he would not say that, podcast/book edition:

Genuinely curious: How did you get hooked on Banaka?

I have an enabler, that’s why. A few, but none so great as @allsystemsblue and I thank her every day for that. Not only do we have daily discussions about those two, but it makes the ideas run wild in my head. The more and more I think about them, the more ways I see them being good together, so much so I name them my OTP.

At first, like most Bane Stans, I was like, nah, he’d hate him. Hondo would annoy the fuck out of Bane, and while that may be true, that doesn’t account for things such as nuance, or growing to be obsessed with your “enemy” to the point it becomes homoerotic. >D

But I sell myself short. I have thought way too long and hard to give a simple explanation such as this, so let me delve a little more into the idea by explaining a bit of their canon backstories, and then my own takes on how they work well together and why.

Bane grew up on Duro, specifically in New Tayana, and lived in an area called the “Descent Ghetto.” It was not a nice place. Hondo was raised for a time on Sriluur, a not so nice place either, in Hutt Space where his mother taught him how to pick-pocket, among other things. Eventually, he was sold into slavery, but he knew deep down I am sure that it was for the money. He escaped, but we can determine they both have a rough start in life.

At this level we might say there could be an understanding. A mutual respect for a man who is self-made. In this they can relate, and while Hondo has his own set of problems commanding an entire crew, both could possibly confide in one another and discuss life’s ills.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Jango and Bane are an “item” if you will, for a period of time. I have yet to decide all the determining factors or all the things I want to cover in this part of my story, but based on what I know about Jango, he was not an affectionate sort. Gruff, surly, to the point, a man of few words, and with a short temper who has little patience for bullshit. If we take that and add to it a cunning, outspoken, brash, ill-tempered, sassy, aggressive Duros, to me that equates to an unhappy ending, or a clashing of personalities are they are both so similar. In this case, opposites attract.

If Jango and Bane were to part ways, Hondo being in the picture and observing their relationship, seeing the value in Cad, becoming fascinated and absorbed in him, regardless of if Bane knows or acknowledges that fact, should he give the Weequay a chance, all those things he has been denied through Jango easily come into fruition via Hondo Ohnaka.

This man needs love, support, a friend even, healing. He is traumatized in part due to his past (my story), and Jango is not that empathetic or concerned.

Hondo is attentive, charming, a deep thinker despite his clownish façade. If Bane can get past his petty grievances, if they were to share a moment or two alone, if they had a chance to talk, to linger in each other’s presence, if BANE ALLOWED HIM A SHOT, I think Ohnaka could sweep him off his feet. He would see there was more to him than just the flamboyant, foppish pirate.

Granted, Bane is untrusting. He sees the women; men; sentients, that Hondo brings to Florrum. He knows of his sexual escapades. He knows he’s a flirt and a scoundrel, so it is tough going in the beginning for Bane to accept what he is experiencing or receiving from him is genuine.

Perhaps they engage in something together, possibly among others, that is a sexual awakening in Bane. I see Hondo as giving to Bane things he has never felt before or even knew was possible.

He would hate it. It would unnerve him. He wouldn’t know what to think, to do, how to address this feeling inside himself, and it would soon devour him alive.

Maybe he needs more of it, despite wanting to inflict violence or damage against the person (Ohnaka) that made him feel this way. It becomes a need, a thirst so infuriatingly strong in him that it must be quenched.

This could develop in to a tentative, informal, even secretive relationship. It could go on for months, weeks, Hondo one of the few people who can bounce right back after one of Cad’s terrible mood swings. He doesn’t take offense to his words, or rarely if that, something more personal perhaps, but he is able to deal with this terrible, bratty boy and knows just how to placate him, how to soothe him.

Maybe casual sex “digresses," or “upgrades” to feelings being involved, real affection occurring, yet also hidden behind closed doors.  I foresee angst, drama, hurt, comfort, and a whole plethora of other tropes occurring between these two.

One is the concept of “sun” and “moon.” Hondo is the sun to Bane’s moon. He is the sunshine one, the happy one, the one who can get this bounty hunter out of his funk on more than one occasion, despite his jealous, possessive tendencies.

