I know that everyone here is afraid of me. Has anyone ever been afraid of you, William?” He sat up, taking William’s hand and lifting it to his lips. “No one fears you. But I should.”

“What- what are you talking about?” William shook his head. “Listen, please, just- for once in your life—”

“I listen to the thoughts and whispers everywhere.” His father looked up thoughtfully, still resting his lips on William’s hand. “I would know if someone has betrayed me. I would know if someone stopped being afraid. But, if I must, then for you, Mary, I will have him executed tomorrow. If you think someone should die, then they should, because you are my queen and my heir.”

William’s face flushed. He thought there was a hint of mockery in those lofty words. “I- I just want to help you.”

“But you want him dead, yes?”

“No-”

“You want him dead?” His father brought him closer, running his tail under William’s chin.

William swallowed. “Y-Yes.”

“Then take him!” He laughed again, an unfamiliar, cruel sound. “Take him, it’s no great loss to me. No one who matters will miss him.”

Surely not, William thought in a daze as he lay back down and felt his father crawl over him again, surely they would not execute de Witt so soon. Tomorrow? Could he stand to lose de Witt in such a short time? Could his family handle having their whole world changed before the end of the week?

I guess they’ll have to. He bit down onto the pillow and screwed his eyes shut. It can all change in less than one night.

The next day, the Devils of Orange-Nassau were strangely on edge, as if they had already guessed what their leader had in mind today. For the most part, William thought his father had maybe forgotten; after all, they’d both been drunk. He was surprised he still remembered; how anyone could think of anything through this damned headache was beyond him.

It wasn’t until night had fallen that William overheard his father speaking on the phone, discussing plans not for an execution, but a dwaallicht fight, one of the many traditional entertainments of an Overlifer. They were rare for the Devils of Orange-Nassau, as their leader didn’t believe any spirit’s death should be made a spectacle of, but when there were Allies, captured Disciples, then he allowed it.

Maybe...maybe he did forget. He wished he wasn’t so relieved on their way to the arena.

It was a place far beyond the city, directly under the stars, where usually horses jumped and darted around in their nervous manner. But today they were all cleared out, and two hundred Devils gathered there to watch the fight under the cover of darkness.

“Good evening, sirs,” Hans greeted them, sitting one row below with his family. William waited until his father turned away to throw his arms around Hans’ neck, burying his face in his hair.

De Witt sat down on William’s other side a few minutes later, bowing his head at each of his masters. William curled his tail in warily, waiting for his father to throw forward an accusation, but he greeted de Witt with the same apathy he had to give everyone else. The only difference was that this time, he took William around the waist, holding him closer.

The dim lamps flickered on over the arena, and everyone fell silent as the Overlifer stood up. It had always been Mary who stood beside him, but now it was William, matching his father’s stern expression as they each looked down at their Devils.

“You may have noticed that we brought no spirits here tonight,” the elder William began, as usual wasting no time with a welcome. “I have decided that there will be no fight. My son made me aware of a traitor among us, so this will instead be an execution.”

He remembered.

William stumbled back, feeling as if he would faint, but his father took him by the wrist. “Johan de Witt,” he went on, “come forward to the ring.”

De Witt stood up slowly, his eyes widening when he looked at William. But he said nothing, only bounded down onto the sand, tilting his head up defiantly as the Devils of Orange-Nassau glared down at him, whispering curiously among themselves.

“Tell us what you’ve done.” William’s father leaned forward and lit a cigarette. “Everything.”

De Witt paused, then nodded, taking a deep breath. “Everything,” he repeated, staring right at William. “Truth be told, it’s very little. Too little, too late. And I regret everyday that I listened to a boy you have deceived and abused.”

There was an outraged gasp from the audience, and Hans glanced back at William in shock. “You knew?” he whispered.

William opened his mouth, closed it again, dropping his gaze to the ground. All eyes were on him, but more than anything, it was the eyes of both his father and de Witt, waiting expectantly. He knew what he should say, then—

It’s true, I can’t live like this anymore, and it’s all because of you, our followers, the Devils of Orange-Nassau— by worshipping me you have sentenced me to a fate worse than death, six times over.

