#this may speak more to what prison is like for rich men than anything else but whatever.

[fluorescentbrains]

tom wouldn’t give it all up to live in a trailer with shiv but he would go to prison for greg. makes u think

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 4

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

The three of you gathered around the kitchen island and ate the pizza.  Well, more like Steve and Bucky inhaled a whole pizza each while you ate two slices.  The pizza was delicious, probably the best you’d ever had and your stomach was grateful for the yumminess.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself Y/N?” Bucky asked as he licked the grease off his lips.

“What do you want to know?” you replied.  

“Let’s start with your family and where you grew up.”

You shrugged as you wiped your fingers with a napkin.  “There isn’t really much to say.  I grew up in a small town in the Midwest.  Both my parents died when I was a teenager.  I never knew my grandparents and I was an only child, same with my parents, so I don’t have any other family.  I moved here when I was 20,” you stated honestly.  Well, mostly at least.  Yes, it was true both of your parents died, but how they died was tragic.  They both committed suicide.  First your mother, then your father one year later.  As far back as you could research, mental health issues unfortunately ran in your family and that was including you.  But you weren’t ready to open up that old wound yet. You were on medication to help it and that was that.  Luckily the dosing you were on worked well and you could only hope you wouldn’t need to adjust your medications anytime soon.  

“We know how you feel doll. Obviously all of our family is gone too. But we can make a new family with the three of us,” Bucky stated as he wrapped his metal arm around your shoulders. You liked the sound of that.  The three of you becoming your own family. It sounded nice.  

You gave Bucky a wide smile, mirroring his.  “What have your past relationships looked like?” Steve announced from the other side of you.  

This was something you had been debating on bringing up.  If you weren’t going to tell them about your mental health issues just yet, you didn’t want to lie and be dishonest about John as well.  Taking a deep breath, you held it in for five seconds before releasing it.  “I’ve only been in one relationship before.  His name was John, John Smith.  He’s in prison right now.”

From the corner of your eye you could see Steve clench his fist; his knuckles cracking in the process.   “What happened?” he growled out.    

“He…he umm.  Well, he hit me,” you said, almost as quiet as a mouse but you knew both men had super hearing and they damn well heard you.  

Steve slammed his fist on the granite countertop making you flinch.  

“Steve!” Bucky barked at him in anger.  “You’re not making this situation any better right now.  Calm the fuck down and let her talk.”  Bucky soothed his arm up and down your back.  “Go ahead doll.   We’re listening.”

Nodding, you began to speak again.  “Things were great in the beginning.  He seemed like everything I could have ever asked for in a man.  I didn’t know if or when I would ever meet the two of you so I decided to live my life and date him.   The first six months were a whirlwind of romance.  He was the most charming man I had ever met.  But then things took a turn when I moved in with him. I was ready to have sex yet, but he was sick of waiting.  That first night I moved in, he…he raped me.”

This time you saw Bucky’s right hand clench on the table in front of you while Steve knocked his chair over as he stood up, pacing the kitchen.  “Go on doll,” Bucky urged, trying to keep the anger out of his voice as best he could for you.

“That was just the first time.  He umm, he did it again for weeks.  I wanted to leave, I really did.  But he was rich and he had security around the house.  I knew I couldn’t just up and leave.  Finally, when he demanded I quit my job, I stood up to him and told him no. That was the first time he hit me. That continued for months.  I was ready to give up on myself.”

“What happened next huh? How did he end up in prison?” Steve demanded as he leaned over the counter, staring at you with those piercing eyes.  

“I got lucky,” you replied. “We were out shopping one day.  He felt bad for the wrist he broke the night before so he took me shopping.  One of the sales ladies escorted me into a fitting room and I slipped her a note letting her know what was going on.  I stayed in the fitting room for as long as possible.  And then I heard them.  The police. The sales lady called the police for me and they took him away.  He’s been locked up ever since.”

Closing your eyes, you let the tears slip down your cheek.  “You were so brave,” Bucky cooed as you felt his lips on the top of your head.

“Look at me Y/N,” Steve demanded yet again and that deep feeling to please him was happening again. You snapped your head up and looked directly into his eyes.  “That will never happen in this relationship. Do you understand me?”  You simply nodded.  “Bucky and I would never hurt you like that.  Ever.  You have our word.”  As soon as he finished talking, he stormed out of the kitchen and down the hallway to where you only assumed was his room.  

“Just give him a minute to cool off sweetheart,” Bucky spoke in your ear.  “Stevie gets pent up sometimes and he has a lot on his plate. He may seem like it, but he’s not mad at you.  I promise.”

You collapsed into Bucky’s chest and softy sobbed.  It felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders and you were relieved to have told them about John.  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that doll.  That will never happen to you again.  We won’t let anything like that happen.”

It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes later when Steve emerged from his room.  “How about we go down and show you the communal kitchen and living room.  Give you a little tour.  What do you say?”

A small smile broke across your face.  “I’d like that very much.”

As the elevators opened to the communal floor, you jaw dropped.  If you thought Steve and Bucky’s apartment was big, this was ten times the size. Not only were there ample more couches, the television was bigger and there was a large dining table big enough to sit at least twenty people.  

“Holy crap,” you exclaimed in awe.  

“Yeah, Tony likes to go big if you couldn’t already tell,” Steve joked.  

“You think?” you quipped back, earning a smirk from Steve.  

The entire space was void of anyone except the three of you as Steve pulled you further into the living room.  He explained that the group tries to do a movie night at least once a week.  “To make things as fair as possible, Tony pulls a name out of a hat to see who gets to pick the movie that night,” Bucky said.

“Yeah but it doesn’t really work.  There is still always complaining and bitching from everyone else.  Mainly Clint,” Steve chimed in.  

It made you giggle, genuinely giggle and it felt good.  That hadn’t happened in quite some time.  

Steve and Bucky guided you towards the hallway, explaining that these were the ‘hobby rooms’ of everyone and their soulmates.  Steve opened the door to the one at the end of the all on right left side.  

“This will be your room. You can make it anything you want. But I’m going to guess this will be your game room where you work.”

“That would be correct,” you answered as you turned on the light.  The room was very decent sized and you would have no problem fitting all of your gamer stuff in here.  Hell, there would be a lot of room left over and you were quickly trying to think what else you could fit in here.  

“C’mon.  Let’s go back to our floor and we can show you your room up there.”

On the elevator ride back to their apartment, Steve and Bucky explained who all lived in the tower and who their soulmates were.  Tony and Pepper were soulmates together, along with Bruce.  Bruce was best friends with Tony and more of a brother figure to Pepper. Then there was Natasha, Clint and Darcy Lewis and they were all in an intimate relationship together.  Lastly, there was Thor and Jane but they didn’t stay in the tower too much as they spent most of their time on Asgard.  

Steve stopped in front of your door.  It was across the hall from Bucky’s and right next door to Steve’s.  

“Go ahead and open it,” Steve said with a smile.  “Just place your hand over the screen.”

Taking a deep breath, you did as he said and placed your hand, palm down, on the digital screen where there would normally have been a doorknob.  With a soft click, the door opened for you and you walked into your new place.  It was nothing like what you were thinking. You were honestly just guessing it would be a bedroom, but no, this was an entire apartment.  

Straight ahead was a decent sized kitchen.   There was dark cherry wood cabinet with black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.  To the left is what you would assume would be the living room, however it was completely bare of any furniture.  As you continued to move through the apartment you found that the bedroom was all the way in the back.  It was a very nice sized master bedroom with the biggest walk in closet and on suite bathroom you had ever seen.  

“What do you think?” Bucky asked as he came up behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders.  

“It’s big,” you replied with a chuckle.  

“I’m going to have Tony’s interior designer email you.  Give him examples and ideas of what you would like and she will make it happen.  Don’t worry about prices.  This is Tony’s gift to you.”