To me they are perfectly complimentary. That’s basically it. Not only that, Hondo knows when he needs his space, when not to crowd him, when to stand down, and even though Bane may raise his hand against him, Hondo would never afford him the same reaction. Not like Jango.

Though Hondo speaks many, many words, actions speak louder to Bane, and Hondo can read him, whereas many cannot.

Pair that with his almost obsessive interest in Bane, and the fact he is without a doubt attracted to him from the moment Fett brings him to Florrum, and we have for a most interesting potential ship, IMO.

Azalin Reviews: Darklord Ivan Dilisnya

Domain: Dorvinia then Borca Domain Formation: 715 BC Power Level: 💀💀💀⚫⚫ Sources: Secrets of the Dread Realms (3e), Domains of Dread (2e), Realm of Terror (2e), Domains and Denizens (2e), Ravenloft 3e, Ravenloft Gazetteer IV (3e)

Ivan Dilisnya is the Darklord of the former Domain of Dorvinia and now the co-Darklord of Borca with his cousin and aptly named “Dark Twin”, Ivana Boritsi.

Dorvinia was a small region of mountains, evergreen forests, and valleys without any form of formal rule. How it managed to survive for 25 years based largely on the decisions made at the whims of a small, petty man with a love for overacting and toxins is beyond me.

Dorvinia functioned much like how a child would rule a courtroom – bribe the child with the right “toy” and you would find whatever justice they felt like dealing out. Of course, said justice changed from day to day much like a child who enjoys broccoli one day then decides its the absolute worst thing you could put before them the next.

The Dilisnyas’ history in Ravenloft is as old as the first Darklord (but decidedly NOT the first vampire), Strahd. The family was present at the von Zarovich wedding where Strahd thought it was a wonderful idea to murder his brother, then attempt to woo his would-be sister-in-law. We all know how that worked out, but perhaps some of the Dilsinyas had a bit of foresight into these matters, for some claimed illness and left before Strahd’s transformation and murdering of the majority of the wedding guests.

Ivan was born on the same moonless night in December as Ivana. This day is known as the Night of Dead Man’s Get in Borca and every year these cousins celebrate their birthday by inviting everyone to their birthday celebration. Their separate birthday celebrations. It is a way for these jealous, bickering cousins to determine where their subjects loyalties lie. I wonder if anyone has attempted to attend both parties in one evening?

Ivan was cruel at a young age. He enjoyed torturing animals as early as 6 and committed his first murder by 10 by poisoning a young serving girl for the crime of taking a pastry from the kitchen. At 12, with no real motive, he committed matricide by poisoning his own mother in such a way to make it appear that she died of an unknown disease. I, personally, would have named this disease “Ivan”.

Ivan seemed to only show affection towards his elder sister, Kristina. This affection was more akin to obsession than actual love and drove Ivan to acts of violent jealousy. Kristina truly loved her brother and was blind to obvious evil little poisoners ways. Something she would come to regret once she married Edgar Leskovich.

Ivan was the sort that would destroy anyone or anything that stole attention and affection away from him, so Edgar was an obvious threat. The jealousy seethed inside him over the course of their courtship and marriage. Once they had a child, Ivan finally snapped, poisoned them both, adding sororicide to his ledger. The child was saved by their midwife before Ivan could get to them.

Ivan, unable to conceal his crimes from his family, fled into the Mists to avoid their wraith and Dorvinia was formed. A year later he married Lucretia Marzeya. Somehow he managed to go four years without committing uxoricide and Lucretia had three children with Ivan. All of which, he was told, were stillborn. Though, far more likely his wife spirited the children away before Ivan could add filicide to his murder bingo card.

Dorvinia was a short lived Domain, surviving a mere 25 years before it was absorbed by Borca during the Grand Conjunction. Ivan loves to wave his fingers and pout while throwing an overdone and far too dramatically acted temper tantrum and say this is my fault, but he was the one who decided to leave Dorvinia to visit his dear cousin because he was scared of a few tremors.

Ivan now co-rules Borca with Ivana. Ivan never learned how to share, so instead of working with his cousin, Ivan despises her and does all he can to gain favor from the many poisonous peacocks that make up the Borcan nobility.

Ivan surrounds himself with lavish plays, ballrooms, and feasting halls in the Degravo estate, which is well guarded. I suggest never asking Ivan about his “Playroom” unless you want a first hand demonstration of some of his favorite torturing devices.