No. Never that.

He lifted his head and glared down at de Witt. “The only deceit at play here is yours. How dare you make a mockery of real victims like- like my father?”

“William.” It was his father’s warning tone, but William went on anyway.

“If he treated me half as bad as his mother treated him, then I would be dead,” he spat. “He would know abuse, more than anyone, and he would never inflict such a thing on anyone he loves. But he loves me, and- and I-” He paused, swallowing hard. He couldn’t say the next words; there was sickness in his belly when he thought of how many times he’d said it and when.

“What?” De Witt shook his head. “William, you-”

“Do not call me by that name!” William lashed his tail furiously, squeezing his father’s hand. “I love him.” The nausea passed. “I am so blessed to be able to lead everybody here, and you- you tried to rip me away from all of that with the sick things you did to me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“This man-” William pointed down at de Witt and looked around at the Devils. “He has kissed me and touched me and- and all sorts of horrible things—” It was his father’s tail around his waist, his father’s smoke running down his throat and eliciting a gasp from him. “He deserves to die!”

The Devils were silent, staring uneasily at their prince. Hans looked from William to his father, then turned away, burying his head in his hands.

“William,” de Witt breathed.

“And now he will reveal our identities and motivations to the Doves,” William said. He was crying like he had last night, staring into the sky and nothing else. “He told me himself because he thought I would join him. But I know where my loyalties lie.” He nodded and closed his eyes. “Kill this traitor, sir.”

“Kill him, kill him!” cried the Devils, hissing in unison at de Witt. Once they had all liked him, William knew, for his talent, for his ruthlessness, but that was a de Witt from long ago, whom William had never known, someone who had wholeheartedly believed in the cause.

I wish it was still you. He opened his eyes again, finding that de Witt was still staring at him.

“You’re going to be here forever, aren’t you?” he asked. “It’s too late— I was too late. It’s never going to end.” He raised his voice, now fully glaring at William. “Promise me one thing, boy, if you have doomed me to death— you must never have children!”

“Oh, you would say that,” William retorted, falling back with a cough. He felt his father’s foot come down on the tip of his tail, and he tried to quiet himself down.

“It is not up to me to kill this traitor,” his father said. “Go down there and strangle him yourself.”

Me? William looked up at him frantically, but he felt a shove on his back, and he stumbled forward, meeting de Witt’s eyes.

“Kill him,” a Devil murmured. “Save us all.”

“Make him pay.”

“Long live the prince...”

“Long live William of Orange-Nassau!”

Had he truly saved them all? Their fated rule only felt more distant now. But there was no other way about it; he took a breath and began to descend the steps. If they wanted a show, it was a show they would get.

De Witt backed away. “William- at the very least, I have- my family, I haven’t even—”

“Well, it was a nice surprise, wasn’t it?” William paused on the sand.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“It’d be the only thing that would save you.”

“Yes.” De Witt’s voice broke. “I know, William.”

Enough pity. William dug into his pockets and pulled out a spell, ripping into it with his teeth. He whispered in Infernal, “Grow within me, the appetite of ancestors.” Here was a spell he had cast only once before, just to see if he could, but de Witt had seen it and knew now, as he backed away, to fear it.

He felt his canines grow in his mouth, his nails glowing and extending into claws. His tail lashed behind him like a whip. With a low hiss, he advanced towards de Witt and raised his hands to prove there were no other weapons on him. “You think I would ever leave this power for anything else?”

“William, listen—” One last attempt to speak, not fight. It was almost laughable.

“I’m done listening.” William turned around and brought his tail down against the sand, spraying it against de Witt’s face. De Witt gasped sharply, lifting his hands to shield his eyes, and William saw his opening. He lunged forward with his claws outstretched, tearing them through de Witt’s chest with such force that it lifted his body from the ground, blood flying from his mouth. He felt cold air on one hand; had it gone all the way through?

De Witt’s eyes widened, his mouth still moving as if he wanted to speak. William pulled his claws out, blood spurting out onto his face, where it dripped from his hair to his eyelashes. He let de Witt fall and blinked up at the delighted audience before looking down again.