Your eyes grew wide at his statement.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes sweetheart,” Steve replied as he slipped his hand in yours.  “We want the best for you.  Whatever you want this new home of yours to look like, then so be it.  We will make it happen for you.”

~~~

That night as you lay in bed after spending time with Steve and Bucky, you couldn’t help but frown. Things had seemed to be going much better tonight than they did when you first met them two days ago.  Now, you had to pack up your apartment and move. You weren’t really nervous about that part, hell, you were looking forward to it.  But then it meant things were starting to get real.  When things start to get intimate with them, would you be able to let yourself go and do that?  Would things be vanilla in the bedroom? Would you be able to tell them that because the only sexual experiences you’ve ever had was being raped, that you could now only get yourself off on violent fantasies of being raped, or tied up, or choked?  Fuck, what was wrong with you?

[stellocchia]

Sooo, remember this: Platonic Soulmates AU? Yeah... I actually wrote something for Bee Duo based on it because I was feeling like it. 

It’s pretty short and kinda different from my usual writing style, but it was fun!

                                     Dissonant Melody

Tubbo and Ranboo have the perfect life. They have their big mansion, multiple houses, a son, more riches than anyone else on the server, and, most importantly, they have each other. They’re both seventeen and they already found their soulmate. Not only that, but they are both alive and their bond is as strong as can be with emotions flowing freely through it.

They’re lucky, they know they are.

They’re lucky, luckier than most, so they can never say otherwise.

They’re lucky, but why doesn’t it feel like it?

Why has the mansion stayed empty since it got built? Why are they still living so far apart, pretending that the distance will hide their distress from the other?

Tubbo lost a nuke a while ago. Tubbo lost his best friend not long before that. Tubbo lost so much and yet he hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t need to, of course, because he’s fine. He is perfectly fine and if his laboured breaths and tachycardia when he wakes up in the middle of the night were anything out of the ordinary he’s sure that Ranboo would tell him.

Ranboo hasn’t felt in control in a while. He’s not sure how often he actually sleeps compared to how often the… other him simply takes control. His experiments are supposed to be working. They are supposed to give him answers to give him control. They aren’t. But he can’t bother his family with his burden. He can’t look at his husband and child and admit to being nothing but a monster. He knows they would hate him, and they should hate him, really! He just can’t bring himself to be the one to spill his dirty little secret.

Tubbo and Ranboo are seventeen and they already figured out what soulmates aren’t supposed to be. Soulmates aren’t supposed to be the person you share your burdens with. They aren’t supposed to be the person you’re honest with. They aren’t who you go to, to open up about your past. They aren’t there to give you acceptance, they shouldn’t be. They aren’t there to confide in.

Tubbo and Ranboo also know what soulmates are supposed to be. They are the person who’s going to keep you company when you need some silly escapade to distract you from the real world. They are the person who knows you are lying when you say that you’re fine and will lie right back to you. They are the person you smile at and laugh with. They are the person that will let you be a kid around them and not expect something different, something more. They are the person who can perceive your feelings, but who’ll never call attention to them.

Maybe it isn’t perfect, but is it even meant to be?

Because the truth is that they’re young, both of them, and sometimes all they need is someone who’ll let them be.

So maybe it is perfect in their own imperfect way.

And maybe Tommy was talking out of his ass when he mentioned that they might need a “balance”, a suggestion from his therapist apparently.

Because Tubbo is happy. He may not have been home for a while, too busy with his newest project, but he knows that Michael will be there when he gets back and Ranboo is just one call away, ready to aid him when he feels like building another sandstone dick on the roof of the prison. And the outpost is not yet another way to run away from his problem. It’s not another manifestation of denial, it isn’t. And Tubbo sometimes really wishes that Tommy never learned all that fancy terminology, because now it doesn’t feel like they’re on the same level anymore. And Tubbo is fine with that, even if now he feels stupid when trying to talk to him. He didn’t need a friend to open up to anyway.

And it’s fine that Ranboo seems to get his best friend better than he does nowadays. And it’s fine that Tommy goes to him first when he needs something. It’s fine that they are close to each other and that they seem open with each other. It’s fine because it’s not what Tubbo needs and it’s not what he knows how to give. It’s fine, but sometimes Tubbo wishes that he could say it wasn’t.

Ranboo is happy as well of course. He is living with the men who destroyed the first home he’s ever known, but he moved past that. He doesn’t hold grudges really. It’s not useful, it only leads you to choose sides and he won’t, he can’t. If he does then it’ll be much harder to justify to himself why choosing his friends in the past was never worth it. Why fighting by their side for what was important to them was wrong. Why Tubbo’s resigned face, while Ranboo was letting his home blow up, shouldn’t haunt him.

But he was right, thankfully, so he is happy. And Dream is locked up where he can’t hurt anyone anymore, and there are only two deaths that disprove that. And Ranboo may not be in control of his actions or his mind, but he will be, once he figures out how to deal with his problems. And if he doesn’t well… he is sure that there must be a way to convince Sam to lock him up in Pandora’s Vault. He might not even have to convince him once the Warden finds out what type of monster he truly is. Before that though he’s gonna help Tubbo with his surveillance post.

This new project seems to have given a new rhythm to the both of them, a new purpose.

They aren’t working on it together per se. That would require a level of communication that neither of them is capable of. But they are still cooperating nonetheless.

This is the closest they’ve been in a while and neither of them really knows what to do with it. And that’s not right, they’re soulmates and they’ve been close for a long time now! So why is it that they feel more like strangers?

They see each other sometimes, on their way to and from the outpost and it’s like meeting and estranged family member more than their husband. It’s all polite greetings and embarrassed shuffling of their feet. One of them will ask the other what’s going on in their life, the answer is always kept vague.

Both of them can feel how much the other wants the conversation to end every time, but they still persevere because they shouldn’t want that.

It takes a few weeks for the awkwardness to shift into resentment.

It takes a few weeks before Ranboo comments on how distant and cold Tubbo has been. On how he feels like they aren’t close anymore. It takes mere seconds, after that, for Tubbo to yell about how Ranboo can’t speak when he’s still living with the man who murdered him.

Words they never meant to utter out loud fly freely then.

Suddenly it becomes apparent how little they knew of each other. Did they ever even know the other at all? Were any of the good moments real?

Is Tubbo really the uncaring, distant pushover that brought his country to ruin that Ranboo claims him to be?

Is Ranboo truly the self-absorbed, spineless traitor that Tubbo thinks he is?

They’re both panting by the end. Exhaustedly looking at the ground. 

That was what they needed supposedly, that’s what everyone said. A “balance” between sharing their burdens and granting the other the lightheartedness of youth. But it was too little too late I’m afraid.

There was nothing there anymore. That bond that seemed so perfect and strong came undone in less then an hour. Bitterness was left where that tentative sense of belonging used to be.

After all they were strangers now, it was well past the time for sharing.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

11x02: Acheron, Part 2 - Analysis

Okay, let’s talk 11x02. And 11x01. Because it’s a two-part episode, it’s important to consider them together. I have a LOT to say about what’s going on in these two episodes, so I’ll have plenty to post all week. Let’s dive in!

***As always, spoilers abound below for TWD 11x02. Don’t read until you’ve watched! You’ve been warned!***

Maggie

The first thing we see is a point of view from under the train car. The instant I saw that, I knew how things would go. I never thought Maggie would die (if nothing else, there are scenes with her in the trailer we haven’t seen yet) but I was curious as to how she would survive. When I saw this POV, I knew she’d end up crawling under the train. Just as Glenn crawled under the dumpster. Massive parallels to Glenn. Which by extension, massive parallels to Beth. Major resurrection theme.

It's also important that when she reappears, she comes from underneath the car. Obviously, that’s logical given that she crawled underneath the car, but they make a point of asking if the pounding is coming from the roof. Gabriel says no and then they open the bottom hatch for her. Her coming up from the ground like that is a visual representation of a resurrection.

So we see Gabriel, Negan and the others enter the train car. The spatial details here are important, and I had to watch the episode twice to get them all straight. It’s a little confusing the first time. So, the group jumps down into the train car through a hatch in the roof because they couldn’t get the door open in the last episode. The thing is, if you watch closely, you come to realize they’re not in the train car on the end. They must have walked along the roof for two or three cars before finding a hatch that let them in.

So, when Gauge shows up, he comes behind them, and that confused me because I was thinking they came from that direction. And they did, but they entered through the roof, not the door. Anyway, they can’t get the door open. So honestly, even if they’d tried harder, I’m not sure they could have saved him.

This scene accomplished a lot of things, character-wise, that we need to touch on. It’s important to note that Gauge’s death happened due to his own choices. Does that mean he “deserved” to die or that they shouldn’t have tried to save him if they could have? Of course not. No on both counts. But that doesn’t change the fact that his choices sealed his fate.

It's especially interesting that he called Maggie a Liar. Not only is that a throwback to the Governor, but it’s a particular type of mentality they’re showing here. Even the fact that he didn’t shut the door behind him is really interesting. My first thought was to be annoyed with him. Why WOULDN’T you shut the door. You live in this world. You know better. But it’s all ego. He can’t imagine something bad will happen. He just assumes if it does, someone will save him.

But the most telling thing was how angry he got before saying Liar. It just shows very much how he approaches life. When he messes up, he doesn’t feel bad, and accept that it was his fault, and try to learn from it. No, instead he gets pissed and blames everyone but himself and his own actions.

If this had been Daryl or Gabriel or Alden or any of our other heroes, they would have recognized that opening the door would have gotten their friends and family killed and would have sacrificed themselves. Especially if they realized they’d screwed up. But Gauge became angry and defiant, even killing himself.

Anyway, I’m rambling. This really has nothing to do with Beth or TD other than perhaps being a future template for something. But I thought it was a really fascinating character sketch.

The thing is, this isn’t really a matter of Gauge being wrong and everyone else being right.

Maggie is…not doing so well either. As I told my fellow theorists, Paola Lazaro said in TTD last week that Maggie was kind of off the rails. I think she said that a little prematurely, because we really didn’t understand Maggie’s state of mind just by watching 10x17 and 11x01.

It's not until she tells that messed up story about the house she found and the people in it that we understand that her state of mind really isn’t at its healthiest. Even saying she wanted to kill Negan before is…understandable given their past. But it makes more sense now why Negan is so nervous. He’s sensing her state of mind that her moral conscience isn’t as strong as it once was, so of course he’s fearful for his life.

I don’t know where they’re going with this Maggie story line, but I have a feeling this attitude of hers will cause conflict down the road. Several of my fellow theorists believe it will cause a rift between her and Daryl. And we can see that somewhat through Alden. At first, he was very much defending Maggie, especially against Negan. He has a lot of loyalty to her. But he didn’t like her abandoning Gauge, and you can see his loyalties starting to waver.

At the very least, what she said about not feeling anything about it is the opposite of what Beth always stood for. Daryl was trying hard not to feel things during Still, in the wake of the prison going down. She made him feel things because that’s the only way a person is truly living, rather than just surviving. Now Maggie is in that state of mind.

And I’m gonna argue that makes it a prime time for Beth to return to help her. But of course I’m completely objective over here. ;D

Maggie’s Story:

Maggie’s story was definitely dark and horrible, but interesting to analyze. I’m assuming there was cannibalism going on there. That’s why the missing limbs. The men in the house were eating the female prisoners. No only a callback to Terminus, but remember that Bob’s leg was taken for food, so I’m sure that’s what we’re supposed to infer here.

She talked about no eyes, no tongue, no limbs, vocal cords ripped out. So definitely the see no evil, speak no evil themes. With the limbs, it’s also a matter of not being able to escape or save themselves.

In terms of the plot, I do have one question about this that I think may be significant. Maggie first talks about three deformed people (she says, “I wouldn’t call them men”) coming toward her. She kills them, and only after that hears the noise from the attic.

My question is, why were they deformed? If they’re “men,” then they must be at least Maggie’s age, if not older, which means they’ve been around since before the apocalypse began. Even eating human flesh doesn’t cause one to become deformed, so why the deformities? I have no idea, but I wondered if there is a radiation theme going on here. Something they’re hinting at, but not saying. Just thought that was intriguing.

After that, things go sideways and everyone almost dies until Daryl arrives to save the day. So, let’s skip to his story.

Daryl:

We first see him bust through a wall with Dog. So, dog took off in the last episode, but the first time we see Daryl, he’s already found Dog again. At least, the first time. This is where he sees the murals on the wall, the walker with the handcuff and the suitcase of money, etc. I already talked about most of that in great detail HERE, so I won’t rehash it, though it’s very important.

One thing I will say about the mural is that thematically, it’s a match to Still. So, in the golf club, we had lots of rich people who clearly hid there when the world first went bad. And I don’t remember this particularly, but several of my fellow theorists have told me they remember the TTD after Still and that the writers talked about how the golf club was a statement about the class system. You have these very rich people, but their wealth couldn’t save them. Death, walkers, the apocalypse��none of these things discriminate based on wealth or position.

On the wall, we see people with crowns standing at the top, but below, they are homeless, and one of them is being attacked and torn apart. Meanwhile, Daryl sees a line of text that says, “it comes for us all,” probably meaning death.

Well, guess what? Angela Kang, in talking about the murals, said that this, too, was a statement about the class system. So thematically, this is meant to be a parallel to Still.

It’s just interesting to contemplate because if you think about it, most of our heros—Rick, Daryl, the Greene family, etc—weren’t at all wealthy. Rick was humble and well-grounded. Hershel worked hard his whole life and never had any glory or fanfare. And then there’s Daryl, who was “nothing. No one.” They all survived.

So of course it’s a socioeconomic statement, but it’s also one about mindset. It takes not only grit to survive this world, but a certain amount of humility. Ego always gets you killed eventually, as it did with Gauge.

I’ll also mention that I thought the guy with the crown who was being torn apart was being set upon by walkers, but AK says they’re specifically not walkers. They’re people.

So, it’s not a coincidence that we see this juxtaposed with the Gauge situation. His ego gets him killed and we literally see him being torn apart because of it.

Moving on.

Daryl finds a bag with a $100 bill with a letter written on it. This is a massive TD clue from start to finish. 100 is an important number. The hundred dollar bill features Benjamin Franklin on the front and Independence Hall on the back. Look either of those up and you’ll find lots of fun parallels we could point to. I won’t go into all that today except to say it’s definitely part of the Revolution theme.

This is what’s written on the bill Daryl finds:

“Dear Dad, you always said if you don’t come back in a week to move on. Mom didn’t listen and went looking. It’s been three weeks, so we’re going next. I’ll watch Jesse and turn on the radio every day at 10. See you both soon. Love Tom and Jesse.”

He also finds a picture of two kids. So, the “three weeks” jumps out because of Rick’s line in 5x10, “it’s been three weeks since Atlanta.” It’s also about missing family members, going searching for them, etc. Possibly important that the mom is also missing. I can’t help but think of the song from Still. “Our mother has been absent, every since we founded Rome…”

There is a 10 in there, which is an important number. The turning the radio on every day is both the radio/airwaves theme (also a line from the song) but a callback to Rick and Morgan and their walkie talkies. So, really interesting symbols here.

The two kids immediately reminded me of Noah’s twin brothers. I don’t think these two are supposed to be twins. I’m assuming the brother is older. But still obviously siblings. And it hearkens back to the last episode Beth was technically in. Which also had a lot of the CRM/Revolution theme in it. (X, X).

AK says this family probably didn’t make it, so I’m not expecting these kids to show up in the narrative. But it’s also important to note that the little girl is carrying the toy rabbit Maggie found earlier. So the rabbit also ties into all this symbolism. (P.S. I didn’t get to my rabbit post last week. I planned on it, but time got away from me. I should get it posted later this week.)

So, this is massive in terms of TD symbolism. I’ll talk about it fits into the bigger narrative in a minute.

Then Daryl kills the sleeping bag walker. I wasn’t sure the significance of this at first, but I think it ties to the tents and sleeping bags we saw in Atlanta in 5x06, Consumed. Daryl and Carol passed them while looking for Beth. So, this just shows us that this is tied to her storyline and Daryl searching for her.

You could also argue that the walker was “hidden” at first, and it’s significant that Dog found it/realized it was there before Daryl did. 

The other thing is that as he’s looking at the sleeping bag walker, there’s a random shoe on the ground next to it. Missing Shoe/Foot theory, which is also indicative of Beth. 

They hear another roaring sound and Dog takes off, running into the dark tunnel.

Here’s the thing. I think most people will assume the roar he heard was just more air being forced through the tunnels by the storm, as Alden explained it in ep 1. But I always watch with the subtitles on and I noticed at this part, the subtitles said, “Man Roaring.” So they actually did hear someone screaming. And that’s probably why Dog ran toward it.

After watching it again, I realized it’s probably supposed to be Roy. He’s the white-haired guy, played by C. Thomas Howell, who Daryl finds wounded after he emerges from the Tunnel. I think whatever happened to him when he went topside but then got attacked by walkers is what Dog heard and went running toward.

Maybe not terribly significant in the plot, but it’s important symbolically. Because once again we have something Daryl hears from a distance but doesn’t see. Dog (a proxy for Beth) runs toward it, and Daryl follows. When he does, he find someone who had previously separated from the group. They’re hurt, but alive. See the parallels?

I will say the Roy situation confuses me just a little. He’s clearly hurt, and when Daryl tries to bandage him, he refuses, saying, “just tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.” But then later he’s with the group, all bandaged up, and seems to be okay. (He dies when they reach the Reapers by taking an arrow to the head, so he still dies overall.) But it’s just weird that it seemed he would die, then seemed he was fine again.

It may well be something that foreshadows a future situation, and that’s why it’s not making tons of sense right now. Only time will tell.

Anyway, I kind of glossed over Daryl crawling through the dark tunnel. I don’t have much else to say about it except that it’s a SUPER potent symbol for Beth’s arc and very important that he emerges on the other side and finds this person. Annnd then goes to save TF. (Dark Tunnel Symbolism).

So, he hears the gunshots and finds the train they’re on. He comes up behind the walkers attacking them from the front, kills them, moves the bench blocking the door, and lets everyone through. Then he uses a grenade to blow up all the walkers. (Ew.)

After that they all get out of the tunnels and go topside. The next scene is also super important. We see the stars above. That’s partly to show that the storm has passed now, but also constellations = Sirius.

Maggie asks what he has and he tells her about it. There is one weird moment in this scene. When she tells them about the supply depot she wants to stop at, she says Georgie (from S8) set it up for emergencies, for people on the outside to use. When it says this, the camera focuses on Daryl for a LONG moment, and he looks almost sad. I’m not sure what they’re trying to tell us there.

Anyway, they all head out. Unfortunately, when they reach the right neighborhood, the Reapers are there to meet/kill them. And Roy is the first to go.

So, a couple of things here. I’ll probably do a details post because I’m leaving out MOST of the background details throughout the episode, and there are a lot of them. Lots of details to be gleaned in this scene.

But the second time I watched it, I was struck by the people hanging upside down. Obviously a grim sight, but it occurred to me that these people hanging this way look a LOT like the deer diagrams from Scars. Let me show you some pictures:

Top pick is 11x02. Middle and bottom one are from Scars.

See what I mean? So, chances are something about Scars foreshadowed the Reapers, which is interesting. They clearly see human beings in a certain way (as animals to be strung up and…perhaps eaten?) And that makes me think that what Maggie found in that house may tie into the Reapers as well. Just kind of interesting foreshadows of coming plots.

Eugene:

Let’s talk Eugene and then I’ll shut up for today. Eugene’s stuff was very intriguing. First thing you need to know. And understand, I didn’t know this. @wdway​ pointed it out. Some months ago, the actress cast as “Stephanie” was announced. This is her:

And that’s clearly not the woman who steps into the train car at the end. Which means this isn’t really Stephanie. She’s a decoy. In fact, the actress from this episode is billed on IMDb as “woman 2,” not as “Stephanie.”

Knowing that, if you go back and re-watch the parts with Eugene’s group, they mean something very different.

On the surface, it seems that Zeke, Yumiko and Princess are taken away in a sinister fashion. Then Eugene melts down and tells his story. (Note: while he focuses on his feelings for Stephanie and I think most of that is true, he still says he lied both to her and to his friends about being from a large settlement. So, he’s still keeping large chunks of the truth from them.)

Again, on the surface it seems that they accept his explanation and just decide to allow them all in. All the stuff with the other three is just a misunderstanding.

But if “Stephanie” is a decoy, that can’t possibly be the case. I think Zeke and the others told Eugene the truth as they know it, but they’re all still being manipulated.

After Princess left to pee, the guy told Eugene no one was in the room and acted like he had no idea who Princess was. They were definitely using psychological torture on him, trying to break him.

I think they know very well that Eugene's group is still lying about their settlement, and they're using a decoy "Stephanie" to find out the truth.

My point is that it goes back to the hallucination, making-someone-think-they're-crazy theme. It will be really interesting to see how this unfolds, because there's all kinds of psychological shenanigans going on here.