As a Darklord Ivan is known for his subtle manipulation hidden behind his foppish demeanor, over the top temper tantrums, and, naturally, the ability to poison any object he touches. He is cursed to no longer have a sense of taste. Not to be confused with his love of “acting” and dressing in costumes, this sense of taste is quite literal. Food and drink hold no actual taste to him and turn to ash upon his tongue. This drives him to hold lavish parties where he enjoys serving both delicacies and rotten, maggot covered food. He takes great offense if someone appears to enjoy the food too much or not enough.

One may wonder how such a person manages to maintain loyalty. As Ivan has solved all things in life with poison, it should come as no surprise that he uses poison for this purpose as well. Most of his servants have been poisoned with “Borrowed Time”. These servants will die unless they are administered an elixir, Mercy, each day before sunset.

Ivan continues to age whereas Ivana does not. This leads our jealous, overgrown child to believe Ivana is hiding the secret of mortality and eternal youth from him. Perhaps she is. Who am I to give away such secrets?

Despite his child-like and foppish mannerisms, Ivan should not be underestimated. He holds a powerful position in Borca and can make or break anyone with the wave of his hand. His ability to poison any object has been the downfall to invading armies. Though it was Vlad’s army, so we can’t give him TOO much credit for defeating that failure mercenary. Though, if anyone ever gets a hold of the recipe for Mercy, I feel Ivan would quickly have a rather large uprising to deal with.

Domain: Dorvinia then Borca Domain Formation: 715 BC Power Level: 💀💀⚫⚫⚫ Sources: van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft (5e)

Ivan’s ties to Dorvinia are not mentioned within Dr. Ricky’s new guide, nor is he named Ivana’s Dark Twin, but is referred to as her elder cousin. I’m sure Ivan is very pleased by that development and isn’t throwing a temper tantrum right now as he reads this.

His beginnings are similar to previous accounts, though we a few less “cides” checked off on his frequent murderer club card during his childhood. Instead, it was the Dilisnya’s pets and servants that fell to his murderous ways as his parents covered them up.

Ivan had no desire to grow up. Honestly, I can’t really blame him there. Growing up is very overrated. I can’t remember the last time I felt that naïveté of youth that we so often take for granted. Anyway, I digress…Ivan surrounded himself in fantasy to escape responsibility. He indulged in child-like behaviors and crafted toys and games he forced his sister, Kristina, to play with him. His parents, ever the enablers, allowed this behavior to continue and even set up whimsical rooms and diversions for him throughout their estate.

Being a very stable individual, when he discovered that Kristina was being sent away to a boarding school, Ivan snapped and murdered his entire family in a single evening with his toy creations. Perhaps he wanted to fill up his murder club card before it expired.

As the co-Darklord of Borca, Ivan is a feeble, ancient man who uses a large spider pram to get around. The spider pram carries him throughout his estate, which now mostly resembles a demented child’s playroom full of murderous clockwork toys, animals that would be better off in Markovia, and toy-enacted operas. Well, at least he still retained his curse of having “no taste”.

Ivan is afraid to leave his home, so our Tormentors gifted him with the ability to deliver letters to anyone anywhere he pleases. Ghosting him doesn’t work, so try not to get the attention of this childish stalker or after sending you hundreds of letters he may set forth in his trusty spider pram and greet you in person.

He’s also very good at convincing other’s that he’s a helpless child. Well, they say that the best lies are closest to the truth…

Lastly, he can make any toy he desires. Mostly this amounts to servants and fake versions of the family he killed because he’s a sad and lonely man with only a spider pram to keep him company.

He still retains his hatred of Ivana, though it’s more because she now holds the position he was supposed to inherit. Ivan…you did inherit it. Perhaps spend a little less time writing fan letters to everyone and a little more time investigating this little tidbit.

A childish toy maker in a spider pram makes the creepiest of stalkers, but not an overly powerful one. Although Ivan’s toys are immune to Ivana’s poison, his overall presence and influence over the realm of Borca no longer holds the same force that Ivana holds. Despite the lovely spider pram, this new Ivan does not appear to be as powerful as his predecessor. 2/5 Skulls, mostly for the spider pram.