“Still breathing, de Witt?” William coiled his tail around one of de Witt’s horns. “Not for long.” He knelt down beside de Witt and examined him with a grim curiosity. He was like a calf pinned down, the whites of its eyes visible.

He heard his father lash his tail anxiously. “Finish it off, William.”

William kept his head down as he spoke. “Once upon a time, the angels came down to try and devour humanity. He taught me that, didn’t you, Mijnheer de Witt?” He traced his claws down from de Witt’s neck to his chest, then reached through the blood and tore out his heart. He stood up and showed it triumphantly to his followers, catching sight of lovely, terrified Hans.

What’s he so afraid of? William snorted and looked to his father as he brought the heart to his lips, biting into it easily with the devil teeth. The blood was nauseating as it ran down his throat, and he could hardly keep it down, but he swallowed anyway, telling himself that the devils used to do this all the time. And they were fine.

So I can do it better. He swallowed the last of the heart and glared down at de Witt again. It was over now, he was safe. His father was safe.

He ducked down to open the wound further, down to de Witt’s stomach, where he pulled an intestine out. He shuddered so badly he might have dropped it.

“But we are more powerful than the angels,” he said, clearing his throat. “ So feed, my Devils. Eat it all, drink every last drop— you shall never have enough.”

It may as well have been a hypnosis spell. The Devils of Orange-Nassau began to approach cautiously, and William dropped the organ he held back on the sand. He heard the Devils murmur their thanks, but he didn’t look at any of them. He kept his gaze fixed on his father, didn’t even turn around as he heard the ugly sound of triumphant laughter and tearing meat behind him.

He licked the blood from his lips and there it was, something recognizable at last in the midst of this nonsense— fear. Right in his father’s eyes as he watched his son standing there among his followers, who loved him so much for this meal. He didn’t move, his tail held stiffly under his legs, as if he wanted to run at any moment.

Finally. De Witt had been right, after all. It was a shame he needed to die for William to see it, but surely he didn’t mind the sacrifice.

“Thank you,” he breathed to the body far behind him, his eyes flicking over to Hans. “You have made me very happy.”

His father did not come to his room that night, nor any other night. It was unfamiliar the first few weeks, perhaps even more unnerving to William than it would have been if his father had been there, but he found he rather liked sleeping a whole night and not having to drag himself to the bathroom first thing in the morning.

Of course, he could only sleep a whole night if he managed to close his eyes at all. It was harder to do so on the first nights following de Witt’s execution; it was all he could think about as he sat closer to the window and flipped through the books that de Witt used to read him. There was the elder William, indeed, the oldest William, murdering his mother again. There was only one thing left to do...

He gasped and covered his mouth to muffle the sobs breaking through him then, his whole body shaking at the memory of the heart sliding through his throat. He had never had a taste for blood like his ancestors, but he thought he might have grown to like it once. It was only as metallic as it ever was, though, trapped inside his body and clinging to his stomach like ancient cobwebs. De Witt’s blood ran through him now like lead. Too much lead, in fact; so much that it made him dizzy, sick—

He pushed the book away quickly before he retched, falling to his knees and vomiting on the floor before him. He knew it had been days now, but he still looked desperately for de Witt there, anywhere, among the mess.

It was no use. He would have to clean this all up, again. But he could not find it in himself to get up at this moment and risk waking up his father, so he lay back on the floor, staring at the moonlight outside that blurred with the tears in his eyes.

It was all such a very, very strange world, an empty one where neither de Witt nor his father cared to look at him, but he knew where the one certainty lay. So after he’d had enough of his father’s absence, he had Hans over one very late night, and the later it got, the further their conversations began to go.

“So you said your father doesn’t come here anymore?” Hans was lying beside him on the bed, though he let William have all the blanket to himself, his shorts being his only cover. William perhaps might have felt bad if Hans had ever shown any signs of caring for his own comfort, but he didn’t say anything, so William didn’t either.

“Yeah, it’s weird. I don’t know what I did wrong,” he said, absolutely knowing what he did wrong. It scared your father still echoed in his mind.