@galadrieljones​ made a really interesting connection some time ago. She noticed that back in 10x18, at Leah’s cabin, there is a metal, heart-shaped chair. The same chairs show up in the Commonwealth’s sales video from the trailer. So there’s some kind of link between Leah, Daryl’s memory of her, and the Commonwealth. We don’t know what it is yet, but all of this gives credence to the idea that she is either an outright hallucination, or Daryl is just remembering things wrong.

It also might mean that the Reapers are connected to the Commonwealth in some way. We don’t really know yet, but I’m having tons of fun trying to figure it out.

I want to touch briefly on the train car theme. Once again, there’s a parallel in both story lines (Terminus, and this one at the Commonwealth). Daryl’s group is in train cars this episode. And while Eugene’s group has been at a different compound, they started in the train yard and end in it here. But what I noticed is that Eugene enters the train car at the end, which is furnished inside, and finds his friends there. They all have a happy reunion.

It made me think of the fact that when Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Carl enter the train cars at Terminus, there is also a family reunion. What happened beyond that was not good or easy. Clearly, Terminus was not a good place. Many of them almost died at the trough and they had to fight their way out through a walker blood bath.

I’m just saying that, while it obviously won’t play out exactly the same way, something similar is probably waiting for Eugene’s group outside that train car. Not good.

Acheron Overall:

Okay, let’s get to the big cheese, here. The overall narrative. The template.

These two episodes are called Acheron part 1 and part 2. So here’s the skinny:

Acheron = Underworld. Daryl’s group going into the subway tunnels (dark, underground) is what constitutes Acheron and why the episodes are called that. That’s why, at the end of this episode, they emerge from the tunnels onto the surface (i.e. the living world).

Given all the death, cemetery, and dark tunnel symbolism around Beth, given that she ventured into the land of the dead by being shot, maybe clinically dying for a time, and being thought dead for so long, what this tells me is that everything that happens in these tunnels is a foreshadow and template for what will happen this season.

I maintain that Dog = Beth and we will soon see something where Daryl hears something (not necessarily her; it was a man screaming so I still think it will be Rick he hears word of) and goes chasing after it. While searching for it, he stumbles across Beth. Then the two of them (both Dog and Daryl returned to the train car) go back in time to save TF from something.

This is most likely why the Roy thing is weird. In a super understated way, he represents Rick in the template. Daryl will find him, but only after he finds Beth. Even consider what Roy says. He says, “tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.” And that’s all well and good, but did we even know Roy had kids? No. Have we met them? No. But who has kids that Daryl IS concerned with? That would be Rick.

So I’m thinking that maybe when Daryl finds Rick, Rick will think he’s dying for some reason, and that’s why the dialogue here. But he won’t, which is why we see Roy with the group later.

And no, I’m not thinking that Roy dying via the Reapers will extend to Rick. It’s more like what they’ve done with countless characters that have been Beth proxies. Eventually, they kill them off. He’s a minor character they were using as a proxy, and when they are done with him in the narrative, he becomes walker chow. Or, in this case, Reaper fodder.

Anyway, I think everything will end up being a foreshadow for something. Maggie and Negan. The Gauge situation. All of it. I’ll try to keep coming back to this as the story progresses to show what everything foreshadows. I’ll stop there for today.

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust  / 3

🔖 [first] [prev] [next]

---

ch 3 | first impressions

    Please, sit,” the man offered. His voice was back to the way it was before, quiet, gentle and solemn. You obeyed, sitting gingerly on the edge of one of the wooden seats. “May I have your name?”

    “Hansi, sir.” Quickly, you add, “though sir can call me whatever sir likes.”

    “Hansi,” he murmured. In his lips, your name — something that’s been baggage all your life, a reminder of the woman who threw you away — sounded like divinity. “Please, call me Zhongli.”

    Okay. The meeting was not going at all how you expected. But then again, it was what you figured: honorable in public, but behind closed doors—

    “Yes, Mr. Zhongli,” you nodded.

    “Would you like some tea?” He gestured to the other cup in the middle of the table. It was filled with a faint, golden liquid. “Please, help yourself. It’s Pu’Er.”

    You only froze for a second. Sure, you’d play along. You thanked him, reaching for the cup. It burned your fingers through the porcelain, but Archons be damned if you were going to drop and break it. You took a small sip. It scorched your parched throat all the way down.

    “How is it?”

    “It’s good, sir—“

    “Zhongli,” he reminded you gently.

    “It’s good, Mr. Zhongli.” It was not a lie — you wouldn’t be able to tell good tea from boiled grass, but the cup you just downed warmed your stomach and soothed your frayed nerves.

    “I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled, and suddenly — too late — you realized that maybe you shouldn’t have drunk something that you hadn’t watched this strange man prepare. You knew of the drugs that these men sometimes slipped into the food they gave to street rats like you, you’d seen many a woman and child stolen away because of it.

    You cursed yourself — what had happened to keeping your guard up? Was a soothing voice and pretty face all it took to earn your trust these days?

    You stiffened as he raised a gloved hand. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you certainly were not expecting him to launch into a monologue about the history of Pu’Er tea.

    He did, anyway, losing you somewhere between “harvested from the caves of Ling’ju Pass” and “aged delicately for fifteen years”. To say that his behavior had transcended bewildering was an understatement. Was this some kind of setup? A sick joke that rich people played on their new servants and slaves?

    You realized that he’d stopped talking, clearly awaiting a response.

    “Wow, aged for fifteen years. That’s a uh, long time,” you offered lamely. Archon help you.

    “It may seem so,” Zhongli mused, “but it’s precisely that fermentation process that gives the Pu’Er tea its signature flavor. Fifteen years is but a small price to pay for such a unique experience, don’t you think?”

    Briefly, you remembered all the trinkets and wallets and jewelry you’d stolen from passersby, how desperately you’d pawned them off at the nearest willing merchant for the promise of a meal or two.

    “Yes,” you agreed, even though you couldn’t begin to imagine being rich enough to wait fifteen years to sell something.

    It had been a few minutes since you’d drunk the first sip of tea, and you were still fine. Besides, he was drinking from the same pot. Maybe the tea was safe, after all. You took another sip, finishing your cup. Despite yourself, you found yourself hoping that Zhongli would continue talking in that silky voice of his, even if it was just about fermented tea leaves.

    “I do apologize for rambling the evening away. I’m sure you’re exhausted from your journey.” He continued, “If you’re finished with your tea, perhaps we should head home. We can talk tomorrow, once you’ve rested.”

    Home. You swallowed a dry retch, the implications stuck in your throat. Of course. It served you right for forgetting what you were here for. Behind closed doors—

    “Yes. We can go if that’s what pleases you, Mr. Zhongli.” Your voice broke twice in that sentence. If Zhongli noticed, he did not say anything about it.

    He rose from his seat, and suddenly you realized just how tall, how solid he was. If you ran, he would catch you. If you fought back—

    Sweeping by you, he opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing into the night air. “After you.”

---

    You trailed a few feet behind him as you two walked through the quiet, twisting alleys of Liyue. You thought you knew the city well enough, having lived on its streets for as long as you had, but he seemed to know the back roads of the city like it were an extension of his own body.

    You took a deep breath to calm yourself. He left behind a faint lingering scent of flowers — like the glaze lilies you’d stolen from Yujing Terrace to pawn, but mostly, he smelled of warmth — earthy, spices, the fresh spring grass.

    Seeing Zhongli in all his standing glory made you suddenly and horribly aware of how unsightly you were in comparison. You’d been cleaned up before the escort, but there were still yellowing bruises that the damp cloth couldn’t erase, chewed fingernails and frayed hair and rib bones that jut out from under pallid skin. And while the dress you were wearing was the nicest thing you’d ever owned, it was but rags in comparison to the elegant outfit Zhongli was clad in.

    Your gaze stopped at his waist, and the golden gem dangling at his belt.

    “Is that a Vision?” you blurted, and immediately regret it. “I’m sorry, it’s not my place to ask about you, Mr. Zhongli.”

    “Please, never apologize for speaking your mind,” Zhongli answered, without missing a stride. “And to answer your question, yes. A Geo Vision.”

    The one at your chest is still warm against your skin. “That’s amazing,” you say, and you meant it. Vision users were powerful people capable of unbelievable feats — even raised on the streets, you knew that. You wondered how Zhongli got his Vision: a fight, perhaps, against the ferocious monsters that roamed the wilderness outside Liyue Harbor?

    If Zhongli had a Vision, there was no longer any doubt about it: the Vision given to you was a mistake. How could you ever hope to compare to someone like him? “You must be an incredible person, if Rex Lapis himself acknowledged you.”

    Zhongli did take pause at that, peering at you with a strange look in his eyes. A small smile danced across his lips. “That is one way to think of it,” he acknowledged, as he continued walking. “It has been said that Rex Lapis only grants Visions to those he deems the most worthy.”

    The rest of the trek was silent, until he stopped walking so suddenly that you almost bumped into him. You looked up from the ground, and found your breath taken away by the sculpture before you. It was a statue of Rex Lapis — there were plenty around Liyue, but tonight, silver stone gleaming under a sky full of stars, he looked ethereal.

    “This was cast by the first generation of Hanfeng Ironmongers, long before mankind mastered the properties of flame and the forge,” Zhongli said, citing the name of the most famous clan of blacksmiths in Liyue Harbor. “Each time I pass it, I like to take a moment to stop and admire it. It’s a beautiful statue.”

    “Beautiful,” you echoed absently, “he’s beautiful.” This was the Archon who had saved your life with that Vision, whether he’d meant to or not. You offered a silent prayer — of unyielding gratitude, for forgiveness, and for mercy. When you opened your eyes, Zhongli was eyeing you with a strange look on his face.

    “I would ask you what you prayed for,” he chuckles, “but some superstitious folk would say then that your prayers won’t come true. Shall we continue? We are almost home.”

---

    After ten more minutes of walking, you could feel your ankles trembling under the weight of your body. You and Zhongli had left Liyue, and begun walking through the forests on the outskirts of the city. Finally, he came to a stop in front of a house tucked into the foliage of a valley. It was a sizable estate, with a walled back garden and two floors, but you were mildly surprised that he hadn’t brought you to a castle, at this point.

    Zhongli unlocked the door and gestured, again, for you to go ahead. Your stomach in knots, you took your first step into your new home — and prison.

    It was warm.

    Embers crackled in the fireplace of the living room, casting a faint golden glow on the tasteful, lavish furniture that lined the floor. There were tapestry scrolls on either side of the fireplace here too. You don’t understand the poetry written on these ones, either.

    “Welcome to my home,” Zhongli said, walking past you. He did not touch you. “We have much to discuss, but that can wait until tomorrow. You look like you’re on the brink of collapse, and we can’t have you getting sick from exhaustion.” Despite yourself, you feel a small twinge of something at that — you’d never, in your life, had someone care about your health. He probably just doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of a sick servant, you told yourself.

    “Let us go to bed and have a good night’s sleep first,” Zhongli continued, and anything you’d felt quickly soured.

    Bed. You swallowed the panic rising bright and hot in your lungs. You might not be as educated as he surely was, but you were not naive. You knew that sleep was not what you would be getting tonight. The plea got stuck on your tongue. What could you say, to stop this rich, powerful man from claiming what was his?

    “Let me show you to your room.” He beckoned at you to follow as he strode down a long hallway. You blinked, too stunned to obey for a moment, before running after him.

    “My room?” You asked.

    “Yes.” He paused at the end of the hallway, opening one of the doors to reveal a cozy bedroom. Like everything else about Zhongli, it was tastefully decorated — lush, dark green curtains framing a circular window. A bed sat in the corner of the room, adorned with thick blankets and more pillows than you’d ever seen in your life.

    “This room was a study until very recently, and so these drawers are still currently full of my things,” Zhongli gestured to the bedside table, “but the closets are empty and free for you to use. I was thinking that we could go shopping for some clothes for you tomorrow, if you were feeling well enough. I do apologize for not purchasing any in advance, I was not sure of your measurements—“

    “Wait,” you said, afraid to let yourself hope. “Wait. We won’t be sharing a bed?”

    He turned to look at you, surprise briefly flashing in his eyes, and you’d never wanted to take back a sentence so badly in your life. A palpable silence draped the room, as Zhongli studied you so intently that you thought you might fall over dead, right then and there.

    “Truthfully tell me,” he said, voice as low as a hum. “Is that what you would want?”

    It took all of your courage to shake your head.

    “Then we will have our separate rooms,” Zhongli said, with an air of decisive finality, and continued like he hadn’t just shaken your world. “I will show you around the house tomorrow. There is water in the jug by your bed. Is there anything you might need for the night?”

    You shake your head mutely, again.

    “Very well. My room is right across the hall — please do not hesitate to shout if you need anything.” Zhongli smiled, and it’s so beautiful that you had to shake the shivers from your spine. “Good night, Hansi.”

    There it was again, your name in his lips — divine.

    Zhongli closed the door gently behind him, and you sunk to your knees, all the strength suddenly gone from your body. You’d survived the first evening with your new master. You’d survived.

    Once you picked yourself back up, you peeled your Geo Vision out from under the dress, taking your first look at it under the proper light of an oil lamp. It’s unframed, of course, unlike Zhongli’s, but the golden gemstone was identical in all other ways — catching the light in all its facets with a dazzling shimmer. When you put it into the bedside drawer, shoving it under the piles of scrolls and parchments, you were surprised to feel a twinge of sadness.

    Stupid. How could you miss something that was not rightfully yours?

    Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited as you clambered into the bed — your first very bed! Sinking into the sheets (they smelled heavenly), you let out an embarrassingly loud sigh of contentment.

    There was a little voice in the back of your head screaming — and part of you still knew, irrefutably, that you can’t trust Zhongli — but the call of sleep is much, much louder. You let your heavy lids fall shut, and quickly fell into the most comfortable slumber of your life.

[justalarryblog]

💮give and take by @sky_reid (1k) | Explicit

sometimes louis just needs.

💮One for Luck by @leavingonatrain (96k) | Explicit

The very first time Louis remembers hearing Harry Styles’ deep, deep voice, he’s just won gold at the World Equestrian Games and he’s officially back on Great Britain’s Olympic team. He’s also three sheets to the wind, drunk on victory and champagne, and there’s a gorgeous boy whispering in his ear. Life’s grand.

(AU: Louis and Harry are professional riders on the British Olympic team.)

💮Am I More Than You Bargained For Yet? by @afangirlfantasy (45k) | Mature

“It sounds to me like the people you’ve allowed to be a part of your life, don’t deserve even a fraction of a minute of it.” As they repeat over and over, Harry calls out to fate and destiny, asking them why that can’t be true? Why can’t Harry be deserving of love? Why can’t Harry be as special as Louis argues he is? Louis’ beliefs ring in Harry’s mind like the most hopeful of gospels, and Harry wants to proclaim them as his new religion. But when his hands reach out into the vast emptiness of his flat to grab them, to grab Louis, there’s only a shard of a memory to clutch onto.

Or

AU where Harry doesn’t know what it means to be in love, and Louis’ still in love with somebody else.

💮I Cannot Dream Tonight Series by @afangirlfantasy (50k) | Not Rated

At 16 years old, everyone takes a compatibility test on their birthday. At some point after taking the test, and along with other data collected, everyone finds out if they are a Dom or Sub.

At 17 years old, everyone receives a bracelet that notifies them when they have been matched. Every Dom needs a Sub. Every Sub needs a Dom.

When Louis’ bracelet lights up weeks after getting it, let’s just say that who he is matched with, is not quite what he had been expecting.

💮Birds in Gilded Cages by @graveyardwitch (157k) | Mature

There is a hotel in London where beautiful young men and women are kept like birds in a gilded cage, prisoners bound to satisfy your deepest darkest desires….

After being kidnapped as a teenager, Harry Styles was forced into high-class prostitution by the evil Mr Cowell. Louis Tomlinson is heir to his father’s corporation, set to inherit millions…But engaged to a woman he doesn’t love and deeply unhappy. When they meet at a party sparks fly and they embark on a passionate and dangerous relationship…But can it ever be true love when one of you is being paid? And can Louis ever rescue Harry from The Bird Cage Hotel?

Warning-This story is about prostitution so there will be a LOT of sex. I do not own One Direction etc etc. I do ship Larry but I don’t care if it’s real or not, I just like reading and writing the fanfic.

💮Don’t Waste Your Time On Me, You’re Already The Voice Inside My Head by @afangirlfantasy (28k) | Not Rated

At 16 years old, everyone takes a compatibility test on their birthday. At some point after taking the test, and along with other data collected, everyone finds out if they are a Dom or Sub.

At 17 years old, everyone receives a bracelet that notifies them when they have been matched. Every Dom needs a Sub. Every Sub needs a Dom.

When Louis’ bracelet lights up weeks after getting it, let’s just say that who he is matched with, is not quite what he had been expecting.

💮driving instructor fic by @LoadedGunn (104k) | Explicit

AU where Louis is a 25-year-old driving instructor and Harry is a 17-year-old virgin who’s really awful at seduction, except for the time he gets Louis to fall for him and fuck him senseless and take him on kinky adventures.

💮His Submission Series by tonystankyall (orphan_account) (152k) | Mature

Louis Tomlinson lives in a world where Domination and Submission is a norm. When you are born you are either branded Sub or Dom. Subs get a little pink or blue, depeneding on gender, series of swirls on the back of their neck. Doms get Red or Black, depending on gender, series of swirls on the back of their neck.

Louis Tomlinson was branded with a Blue tattoo and his day has finally come. The day of his 18th birthday where he will be randomly assigned a Dom. This dom could range from younger to older, poorer to richer, and male to female. You never knew what you were going to get. Some Doms were more harsher and stricter than others. Louis didn’t want a harsh Dom to submit to.

Harry Styles was branded with a Black tattoo and he just recieved in the mail that he was finally getting a submissive. Harry was a 32 year old man, settled in, and very very rich. He’s been waiting for an assigned submissive to be chosen for him for a very long time. His Dom friend, Zayn, has gotten his submissive two years prior, a little spit fire irish boy, Niall.

*The rest is in the note*

💮Loving You Is Free by @littlelouishiccups (91k) | Explicit

Louis is a workaholic record label CEO who hasn’t been on a date in nearly a year. Niall and Liam make an account for him on a sugar dating website as a joke. And then Louis meets Harry.

💮sex shop fic (dildornado ‘verse) by @istajmaal, @LoadedGunn (96k) | Explicit

AU where Louis is the most helpful sex shop salesperson in the history of sex shops, and Harry really was just looking for a vibrator with simple instructions (yet ended up getting a hands-on demonstration).

💮Dance Floor Whore by @ropewithnoanchor (7k) | Explicit

Louis and Harry go to a club while on tour to blow off some steam, but Harry gets too drunk and lets another man dance up on him in front of everyone. Louis takes him back to their hotel and spends the next morning punishing Harry, making Harry work to make it up to him.

💮Hold On To The Words You Spoke (Anchored Down In The Throat) by @justletmegohome (13k) | Explicit

“No, no. Louis, just stop. It’s not stupid, it’s never stupid. Believe it or not, I care. I care so much. Do you honestly think I’d still have my dick in your ass if I didn’t?”

Louis chuckles at that, but it’s sad, Harry notes it’s not right. “That will change when I tell you.”

“Never.” Harry kisses every bit of his face he can reach, he has no idea how that can help but he’s going to do it anyways.

“I don’t like the way I sound. ’S all,” Louis says in one breath, going coy as soon as he’s done speaking, his eyes casting downwards.

For a moment, Harry can’t believe his ears. Or the words Louis just said even if he can see them hanging in the air between them. Harry is not even sure if he listened He doesn’t want to believe them, maybe that’s why he’s having a hard time coming up with his own words.

*** Basically, Louis is loud. And then he isn’t. Harry ties him up to find out why. ***

💮I’m Tired Of Using Technology, I Need You Right In Front Of Me by @Phillipa19 (6k) | Explicit

Louis goes away on yet another business trip, but when he stops calling Harry to check in, Harry decides to take matters into his own hands.

OR- Louis is Harry’s sugardaddy who has gone away on business and Harry feels neglected. Louis is possessive and gets a camera installed in their bedroom so he can check up on Harry, so Harry decides to use the camera to his advantage.

💮leave you drowning until you reach for my hand by orphan_account (16k) | Explicit

If Louis told him to do something that he really didn’t want to do, it would be different, but Louis’s never done that, never asked anything of Harry that he couldn’t handle. Except—except maybe this; to obey him without praise, reward, approval, or even mere acknowledgement.

💮Push You Over The Edge (So I Can Pull You Back) by orphan_account (16k) | Explicit

It’s after a long two weeks of interviews and non-stop appearances that have got Harry stressed to the limit of yanking his hair out and throwing a fit and crying that Louis shows it to him, walks in the door with a sleek black bag in his left hand and inconspicuous brown one in his right.

💮smile in slow motion by @istajmaal (24k) | Explicit

“It’s 2011, Niall. People can fuck their friends’ faces without it meaning anything more than that.”

or, Louis is Harry’s dom and maybe also his soulmate.

💮sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me by @moonlightlouis (4k) | Not Rated

harry’s been a naughty boy and needs to be punished and louis is there to do it

💮Sweet Dreams by @dormant_bender (5k) | Explicit

When fantasies become reality.

💮To Be Loved To Be In Love by @Angel_Dust (129k) | Mature

At 18, every Sub must take a Match Test to find their Dom.

Poor, Farm kid Louis Tomlinson is matched with Rich, Businessman Harry Styles.

Or, where Harry thinks giving Money, expensive presents and luxuries proves how much you love someone, but Louis is about to turn his world upside down.

✨You can also check My Fic Tags for more fics! ✨

[sailorgreywolf-german]

On the Banks of the Delaware

Summary: America gets to know the German state that England hired to help fight him. It doesn’t go as he expects.

Period: The American War of Independence.

Characters: America and Hesse

Word Count: 1.5K

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

The general told America in a letter that they had defeated a group of foreign soldiers, and were holding the officers captive. That was exactly what Washington had planned for days, and America was overjoyed that it had gone so well.