I respect your opinions and especially the way you defend your right to express them online, I don’t support people trying to shoo you away from the fandom in such horrible ways, but that one post you made about “me” on anon trying to support the artist that wanted to start making YouTube videos is kinda hurtful. I didn’t have any ill intentions and wasn’t trying to imply that their queerness is the ONLY thing that’s interesting about their takes, it was just that: a few simple words of support meant for specifically this person, that I thought of while typing that anon ask, I knew they won’t interpret it the way you do and didn’t see any problem with it. I’ve been following this artist for years and I really liked them as a person (they even used to be my tumblr crush) and as a creator, and yes, the fact that they take into account less common interpretations (aka lgbt headcanons) is ONE OF THE THINGS I appreciate about them. I feel like you overreacted too much and projected onto“me” things you have been resenting about people who hurt you and claimed they did it for righteous reasons. Just because I share their enjoyment of “queer interpretations” of my hyperfixation doesn’t mean I hate cishet people and think their interpretations are automatically “lesser”. I even distanced myself from certain people in the fandom BECAUSE I saw how hypocritically they treated you and it made me feel unsafe in this space. Sorry for accidentally digging out this post that you made about “me”, not suspecting that the anon that angered you isn’t one of the people who dogpiled you and that maybe they even enjoys some of your content. I don’t want to start drama with you, I just got jumpscared by realizing that you’re talking about ME in one of your opinionated posts and, I admit, felt personally attacked for things I never even meant to imply. I’m just as autistic and chronically online as you and take petty and unimportant things personally. I don’t want to be your enemy is what I’m trying to say. Have a nice day!

It was very surprising to wake up to this, and thank you so much for reaching out about this. I will add the post about my reaction for the context:

This is true that re-reading this post now sounds like I've made some very strong assumptions about you. You told that artist to make their own lore videos because "we need more queer voices in BB/DS/ER analysis videos", and the way I interpreted it? ...yeah the post IS here on how. I don't want to vague, so here for anyone who doesn't know what we're talking about, witness my anger in all its ugliness. /srs "Projecting" my own bad experiences, as well as just a very unlikeable trend I do see in the fandom, is an understatement: I straight up assumed that you were possibly one of the people who at least agreed with slander, and yes, my already pre-existing paranoia has grown x4 times stronger after all the stalking and harassment. I don't think there is a way to heal and go back on always assuming the worst unless I distance from the fandom for a year or so, but unfortunately, engaging in a special interest is a bit too crucial for me as a person. It is like if I have a poor eyesight and special interest is my glasses, and sure as hell 'irl fandom group' is not a thing in my city, or even country, so

All this is the context to specify that I can't promise that "now I've learned my lesson to never assume something about strangers online and will never do it again :333". Because this is just too late. I'd say that "at least I should not post these assumptions publicly", but by coming to me to talk about you've healed a grudge that has been bothering me, whereas if I just kept it in private I'd still feel angry. So, in the end, posting it publicly.... helps? Because it found you, even if odds were small, kinda like tossing bottle in the sea and it actually being picked up by someone.

I am still sorry for hurting you so, it is not a normal situation. THE lesson I should carry from it is, "maybe the person I am assuming things about thought the rest of the context was self-explanatory". You already feel unsafe in the fandom like you said, and I really regret that I've added to this anxiety (even if by different reason and context). I used to love that artist a lot and they were crucial part of my enjoyment in the fandom. Hopefully they did start to make videos, though. We do need more people to do analysis, just that, the identity of the one that does them should never matter. By your message you meant that thanks to that, their analyses would be able to feature readings like transgenderism and gay feelings, when people that do not experience either would simply most likely not read them in the story, and it should have been obvious from the start without an explanation. But you know how it is 🤝 autism, right.

I still value that you found me approachable enough to address the post directly and explain, and I am sorry. It is a no brainer that I no longer have hard feelings. You helped me with this a lot, but I don't have a way to help you back besides declaring my assumptions 100% invalid. I hope this will still work.