It seemed Hans knew as well, because he laughed nervously. “Well,” he said, “I can think of a few things.” He paused, then added, “Why did you lie? Did you want everyone to feel good about watching de Witt die?”

“They feel good when anybody dies, Hans, it’s not that deep.” William sat up, throwing the blanket off himself. “They would have eaten my father if I had ordered it.”

“Maybe that’s what you should have done instead,” Hans snapped suddenly. “I can’t fathom why anyone would get rid of the only adult in their life who ever gave a shit.”

William winced. A glare from Hans hadn’t stung like that for years. He bit his lip and averted his gaze, and it seemed that Hans relented a little, for he took William’s hand and squeezed it.

“I know you only did it to please your father, but- but you know, that isn’t what your six lives should be about,” he said. “You’re very nearly an adult now, you can escape this—”

“Don’t start talking like him now,” William muttered, covering his face with one hand.

“If your father couldn’t bring about the rule of the Overlifers in nearly a century, don’t you think you could do it faster? And better?” Hans brought William closer, so that his breath was warm against William’s horns. William shut his eyes and coiled his tail around Hans’ waist. “You’ll still be fulfilling your destiny, you’ll still...be okay without him. And I would much rather follow you, anyway.”

William shuddered, tears gathering behind his eyes. “Did I fuck up?” he asked in a whisper.

“Well, could you have de Witt while also having the Devils of Orange-Nassau behind you?”

“I know I’d have you.”

“I wish it was enough, William.” Hans pulled away, and William saw that he was crying too, though he still smiled. “I’m just going to be an Ally. And then—”

Then you’ll die. William couldn’t hear the next words, so he tilted his head up and kissed Hans. They always seemed to drain one’s mind of words, these kisses. They were weapons all on their own, he found, but maybe not so with Hans, dear, defenseless Hans, who kissed back with the delight that William had never known.

He actually likes it. William wasn’t sure if he did yet, but he rather preferred this to the force from his father. There was just something else that unnerved him about this.

He pulled away and gasped, pushing Hans away. “I- I don’t—”

“What?” Hans took William’s face and smiled gently down at him. “Did you like that?”

William shook his head helplessly. “I have been- I have been unfaithful.”

Hans let out an uneasy laugh. “What- what are you saying?”

“I’m sorry.” William shuffled back and wiped at his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Hans.”

“No, it’s okay, I liked it! It’s fine.” Hans tried to reach out to him, but William batted his hand away and stood up, rushing towards the door. He couldn’t take this anymore.

“Stay here,” William begged. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“William, look, I love-”

“Please don’t,” he whispered, opening the door and slamming it shut behind him. He ran down the stairs before Hans could call him back, and he was out of breath when he opened the door to his father’s room.

His father, to William’s surprise, had been sleeping. He opened his eyes and groaned when he saw William standing there.

“Fuck do you want?” he grumbled as he sat up.

William paused. That was a startlingly calm response to having one’s sleep interrupted.

“I kissed Hans,” he said. He swayed on his feet, and his father stood up, catching him by his arm before he fell to his knees. William’s head was starting to hurt too much to care that his father wasn’t wearing anything, as had been too common before de Witt died.

“You did?” His father sat back on the bed, letting William fall against his lap. He had grown very much, yet the position, the feeling of what was behind him, made him shudder. “Or did he kiss you?”

“No- no, I did it, I swear.” William tried to smile, looking back up at him.

“And who taught you how to kiss?” His father’s eyes widened as he leaned in, enough so that William could see him bare his sharp, yellow teeth. He stiffened and waited for the kiss to come his way, but it never did.

“Y-You,” he managed. “Thank you, sir.”

“And who did I teach you to kiss?”

“You.” William cried out as he felt his father pull him closer by his hair. “I-I’m really sorry, I know—”

“I knew that brat was only trouble with the way he looked at you.” His father threw him back against the bed. “Like you’re someone he is even worthy of standing next to.”

“Ah- well, he- he’s obedient.” William wasn’t sure if he missed the familiar dread of his father crawling towards him after all. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“William,” his father nearly sang, ignoring his question. “Why did you come here? Did you miss me?” He said it all without smiling, instead curling his lip back in a snarl. “Did you want to remind yourself of where you stood?”