Once the prisoners were back in camp after a very long and wet trip back, America allowed himself to relax and feel some sense of triumph. He had struck a blow against England and he was sure that it would be an important one.

But, he was surprised when Washington added, “It seems that one of them is like you, and I think that you should be responsible for him. Keep him here and get information if you can.” 

America was wary of whoever this fellow country was, but he felt like it would reflect poorly on him if he did not extend some courtesy. He had not been completely oblivious to England’s lessons about how to behave in war.

General Washington led a tall man in a Hessian uniform, and America stood out of respect. He wasn’t certain whether it was strange to do for an enemy, but it seemed correct.

The general left him alone with the man, and America decided that it was best to introduce himself. He extended a hand, and said, “I’m America.” The man avoided his hand and said, “I know.”

America awkwardly withdrew his hand, unsure it he had done something wrong. He tried again as the other sat down and loosed the tie holding his hair, “And you’re Hesse?” As Hesse nodded he released his dark hair from his ponytail, “I am. I see you’ve already heard of me.”

A curtain of long dark waves fell around his shoulders, and America found himself staring. Hesse was very attractive, incredibly angular and sharp. The smattering of scars across his face only added to the sense that he was striking to look at. The loose hair softened him to the point that America could feel his face growing hot under his gaze.

Hesse said, “Do you have anything to drink? I could use something strong.” America said, pointedly, “General Washington ordered your rum to be destroyed.”

Hesse sighed like this was deeply annoying. There was a kind of calm arrogance about the man, and it was somehow charming. He said, “A terrible waste if you ask me. Rum isn’t cheap.”

America stiffly sat across from him, and repeated a well worn lesson from his childhood, “Alcohol is a vice. It makes men behave badly.” Hesse rolled his eyes and replied, “You’re such a Puritan. Trust me, young man, a little vice keeps you sane.”

America shook his head. He knew what he believed in and he was not going to budge. The last thing he needed on his hands was unruly drunk soldiers. He replied, “I have ale if you want something.”

Hesse shook his head, and all of his waves moved in a way that America found intriguing. He replied, “No, I would rather not. The beer that you make is barely better than water.”

America shrugged, since he did not care one way or another, but it seemed polite to offer. He turned his attention to a different subject that had been on his mind, “Can I ask you something?” Hesse shrugged, “If you would like. I’m your guest.”

America bit his lip and said, “What do you have against me? I’ve never met you before and you’re fighting me.”

Hesse laughed, and America couldn’t understand why. Before he could ask, Hesse clarified, “My dear boy, that is not it at all. Arthur is paying me to be here, and he is paying me very well.”

America hadn’t thought about the power that gold may have. He felt naive when he asked, “So, could I convince you to join me?” Hesse laughed against and said, “If you had a better offer I would. But judging from the state of your boots, you’re in no position to.”

America asked, though he knew it was hypothetical, “What would you do if I could offer a fortune?” Hesse smirked and replied, “You get rich first, and then we’ll talk.”

It was a frustrating dead end, and he knew that he could not push harder. He hardly had the money to pay for his soldiers’ uniforms, and it showed. America tried to turn the conversation to something that he knew. He said, “Do you know Gilbert? He’s my mentor.”

It seemed like a safe topic of conversation, since Prussia was the only other German he had met. He had heard about Hannover, and England’s relationship with him, but England’s distance had meant that America had never met him. And he felt quite proud to say that Prussia had taught him.

Much to his surprise, Hesse chuckled and said, “Oh yes, I do know my cousin. I know him much better than you do.”

America was not sure what to make of the cryptic statement. But, before he could ask any questions, Hesse continued unprompted, “He thinks I’m a scoundrel and I think that he is a fool.”

America could not understand him at all. The man who had taught him so much about strategy and discipline that he could turn the tide of the war was not a fool. He felt the desire to defend Prussia, even if he probably did not need it.

He replied, pointedly, “You must not know him very well if you think that.”

Hesse gave him a knowing smirk and then crossed his legs so that he could reach his boot. Then, he started to pull off the shoe. America said, without thinking to find a tactful way to ask, “What are you doing?” Hesse replied, “Your general made me stand in a river. My stockings are wet and I would rather have them off.”

Even if it made sense, America was not sure if he should object. It certainly did not seem like proper behavior, but he didn’t know if it was normal amongst soldiers. He decided it was better to not say anything in case he was wrong.

Hesse took the silence to continue speaking, “I am not saying that Gilbert is unintelligent. He knows his craft very well. But, he is still naive enough to use his skills for righteousness.”  He raised one eyebrow and added, “And he’s apparently judged yours to be worth his involvement.”

He succeeded in pulling off his boot and dropped it with a thud. America said, slightly defensive, “And you don’t believe in a righteous cause?” Hesse looked remarkably handsome as he smirked and nodded, “Here’s my wisdom for you: One man’s righteous cause is another’s fool’s errand. Gold is not subjective. It is tangible, and it is unchanging.”

America bristled and said, “I think that’s very honorable of him. I am grateful for all of his training. ”

Hesse began to roll down his wet stocking in a way that made it nearly impossible to not stare at his muscular calf. He shook his head slightly and said, “Honor is such a fickle concept. You think he is honorable because he is helping you.”

America wasn’t certain how to refute him, but he was also certain that his gratitude was sincere. Hesse added, “Though, he could have done it because he wanted to make dear old Fritz happy. If his king orders something, he will do it.”

He lowered his foot and brought the other boot up so he could work on that foot. America didn’t like the implication that Prussia had only acted on orders and he replied, “You make it sound like discipline is a fault. Do you think that Gilbert should really fight for money like you do?”

Hesse took off the other boot, and rubbed the bottom of his foot like he was still trying to ward off the cold of the Delaware. He nodded slightly and said, “He could make a lot of money if he did, especially with his reputation.”

America found himself staring at Hesse’s exposed calf and trying to concentrate. He wished that he had poured himself a glass of ale. He replied, “I think that some people are born with a sense of good, and they act on it. I think that Gilbert is one of those people. I like to think that I am too. You may not believe me now, but I’m going to do good in the world.”

Hesse smirked again and replied, “I assure you, Gilbert was not born with it. He had it beaten into him by monks. He may have left the church, but he’s still that same monk looking for a crusade to fight. He like you that way. You may not be a Puritan anymore, but you still think a single sip of rum will send you straight to Hell.”

America felt like he didn’t know enough about Prussia’s past to know what he was talking about. All he knew was that Prussia was someone who had the expertise to help him. But, he could not speak or else he might reveal his own ignorance about European history.

Hesse finished removing his second stocking and he then laid the stockings carefully over the back of a chair to let them dry. Hesse said, “I am done now. You can stop looking so scandalized. I am not going to take off my breaches.”

The very thought of Hesse taking off anymore clothing made America blush. He attempted to stutter out an answer, “Uh…yes, I mean, don’t do that.” 

America felt himself blush even more furiously. Hesse said with a smile, like he had figured out some puzzle, “I think I see why you are defending Gilbert now.”

[mon-blanchetts]

Two years after The Long Night, Sansa is held prisoner at Dragonstone on charges of murder and treason. And yet, nothing is as it seems.

Had the decision been his, Jon would've insisted they leave half-way through the second course. But, as it wasn't, he was forced to see the evening to the end, making his way through four elaborate courses, each consisting of a dozen dishes. And even after all that, Jon still wasn't free. For a city merchant like Francys Drury, who was as wealthy as he was ambitious, a dinner with four courses just wasn't enough—a fucking banquet1 had to follow as well, held in the marble house erected in his garden just for the occasion.

No, he realized, downing the last of his wine. A servant quickly re-filled his goblet without prompt. Had the decision been his, Jon wouldn't be here at all. Only the damn thing was supposed to be in his honour, a celebratory dinner to prelude his departure, and Dany had ordered that he be in attendance with her. Jon didn't feel to argue when the time for him to take his leave was so near. She was already furious with him to begin with.

At least for the moment, Jon was free from his wife's wrath. Dany was informally holding court on the other side of the garden, surrounded by her courtiers. Jon could make out Francys Drury from his clothes only. Their host wore a rich doublet spun with gold, so that the fabric glittered beneath the flames from the torches surrounding them. Dickon Tarly was also among those orbiting his wife. Jon packed that away for later. For now he had Ser Wylis Manderly to contend with; the knight had latched himself onto his person just as soon as he'd lost Drury's wife and her brood.

"Seven Hells, it's been an evening," he praised, not for the first time. "I haven't been witness to this level of hospitality since well before The Long Night. Though, speaking of The Long Night, I found the pageant lacking in accuracy. Too flowery and all over the place for my liking. What say you, Your Grace?”

Jon noted the stains on the man's clothes with his good eye, the comfit in one of his hands. "Many prefer a rose-tinted variation of the truth."

"Too right, that," Ser Wylis said, his eyes twinkling. "Not so many can handle the truth, eh? Not like us northmen. Looks like most of this lot here decided to sit The Long Night out, too.” The comment was not made quietly.

He knew he was being watched; the feeling was too familiar as it crept slowly upon him. Jon began to regret heeding Sam's advice. It had been on his friend’s recommendation that he bring Ser Wylis tonight, thus saving him from the ordeal of offering a seat at his own dining table.  

"The decision was their own, Ser. Whatever my opinion, it matters not now that those tribulations have passed."

Ser Wylis nodded as he finished the last of his comfit. "Well, let us hope the bad times are behind us. I'd like to think that after so much tumult and violence, it's only fitting that the gods bless us with a little prosperity, if they're generous enough. Though I must say, the gods have been well generous to you, no?"

"Generous indeed," he said. It was just short of a spat. Jon was ready to excuse himself, but Wylis Manderly had other plans.

"I assume you'll see Lady Sansa while at Dragonstone, Your Grace?"

Even more eyes felt like they were closing in on him. Jon watched the knight with an air of boredom on his face.

"If time permits, I suppose I will."

Ser Wylis wiped his fingers on his clothes as he spoke. "I do hope her health has improved from the fresh sea air. If she hasn't I already, it won't be long until she realizes how hard it will be not to live by the sea. Anyway, I hope you don't mind, but my father’s commissioned something for the Lady that I hope you'll take to her in honour of her name day. I've had it sent to your household just this morning."

It would please me more to throw it over the side of my ship, he longed to say; instead, he offered a nod. "So long as it's within reason, I don't see why she can’t have it. My half-sister always did enjoy a pretty bauble when presented with one."

"As do all women, believe me," said Ser Wylis, chuckling heartily. “Well, I do think she’ll like Lord Wyman’s gift well enough. Of course, I’m sure there’s much that the Lady Sansa would desire, but that’s not really up to her at the moment, now is it?”

Jon stared at him, his face closed. “When the time is right, Ser Wylis, Lady Sansa will be fairly tried, as promised to her by my wife. We’ll have real truths then—and I doubt it will be of the rose-tinted kind.” He'd spoken with an air of finality, drawing a curtain over the subject. A flash of hesitation passed over the knight’s face, but he recovered quickly.

“Yes, yes, of course. It will be good to have closure finally, no doubt.”

Ser Wylis was smart to segue into lighter matters, but in truth he had lost Jon’s attention nearly as soon as he had caught it. Jon dismissed the northman before making straight for his wife. He’d had enough.

Dany had an arm draped carelessly over her stomach when he approached; the crowd around her fell open upon his arrival. He caught sight of Dickon Tarly for a moment before looking away, but not before Jon noted the nervous expression on his face.

Even when he drew his wife close to him and away from their courtiers, her arm remained where it was. She’d been playing with her midsection throughout the whole evening and had refused the fine wine offered to her. Jon knew exactly what she was up to.

“I’m leaving,” he declared.

Her expression remained unchanged. "I'm not finished here yet," she said.

"Stay if you want, but I’m done here."

"Jon," she said gently, but he wasn't deceived. Her face was still light and calm, but he caught the anger brewing in her violet eyes, the tautness of the skin around them. He could hear her voice in his head, fury laced in her voice. We leave when it suits me.

“You’re welcome to stop me, but your courtiers will have plenty to talk about if you do, I promise you that.” Public or no, he was itching for a good fight. Strange, because he was so tired of fighting, with Dany and everyone else, be it literally or figuratively, but it seemed that it was the only thing he kept doing.

She didn't respond to his threat, only kept playing with the fabric of her gown around her stomach. Jon knew she was taking stock of her options, turning over one possibility before moving forward to the next. There'd be plenty for their courtiers to whisper about if they were to leave separately, but it would be nothing compared to the public row she was asking for.

"You can do the talking then," she ordered, beckoning for her one of her handmaidens before turning her back to him. If she couldn’t have her way, Dany found other means to punish him, however trivial they may be.

He made quick work of it. A word of thanks to Francys Drury, who accepted the toast that Jon made with a look of pure smugness on his face. He even managed a laugh out of their audience when he mentioned that his ship would set sail to Dragonstone without him were he to stay any longer. Of all the eyes staring at him while he spoke, his wife’s were the most menacing.  

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

"Did you enjoy yourself at least a little last night?" Sam inquired, pulling his dining cloth off his left shoulder.

Jon watched through the open window as the men below packed away the very last of his possessions onto wooden carts. He intended to make an early start for the harbour, eager to avoid as much fanfare as possible.

"Only as much as her dothraki, I think," he said, turning to face his steward.

Sam cracked a lopsided smile. "So they behaved themselves this time around. I half anticipated news this morning that they'd gone and set fire to Francys Drury's manse with his own cellar of vintages. That would've certainly put an end to your invites from the city’s merchants.”

Unlike yesternight, where countless eyes had watched Jon while he dined, today there was only Sam present in his private chambers. This morning's fare was just as much of a contrast, a world away from the elaborate and daunting menu that Francys Drury's cooks had planned out: fresh bread with salted meat and cheese, all to be washed down with light ale. The only cause for envy was Drury’s collection of wine, far superior in quality than anything served at Dany’s court. Jon knew that to be a connoisseur in such matters only meant he’d been imbibing more than his fair share; even the Hand had taking mild interest.

Well, at least she didn't know. Suspected it, perhaps, though there was never long enough occasion for her to draw any firm conclusions. But then, Jon never felt the need to drink so much in her presence, either.

"Were there any Tyrells present last night?"

Sam’s question shook him from his thoughts. "None. Tyrion missed a perfectly good night for nothing. Dickon Tarly attended, though." Jon remembered the tall man hovering near Dany, the strange look on his face.  

“Yes, so I’ve been told. And Her Grace? Was she in a fine mood last night?"

He told Sam of his observations, the hints she had thrown about to all and sundry. His steward nodded.

"My guess is if you’re not back in a moon’s time, she'll make a formal announcement. You do plan on returning before then, right? That's what we agreed upon."

Jon followed the elaborate design etched on the table with his good eye rather than look up. "Some things may keep me there longer."

"Some things or someone? Sam pressed, his thick brows furrowing. Jon said nothing.

His friend sighed. "Jon, if you stay any longer than was planned, your courtiers will surely talk."

"They'll talk regardless. Once Dany decides to announce her pregnancy again, they'll have something new to fix their attentions on."

"Will it be true, this time around?"

Jon scoffed. "No, but if by some dint of miracle it is, the babe wouldn't be mine." Jon glanced at the man sitting across from him. They remained silent for a moment, but it was pregnant with meaning.

"Well, if you're going to stay at Dragonstone that long and tell people you're going partly to take the fresh air, then at least this time try coming back like it actually worked," Sam pressed. "More than once you just come back looking even worse for wear than when you left. Someone's going to speculate one day that you're being slowly poisoned, mark my words."

Sam wasn't wrong. His excuses weren't holding up the way they used to, and really, that was more his fault than anyone else's. That Dany might have to use another goddamned pregnancy as a means to force him back to the capital was equally bemusing.

But it was just so hard to leave after he got there, was getting harder and harder to do so with each visit

Seven Hells, it was agony.

"It would be more than Dany could ever hope for, that," he remarked. There was a knock on the door before Sam could reprimand him.

Stannis Seaworth entered at Jon's beckoning. "Everything's packed and ready, Your Grace," his squire announced after a quick bow of his head. "The captain wants to be knowing whether you'll be leaving immediately or whether you want to delay a bit more."

"No, we make for the harbour now," Jon ordered, soaking his hands in the silver bowl of rosewater that one of his pages brought before him. The boy—of a minor house from the westerlands—had slipped in after he’d given Stannis permission to enter, together with a small retinue of other servants designated to wait on him this morn. He could feel the boy's wide eyes on his back as he left his private chambers for what would, for now, be the last time.

Out in the busy courtyard, dozens upon dozens of bodies milled about; even this early in the morning, it bustled with as much energy as the city's marketplaces that existed beyond the castle gate. Those who recognized his person stopped to offer a quick bow, but he could never take leave of that feeling that itched at the back of his head, or the side of his face. He was being watched. Always being watched.

"Did you happen to receive anything from Ser Wylis Manderly?" he asked, mounting his black palfrey.

Sam looked up at him, squinting from the sun’s glare. "I did, actually, now that you've mentioned it. A set of combs made of ivory and horn. It was one of the last things packed off this morn.”

It was on the tip of Jon’s tongue have it removed from his inventory, but he thought against it. The choice wasn't his to make, it was hers.

He remembered his conversation with Wylis Manderly last night. Lady Sansa. No longer Lady Stark. A small slight with the greatest of meaning. Dany's work, he thought bitterly, no doubt aided by Tyrion Lannister or one of her other favourites.

Sam wished him safe travels. "You'll send her my greetings, won't you?" his steward asked.

"Of course." There was more to his words—always more—but the courtyard was no place for them.

There was no looking back over his shoulder as he left the Red Keep behind with his traveling party. The things that he still cherished were few and far there. Neither was there a final farewell between husband and wife, but that was the way it was for them; Jon had more or less bid her goodbye as soon as he told her he was leaving court for Dragonstone. If her dragons were still alive, he suspected that Dany would've happily razed the island to the ground with him and the other inhabitants on it. A small price to pay, the burning of a Targaryen stronghold, if it meant wiping out one of the strongest claimants to her throne. That she would also be removing the heir to the North was only a happy afterthought.

But her dragons were gone, just like the Others, and all the magic they had brought with them when they first hatched from their eggs. Now it was only mortals playing at the games the gods had fashioned them with, dealing with a hand of cards that weren't as strong as they might’ve hoped. But the gods had fashioned them for love as well—their greatest glory and their greatest tragedy. Jon had learned this all to well.

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

The skies were clear when he landed on Dragonstone, greeted by less than a handful of the island’s nobles and the castle’s maester. Out of everyone, it was Ser Davos Seaworth whom he was grateful to see most. Jon recalled Dany's fondness for her merchants, which wasn’t so different from his own affinity for the former smuggler whom he now regarded as one of his closest confidantes. There was a time when he had more in common with his wife than that.

Jon threw a quick glance over his shoulder as the party made their trek up to the castle.  With the winds blowing so loud around them, it would be impossible for the lords and knights walking not so close behind him to eavesdrop.

"How is she?"

His voice was low, audible for Davos’ ears alone. He didn't need to clarify; they both knew exactly who he meant.

The knight’s gaze was on the steps before him. “As well as I've described her in my letters,” he responded, not unkindly.

His heart sank. "She's still not eating?"

Davos shook his head. "Not as much as Marya think she ought. Apparently it's beginning to show, she says."

"I've brought some of her favourites,” Jon said. “I think Marya can use that to coax her to eat more."

"It may help." There was a note of hesitation in his friend’s voice that Jon didn't miss.

"You have doubts?”

Davos sighed. “I'd like to think her loss of appetite lies in a lack of variety, but...I fear the cause may be something else. A deeper melancholy, if you will.” He glanced at Jon with a crooked smile on his weather-beaten face. “Maybe things will get better, now that you’re here. A familiar face never did hurt.”

Would things get better? He had about a moon's time to make sure that they did, that she wasn't on her way to another illness as he had feared while reading Davos’ letters. But what if more time were needed? How much longer could he stretch his absence until court gossip reached a fever pitch?

Without thinking, Jon looked up. The imposing castle, with its sharp edges and perfectly-erected walls, stared down at him. Thousands upon thousands of years’ worth of Targaryen history were buried within this castle. It was no place for a lone Stark, one surrounded by nothing but dragon motifs sneering at her in just about every direction, but it was the safest place for her at the moment.

If he squinted hard enough, Jon thought he could make out wisps of red hair dancing the wind from one of the keeps.

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

He played the role of Prince Consort adequately enough, even without Dany present. He invited Ser Davos and his other nobles to sup with him in the Great Hall that evening, going so far as to extend his offer to Lady Brienne of Tarth. In the end, she declined; whether of her own volition or whether she'd been pressured not to by whom she'd sworn to protect, Jon couldn’t tell. A little bit of both, perhaps.

Supper was a boisterous affair of the most subdued kind. He knew when he invited them to dine at his table that his nobles were expecting some flavour of hospitality famous in the capital, even if that hospitality didn't run the full gamut of what they knew either from experience or hearsay. But Jon had Ser Davos ensure that the wine he'd brought with him be served generously that evening, and the conversation flowed freely enough.

The subject of Sansa Stark was noticeably suppressed.