HI SORRY FOR THE VAGUE REQUESTS BUT I WANNA HEAR ANY THOUGHTS U HAVE ON DOOMHEAD OR FOXY i enjoy them so badly 🙏 no pressure ofc pls take ur time mwah

YES OFC!! ANYTIME FOR U MOOT 🙏🧎

im sorry i only did doomhead bc i had more ideas for him and it looked weird to have like paragraphs abt DH and 4 sentences about foxy 😭😭 ill write a separate post about him if you want nws!!

rlly messy post, a mix of thoughts + headcanons with a LOT of projection (potentially ooc) proofread but still shitty

LONG POST!

TW for suggestive themes and angst i mean...this is doomhead we're talking about

- my backstory headcanons differ slightly from yours (please check out imeldas DH headcanons theyre great!);

- i think he came from a well-off family but was definitely abused and neglected. growing up in the time and place that he did, he had no support and was forced to take his future into his own hands. he probably ran away or estranged himself from his family as early as possible (possibly stealing a few stacks to keep him afloat)

- pre 31 he was most likely a petty criminal who got mixed up in some violence, possibly word got around and he was picked up by Father Murder (i imagine it the same way models are recruited on the street and thats funny)

- i agree that hes been in 31 since its conception, hes definitely the top dog, the most reliable and efficient Head out there. I'd like to think Father taught him a thing or two about hunting numbers down (and how to clean his messier kills) so younger/less experienced Heads definitely aim to be at least acknowledged by him

- i think doomie does many odd jobs just to pass time between 31 ; security at seedy bars, occasional plumbing/installation jobs etc. not only does it help with his small-time acting (being able to play and adapt to many roles) but it also allows him to slip into the background of the community. hes not too important but not too insignificant either

- i think the face paint and theatrics was his idea. i believe Father (and co) are just hardcore snuff/sadists and just wanted to see their victims in fear, but DH really took it upon himself to add character (and subsequently more fear) to his job! slay

- being involved with 31 and all, i think he has a few connections with organized criminals, especially considering he has to obtain fake IDs and alibis. hes grown quite friendly with a few respected mobsters and its rewarded him handsomely

- with all this said! i don't think hes some perfectly suave, totally composed Casanova, i believe hes really scared of feeling vulnerable and that makes it hard for him to form any relationships that arent superficial, simply because he doesnt know how to cope well with feeling exposed and emotional around others.

- i diagnose him with (gay) BPD and i think hes very insecure abt that fact. he was probably taught that his emotions were bad so he puts extensive effort into seeming composed and put together around people. one good thing about 31 is that its a space where his bizarre outbursts or even mania is not only accepted but embraced/rewarded so hes got that going for him i guess??

- i think, deep down, he'd really love a somewhat domestic relationship; having somebody at home to eat with, a partner he can rely on, to be cared for and care for someone else. hes a sap at heart, hes just very scared of showing it

- probably wouldn't want kids, even in an accidental knock-up, he'd slip his baby mama plenty of scratch and encourage her to find a man thatll support them. he can always be the distant but fatherly family friend but thats really it (UNLESS you're his s/o then thats a completely different story-)

- probably neurodivergent in some way, simply because i see him as incredibly observant, analytical and calculated when hes focused/interested, traits i typically see in other ND people lol

- my doomhead is definitely queer, he doesnt use labels but i see him spending time at drag shows (in the corner silently handing the queen a stack of cash LOL) at underground gay bars (and had a few fellas for company ykk😏) hes more than aware of the struggles of having no family to support you and needing to make ends meet no matter what (since hes been there himself) so he has respect for such folks

- hes SO committal, especially because he doesn't have many healthy long term relationships. hookups dont mean much to him and really just give him dopamine boosts during the lull of a lonely life (#bars). if you're his s/o, you're his life partner, he would kill and die for you 100%. even if you guys split he would probably just give up on relationships then and there (as sad as that sounds lmao)

- ik the movie is set in the 70s but in a modern setting, i think he'd listen to some quirky, creepy music. probably genres like glam rock and dark cabaret (think scissor sisters and the dresden dolls)

- on that topic!! some songs that remind me of him include

hii! i swear i read your request rules but i’m still worried this doesn’t follow them. anyway i figured i’d ask and you can obviously decline ahahah. i just read Gray and it’s so well written and makes my heart shiver and i wanted to ask if you’d write a part 2 or a one shot/scenario of having levi as a soulmate in the same eye color soulmate au as Gray? thank you !! :) (^･ｪ･^)

From Cindy: I apologize for taking so long to get to this! It took me a while to get an idea I liked, and then I had trouble getting into the mindset to write it. Inspiration finally struck though, and this is the result! I hope you like it!