William wiped at his eyes. “M-Maybe.”

“Pathetic.” His father took his tail and twisted it sharply in his hands, and William arched his back with a shriek. “This is why you will never- ever— replace me.” He kissed William then, starting to tug his clothes off, and William whimpered, trying weakly to kick him off. His father made quick work of his legs once he was undressed, though, pinning them down easily with his knees.

“P-Please, sir, let me take something first,” William pleaded, only to have his father begin to force himself inside, in so ungraceful a manner that he could hardly make it through the first few times. William shook his head, becoming breathless all over again.

“I missed you too, my love,” his father huffed by his ear.

William’s tears did not stop at any moment throughout the next hour. He threw his head to the side and bit his lip, narrowing his eyes with every pained grunt of his. He knew Hans would not be this rough.

You came here for one reason, though. To get away. It was so stupid to wish for anything else.

But never impossible, of course. De Witt had proved it, and his mother as well, and now Hans.

He let out a shaky sigh and let his father finish. They twined tails loosely, and then they both fell asleep, with William’s head resting as far away from his father’s breath as possible.

He was sick when he woke up; again, again, again. It was only when he made his way to the bathroom that he realized his father hadn’t been with him.

“William.” He heard his father call his name from the doorway once he was finished vomiting.

“Huh?” William looked up, coughing a little.

“Put some clothes on, I have something to show you.” He left without another word, and William hesitated before getting up to obey. That didn’t sound promising.

Shit, I left Hans all alone last night. He swallowed. There was something else Hans would never do to him. Perhaps it had been a good thing, but it couldn’t hurt to check on him before he went with his father. He was heading up there, anyway.

Strangely enough, though, he wasn’t there. Had he been told to leave before William woke up?

Or maybe he left by himself. He supposed he should have expected that.

Once he had dressed rather hastily, choosing his least form-fitting shirt possible, he hurried back downstairs to see his father in the kitchen. He was hardly dressed himself, though he was already puffing away on a cigarette. William braced himself before walking in.

“You seem excited,” his father remarked. “Showing off your legs like last night.” His tail slapped against William’s shins.

William rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

His father blinked slowly before blowing smoke out through his lips towards the ceiling, where it coiled like a lazy snake. “Everyone in this damned country thinks that the privilege of an Overlifer, to take as many lovers as he likes, extends to them as well. And even I can’t expect loyalty now, can I?”

Oh, no. William began to step away, but his father twined their tails together.

“It’s different in Grand Cabaret,” he went on. “You wouldn’t last a day there with your grandmother.”

Well, you outlived her, didn’t you? William was tempted to say it out loud, but ultimately decided that his consolation would do little for his father at this point. It was all as de Witt said; it was too late. Too late.

“But no, I came here instead; I chose your mother, an Easterner, far later than I should have.” His father was elsewhere now, telling the story to an audience before him that William couldn’t see. “Of course, it was a mistake. I thought I knew better, I thought I knew Easterners...I thought I could make you better. If not Mary, then my son, at least, I could save him...”

“You never tried to save my mother,” William mumbled.

His father shrugged a little. “She made herself incredibly difficult to love. Just like you. But I never did stop trying with either of you, to help you both see my divine vision. She saw it once, like everyone else.”

“She didn’t have to die because she stopped,” William said, his voice shaking. “You could have just let her go.”

“Go? Go where?” His father shook his head, tapping his tail against William’s chest to push him aside. “She would have taken you. She did take you; she could have taken everything down with her. But I couldn’t let that happen, William. You’re my heir.” He began to gesture out with his hands as he spoke, as he walked absently through the door ahead, disappearing into the darkness. William followed, a nervous shudder running through his tail.

“I never did want any heir,” his father said, and William was tempted to tell him to quit sounding so petulant, so childish. “I could have lived forever. Think on it, William, I could have done it, but then your mother betrayed me, and to save you I had to die. It was the fifth time. The worst time. But I—” He paused there, under the flickering light above them, nodding to himself. “I could have done this all myself. I didn’t need you, William.”