Knowing that she was somewhere within these castle walls—somewhere within reach— was all Jon could think about. He was styled a prince, a high-ranking one at that, and yet the one person he wanted to see above all was to come last, not until he dealt with something as trivial as entertaining his vassals, many of whose loyalty seemed to swerve from dragon to stag and back again. With a title like his, Jon thought that he should have whatever he desired, and yet the chasm felt as if it stretched forever.

It was ironic that the trappings of freedom were, in fact, the most constricting.

And so there was no choice for him, not now at least, but to keep his face closed off and his fury shackled as evening morphed into night. News of his arrival and subsequent movements would be reported back to King’s Landing; Dany would no doubt receive a minute report of his performance within a few days. Pages danced in and out of his sight; those seated at his table were equally fixed on him, even when their gazes appeared to be elsewhere. Everyone was gathering all the things they could to pick apart—all the things they could use to pick him apart. In the shadows of the room, he thought the eyes of the carved dragons coiling around the stone columns stalked him just as mercilessly, if not more so.

Don't give them reason to talk. Don't let them see what they want to see.

Paranoia clung to him long after he’d retired from the Great Hall, licking at his heels as he barred the door of his private chambers. Jon knew from experience that he could never fully shake off that wretched feeling, that it was never to be entirely ridden of it. Not so unlike this ache, he thought bitterly, stripping down to his small clothes.

For the space of a moment, he considered doing the opposite of his desires. Let his pride win for once, and forsake her for at least a night, perhaps even two. It might even be better for them in the long run; his head would be clearer from the fresh sea air.

Only he wanted her too badly. At least if he went to her now, Jon could blame his madness on the vices of the capital. He could blame it on the smog of King’s Landing that clouded his faculties and blinded him of his wits. If he went now, rather than later, he could still cling to some of dignity.

What value was there in his dignity, compared to her? What good was anything if he couldn’t have her?

Absolutely nothing, he told himself as he pulled aside the worn tapestry. The false stone panelling hidden behind it gave way to his hand with a sturdy push. Jon would never have known about the secret passages if it weren’t for the castle’s long-standing maester—the same one he’d pensioned off to the southern outskirts of the Stormlands, all before bringing in his replacement, a novice with little knowledge of the castle he was meant to serve.

Jon reached her chamber within minutes, could hear his familiar growling on the other side of the wall as he pushed it open. Ghost quieted down as soon as he recognized him, the direwolf’s red eyes glowing brightly beneath the flames of his torch. Sansa was abed, the curtains of her bed drawn shut. The last vestiges of the fire in the hearth sang weakly.

He set aside his torch and removed his boots, snuffing out the light before approaching her bed. The velvet curtains were soft beneath his fingers as he slowly drew them back.

Sansa laid on the opposite side to his, her back facing him. As his good eye adjusted to the darkness, he made out long strands of red hair that spilled across her pillow and the one beside it. Jon suspected that she was still awake, despite her even breathing.

His heart swelled painfully at the sight of her. It felt like ages since they had last been together, each short reunion feeling more poignant than the last that came before it. Jon wasn’t made to be far from her, but the realization had come too late; he damned himself over and over again for the fool he’d once been, leaving her when, even all those years ago, something within him had held him back. A flood of anger washed over him, like it always did whenever his mind drifted back just a little to that period in their lives. He had every single right to be furious with her—he still was. That didn’t change the fact that he loved her. More than anything.

He climbed into bed before pushing the curtains closed. Ghost, loyal until his last breath, would alert them to any unwanted approaches at her unbarred door. As soon as he burrowed beneath the covers, Jon didn't hesitate to wrap an arm around her waist as he pressed the length of his body against her, breathing her in. It was trivial, but one of the ways he marked their evolution together was the scent she carried. A long time ago Sansa once smelled of pine and rosewater. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Jon recalled how every inch of her skin, even the parts he was never meant to lay eyes on, had clung tightly with the potent musk of his leathers. It had baffled him, more than once, but he could never fit the pieces together. Not until it was too late.  

Sansa neither smelled of pine or his leathers now. Instead, it was the sharp saltiness of the island’s waters that clung to her, assaulted his senses. Could he drown in it the same way he might drown beyond the shores of the Narrow Sea?

How could you have done this to me? How could you have done this to us?

Jon pressed his lips desperately against the back of her neck before lifting his head to kiss the skin of her exposed shoulder, his anger mingled dangerously with desire. Sansa was awake, he was certain of it, but he wanted to revel in her without her protests. They may come later, he didn’t know, but for now she was willing to lie pliant in his arms, and for that alone Jon was eternally grateful to her. He found her hand resting close to her chest, like she was protecting her heart while she slept. From her enemies? Or from him?

Was there ever chance for that? he wondered, his fingers gravitated towards her own. Jon took small comfort in the cold metal he came into contact with, pleased that she still wore the ring he'd given her not so long ago—but then, Sansa also knew better than to take it off, unless she was intentionally courting his anger. Not so heavy as a yoke, but it wasn't meant to be such. It was a reminder, at best, a token in return for one she'd gifted him at Winterfell, bestowed with the same twisted malevolence. Had it been then that all their troubles and sorrows started, or were they conceived long before?

Jon knew he could dwell on it forever, but in truth it no longer mattered where their troubles began. What mattered, he realized, was that they had tonight. And tomorrow. And all the rest of his days where he remained on the island. He would take what he could.

"I've missed you," he whispered into her ear, tenderly rubbing the ring with his thumb. "You’ll never know much I’ve missed you."

He ached for her with the same force as a thousand suns, yet what little he could have of her for snatches at a time could never satiate the want that haunted him every day and night. Would it have been different, once? Would their lives have shaped out for the better if Sansa had only let things be, rather than play with them the way she had?

These were questions that Jon asked himself over and over again. Questions he knew would remain impossible to answer.

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

Notes:

1 There are two meanings to the word banquet: one refers to an elaborate feast or celebration, while the second is akin to an after party of sorts held after the feast, and tends to take place in specially-made houses in gardens. Guests are served desserts and wine, buffet-style. I’m using the word here as it relates to the second definition.

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Please note that this story borrows heavily from The Persistence of Desire by Margot_le_Faye; while I highly recommend it if you're a Dramione fan, you will very likely spoil yourself silly for this story. Considering my horrible track record for updates, I wouldn't blame you, though. Lots of elements in this story may also echo when the walls come tumbling down by phantomphaeton as well as From Instep to Heel by orangeflavor, so giving credit where credit's due. Inspiration also comes from John Guy's Mary Queen of Scots, which I highly recommend reading if you're able to get your hands on it.

Also, if you happen to make it this far, I need you thank you guys so, so much for reading! I've had this premise in my head for so long and tried to put it down paper, but it just never felt right until now. This story will likely be the longest and most ambitious thing I've ever written, not to mention the angstiest. Like, not a joke you guys; when I looked at the entire outline I made for this fic, I just shook head. Please let me know what you think of this story-all comments and encouragement keep me going! Stay safe, folks.

[guqin-and-flute]

Are You Here to Stop Me? (Pt. 2)

[First post/Setting of Peony to Lotus]

[Part 1]

(TW for JGY having...JGY thoughts--violence and general bloody nastiness)

Jin Guangyao let himself slowly wander the Hall of Swords, hands clasped behind his back, one thumb worrying at the other as he waited. Waited for what was arriving on gilded swords, probably in force. He was not anxious, so to speak, but filled with the restless energy of a plan in suspension, ready for the next step to land. Alone--and the implications of that solitude sat oddly in his chest.

When Lan Wangji had flown them back through the freezing, torrential skies, they had tracked through the back halls of Koi Tower, avoiding his father, Madam Jin, and their personal servants in search of the Jiang contingent. After they had finally found them in their rooms and sent someone to clean the conspicuous trails of muddy water they had dripped everywhere, he shared what had happened and the plan that had begun its quick flourish into a many branched thing throughout his trip back. Their response had been shocked dismay, quiet panic, and...determination. It had taken startlingly little convincing to get A-Li to agree. Jiang Wanyin had taken longer, waffling about image, about expectations, about politics but, between the two of them, A-Li and Jin Guangyao had broken through his doubt enough for him to grudgingly agree to it. 

After that, they had followed his every suggestion, up to and including leaving Lotus Pier to his lone stewardship while A-Li, Jiang Wanyin, and a few top disciples flew to meet up with and protect Wei Wuxian on his mad dash from Lanling to Yunmeng. 

“We must still behave naturally--and you would be expected to try to find him,” he had reasoned, more than anything trying to convince A-Li that this was not some sort of strange Jin coup on her home. “If we are too calm, they will suspect a plot. I have the story straight and can cover from there. And it would be odd if you brought me along, considering how new I am to your clan--”

A-Li had laid her hand on his cheek, eyes wide with fear and fierceness. “A-Yao, you don’t have to explain. We trust you to watch our home. Just tell us what we must do.”

That had been...new. It had made it easier to slide around the dissonance this sleight of hand was causing him. Such blatant opposition to his father. It wasn’t that he objected to manipulating him--how else would he have secured a place in the Jin Clan had he not maneuvered himself to be too powerful of an asset to ignore any longer? It was just that, not so long ago, he had been prepared to do anything for the man, anything for his approval, his acceptance. In fact, he had. He had allowed himself to be blatantly discarded and married off almost immediately. It had...tilted him. The sudden shift in priorities, the derailing of his lifelong goal was disorienting to say the least and he was still sorting through the bloody, seething mess of it within himself. Foundations cracked. Absorbing information. Formulating. Deciding. 

The still-leaking carnage of him was partially being soothed by the salve of A-Li’s gentleness and the easy acceptance of his presence in Lotus Pier, bit by bit, but….

He had covered A-Li's hand with his own, smiled, and neatly pared off that dissonance like an unwanted branch, tucking it out of sight behind a swell of protective warmth. Anything for her. Anything at all. This was simple enough.

Being trusted with the whole of Lotus Pier was still a different experience. In Lanling, Madam Jin hadn’t even trusted him to carry her tea. Here, the whole of the cove was laid in his hands without so much as a follow up question--the servants and disciples had hardly blinked. The strange weight of such faith did not go unnoticed, hanging from his shoulders like an unfamiliar cloak.

Far away, there came faint voices from the courtyard. Loud voices. Enough rumination. It was time. He needed to focus. 

He had slept badly, mind churning with contingencies and when he had awoken, his lungs had been heavy with the cold and wet from their envoy pushing through the night on their swords to reach Lotus Pier with time enough to finalize their plans. It would distract and slow him, if he let it. Not for the first time, he had cursed his lack of spiritual power and ignored it. There would be time for such weakness later. Now, as light, quick steps came down the hall, he needed to be maneuverable.

 He left his back to the door so he could jump a little when the servant opened it and poked her head in. “Gongzi? Jin Zixun-gongzi is here to see--” she bit off the tail of an indignant sound when the man himself brushed by her, not waiting for the introduction to be finished.

He was windswept and radiating an ill-contained temper as he slowly circled the room, studying it with deliberate disdain before coming to a stop before him. “Cousin,” Jin Zixun dripped as much malice as was socially ignorable onto the word and Jin Guangyao feigned an involuntary half-step back. “Let’s talk.”

The servant was still hovering by the door, eyes darting between them, her face hard, and Jin Guangyao could see the flashes of listening forms in the hall. The servants liked him, he knew--he had heard them murmur protectively over their new young master, heard whispers of their surprise at how well A-Li and he worked together, how much calmer things had gotten. He gave her a purposefully nervous smile and nodded. “You may go.”

Reluctantly, slowly, she obliged, closing the doors behind her. His obvious discomfort would not let them go far; listening, at the door as servants did. Good. 

“So. Where are they?” Jin Zixun took back up his slow circuit of the room, intentionally moving around his back like a circling predator. 

Jin Guangyao turned with him as if it made him nervous to have him at his back, face in a stiff and uncertain smile. “They are out looking for Wei-gongzi. He disappeared after the scene he caused at the banquet--”

“The Wen-dogs,” he cut across him irritably. "The ones he stole. Where are they?"

His smile widened uncomfortably, let it show in his voice. “I haven’t any clue. Probably with Wei Wuxian, wherever he is? Like I said, Jiang-furen and Jiang-zong--”

"Shut up," Jin Zixun snapped, wheeling on him. "You think you can talk your way out of what Wei Wuxian did? He killed our overseers and freed our prisoners, acting against our alliance with this backwater clan. We would be well within our rights to...respond."

They both knew that the Jiang Clan was still one of the major 4 after their reconstruction efforts. Jiang Wanyin had done an impressive job for one so young and inexperienced--and such an aggressive move would be seen incredibly unfavourably by both Chifeng-zun and Lan Xichen. It was an empty threat. A stupid one. He widened his eyes anyway. “I’m sure there will be no need to be so hasty--our Clan Leaders can talk, and we can straighten out this misunderstanding.”

He could see Jin Zixun looking him over, curling his lip. Men like him always thought they were smarter than people they deemed ‘lesser than’ and it was incredibly clear that he put Jin Guangyao into that category. There hadn’t been much time for Jin Guangyao to prove himself as an intellectual asset to his father before being married off, hadn’t been able to implement many political workings, and so he was virtually unknown to his cousin beyond ‘upstart bastard interloper’. Jin Guangyao saw the thought process ticking behind his eyes, deciding which tack to take. Saw his eyes narrow and his smile curve sharply predatory. Bully, then. 

Alright.

“So they left you in charge while they look for him.”

Jin Guangyao shrugged, a quick jerky thing, looking away. “There wasn’t much I could do on such a search. I haven’t the strength yet to fly my sword and so….” he sighed like he was embarrassed and frustrated. “It’s all such a terrible mess.” Jin Zixun was silent and so he let it rest, let the tension build, let him think he controlled the flow of the conversation.

“And so what’s their excuse for their servant behaving so outrageously?” Jin Zixun finally asked coolly, hands behind his back as he slowly sauntered over to a tall lotus candle holder.

“He wasn’t--” He purposefully winced as Jin Zixun caught the base of it with his foot and, with a little jerk, knocked it over, spilling fast cooling wax all over the rich carpet. “...Supposed to do that.”

“Oops.” The idiot raised an eyebrow at him, as if he had done something clever. Waiting for Jin Guangyao to come over and pick it up. 

Slowly, he did, tamping down the irritation in his gut with habitual ease. Such humiliation wasn’t new--and it would enrage the servants, who took pride in a clean home. Straightening the delicate ornamentation around the candle at the top, he turned his apologetic smile back to his cousin. “He just got overzealous--everyone is aware of his temper and how he views things he thinks are unjust. Wen Qing had just asked Jiang-zongzhu to look into the treatment of her people, as a favor to her, now that they’re--” he clamped his mouth shut as if he had misspoke and turned back to the candle, arranging it busily as Jin Zixun slowly tilted his head. 

“Now that they’re...what.” My, he did like to think of himself as threatening, didn’t he? Certainly saw himself as the type that could pull off a quiet menace. 

Unfortunately for him, Jin Guangyao had seen real menace. All he saw in him was a puffed up gentry brat.

“Married,” he said as if he regretted even mentioning it, threading a grimace through his wince of a smile. “It wasn’t supposed to be announced yet.”

Jin Zixun stared at him, a small, cruel smile of fury curling his lips. “Married. We haven't heard of this union. When exactly are you claiming this happened?”

Helplessly, he shrugged. “It wasn’t final until very recently, apparently--the Jiang, they marry for love when they can, and with the political tensions being so fraught, they wanted to wait until after things died down to announce it. And they thought it to be in poor taste to air such a thing before it was finalized.” He couldn’t resist the subtle dig at his father, parading A-Li around for so many years as a bauble for the future, only to be discarded. “But surely...surely it’s understandable for Wen-furen to want her family safe. It’s been months since the end of the War. Wei-gongzi was trying to be filial but overreacted….”

Jin Zixun smiled wide under rage filled eyes, slowly approaching and nodding, until he came within arms reach; then he all at once hauled him close by his collar, hissing, “You seem to think I'm an idiot.”

Jin Guangyao let his face fall into one of startled fear, shrinking in his grip. He indeed did think he was an idiot--but not an entirely stupid one, more’s the pity. The beauty of this excuse was that the Jin didn't need to actually believe it--no one truly did. The Jiang just needed enough plausible deniability to make an outright retaliation disadvantageous and protect the Wen remnants from future attack. He angled his voice to pleading. “This is all I know, Zixun, they don’t...they don’t confide in me for things like this.”

Jin Zixun gave a snort, shoving him away and off balance. Jin Guangyao’s hand itched to tug his robe back into place, but he simply patted at it ineffectually, as if anxious, keeping his head down. Let him see what he wished to see. 

“At least they have sense enough not to trust you. Looks like you’re not fooling anyone, you snake; except maybe yourself. Did you know that Jin-zongzhu speaks of being rid of you often?”

Ah. So they were here already. Despite the curdling, vicious darkness that stirred in him, Jin Guangyao could have snorted. What an unpolitic moron. Spilling his Clan Leader’s private conversations for the chance to get a cheap jab. Perhaps it was true--it very well could be. But his father was still riding on the low profile waves of alliance this marital eviction had gotten him. Had Jin Guangyao not already been aware of the reason for his being married out, had he been pettier (and he how he sometimes yearned to be--but no, it was unwise to squander a pressure point so readily) this could have seriously damaged the relationship between the two clans. Having it known that he had given his treasured allies the dregs.

“He was right to get rid of you when he did,” Jin Zixun was continuing, turning back to wander again through the room. “Clearing the trash from the Clan. I hope you're not getting ideas above your station, here. I know they put up with more, but you should always remember what you are.” He turned around, lips curled into a smug smile. “Bastard. Son of a whore. The reject.”

It was difficult to know whether this was Jin Zixun’s attempt to strategically goad him as an interrogation technique or if it was simply venting his frustration--probably both. 

And it was working, to a point. There bloomed a bright star point of rage behind his breastbone as the words pounded through him like poison, squeezing the breath from him and he forced himself not to smile in defense; he was supposed to be cowed by this, this was supposed to hurt. He swallowed and let his mouth tighten as his chin tucked in shame and imagined digging his thumbs into Jin Zixun’s eyes like so much overripe fruit. Bursting.

When Jin Guangyao remained silent, his cousin’s face twisted at his lack of reaction, before hiking back up into a sneer of a smile. “But that’s alright, because you two seem to make a perfect pair--the leftovers together.”

Something incredibly dark shifted within him and turned its attention to this conversation.

“Don’t.”

It left his mouth on a breath, a spark from the flint striking in his chest without design. He managed to dart his gaze to the ground before Zixun could see the flame of it within him.

“What did you say?” Jin Zixun rounded on him, close again, smile small and cruel, eyes gleaming with the prospect of a weak link. So it was calculated provocation, then. Searching for an excuse for violence and offense. Even more dangerous. He sank the nails into his palm.

It was possibly one of the hardest things he had done to speak evenly when the small dagger he had hidden at the small of his back seared into his skin, pulsing like an eager creature’s heart, calling to his hand. “Don’t talk about Jiang-furen in that manner….Please.” 

Any other circumstance, and he could have protested--would even be justified as a husband to come to blows over such a thing. But there was a plan. And it was hard to seem weak and unthreatening in the midst of murder.

 All Jin Guangyao needed him to do was leave. Take this filtered information back to his father. Tell him of the web of complications woven against them, Jin Guangyao’s manufactured outsider status in the Jiang’s--an open avenue for false information, exploitation.

All he wanted him to do was leave.

“Aww.” Blunt fingers suddenly sank into his jaw, forcing his chin up, trying to meet his gaze. He allowed the wince, squeezed his eyes shut because he knew his own limits--he knew where this is heading. He knew what he could and could not keep from his eyes. “Is the little whoreson actually in love with his pity-wife? The little wannabe-noble getting ideas above his station? You know the only reason you were paired with her, little filth, is because no one else wanted her, right?”

There was an approaching ringing in his ears, the tide of blood pounding louder and louder. Fire and water, drowning and devouring. His breath seared. Focus on the outcome. Focus on the fact that the servants are hearing this. The repercussions. The plan. Wei Wuxian. A-Li. It’s for her. Focus. 

Focus. 

“She’s a boring, talentless cow with the weakest golden core I’ve ever seen--”

Distantly, he was almost grateful for the throb coursing through him, that shook him in Jin Zixun’s grasp like a fish on a line, for it muffled his words to almost unintelligible garble, had him sinking his fingers into the bracer at the wrist of Jin Zixun’s imprisoning arm, as if he wanted to escape, as if he was afraid. 

He did not want to escape. He was not afraid.

His palms prickled with emptiness, begging to be filled with a throat, a hilt, a heart. Soon, his own blood-heavy organ whispered from the crush of his chest, soon. “Stop,” he whispered, voice pressed thin by the weight of his rage.

“Or what?” Jin Zixun taunted, voice muffled, coming to him as if through water. 

Or I will ruin the carpet of the Hall of Swords. Or I will lose my grip on this careful mask. Or I will have a blade through your gut faster than you can die and I will watch you writhe and shit yourself to death in far too short a time. And then I will have to find a way to make this work without you. Which would be tedious, difficult. Dangerous.

Almost worth it.

It’s for her. 

Soon.

“I don’t know anything more, Zixun. You need...to leave.”

“Are you going to make me?”

It would be so easy to dart his head to the side and sink his teeth deep into his knuckles, to go for his throat. Slide the dagger neatly through his eye and into his brain. Like a keyhole unlocking such possibilities as blessed fucking silence.

Clearly disgusted with his lack of response, Jin Zixun shoved him away from him with a snarl. Jin Guangyao caught himself on a pillar and stayed pressed there, head down, hair fall masking his expression, feathering over the pulsing bands left on his jaw. 