Soulmates (Levi x GN!Reader)

Based on the same AU as Gray (Levi x Gn!Reader)

⚠️angst and hints of sex work (Levi’s Mom)⚠️

Levi loved safety

Being born in an extremely run down and sketchy part of the city was one of the worst fates a person could experience. Ever since Levi could remember, he’d been burdened with warnings from his mother who had learned most lessons about living amongst the dregs of society the hard way. He never stepped a foot outside their tiny one room home without hearing her voice expressing concerns about who he talked to, which streets he went down, how late he stayed out, and which shops he visited. There was danger everywhere and no one to protect him.

“Levi, stay close to me,” the woman would say to him when he was younger. Even going out in the middle of the day was a risk for them because his mother had a reputation. In order to feed him and keep the roof over his head, she’d reduced herself to a line of work that garnered an uncomfortable amount of negative attention. In a world ruled by the existence of soul mates, everything about their lifestyle was wrong and all it took was seeing a woman with duel colored eyes and a child for someone to know she’d committed the biggest taboo.

At first, Levi didn’t understand why anything about his mother’s appearance would cause such a stir. He’d seen plenty of people with two colored eyes, including himself. As he got older though, his curiosity grew and one day he made the mistake of asking about his father. The pained look on his mother’s face filled him with regret immediately, but he sat and listened to her intently as she explained the ways of their harsh reality.

“Your eyes are a promise,” she’d told him as delicately as possible. “A promise not to share yourself with anyone until you meet the person who you are destined to find and be with forever.” Levi had been filled with sadness for his mother when she admitted to breaking her promise. It was clear that she’d only committed such a disapproved act out of absolute necessity. People were judgmental though and could only see the fact that Levi’s father had not been the woman’s soulmate, which is why her eyes remained mismatched.

“You can still find them,” Levi had tried to hold on to a glimmer of hope for her, but she just smiled sadly and shook her head. The likeliness was low at her age, and even if they happened to cross paths, her past and status as a single mother would drive any respectable person away.

Levi loved stability

After learning about and coming to terms with the truth of this mother’s situation, Levi became determined to help her out in any way possible. He didn’t want the woman sacrificing herself for him any longer. And once he got older, he begged her to start staying home while he did what he could to provide for them both.

“It’s not your job to take care of me, Levi.” She’d smiled at this thoughtfulness while cupping his cheek in her delicate hand. “Everything I’ve done will have been worth it as long as you can have a better life than me.”

He understood her sentiment, but was too stubborn to give up. It was hard to find honest work in a town full of desperation and poverty, but Levi did his best. He took odd jobs here and there, and tried not to get mixed up in any of the bad business that ran rampant in the area. The money he earned wasn’t nearly enough to cover the cost of his small home though. After a handful of threats from the landlord to toss them out on the street, Levi knew he had to do more.

Levi loved familiarity

Resorting to petty theft went against everything Levi’s mother had taught him, and he knew it would probably break her heart if she ever found out. Still, he couldn’t allow their home to be taken away, or worse, his mother to return to the work she’d done before.

He had to be smart though. Being caught stealing in his neighborhood could get him killed. Going into the nicer parts of the city would be a better bet. He didn’t know the area as well, of course, but there was the benefit that he wouldn’t be recognized if anyone saw him. If he did happen to get caught by law enforcement, he’d end up in a jail cell rather than a cold ditch somewhere. Neither option was ideal, but stealing from the rich would have to do until a better plan presented itself.

Things went decently for a while, and Levi was a quick learner. He figured out what worked and what didn’t without having too many close calls. He made sure only to take enough to get by since the thought of being too similar to the criminals he’d grown up around made him sick to his stomach. It was only a matter of time though before his luck ran out. Rumors of a pickpocket spread and people began to act more cautiously about carrying their valuables out in the open, forcing Levi to get more reckless with his stunts.