“You couldn’t have lived forever, an Overlifer makes many enemies in his lifetimes,” William spat. “You taught me that.” His defiance was unfamiliar, but the whole house suddenly felt that way, like an invasive devil was draining them of their lifeblood. This was not his father’s home, nor was it his own.

He wants to go back. It was nonsense in William’s mind as he thought it; where could his father go where he was wanted? Back where? Was William seriously going to pretend that he understood his father’s grief? Was it even called that?

“I could have done it, I just didn’t want to love you,” his father blurted in desperation, turning around to face him. “I knew from the moment you were born that you were going to take this all from me. I carried out all of my mother’s plans, I did everything right, but then you- you—! If you were born, I would be right back where I started. I would be expendable again.” He hissed the word out like he’d heard it too often. “For the sake of defying her I made my heir everything she would have hated— and everything I hate too.”

William stumbled back, his eyes widening in both amusement and disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Is that what this is all about?” It was such a stupid, petty thing for his father to do, to try to make William’s existence as dreadful as possible for the sake of defying a woman he had never even met. And here he thought it was all calculated, to keep him where he was forever.

No, it was just a dog stupidly chasing its tail, and William happened to keep getting caught in its jaws. It was still the same thing, forever, whatever that meant, but perhaps that gave his father’s spite too much credit. It went only to the extent that a child’s mind could comprehend. De Witt was right, again; no one could escape.

“It was stupid, alright, I admit it now,” his father said. “But I didn’t ask to fall in love with her, okay? And then with you. Not that it makes any of this worth it.” He glanced to the side, and William saw tears there; in his father’s unnatural eyes, something natural.

“I don’t forgive you,” William decided out loud. It felt good to say, to know that it would always be true. The path an Overlifer walked would always be unfair, it seemed, but there was nothing that said they had to forgive anyone for it.

His father lifted his head slightly, wiping with one finger at his eye. “Do you think that’s what I want from you? Do you think, after all I’ve done for you, that I should be the one asking for forgiveness? I hate you and yet I’ve given you everything.”

“I never had anything for myself and you’ve still somehow managed to take away what little I had,” William hissed. “I’m sorry you couldn’t handle the meaning of your own destiny, but I don’t know what the fuck that has to do with me.” He took a deep breath and knew he was starting to cry as well. It truly wasn’t fair.

His father’s tail began to lash. “You think I have failed?”

“I’m sorry,” was all William could say. There, it was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

“If I have failed, it is because of you!” He took hold of William’s shirt and pulled him closer, snarling in his face. “When I die, you will be the last of your kind, and then you can talk, but for now, it’s just the two of us. Neither of us matters until then. It was you who trapped us here—”

“I’m seventeen,” William growled.

“You have overstepped—”

“I have done everything you asked of me.”

“And now you tell me that you kissed that boy last night.” His father shoved him away as if in disgust. “I should kill you and solve the problem for the both of us.”

“You- you won’t do that,” William said, clearing his throat. “The Devils need me.”

“Not yet, they don’t,” his father retorted in a low voice, and William dizzily realized that he was serious. “As long as I’m alive, they don’t need you. If I die without fulfilling our destiny, well, I’ll just be a martyr. A failure, to be sure, but better off than you.”

“S-Sir, it doesn’t have to be that way, I- I can still be of use to you!” William cried, his knees shaking like he might fall at any moment. “You know I’ve done everything you asked, and I’ve done it well, okay? Even if you don’t like me, you can’t deny what I’ve done for you. I can be here with- with you. Forever, if that’s what you want. And I won’t try to leave like Mama did, and I’ll be a good- a good wife like she was. Husband. I don’t know, whatever you wish to call me—” He stopped and tried to speak through his subsequent sobs. He was a miserable disappointment, after all; he was still afraid to die, even if it was an Overlifer’s will that he should.

He blinked up at his father, desperate to see any emotion there, but it had all gone dark behind those eyes, as per usual. He merely knocked his son on the head once, an impact sudden enough to make William’s teeth come down on his tongue.