“I should have known it was useless to talk to you.”

Jin Guangyao stayed motionless as the doors slammed behind him, as Jin Zixun’s footsteps retreated. As the side doors flew open and the servants and the disciples they had clearly summoned rushed to his side, the exclamations of their indignant anger washing over him in shallow waves. Hands patted his robe, gripped his shoulder, raised his chin carefully and he managed to analyze his own expression, reassuring himself of its blankness. It would have to do. They might take it as stunned.

“--bastard! That--that--! I can’t believe he said that about Jiang-furen! I’ll skin him alive!”

“--alright? You’re so pale--”

“I always knew the Jin were pompous and selfish, but this is too much! To come here and say this in the heart of Lotus Pier--to Jiang-furen’s own husband, of all people!”

“The gall! That piece of shit!”

“Jin-gongzi, talk to us, are you alright?”

It took him a few breaths to be able to look up, to regain his voice, and when he did, he made no effort to steady it. “I am. I’m fine. We need--we need to prepare for Wei-gongzi’s arrival.”

There came more sympathetic hisses, more fretful tugs of his clothes--he knew from experience that it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between a voice shaking from fear and a voice shaking from barely suppressed savagery, if one's face was arranged correctly. His was. He made sure of it.

The tightness of his rage-lit chest did not abate when he went to the front courtyard to bow off the small glittering retinue of JIn, where he was, of course, ignored. Watching their receding backs as the clouds swallowed them up, he let his face drop entirely for a moment with only the ornately carved door ahead of him. Let his eyes burn. 

When he turned around, he offered the crowd behind him a harried smile. “We should probably send a few of Yunmeng’s delicacies after them. As an apology for the imposition of their journey.”

This sparked muttered suggestions of what bodily fluids might be able to be included and what species’ feces could be hidden most easily behind heavy spices. “I could kill him for what he said about Jiang-furen,” one of the shimei’s said, eyes blazing.

Oh, Jin Guangyao did not say, shuttering his eyes as if regretful. You needn’t bother.

Soon.

Back in their room, in front of A-Li’s round, polished mirror, he impassively considered the bruises on his jaw, the heat in his gut at a low, murderous simmer. He would have preferred a black eye, but perhaps less was more, in this case--more subtlety meant more double takes, more chances for curious ‘what ifs’. The story was bound to evolve anyhow, to become more fantastical as the enraged servants gossiped with their friends, their waiters, their fruit vendors. 

The noble Jiang, marrying for a love forbidden, taking beleaguered, harmless Cultivators under their wing and being threatened for it. Those villainous Jin, demanding back their spoils of war, treating Jiang-furen’s new husband as if he were still a common Jin servant. The indignity of it, the insult. Just like those star crossed tragedies. The Young Masters and Mistress of Lotus Pier were already folk heroes in the eyes of the common people--rising from the ashes of their slaughtered family to build anew, kind and just. This all would appeal greatly. 

Ever loyal, the people would probably find a way to alert them if any Jin lurkers were to show up. Ingratiation of the Wen, alienation of the Jin, deification of the Jiang. Truly, this couldn’t have gone better.

There would be a more formal--not to mention informed--meeting later, involving Jiang Wanyin, Jin Guanshan, and possibly Wei Wuxian himself. This was probably supposed to have been a precursor to that, a scouting mission meant to gather information, meant to be secretive and unnoticed. What a pity.

His smile stretched thin and sharp at his own metallic reflection. His chest was still tight and full, and his fingertips still ached for the rust of someone’s pain, but he simply straightened his robes, slowly and deliberately. Time to prepare for their guests. 

And figure out how slowly he wanted Jin Zixun to die.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Dangerous Love (Pt. 04 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

Word count: 2.3K

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{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

×

Nightmares

You're looking at the garden, admiring the little white flowers that only blossom at night. You're tired, eyes heavy, but you can't sleep. Some bats are flying down there, and you wonder if they live nearby. A much larger figure passes by, in a blur. Suddenly, the lights go off. Opening the window, you bend over, holding on the bars, to try and see more. Then, you hear a click.

Your head turns at the door. Did it just unlock? Is the system electrical? Then why does Bruce always uses a key? Moving to the door, you slowly turn the handle and... Another click. It's open. Pulling it, you step forward. The silence makes you anxious, and so does the darkness. Looking at the sides, you start walking down the hall.

“Bruce?” You call out, and your voice echoes through the place. You get no response.

Your legs keep moving, taking you downstairs and to the door, which is wide open. Why is Bruce doing this? Is it a test? Or did something happened to him? You shouldn't go. You should–

You're moving, against your will. Why are you moving against your will? Wasn't that the plan? To wait for an opportunity and run away?

The gates are open too, and they're the only thing you can see in the darkness. The next thing you know is that you're on the streets. Empty streets, no lights on. You're taking the way to the abandoned mall you claimed, taking all the right entrances and the elevator that leads to the underground. Your old house.

You walk through the garage, among the many cars you own. Reaching your private headquarters, you see piles of money. The jewels too, more shiny than usual.

“Is anyone here?” The place doesn't seem abandoned. You know they're still working for you, even after all that time in prison. They wouldn't dare to abandon you.

“Look who's back.” Your sister comes out of nowhere, followed by her boyfriend, the Joker. “Where were you, little sis?”

“I got out.” You could tell them the truth, that Batman held you hostage. But you don't want them to retaliate. “What are you doing here? You're not supposed to come uninvited.”

There's something in the air, in the atmosphere. It's so cold and and dark, like you're drowning in it. A weird feeling builds up as if you need to go home. But this is home, the only home you ever had.

What are you doing here? You made a promise not to run away. Bruce told you he'd help, so why did he let you get out? Why did he let the doors open?

“We know everything, dear." Joker sing songs, pacing around you. “The Batsy broke you down... Or should I say, Bruce Wayne?”

“What?” How does he know that? “I was in prison. Belle Reve. I got out.” You repeat, turning on your heels to look Joker in the eye.

“And now you're back home,” Harley exclaims, hugging you. “Enjoy yourself, sis. This is who you are. Have fun, steal what you crave for, and then, one day, they will just get you again.”

“Thanks to you, I know who Batsy is.” Joke speaks again, getting your attention. “I can attack him in bright daylight. When he's vulnerable, away from his toys.”

“You know you'll go back there right? The paradise on Earth.” Harley starts again. “They always manage to find us. And once they do, the torture is tuned all the way up.”

“Shut up, Harley.” You burst out.

“I will make sure to tell Batman you helped me. I may even bring his head here so you can use it as a decoration.”

“Shut up!” You're covering your ears, trying to understand what happened. What you did. You didn't tell anyone about Bruce. You know you didn't. “Shut up!”

“You're going back to Belle Reve, sis. We always do. We'll die there.”

“Batman's blood is in your hands, Havoc. Upon his death, we will rule Gotham.”

“Shut up!”

You sit up abruptly, just as the door is being open. Breathing fast, you run to the bathroom before Alfred comes in. Closing the door behind your back, you slide to the floor, hands on your head. “It was just a dream. Just a dream.” You mumble to yourself. Why did it scare you so much? You shouldn't be sleeping. “I won't go back. It was just a dream. Just a dream...”

A knock on the door startles you. “(Y/N)?”

It isn't Alfred, it's Bruce. With your heart pounding against your chest, you stumble up, opening the door and almost collapsing against his chest when you step out. He looks down at you, worried.

“Hi,” you whisper, stepping back.

“You look terrified. What happened?” He touches your arm, guiding you to sit on the bed. Behind him, you see a cart with lunch.

“I fell asleep. I shouldn't, I... I had a nightmare. No big deal.” As you move closer to the headboard, you see a book on the nightstand. “What's that?” Taking it, you read the cover. Game Of Thrones.

“I decided to bring you that. So you'll have something to do.” Bruce sits on the bed, hesitantly. “It has some violence, but I think you can deal with that.”

“Isn't there a TV show about it?”

“I'll stream if for you once you finish the book.”

“Ok.” It's good to finally have something to do. Opening the book, you look through the first pages.

“Why did you say you shouldn't sleep?” He inquires. Shaking your head slightly, you don't answer. “(Y/N).”

“Hm?” Looking up from the book, you meet his eyes. Why is he so worried?

“Won't you answer me?”

“I don't like sleeping.” Shrugging your shoulders, you sustain his stare. Bruce has nice eyes, and they're kind. You can't remember the last time someone looked at you like this. “The nightmares are constant so... I take naps. Whenever I feel like I'm falling asleep I get up. I don't sleep for more than three hours every night.”

“And what do you do up all night?”

“Nothing. I stare at the ceiling. The garden... Did you know that the little white flowers only blossom at night?” Smiling, you put the book down and move to the window. The garden is beautiful. You grow mesmerized by it every day. The flowers and threes are amazing.

“(Y/N), you need to sleep. To rest.” Bruce walks over you, touching your arm to get your attention. “Do you want something to help?”

“I'm used to my sleep schedule, don't worry.” You meet his eyes for a few seconds before looking through the window again. “I saw some people there a few days ago.”

“An interview. Now go eat.” Bruce brings the cart as you sit in the armchair. Sweet potato soup, your favorite.

He shouldn't be here for lunch, though. “Shouldn't you be at work?”

His expression changes, and he looks sad. “It's Saturday.”

“Oh... And don't you have a girlfriend or something?” The question comes out suddenly, before you even notice what you said. That's the bad part of being honest all the time, you lost the ability to control your thoughts.

“No, I don't have anyone at the moment. Why?”

“Because it's Saturday. You should be with her.” In the back of your mind, the figure of Bruce with a woman in his arm, going to dinners, smiling and chatting, bothers you. You don't understand why. It's only natural. A handsome man like Bruce probably has a lot of women chasing him. Being rich only makes it worse.

“Don't worry. I'm all yours today.”

That makes you giggle, looking down at the soup. “The therapy session will be long then.”

As usual, Bruce waits until you're done eating. You're growing used to his presence, and sometimes you think you're even a little excited to see him. It's unbelievable how gentle he is. Nobody was ever gentle to you. It's weird how you're failing to look for an opportunity to run away. You're just not thinking about this anymore.

When you're done, you push the cart away, holding your glass of soda. “So... What are we talking about today?”

“I have news. And I need you to tell me how you feel about them.” Bruce is serious now, all professional. Did you do something? Why does he seem so distant?

“Alright.”

“Yesterday night I found the Joker.” He begins, eyes focused on you, reading your face. “He almost managed to run away, but one of his bombs went off before the time, while he was close. He blew up, thrown into the air, and when he fell, he broke his spine. There's a chance Joker won't ever walk again.”

You don't know what he wants you to say. People tend to connect you to the Joker, even though you haven't worked with him in years. You're more like enemies now. “Well, that's too bad for him. And for Harley. She'll be heartbroken.”

“What about you?”

“I won't say I'm happy about it, I'm just... I don't feel anything.”

“Have you and the Joker ever been in any kind of... Relationship?”

That's new. “No. He kissed me once, to make Harley jealous, but I kicked him in the balls for it.” The memory makes you smile. His face was priceless. “He did make some... propositions, but I never accepted.”

“Why?” Bruce seems very interested in this. What are you thinking? He's just trying to understand and help you. Nothing more.

“Because he wasn't my type,” you say with a smirk.

“Does that mean other men made the same kind of propositions and you accepted?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, putting the empty glass on the cart. “I... I'm not...”

“See? When you don't say the truth, I can make any assumptions.” He leans forward, as he usually does. You're not sure why, but you mirror his position, looking into his eyes. “The truth, please.”

“Well, it's true that he's not my type, but... In my world, love is dangerous. You have lots of enemies and having someone you care about gives them a weak spot. So I never really gave me or... Love... A chance.” It's funny how easy it feels to open up to Bruce now. It doesn't mean you enjoy saying these things, they're supposed to be a secret, but with time, you're getting used to it. He has an effect on you, this man.

“For some people, there's no need for love in some... Situations.”

“For some people, yes. For me... It would never feel right.” You move back again, looking down at the sunlight coming through the window, on the floor between you and Bruce.

“(Y/N), I know the guards used to beat you. But did they ever... Assaulted you any other way?” The heaviness in his voice is tangible. Bruce is angry, worried.

“No. Never.” You're quick to answer, and he soon seems to relax. “Everything they feel for me is disgust, thank God. That... Never happened. They only touch me to beat me up.”

“I'm... Happy to know that. A pretty girl like you... I couldn't help but wonder if they ever tried something so filthy.”

“Woman.” You correct him as usual, the word pretty burning through your mind. Does he really think you're pretty?

“Woman. Forgive me.” A smile. A smile comes to his lips and you're mesmerized. He's so handsome, and now even more.

“I like your smile,” you tell him, biting back a smile yourself. “Didn't know Batman had this ability.”

“You're improving.”

“Am I?” It comes to your mind suddenly, that he brought you here to prove a point. “I'm happy your project is going well.” Running a hand through your hair, you get up, moving to the bed.

“I don't think of you as a project.”

“Really?” You don't believe him. “Sometimes I wonder what will be my fate after this. You say you can put me back into the normal world, but I'm not sure I believe it... I think that I'll end up in Belle Reve. And it'll be even worse because now I'm used to all this.” Gesturing at the room in general, you look at him. “Comfortable bed, nice showers, beauty products... Not being hurt every single day.”

Going back to Belle Reve would break you down, you think. The villain in you says that you can take it, all over again if needed, but the other part... Tells you otherwise. The very thought of your old cell is enough to make you shake like a leaf.

“I will never let you go back there,” Bruce speaks up, intense eyes on you, burning. “Never.”

“Keep me here then... If that's what it takes. I don't mind.” You can barely hear your own voice. You can't believe you just said that, that you would be ok being here for the rest of your life. But if your options are this room or cell 304B, you'd pick this room.

“Let's see how things go. There's no need to rush.”

Nodding, you continue telling him about your connections with the Joker, and about the many times you were at war against each other. After dinner, you ask for a pencil or pen, so you can underline the parts you like in the book. Bruce brings you a blue pen before wishing goodnight and telling you to try and sleep well.

But you can't. It's 2 a.m. and you're reading. You find a blank page in the book, so you rip it off and decide to draw. It's been years since you've drawn, and you're not really sure what you're doing. A few hours go by until you're finished with it. Bruce. You just drew Bruce Wayne. You stare at his features. His eyes, nose, jaw... Lips. Folding the paper, you decide to use it as a bookmark. He won't find out if you keep it inside the book.

×

@redwolf-7 @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2

[flowesona]

The High Priestess - Yandere! Namjoon x reader

The Tarot Series 

“Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.” The deep voice led (Y/N) to raise to her tear-streaked face to meet the gaze of the speaker. The detective sighed, taking a seat next to her, a little too close for (Y/N)’s liking.

“Yoongi was one of the best men that I have ever had the honour of working with. I’ll do anything to find justice for him, I swear.” (Y/N) just sniffed.

“What do you know so far?” She asked, rubbing at her bloodshot eyes.

“We’re still working on the autopsy but it looks like he was killed with a six inch blade, with little signs of struggle. Must have been a surprise attack.” Namjoon sighed. “Is there anyone else who has a copy of your keys?”

“Our next door neighbour does. Why? Surely it must have been an intruder, it couldn’t possibly be someone we know?” The words got caught in (Y/N)’s throat.

“There’s no signs of a break in. Your husband must have let them in.” Namjoon was watching her closely, observing the way her teeth nervously grazed at her lips, the way her eyes were shaking from intense emotion. Something about her grieving was wrong, too obvious. He was determined to find the truth, no matter how grim it may be.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The investigation had hit a dead end it seemed. There were no witnesses to say they’d seen someone leaving the scene of the crime, there was no sign of the incriminating murder weapon, there was no apparent reason to kill a young police officer who’d only ever made arrests for petty crimes. But Namjoon knew better than to dismiss the case as impossible. In fact, with the scenario becoming more and more complicated, the truth that he dreaded was becoming more believable. 

His theory, whilst being unbelievable to his heart, was the only credible line of reasoning he could follow. Thus he took it into his own hands, within his own time, to investigate the Min household once more.

It wasn’t at all proper for a senior detective to be breaking into the victim’s house, not whilst the widow was once again sleeping in the bedroom. Yet, he’d done it before, and he was happy to do it again.

His lust for the wife of one of his trusted officers was not something Kim Namjoon was proud of. He tried hard to keep it under wraps, not once making a move on her or looking at her in a less than innocent way at dinner. But occasionally, in the witching hour, he would allow himself the luxury of using a copy he’d made of Yoongi’s keys to enter their house, to stalk up to their bedroom and to watch her for a few minutes. To see the deep rise and fall of her chest, the scrunch of her nose as she dreamed. He didn’t even mind seeing her snuggled up next to her husband, imagining himself in the other man’s position with (Y/N)’s soft chest pressed against his body, her warm breath fanning his skin.

But on this occasion, Namjoon wasn’t going to stare at the woman he craved after, as much as he wanted to. He was looking for evidence, something that had been missed, or even hidden away. But everything was eerily neat. No knives were out of place, nothing tucked under a bookcase or hidden behind a book. Yet, just as he was about to give up, he decided to risk entering the master bedroom.

He didn’t let himself get distracted by the peacefully resting (Y/N), nor the space on the bed beside her. Instead, he quietly starting sifting through the drawers, looking for something.

And he found it.

Tucked away at the back of her undergarment drawer (something that had made Namjoon blush greatly as he searched through) was a plain cotton dress. It seemed like nothing out of the ordinary, just a plain, everyday dress. But the front was speckled with ruby red blood. 

Now confident in his conjecture, he placed the incriminating item of clothing in the plastic bag he’d brought with him, ready to confront the killer.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

“Inspector! How can I help!” The widow gave him an empty smile, the door only half open.

“I need to talk with you, Miss (Y/N). May I come in?” Namjoon smiled, clutching his briefcase tightly as if to brace himself.

“Inspector, it’s very early. I’m still in my nightclothes I’m afraid. And you look positively exhausted. Maybe it’s best if you come later.” (Y/N) tried to close the door, only for Namjoon to jam his hand on the doorframe, keeping it open at the cost of a severe crushing pain.

“This is a very important matter to be discussed. I just thought you’d prefer to have it here, rather than down at the station.” The young woman gulped, nodded, and opened the door just wide enough to let Namjoon in.

“Would you like some tea?” (Y/N) offered once he was seated at the kitchen table.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” He answered. There was nothing but mirth in his body as he watched her bustle around anxiously, finding the tea leaves and the expensive tea set that was only used when they had special guests.

Once the kettle had finished boiling, and the tea was brewing inside the overly decorative pot, Namjoon decided to speak.

“I’ve discovered who killed your husband.” At his words, (Y/N) smiled just a bit too falsely, picking up the pot with shaking hands. 

“Really? Who was it, Inspector? Has he been arrested?” She asked, as she poured the tea into his cup.

“I know that it was you, Miss (Y/N).” (Y/N) appeared calm at first, still pouring the tea into her own cup, but Namjoon could see past her facade.

“Inspector, that’s ridiculous, I mean how on earth could I-” She started, only to be cut off.

“Please, call me Namjoon. And the only way that this case makes sense is if you are the culprit. After all, why would your husband let a stranger into the house and then turn his back blindly?” Seeing his suspect completely speechless, he continued. “I have no doubt you used one of those knives and cleaned it thoroughly after the incident. I’m sure we don’t need to send it off to be tested for traces of blood, but I’m happy to do so if you’d like.”

“This is all b-baseless thinking with no real e-evidence behind it.” (Y/N) stuttered.

“I do have some evidence, actually.” Namjoon said, opening his briefcase and pulling out the bloodstained item of clothing. “This is yours, is it not? Whilst I haven’t sent it to the lab yet, I think we both know who this blood belongs to.”

(Y/N) face warped from one of confusion to utter anger in a matter of seconds as she processed what was in front of her.

“How did you get that? You don’t have a warrant, that’s illegal evidence-”

“So it is yours.” Namjoon smirked, neatly. “I think your reaction is an admission of guilt to me, though we can continue this useless debate if you would like.”

The widow was completely broken, defeated. 

“You don’t know what he was really like.” She shivered. “He was so cold, uncaring. But he wouldn’t let me get a divorce, no matter how many times I tried. S-so I did what I had to.”

She couldn’t help herself as tears started rolling down her face, preparing herself for being arrested and sentenced to death.

“I understand, (Y/N).” Namjoon said smoothly. One of his hands reached out to her, running over her cold fingers. “That’s why I’ll help you.”

“What?”

“We can keep this between us. This case will go unsolved.” Namjoon offered, giving her a warm, inviting smile as if he hadn’t just exposed her as a murderer. “I will only ask one thing of you.”

“And what is that?” (Y/N) asked, her stomach flipping over in uneasiness.

“Well, you’re a widow. I’m a single man. I think we could make each other very happy.”

“With all due respect inspector-”

“Namjoon.” He corrected

“Namjoon, I just… can’t. I can’t just be in another relationship so quickly.” His smile dropped off of his face instantly.

“So you’d rather spend your life in prison than with me?” He said threateningly. “(Y/N), I’m rich, I’m successful, I’m in love with you. I can treat you better than your former husband ever did. Just give me a chance.”

Namjoon’s threat lingered in the air, (Y/N) choosing to take a sip of her lukewarm tea rather than respond to him.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon to decide.” Namjoon said lowly, standing up. “If you haven’t given me a “yes” by Noon, I’ll put out a warrant for your arrest on suspicion of murder.”

As he walked past her towards the door, one hand ran over her shoulder, as he leaned down to whisper into her ear.

“Have a good day, my darling.” 

And with Namjoon gone, (Y/N) could finally breathe, yet with her predicament she knew the next twenty four hours would be her last taste of freedom.

[hamliet]

Reflections of Su XiYan in Scum Villain’s Female Characters

I did not realize it was MXTX ladies week until yesterday. :( So I want to do a post/meta on the amazing women in each novel (not without critique), so let’s start with MXTX’s first one!

Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, which while it may have more obvious narrative flaws than TGCF or MDZS (it sets up some plot points it kinda drops later, whereas TGCF and MDZS pretty much maximize every single aspect of potential), I actually think is just as rich, clever, and coherent thematically as MXTX’s latter two novels.

The plot points that are dropped, though, are actually almost entirely related to the set up the female characters as deconstructing the idea that they were just things for Original!Luo BingHe to collect. While it does do this to an extent with Su XiYan, Ning YingYing, and Sha HuaLing, it kinda… dropped the arcs halfway through for Ning YingYing and Sha HuaLing, and sets up but never really begins Liu MingYan’s and Qin WanYue’s. 

Su XiYan’s arc, though, despite it taking place in the past and being told to us, is entirely about refuting the role the men in her life ascribe to her... and all of the other female characters--all members of Original!Luo BingHe’s harem--represent a part of her. You could get, like, really Oedipal if you wanted to, but I’d rather not beyond simply saying it’s a pattern in stories that is definitely present here. Aspects of her story and character are reflected in each of the women who are love interests in Proud Immortal Demon Way. 

Our first refutation of how men treat and categorize Su XiYan is through her foiling with Ning YingYing. 

Shen Yuan notes that Shen Jiu sexually harassed Ning YingYing:

the original Shen Qingqiu had designs on Ning Yingying... [he] had dirty thoughts towards his lively and well-behaved disciples. Several times he tried to lay hands on them and almost succeeded at that.

Which is what the Old Palace Master did to Su XiYan:

He turned to focus his stare on Luo Binghe’s quietly sleeping face... nThe Old Palace Master gazed at him for a long while then sighed: “When you close your eyes, you resemble her the most. And also when you’re being cold.”

His eyes traveled over Luo Binghe’s face greedily. If he still had hands, he would have reached out to fondle as well.

However, the Old Palace Master never got anywhere with Su XiYan, because she fell in love with someone else and thereby refutes the idea that she’s his tool. In the original, Ning YingYing is rescued by Luo BingHe in the original. In the novel, Ning YingYing’s arc is about her discovering self-sufficiency. She doesn’t need rescuing from Luo BingHe; she can rescue herself, as is shown when she leads Ming Fan and the other disciples into a fight to protect Shen QingQiu’s honor after his arrest. When someone slaps her, she slaps back, twice--but Shen QingQiu gives her the energy. I would have liked (and think her arc was heading towards) her to grow to be competent on her own as well. 

Next, Sha HuaLing.  

Sha HuaLing represents TianLang-Jun’s assumptions about Su XiYan: that she was a deceptive seductress who would betray him for her own desires. However, in reality, like Sha HuaLing does in Proud Immortal Demon Way, Su XiYan betrays her race (for her, humanity, for Sha HuaLing, demons) for love. 

Sha Hualing was a pure-blooded demon, cruel and ruthless, cunning and artful, but fell irrevocably for Luo Binghe. After getting together with Luo Binghe, don’t even speak about killing for him; she even dared to do an outrageous thing like betraying the demons for him. 

Su XiYan, however, was never given the chance to fight back. In the actual novel, Sha HuaLing does much the same (betrays the demons), but Luo BingHe does not love her and she knows it. I think this is a good ending place for Sha HuaLing, assigned to fight against her father in the final battle (which she does), but we’re told rather than shown her development and we’re not told what led to this decision, which is a shame. 

Sha HuaLing is perhaps most directly foiled both in Proud Immortal Demon Way and in SVSSS by Qin WanYue. 

Qin WanYue, much like Su XiYan, is considered the perfect disciple of the Huan Hua Palace. Regarding Su XiYan, it’s noted: 

“That woman had shocking talent, was intelligent and sensitive when making decisions, and she had the aura of a tyrant. The Old Palace Master loved and cared for this private disciple. He thought of her as a pearl that should be protected in his hands and trained her to be the next Palace Master of Huan Hua Palace. No matter where he went, he would bring Su Xiyan along with him. The importance that he placed in her was abnormal.”

Qin WanYue’s symbol is a pearl that lights the way.

Luo Binghe picked up Qin Wanyue’s Night Pearl that had fallen to the ground and raised it high, as though it were a beacon. It awakened those who had frozen in place.

Not to mention in the original novel Qin WanYue loses a child in a miscarriage caused by someone else (Sha HuaLing) much like Su XiYan almost lost Luo BingHe when pregnant with him. Qin WanYue clings to Luo BingHe after the loss of her sister as something who might be able to offer her happiness. She’s not much different than Luo BingHe growing up parents and clinging to ShiZun: she who lost her sister and then clings to the person who saved her. But in her case, Luo BingHe does not return her affection, and I really had hoped/ expected her arc to end with her finding her own path.

Qin WanYue is also tasked with an action beneath her (much like Sha HuaLing): taking care of the Little Palace Mistress, the Old Palace Master’s literal daughter and hence another foil to Su XiYan. Her defining trait is her pettiness and cruelty, the latter of which Su XiYan is also said to have been capable of, as she began spending time with TianLang-Jun in an attempt to bring him down.

However, the mistress isn’t really set up with the potential for an arc like Qin WanYue is. 

From time to time [Qin WanYue] would cast a teary glance at Luo Binghe, as if expecting something...

[Sha HuaLing:] “how many times have you failed to seduce the lord yet still refuse to leave? If you don’t leave that’s fine, but you’re incapable of looking after even a single person. Her cultivation isn’t even as high as yours. You’re her senior martial sister. You didn’t stop her early and didn’t stop her late. All you did was to let her make this unreasonable scene in front of the lord. Who are you putting on this pitiful and wronged appearance for?”

Qin WanYue isn’t weak at all, but she puts on a weak act for Luo BingHe, hoping to attract a rescuer like she needed back then. I initially expected her arc to end with her accepting her strength and moving on form Luo BingHe (and from the little palace mistress). I still think it should have. 

And then we have Qiu HaiTang, whom I don’t think is set up as much for development as the others despite having more backstory on her. 

Still, Qiu HaiTang she was a woman mistreated and shamed by what had happened with her fiance Shen Jiu--just like Su XiYan was shamed for what happened with TianLang-Jun. 

“That’s right, if she hadn’t been so ill-fated as to fall for Tianlang-Jun’s wiles, she would have had such a bright and promising future and be a person of great renown today.”

“I don’t care what fantastic rewards are promised to me━having an affair with a demon and getting knocked up with a monster child is just plain disgusting. This kind of merit, I wouldn’t accept even if it was served to me on a silver platter.”

“Su Xiyan was probably too ashamed to remain, and thus ran away from the sect master.”

The thing is, all these roles--perfect disciple with great potential, brave enough to betray everything for love, endearing and caring, mistreated--none of these really capture the complexity and beauty of who Su XiYan really was... which is represented in Liu MingYan, the noted female counterpart to Luo BingHe, the main female lead. Liu MingYan conceals her face, which is too beautiful to be seen. 

Liu MingYan, like Si XiYan, remains mysterious; Shen QingQiu never sees her face uncovered, and the audience never really gets a clue as to what is going on in her head besides the mention that she cares deeply for her brother. Again, this is something I think could have and should have been developed more; she has the set-up for an arc with her conflict with Sha HuaLing being dazzled by her beauty and with her loyalty to her sect and brother, but it doesn’t go anywhere. She said to be “the number one female lead!” after all, and I think it’s entirely possible for her to maintain her aura of mystery and still... have an arc. Su XiYan did, after all, and she was dead before the novel began.

In the end, no one really can define whom Su XiYan was exactly, because she’s dead. What ultimately mattered, what defined Su XiYan’s legacy, was her final choice to save her son (and yes, it’s fair to critique that it’s again about a man, but it’s her choice). That’s why the story, in its penultimate chapter, has Shen QingQiu telling Luo BingHe: 

“Su Xiyan risked her life to give birth to you... 

“If I were in her shoes, I would not hesitate to drink [the poison for a fetus] regardless of how lethal it is. Then, after escaping from the water prison, I would absorb it all into my own body. Regardless of how agonizing and horrifying the process is, regardless of the price to be paid, regardless of whether it would be a painful death, I would never let this child suffer any harm.

“This is how I see it. You can take it as just an interpretation because there is no one who can tell you what Su Xiyan was thinking before she breathed her last. But if she really saw you as a disgrace, she didn’t need to do anything more. She could have just lowered you into the Luo River, on the coldest days of the year, in a harsh and frozen landscape━how could you possibly survive?... she also need not use the last of her strength and energy to put you in a wooden basin and push you away to safety…… You don’t even need to wait for someone to save you at all since you would have already become a wandering soul who met his freezing end in Luo River.

He’s healed, and he no longer needs to try to recreate his mother figure in over a thousand beautiful women like he did in the past. He can heal. 

Imo, it would have been even more powerful if the women then stepped out of these roles more completely, and became their own people. But I really do like all four of the main women I discussed here, and someday I’ll write more for them. 

[darkelfshadow]

Session Summary - 96

AKA “A whole lot of rub and no tug”

Adventures in Taggriell

Session 96  (Date: 16th October 2020)

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Varis”) Elf Male.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor) Dwarf Male.

- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male.

Absent Players

- John (Known as “Ragnar”) Dwarf Male. <Play by Rob>

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by Travis>

Summary

- Oathday, 11th Desnus in the year 815 (Second Era). Summer.

- The party begin this session, having just set sail down the inland river headed back towards the Golden Channel. Gim hands over his Lion Greataxe to Galin The Blacksmith on board the ship, to start the work needed to attach the Moon Gem to his weapon.

- The ship arrives five hours later, in the early evening, at the port city of Phlan.

- Captain Lerustah and his men have prepared the ship to look like a common merchant ship, as opposed to an armed military ship. There are less Cult forces on the jetty than the last time the party arrived during daylight hours, and after a cursory check, the ship is allowed to dock without incident.

- Trenchant uses one of his spells to disguise the entire party. Trenchant, now looking like a low and non-influential merchant lord, is accompanied by a group that appears to have scruffy looking personal guards, ugly hand maidens, and poor servants. The group leaves the dock, with a warning from a Cult Officer to behave themselves in the city or else face consequences. Trenchant shows the proper fear and submissiveness, to the Cult Officer, that allows them passage into the city.

- The party make their way over to the Tea Kettle, where the small female Halfling proprietor Madame Freona, greets them kindly but advises them that as the shop is due to close shortly they can not get service.

- When Trenchant, still disguised, speaks out loudly to Olisara Lightsong (Harper), seated in the far corner, the Harper recognises who the group is. Olisara tells Madame Freona to let these guests in and she does so, organising seats, refreshing drinks and an assortment of delicious tasting foods. The party can not remember eating this well.

- The party and Olisara, discuss what has happened since they left and about the new mission they are on. She tells them the Cult has taken over Phlan as a base of operations for locating a new Pool Of Radiance, somewhere south west, near something called Kranun’s Crater.

- The party learn that thanks to their information, Olisara is now in contact with one of the resistance leaders: Captain Jhessail Greycastle. Greycastle is now working with the Harpers and the location of her base of operations is now known. Olisara has been unable to find out who the other resistance leader is, “The Black Knight”.

- Olisara gives the party five monks robes, of the Order of Mishakai, who do regular visits to the Grimshackle Jail. They learn their contact in the Jail, Glevith, is a member of the Welcomers (Thieves Guild) and has been assisting the Harpers with information and other things during the Cult intrusion. Olisara warns the party not to attack or harm any of the City Watch guards in the Jail, as they are not bad people. She gives the party the name of one of the Watch Sergeants, Bhevek, who can escort the party to see Glevith.

- The party then head over to the Cracked Crown Inn. Ellywick, the female Gnome owner of the inn, lets the party inn. The party speak to Seranolla The Whisperer (Emerald Enclave) and discuss anything she might know about the Pool Of Radiance. She tells the party that this area has attracted many pure Arcane stars, falling from the heavens to make lakes or pools of power, known as Pools Of Radiance. A shooting star was seen heading south over Phlan a few months ago. The last known confirmed pool was just off Phlan, falling into Thorn Island where Sokol Keep stands. The stars fall all over this region, sometimes falling into the same place more than once, as if attracted to fall by some force. She believes Kranun’s Crater was a previous location where a massive star fell creating a lake size pool of power. She does not know exactly where this crater is, as this was a very long time ago, though she thinks it may lay south of Lake Enion, which forms the border of the Elvish lands. She warns the party to be on the look out for increased Bulette activity in that area.

- The party come up with a plan to enter Grimshackle Jail. The three Dwarves wait in a nearby sewer exit, keeping the Jail under observation, ready for trouble. Varis, Labarett, Naillae and Trenchant wear the Robes Of Mishakai, and approach the Jail pretending to be priests wishing to perform their regular services to the prisoners.

- The guards let the disguised party members in, and send for Sergeant Bhevek, when Trenchant asks for him by name. The Sergeant attends and leads the party away, recognising the party as the ones he was waiting for from Olisara. He takes the party up the four levels of the massive tower, passing many cells holding about a hundred prisoners. The guards are well dressed and well behaved. The prisoners do not appear mistreated.

- He ushers them up to an area that is sectioned off from the rest. A single door leads to a large cell that has no neighbours. Inside is a well appointed room, with a comfortable bed and chair, a writing desk with a papers and inks on it, along with a plate of food and cup with water.

- A figure with a stern thin face seats on the chair, holding a leather bound book. He looks up at the party, the light from a nearby lantern reflected on his slick greasy black hair. His thin lips smile slightly under a large bent nose, “I’m so glad you’ve come. I was beginning to worry that Olisara did not get my message.”

- Sergeant Bhevek moves to wait back at the door, just out of hearing, whilst the party speak to Glevith. They discuss what information he has. He confirms he knows exactly where the Cult is going, as some of his people have seen paper records and maps showing the location of Kranun’s Crater. He tells the party he is willing to give this information over if they agree to rescue his younger sister, Lilly, from her enforced servitude in the Red Glove. A brothel and gambling den run by a gang of criminals lead by an evil man by the name of Gillim. He describes his sister has attractive with long fair hair.

- The party quickly agree to this and leave Grimshackle Jail. Once back in the city proper, they head over to the brothel, a well made and maintained two story building. Trenchant disguises the party and attempts to gain entry, but when he enquires after the name of Lilly, they are refused entry by a suspicious female care taker called Madame Star.

- The party drop the disguise and approach the brothel as themselves and this time gain entry. The are greeted by Madame Star, who supervises the girls and entertainment. The party walk through a long and well appointed entry hall, under the watchful eye of two heavily armoured guards, and walking through a heavy red curtain enter a large drinking room. Various customers sit around the room, with serving girls bringing drinks and an assortment of naked women talking and laughing with the customers at the tables. A female entertainer plays a flute off to the side, with much apparent skill, as a girl dressed in translucent and revealing loose clothing, dances in front of her. Two more guards are visible standing in front of a set of large double doors behind a long wooden serving bar.

- Whilst the party remain downstairs, Sir Krondor and Trenchant ask Madame Star if they can pay to meet the girls privately. She has them disarm and leave all their weapons in a wall cupboard and then follow her up stairs to the private rooms. She makes five of the girls come out to line up for their inspection whilst Trenchant uses magic to read the minds of the presented girls to see if any of them are Lilly. When none are, he asks Madame Star about a door at the far end of the hall that has two armoured soldiers wearing House colours. She informs the pair that they are the personal guards of some nobles playing in the gambling den. The pair ask if they can join in and she leads them to the gambling den, a large lavish room, filled with more personal guards and with a round table in the middle of the room. Seated around the round table are three very well dressed men, obviously powerful merchant lords, with a large pile of coins on the table that glitter in the torch light. A thin attractive female with long fair hair, dressed in rich silk clothes, is serving drinks to the men. Trenchant quickly learns that this girl is Lilly. Sir Krondor and Trenchant have to improvise a plan to get her out.

- Not wishing to be left out, Varis decides to go out stairs too. He waits until Madame Star can show him upstairs, removes all his weapons (except for one dagger he hides) and he selects one girl to take into a private room. Once inside he begins questioning her about how many girls are here, the number of guards and other information that will help the party.

- Back in the gambling den, Sir Krondor declares he must have this serving girl immediately as she is the most beautiful thing he as ever seen. Madame Star takes Sir Krondor and Lilly out of the gambling den and into a private room, opposite to where Varis is. Sir Krondor tells Lilly they are here to rescue her but she insists that they rescue all the girls as they are all here against their will.

- Meanwhile, downstairs, Labarett has been stewing. He has been looking at the faces of the girls, which though are smiling are obvious they do not wish to be here. He can see faint bruises on some of them. His anger is building. His rage at this unjust treatment is building. He will not stand by and do nothing whilst these girls are being held, their freedom removed.

- Labarett stands up, determination on his face. Naillae looks across and sees the expression on his face, “Labarett, where are you going? We have to wait …”

- Labarett does not stop or respond, he continues to walk towards the bar, his hands moving towards his longsword.

- Ragnar quickly moves up, “Change of plans! Backup Labarett!”

- As he says this Labarett breaks into a run, his speed carrying him towards the first guard before anyone even knows what is happening. Mayhem breaks out as the battle starts. At first the guards are caught in surprise but they quickly rally and the ex-soldiers show they know how to handle themselves in a fight.

- The female entertainer, actually a Bard, jumps onto the bar and starts hurtling spells at the party. Ragnar tries to summon his Spirit Guardians around him but the Bard stops the spell with a well timed Counter Spell.

- The large double doors near the bar open as more guards appear and worse yet, a massive Flesh Golem charges out. Naillae, leaps up and slides down the bar, and then leaps towards the Flesh Golem her enchanted dagger hitting and slicing down the torso of the creature. She leans back in horror as she sees her attack did nothing, her daggers having no effect.

- Ragnar looks over at the Flesh Golem shouting, “Only weapons made of adamantine can harm it!”

- Naillae quickly disengages and moves away from the Golem. The party start to panic as they realise none of them have adamantine weapons.

- Meanwhile, upstairs, the sound of the battle can be heard. All the personal guards race to surround and protect their respective lords whilst Trenchant casts a powerful Mass Suggestion spell on the group. All but one guard and one lord, falls under his suggestion, which is to accompany him and guard the girls back to the jetty.

- Varis runs out of his room, the hidden dagger now in his hands and leaps towards two brothel guards waiting at the top of a set of stairs.

- Sir Krondor comes out too but pretends to be drunk and confused. Varis runs back away from the guards just as Trenchant arrives from around the corner, casting Fear on the two guards. They both immediately run down the stairs, terror on their faces.

- Sir Krondor tells Lilly to grab all the rest of the girls and follow them downstairs.

- Meanwhile, downstairs, the fight has been continuing, as more guards have arrived to join the fight, including the gang leader Gillim. Gillim stays back, firing crossbow bolts from his office.

- Ragnar, frustrated with the battle points his finger at the open office, where Gillim and the Golem are. He casts Fireball, a small orange point of light hurtling from his finger towards the open office.

- Gim and Labarett do not notice this, the battle lust over coming them. So too, the hostile Bard does not notice Ragnar’s spell, otherwise she would have not hesitated to Counter Spell it, knowing how dangerous that spell would be in a wooden building.

- Naillae, the only one to see Ragnar cast the spell, watches the fast moving orange dot fly across the room with a look or pure shock and fear. But before she can get the words out, “You stupid son of …” a massive explosion comes from the open office as the Fireball explodes.

- Heat and wind comes out from the room. Flames begin to spread over the carpet covered wooden floor, wood reinforced clay walls, and exposed wood beam ceiling. Black smoke begins to fill the lower floor. Screams of panic fill the air, as all pretence at fighting stops as everyone begins running towards the single locked front door.

- The others upstairs hear the massive explosion which shakes the building. Sir Krondor bellows, “One job! They had one job! Just wait for us! I’m going to…”

- Trenchant interrupts him, “Not now Krondor! We need to all run! RUN!”

- There is now a massive stampede going. Everyone is trying to run to the only door, which has a massive metal bar, and three turn locks on it. One of the brothel guards is trying to open it but in his fear and panic, seeing the flames and smoke fill the room, along with a massive Flesh Golem picking up people and throwing them out of his way, his shaking hands keep failing.

- The Brothel Bard quickly steps up to him, plunging a knife into his neck, so she can instead calmly open the three locks. Labarett leans around her and with a mighty heave, pulls the heavy metal bar away. As the door opens, letting in fresh cold air, Varis shoots an arrow at the back of the Bard, dropping her dead, and clearing the doorway.

- The others from above have run downstairs and quickly retrieve their stowed gear.

- Ragnar standing near the office which is now an inferno of heat and flames, is summoning food and water, by casting his spell over and over. Each time he directs all the water to appear at the front of the fire. This is slowing the spread but only somewhat, but it is just enough to buy everyone enough time to run outside of the front door.

- The party, still escorted by the two merchants and their personal guards under a Suggestion, casually walk down the street as the tavern flames lit up the entire street. A group of Cult forces and locals are running towards the tavern.

<And as the party walk away from the scene of destruction, the sound of fire and battle as the Flesh Golem begins randomly attacking the arriving Cult Forces, that is the end of the session.>

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- “Ships Passing In The Night” - Enter Phlan Undetected By Cult = 500 XP

- “In And Out Again” - Rescue Lilly Undetected = FAIL

- “Freedom For All” - Release Entrapped Women (12) = 2400 XP

- “Secrets & Lies” - Recover Blackmail Journal of Gillim = FAIL

Creatures Overcome

- Gang Enforcers = 3500 XP

- Bard = 450 XP

- Gang Leader (Gillim) = 100 XP

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

Nil