“Stop your crying, William, you said it yourself,” he said. “You’re seventeen. And there’s still a chance I’ll let you live.”

“W-What?” William wiped away at his tears and tried to swallow back the blood on his tongue. His throat ached already.

“I mean, your loyalty is already secured, clearly.” There was a distinct satisfaction in his father’s tone that made William feel sick all over again. Had he merely been trying to scare him? “I may not need you, but at least I don’t have to worry about another traitor right under my nose. Or do I?” He raised an eyebrow, and William shook his head.

“No, sir.” He hated himself for his subservience already.

“See, you say that, but then I remember how you kissed Hans last night,” his father said, turning around to walk on ahead. His tail lashed at William; an order to follow. “That beautiful boy destined for great things. He’ll be most useful when he dies, of course, but for now, every great man needs his Ally. Or so my mother said.” He hissed suddenly, as if trying to spit the memory out of his mouth. “But I never saw the need for it. I thought maybe giving you one would teach you something about power and your role in this world, but it’s all proven to be for nothing. He’s had his way with you once. He’ll do it again.” He paused in front of one of the other bathrooms, slamming the door once with his fist. William jumped a little. “The same lips an Overlifer has touched...what business does he think he has there?”

“It was I who initiated, sir,” William said honestly. “I- I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to. I just assumed that- that since he is so below me—”

“You’re not so impressive yourself,” his father growled. “Your insolence there...it nearly convinced me to kill you last night. Fucking take you by the hair and bash your fucking head into the wall until I could see what you keep in that little head of yours. Let me see what makes you so retarded!” He laughed then, flicking William’s head almost playfully. “But I’ve decided you can prove your true loyalties to me instead. Prove to me that you deserve to survive, to succeed me. I think that is far more valuable than anything your friend there could teach you.”

“U-Um, yes, sir,” William said, taking a step back with a displeased shake of his head. So he wasn’t in the clear yet; that was fine. He could do whatever his father asked of him. It was like it had always been.

“Here’s your challenge.” His father opened the door and shoved William inside. “Kill him. That’s all. See, we’ve already done half the work for you.”

And there was Hans, perhaps the most loyal Devil there was, kneeling beside the tub as the water ran endlessly before him to wash the blood falling from his face. Two other Devils were beside him, one holding his head down, and the other washing a pair of pliers in the sink.

William’s eyes widened. He knew what those were used for.

He could hear Hans gasping, pulling over and over again at the zip ties used to keep his arms behind his back. Under the golden tresses William could see the gashes where a whip had fallen like a devil’s tongue. But he could also see that there was still a struggle left in Hans’ body as he fought to lift his head. He was still far from death.

“Got two out, sir,” the woman holding the pliers said. “We would have done more, but we were hoping to go for his nails next...”

“Only two?” The Overlifer sounded disappointed. “Suppose I can just take the other three teeth out of you later. Get out.” He bared his teeth at her, and she bowed once before leaving.

William was tempted to ram his horns into the man who now turned off the water and lifted Hans by his hair, throwing him against the floor towards his master. William stumbled back with a wince, hearing a cry from Hans’ bloodied face. There were bruises there, too, slowly being revealed as the blood ran down to the floor.

Why did I leave him alone? Why the fuck did I leave him alone? William held a hand over his pounding heart. Could his father, on his sixth life, hear it? An Ally could.

I always wanted you to listen. He shook his head at his father as the last Devil left them alone.

“I can’t believe you would kill a loyal follower for no reason,” he said. “No good leader does that.”

“Loyal, my ass,” his father scoffed. “He kissed you. Would have fucked you, too, no doubt about it.” He slid his foot under Hans’ head, lifting it so that Hans would look up at them both through his swollen eyes. “Is that right? Ripping my son out from right under me. No better than de Witt.”

Hans shook his head weakly. “N-No, sir,” he managed before being interrupted by his own coughs. He let his head fall again, and William swallowed. He couldn’t look away.

He’s choking on his own blood. Devil’s claws had not ripped through Hans’ chest, but the danger was all the same. Someone would die, all to keep William’s position safe, right under his father. Again. Again. Again.