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start +  Received = Total  (Notes)

Rob : 125088 + 1240 = 126328

Arthur : 99794 + 992 = 100786 (Level up to Level 12)

John : 95611 + 744 = 96355

Travis : 114986 + 992 = 115978

Paul : 104469 + 992 = 105461

Bob : 115627 + 992 = 116619

NPC (Naillae) : + (496)

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: What Happened to Milla, Part 1

For the past while in Daredevil 101, Matt has been somewhat rockily married to a woman named Milla Donovan. Sharp-eyed readers may have noticed that Matt is no longer married in comics continuity. What happened?

*sigh* “To the Devil, His Due” and “Without Fear” happened, aka Daredevil v2 95-105 by Ed Brubaker and Michael Lark. Aka an absolutely interminable parade of pointless cruelty riddled with dangling plot threads and misogyny. Yes, the team that gave us the masterful “Devil in Cell Block D” has now gone off the rails so hard that Amtrak is still working on the repairs. (Sadly, their run never improves, so strap in, I guess.)

Now, Milla is not exactly my favorite character, but very few things in DD history make me madder than the way she was written off. It’s so clear that Brubaker wanted to fridge her but realized he couldn’t get away with a fifth dead Daredevil love interest, so he figured out a different “fate worse than death” (hoo boy we’ll have to unpack that in Part 2). No price is too high for a woman to pay if it means Matt Murdock suffers, amirite?

And with that tempting introduction (?), let’s get into it!

Content Warnings: Ableism, sexual assault and implied threats of sexual violence.

We begin with Melvin, who is in jail thanks to having attacked Matt back when he was blackmailed into doing so. Specifically, we begin with Melvin in a room with a bunch of dead bodies he swears up and down he isn’t responsible for.

Matt and Foggy and most especially Becky Blake believe him and take his case, but just a few days later it happens again - Melvin is found surrounded by dead bodies and claiming to have no memory of what happened but that he didn’t do it. The psych eval doesn’t go well, in that, well, he passes:

According to the doctor, this isn’t Melvin being taken over by his Gladiator personality or an actual second person stepping in - this is just Melvin himself killing people. Which for Melvin’s legal team (and friends) is the worst possible option, of course.

Meanwhile, Milla appears to have taken up therapy:

Aside from what this story does to Milla and Melvin, part of what makes it so bad is the structure. This was partially due to a couple of company-wide crossovers that we’ll see marching through the book in a little bit, but also just lots of things being set up and then dropped without going anywhere. Here we see Milla in therapy, which is never returned to or discussed. The sinister way this is framed makes it clear that the person she’s speaking to is the villain of the piece, but the fact that he met Milla at therapy is never revealed or mentioned at all. Later in the scene he says something about how he hasn’t told his wife that he’s in therapy but he should stop underestimating her, which is clearly meant to get under Milla’s skin in regards to her relationship with Matt, but that kind of subtle manipulation is too interesting for this story and leads absolutely nowhere. And of course we don’t get to actually see Milla talking to her therapist, which would require her to have an interior life.

Which means we have an entire scene that could have been replaced with a single panel of Milla bumping into someone on the street that would have had exactly the same effect on the plot. And the pacing problems only get worse from here, folks!

Anyway. The state decides to move Melvin, but he escapes his prison transport - and attacks Matt, who’s been keeping an ear on things:

Melvin kicks the crap out of Matt and escapes, but Matt realizes that there’s something wrong with Melvin - it may not be the Gladiator taking over, but this isn’t his friend, either.

The next day, Nelson and Murdock receive a surprise guest: Lily Lucca, who you may remember as she of the Karen-smelling perfume who aided and abetted in multiple murders and lured Matt into a confrontation with Vanessa Fisk:

As you’ll recall, the perfume Vanessa gave Lily to entrap Matt with makes her smell like every man’s fondest memory [INSERT GIANT EYEROLL HERE], which is why Foggy’s falling all over himself here. But now she has a problem: even though she’s not using the perfume anymore, she still smells like it, which means men are constantly creepily following her around, getting into fights over her, etc.

This is...sigh. There’s an aspect of “female character is punished for using her sexuality” here that makes me super uncomfortable. Certainly 90% of comic book villains have some kind of monkey’s paw in their backstory (“I tried to make a cool suit of armor and now I have robot tentacles!” “I tried to cryogenically freeze my dying wife and now I am really cold all the time!” etc.), but there’s a way in which it’s weaponized against certain types of female characters that’s deeply gendered and often kinda rape-y. (I got this vibe with Debbie and Micah Synn as well.) Lily wanted to control men through their desire to her? Well, now they might desire her so much they’ll assault her! That’ll show her! I guess. Ugh, it just grosses me out.

Anyway, Matt reluctantly agrees to help her, or more specifically have Dakota help her, since she won’t be affected by Lily’s scent the way he and Foggy will. Even with this caveat, when he meets Milla for dinner she does not like this:

I think we’re meant to be reading Milla as not being entirely rational about Lily because she’s so jealous of Karen’s memory and Lily reminds Matt of Karen, but she’s not wrong. I have no idea if we’re meant to read Matt as being sort of a douche in this scene but if my husband was like “Keep your voice down” and “Don’t be so hyperbolic” I would walk out of that fucking restaurant.

Or run, as the case may be:

Matt distracts Melvin so that Milla can get away (lotta Ms in this storyline), then somehow quick-changes to Daredevil for a fight. Melvin knocks him out and Matt wakes up handcuffed in the back of a police car:

The cops are arguing because it’s the middle of Civil War, which didn’t touch the Daredevil book very much but Matt was firmly on the anti-registration Team Cap side, unsurprisingly. As an unregistered superhero, just being out in a mask made him a criminal. (They don’t do anything with the fact that his secret identity was basically an open book at this point, which would have been interesting.)

Anyway, The Mysterious Voice Speaking On A Frequency Only Matt Can Hear gleefully tells him that he left his wallet at the restaurant, which has his home address, which means Melvin knows where to find Milla. Of course, Melvin was one of Matt’s bodyguards when his identity was first exposed and definitely already knew where he lived, but whatever.

Milla is, of course, wandering around the apartment in nothing but a bra and panties when Melvin shows up, because Daredevil artists apparently love putting her in her underwear to terrorize her and this is the last chance they’ll have to do it.

Melvin takes Milla up to the roof to wait for Matt. I’m including this exchange, where Milla tries to talk him down by appealing to his better nature, because it’s basically her last moment as herself. Reminding others of their better angels has always been one of her strengths, and she deserves to have that highlighted before...everything else.

Matt shows up. Melvin throws Milla off the roof:

Matt miraculously saves her and returns to fight Melvin, but Melvin has pretty much given up at this point and it’s all over but the crying. He’s bundled off to maximum security, and that’s...well, that’s the end of Melvin. This storyline came out in 2007, and this sweet, interesting character who has been around since the Silver Age has been unusable ever since. So thanks for that, Brubaker.

Matt’s furious, and determined to figure out who did this to Melvin:

“What did your sensei say about fighting angry?” always makes me laugh. Also, why would you ever suggest Matt follow Stick’s advice, Foggy, honestly.

(Foggy is A+++++ in this storyline and it makes me mad that I can’t even enjoy it because he’s just frantically trying to salvage a steaming pile of shit the whole time. Also given the overall ableism in this story I’m a little :/ that he basically takes over being the functional adult like Matt’s incapable of it.)

Matt runs into another dropped plot thread here because he gets on the trail of a street drug that makes people angry, which, like, how would Melvin have even gotten that in prison anyway, especially nonconsensually? Also, every other depiction of this drug shows it putting the user into a senseless rage, but Melvin sure was able to find his old lair, put on his Daredevil costume, track down Matt, and kidnap his wife when the plot required him to. How very Guardian Devil.

Anyway, Matt starts tracking the drug to its source. Meanwhile, Milla shows up at N&M:

Yeah, from here on out Milla is all tears and hysteria. Sigh.

Foggy decides to take her home, and Lily tags along, even though Foggy thinks that’s a REALLY REALLY bad idea because a) she's upsetting Milla, b) she fucks with Foggy’s head, and c) every dude in the subway is going to be all over her. But Lily insists, because she’s...manipulative? Genuinely feeling guilty and choosing the absolute worst way to fix that? Flimsy plot reasons? Let’s go with flimsy plot reasons.

While waiting for the train, Milla pretty much loses her shit at Lily, and also the world in general:

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you” is pretty rich, Lily. YOU LURED HER HUSBAND ON A MURDER CHASE ACROSS EUROPE.

Meanwhile, Dakota is still trying to figure out where Vanessa got Lily’s original perfume from - and Matt has followed the drug trail back to the Enforcers, a bunch of goofy-ass Silver Age villains we haven’t seen in decades. (They are specifically named the Ox, Fancy Dan, and Montana. They are ridiculous.) They clobber him and take him to their leader:

LARRY CRANSTON. MISTER FEAR. He made the perfume. He drove Melvin insane. And he’s the reason behind what happens next:

Lily lives. The random bystander does not. And when Matt, having been literally thrown out of the window and into the garbage by Mister Fear, returns home, Foggy is waiting for him:

Next Time: Milla is taken into custody, and Matt searches for a cure.

[fairestfall]

TAGGED  BY : @tharanduil { thank u, friend! }  TAGGING :  @iaurhael​, @ardabuilt​ (for Manwë or Melkor), @sungruin​, @minastiriiths​, @tinuviele​ & you! 

—    BASICS.

▸     IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? She stands at 6 and a half feet tall, but is probably average/short compared to most flesh-bound Valar. 

▸      ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? She definitely uses it to her advantage when intimidating men, but she dislikes that it makes her stand out in a crowd.

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? It reaches her mid-back, and is a sable black in color. Thick curls are often wild and wind-swept, and some may chance that they have a mind of their own, often flaring like the cowl of a cobra when she is incensed. 

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? Not unless she needs to look presentable for the sake of social propriety. Although there is a stalwart beauty to her, it is as untamable as an ancient forest. On an average day, she hunts in coarse cloth and fur, trodding upon the earth barefoot, twigs and leaves untangled in her hair. Orcs also have their own beauty standards that stem more from reliability and strength rather than daintiness, and she’s come to adopt such attitudes whilst living with them. 

▸      DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? Her uncanny appearance is something that has driven a rift between her and potential allies-- even already existing friends. She bears the light of the Eldar in her flesh, but it is corrupted with Morgoth’s darkness. She is an elf in feature, and yet her fell gaze, fangs, and claws speak of a powerful spirit tightly bound in a prison of flesh. Looking in the mirror reminds her that she does not belong in either world, and it hurts. Not that she’ll admit it. She can yet be beautiful and use that to evoke sympathy and adoration. She can masquerade as a harmless maid, if only to endear herself to the peoples of Middle-Earth and make certain that her clan is not eradicated. 

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ?  Outdoors.  ▸     RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ?  Rain. She can forebear sunshine but overall finds it unpleasant. She prefers the gentler light of the moon and stars.  ▸     FOREST    OR    BEACH ?  Forest.  ▸     PRECIOUS    METALS    OR    GEMS ?   Neither. She’s actually more fond of rocks, obsidian in particular.  ▸     FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ?  Flowers. Her favorites are yellow peonies.  ▸     PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ?  Personality. She always looks at the heart first, although Snow is a teratophiliac no matter the verse. She’s more likely to partner with an orc or goblin than a man.  ▸     BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ?  Being alone, or in a small crowd. She’s introverted by nature, and too much socialization proves to be exhausting.  ▸     ORDER    OR    ANARCHY ?  Order.  ▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR    WHITE    LIES ?  Painful truths.  ▸     SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ?  Both. Magic is merely science that has yet to be explained.  ▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ?  Peace. Although born to be a weapon, she despises war.  ▸     NIGHT    OR    DAY ?  Night.  ▸     DUSK    OR    DAWN ?  Dusk. ▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ?  Cold. Her core temperature is higher than that of a humans, and winter has always been her favorite season due to the longer nights and shorter days.  ▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ?  A few close friends. She wants to form bonds knowing that she can trust and be accepted.  ▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?  Reading.

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? She tends to bury her emotions for favor of aiding others; even though she tells them that they deserve to be healed, she does not believe the same for herself. She is quick to grow cynical and to hypocritically lay judgment on entire kingdoms after being wronged by a few individuals therein-- example in point: her leaving Númenor to its fate after being mocked and driven off by Ar-Pharazôn. Which, yeah, super hypocritical given that she wants her clan of free-born orcs to be accepted by the rest of Middle-Earth. When feeling threatened or insulted, she’ll also attempt to unnerve the party by staring at them unblinking, baring her teeth, peppering in more Black Speech than usual, etc. The whole ‘if they believe me to be a monster, I’ll give them one’ shtick. 

▸      HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ? Her life has been thoroughly marked by loss. Her mother was taken, corrupted, and lost. The father she’s always wanted proved to be a coward and a cruel taskmaster. Many of her old friends died in wars with elves and men. Her children and mates are dead. She is immortal, and so loss is a constant, and she daily grieves because of it. 

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ?   The first time she saw the moon after escaping Angband. The first time she felt soil under her feet and bark under her fingertips. The first time she fell in love and bore a child. The day Morgoth was taken away and his kingdom broken, the day she truly gained her freedom. The first generation of orcs she oversaw who knew neither war nor hatred. Forging friendships with men and elves that lasted for centuries. It’s the small things that make her happiest. 

▸     IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ?

She hunts to survive, and she kills only if given no other option, and only for the causes of her people’s safety and Sauron’s downfall. 

▸      WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? Yikes. Okay, in this verse in particular, she pre-dates the sun and moon. She’s ancient and tired and is nursing so much heartache, and because she likes to bury her feelings rather than deal with them, she usually ends up exploding. When this happens, she’ll usually self-isolate and then,,, let loose. Sobbing, screaming, cursing. Darkness flowing from her being and blotting out moon and stars. Storms gathering. Thunder, lightning, and the rain that mirrors her flow of tears. Then, when she returns, she is bound again, serene mask betraying nothing. 

▸      IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ?

Her life is a bit hard to entrust into someone else’s keeping because she is effectively immortal. Although her vessel has been nearly destroyed thousands of times, it merely takes energy to replenish itself and she comes back. It’s doubtless if anyone can kill a Vala. Even her father is trapped in the Void rather than slain. However, she holds her heart of far more regard, and she doesn’t entrust that to just anyone, for she’s seen enough of betrayal. 

▸      WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ?

Because love is still very much a rare, foreign thing to her, hers is selfless and fervent, yet also possessive. She will worship the other with every thing she has and do anything to see them smile, and woe betide any who stand against them. If they seek riches, she will bestow them, and they will never lack for companionship, affection, and a source of support. She will try her best to make them feel as special and treasured as she feels whenever she is with them. Whispered words of admiration in the dark of night. Eyes that drink them in for fear of losing them all too soon. Hands that reverently cradle; teeth that greedily mark. Yet for all the self-sacrifice she is willing to endure, she will not become a submissive wife or a queen that stands in a king’s shadow. All her partnerships will be based on equality and with those who can accept her and challenge her in strength or wit. 

[themalhambird]

The Starling.

Maria cannot sleep.

She supposes that one ought not to be able to sleep, the night before one’s suitor asks for one’s hand. But as much as she tries to convince herself that the knots winding themselves tighter and tighter in the pit of the stomach are butterflies, she cannot. It is dread of what is to occur tomorrow morning keeping her awake, and not impatience for the dawn- indeed, she cannot help but feeling she would rather the morning never came.

It is a most irritating sensation.

She has nothing to lose and everything- absolutely everything! To gain by agreeing to become Mrs James Rushworth. He is so very rich. He is not the cleverest of men- indeed, he is perhaps the stupidest man of her acquaintance. But her father is a clever man and Edmund is also clever, Maria supposes, and she would hate to marry a man as solemn and dour as either of them. Rushworth, at least, is not priggish. She will be able to go to London. She has exciting, if hazy, recollections of being in Town as a child- how much more exciting it must be to go as a grown woman, a married woman- a leader even, perhaps, of fashion and society? If only a man a little more exciting than Rushworth were at hand to provide such things with an offer of marriage. He might not be so very rich, but for the ability to appreciate the intricacies of a play or to talk of art for even five minutes, instead of only talking about sport without seeming to really say anything at all- for that, Maria could happily forgo two or even three thousand a year.

A very small part of her wishes that her father were here. Oh for the most part she is happy that he is far away in Antigua- sometimes she doubts that she would much care if he never came back. It is such a horrid thing to think. But she can breathe so much more easily with him gone, without the sensation that he is scrutinising her every move, looking for the smallest hint of a fault to chide her for. She cannot bare to be scolded into his joyless notion of perfection. But if her father were here, he might have been prevailed upon to take her up to Town for the season; she might have met a wealth of suitors there. In Mansfield, there is nothing; no one: Rushworth is her lot, and if she agrees to have him-

If?

Maria inhales sharply and sighs the air out again, staring upwards through the darkness. If – she means when, surely- she does not mean to refuse Rushworth, not really? Things have gone too far- she has agreed that he may speak and to turn him down now- and Aunt Norris, Maria thinks bitterly, will have already had it put about everywhere she can that Rushworth means to speak. Interfering old hag- why must she always be so busy? If she had let well enough alone…

You wanted Rushworth as much as she wanted him for you.

Maria scowls and turns on to her side. This does nothing to quiet the voice in the back of her mind reminding her that she had been just as eager for Rushworth- for Rushworth’s twelve thousand a year- as Aunt Norris is.

But I didn’t know! she argues back. I didn’t know what he was like then! I didn’t know he was the biggest bore in all of Britain.

She sits up in bed, suddenly determined that she needs to talk to someone- to seek advice from any quarter it may come from. Not Julia- she couldn’t possibly talk about her doubts to Julia. She wouldn’t understand- or she would understand, and she would laugh at her or, or despise her, or something. Not Edmund, either. He would only sermonise and tell her what a horrible person she is to place so much value on such material things as a good income and a comfortable home that she, unlike him and his living all ready and waiting, is only going to get if she marries in it. Tom might understand her desperate need for freedom- he seized his own the moment he was able to. It’s a pity he was too much of a fool not to stay just within the limits of what his father might allow him without feeling that dragging him out to the West Indies would be preferable to leaving him to his own devices. If a letter could reach Antigua and a reply come back to her before morning! But no, Maria thinks irritably : Tom decided to play the prodigal and now she’s suffering for it. The only other person to whom Maria could theoretically turn to for advice is her mother and that- Maria snorts, and falls back down on to her bed with an ungraceful thud. Lady Bertram could not be taxed even to come and sit at the balls where her daughters came ought, looked for her husbands, found one. She does nothing but lie about- Maria sometimes wonders how such a sloth managed to catch her father’s eye. And other times thinks that a sloth was probably what her father wanted. A feeble, weak-willed, and silly girl who would agree with whatever he said and do whatever she was told. Lady Bertram can have no advice worth hearing. She probably wouldn’t notice nor even care if Maria were swept away by a flood or a burnt to a crisp in a fire, except to ask Sir Thomas how such a thing could have happened! For a moment, the rest of Maria’s life at Mansfield Park flashes before her: endless stagnation, boredom, misery- not another soul alive to pass the day pleasantly with apart from Julia, or Tom if he returned and bothered to stay more than the half hour it would take his valet to pack his bags so he could ride off again to somewhere, anywhere, other than here. It isn’t fair, Maria thinks hotly, her eyes prickling with sudden, angry tears. If she had been the first son, instead of the first daughter! But she isn’t, she isn’t, and she cannot get out- she cannot get out- she will grow old and ugly and forgotten here, a complete dependent on first her father and then on Tom. Unless she marries Rushworth- which will perhaps be only a different kind of prison-

As Mrs Rushworth, at least, she would be more her own gaoler.

Maria scrubs at her face and sniffles, shutting her eyes and trying to ignore the lump in her throat and the heavy weight that seems to hang from her heart. Rushworth might improve on closer acquaintance, she tells herself- probably he is just a little too shy, or a little too uncertain of what it would or would not be proper to talk about with a lady to whom one is not yet quite engaged, to strike up any more serious kind of conversation. And if that is not the case- well! She is sure that she can manage him somehow, that there is a way in which a married couple can quite respectably live very separate lives. She only had to look at her own parents to see that. And a house as large as Sotherton might be filled with all kinds of people: Julia must come to stay, very often- Tom, if he chooses, or if he finally manages to disoblige their father sufficiently enough to be disinherited in favour of Edmund, which she and Julia have often speculated over being at least somewhat likely, sooner or than later….

It is with the image of herself graciously offering shelter to a suddenly penniless older brother, poor Tom dependent on someone else’s whims and pleasure for once like the rest of them always are, that she drifts off into an uneasy sleep. Not that she would really want to see him so reduced- she is fond of him and a ‘Sir Edmund’ to contend with would be such a bore- but what harm is there in idle fancies? To be Mrs Rushworth, with all the power and wealth of Sotherton behind her, a husband she can surely learn to manage as expertly as playing the pianoforte…

Nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Her doubts would be securely locked up by the morning, and she would accept- no, she would embrace her fate with a cheerful smile, and twist it all about to suit her own ambitions.