And then what? There would never be anyone else, certainly not after all his followers saw what he did to the people who became close to him. Their loyalty would never waver, of course, but nobody here loved him. That much had always been true. Nobody loved him like Hans did...the only follower of his destined to die.

Fuck, but can’t it wait a little longer? Can’t I have this little happiness for myself?

He’d made a great enough sacrifice with his mother, with de Witt. He could not do this again. He could not take it.

“There was never anything to worry about, sir, he’s served me faithfully,” he said, falling to his knees beside Hans. He lifted his friend’s body and let it rest against him as he spoke with a shaky voice. “Let me spare him, please. He’s my servant, not yours.”

“I’ll just kill you both if you don’t do it, what good does that do?” His father paced around them. It was a large bathroom, and yet it felt like it was quickly closing in on them, the Overlifer’s presence suffocating them. “Spare your friend the guilt of having been the reason for your death and fucking get it over with. I’m tired of you always having something to fucking say. You’re nothing right now, you get that?”

So be something. That was what de Witt would have said. Or, perhaps, he had already been something to de Witt, something greater than any Overlifer.

He felt Hans huff against him, trying to speak through the blood in his mouth. “William,” he whispered. “It’s- it’s okay. I’d be- I would be honored t-to die by your hand.” He lifted his head and William saw that two of his canines were missing. And yet, he still smiled. “Y-You made me very happy.” Were the tears in his eyes a result of the torture, or were they new as they gazed upon William?

No one’s love is worth sacrificing my destiny for. It was just as it had always been, but he was also so very, very tired.

William sighed and reached for what was always in his pocket, that devil’s knife. A weapon of love and hatred. Liselotte ran through its handle, the blood of his enemies ran on its blade.

Had she kissed this knife before? There was an old legend that de Witt had told him about, but surely she couldn’t have heard of it. Therefore it was stupid what he was about to do anyway; taking the third option, a desperate option. One where he could be happy with Hans, with his six lives, without him—

He lifted the blade to his lips. “Lend me your power, Liselotte von der Pfalz,” he breathed, and in that instant he turned around and swiped the blade in the air, towards his father.

It shouldn’t have worked. Only in legends could humans summon devils exclusively through weapons they were gifted, and yet— her shadowy reflection in the real world leapt out behind him with a furious roar, ripping her tail through the Overlifer’s chest. The tail’s jaws tore hungrily into his heart, swallowing it whole as they drew back, and then she was gone. All in less than a second.

She wasn’t a devil lord, but she was still a devil. And an Overlifer, after all, always received his lives from the devils. Their powers could match that of the other, but at the end of the day, it came down to whoever struck first. That had been one of de Witt’s lessons.

William, with these two at his side, had struck first.

His father hit the ground, blood spattering the walls and mirror, and William could only stare. He was something now, wasn’t he? And so was his father. Just like he wanted.

“But no one here will remember you,” he swore out loud. “They will- remember— me—” He gasped sharply, his hand flying up to his mouth as he fell back on the floor, against Hans. He could hear his own rapid breaths quickly becoming cries for help, help from the devils, as if maybe his father would still have a chance. Maybe he had a seventh life.

“Y-You actually did it,” Hans breathed out, watching the pool of blood around the Overlifer grow larger and larger. “I- I was not...not worth it...” For all the exhaustion in his voice, William could still hear the horror in it as well.

“F-For you, Hans, I would- would do it again,” he replied unsteadily. He cut through the zip ties on Hans’ wrists with the eerily clean knife. Its sheen made him sicker still.

“Oh, fuck,” he blurted as he glanced one last time at his father. “Oh, fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know—!”

“Shh.” Hans squeezed him tight at last, and William let himself fall there. He could feel Hans shaking, or perhaps it was himself— no matter, they clung onto each other, William screaming to match every one of Hans’ shuddering gasps. He screamed until he thought he would faint.

And yet all their tears were not enough to wash the blood away.

#six lives won't make you happy #this ones the heaviest dona dona chapter yet i think #hopefully it will lighten up in the next one #but don't be too hopeful it still is a very fucked ending #thank u for reading so far...

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