It was on a particularly frustrating day that Levi caught a glimpse of you. More accurately, he caught a glimpse of the leather purse filled with coins hanging from your hip as you chatted away with a friend outside a popular confectionary. With practiced movements, he slipped into the crowd and made his way in your direction, thinking that snatching up the money would be simple and easy. He’d made a mistake though. Your pouch wasn’t tied up like he was used to, but secured with a metal ring designed specifically to prevent the very act he was trying to pull.

You begin to turn around as soon as you feel the tug on your belt and Levi freezes for a moment, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation. One word from you and everyone in the vicinity would be on him. As soon as your duel colored eyes met his however, something happened that put all other thoughts out of both of your minds. Levi watched in shock as you blinked once, twice, and then suddenly your left eye changed color completely to match your right. The look of initial alarm on you face softened and Levi knew he had to get out of there. He turned on his heel, ducked his head down, and walked away as quickly and as naturally as his legs would allow. He waited for any sign that he was being pursued for a moment or two and then broke into a run.

Levi loved certainty

In his panic, Levi didn’t even greet his mother as he rushed past her once arriving at home. His heart was pounding and a light sweat covered his forehead uncomfortably. He went straight to the bathroom to stand in front of the cracked mirror above the sink. It took a few seconds to muster up the courage to look into his reflection and find that everything that had happened was real. The two colored eyes that he was so used to were gone.

“Levi, sweetie, are you all right?” his mother appeared in the doorway, looking scared. “Did something happen at work? You’re not usually home this early!” He turns to look at the woman who notices his matching eyes immediately. Her hands come up to her mouth which spreads into a smile and tears spring into her eyes. “Congratulations! Who is it?”

The question makes Levi feel ill. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he’d meet his soulmate while trying to rob them. And if his mother found out, she’d be so disappointed.

“It doesn’t matter,” He tells her stiffly. “I can’t be with them.”

The words were far from enough to satisfy his mother though, and she nagged him the rest of the evening with questions about what you looked like and where he’d saw you. He kept his lips sealed until he’d had enough of the interrogation.

“Please, my obligation is to you and nobody else,” he tells his mother. “I don’t know anything about this person. Not only do I have no interest in being with them, I’m certain they have no interest in being with me either.”

“Levi, this is all I’ve ever wanted for you,” his mother begs, taking his hands into her own. “Do not live your life feeling empty and alone. Take this chance and find your happiness.”

Levi shakes his head, refusing to even consider it. His only focus had been himself and his mother for so long that it seemed ridiculous to add a third person into the mix now. It was better to pretend he’d never met you, and he imagined you would feel the same way. How disgusted did you feel knowing your soulmate was the infamous pickpocket? It would be even worse once you found out where he lived and about his mother. Surely you were both better off without each other.

Levi hated the thought of a life without you

Despite his resolution to continue on with life as normal, it only took a few days before Levi caved and went back to the spot where he’d encountered you. The image of your face had never once left his mind, and there was an incessant need to see you again that he could not ignore. He thought perhaps one more look couldn’t hurt, and he had to go back anyway if he wanted to collect enough money to pay his landlord that month.

“I hoped you’d come back.”

Levi had been sure you wouldn’t recognize him after only getting that small glimpse, but apparently fate had engrained his face into your memory as well. He whirled around, his gaze immediately locking with yours. It was wild to see the familiar color of your eyes looking back at him. He had no idea why you’d be here looking for the person that tried to steal from you. The cautious smile on your face as you introduced yourself put him on edge as well. “What’s your name?”

“Levi.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but part of him already felt an attachment to you. What was more, hearing your name for the first time felt like a fire had ben lit inside of him. He shakes his head to get his mind straightened out. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“No!” the panic in your features makes him falter, “Please stay. Can’t we talk for a moment?”

“I’m sorry,” Levi backs away, trying to fight off the instincts rising up inside of him. He didn’t want you to be sad and he didn’t want to disappoint you. He knew though that it was inevitable that he would.

“Levi…”

Hearing his own name spill from your lips was enough to have him second guessing everything. Would he really be able to go the rest of his life without hearing it again? He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to stay away. He’d already come crawling back once already after all. As a last resort, he knew what he had to do. He had to tell you everything. And he did. He revealed his entire life story to you without hardly pausing to take a breath, knowing that every detail would drive your further and further away. Having so soulmate at all was much better than having a soulmate like him.

By the time he finished talking, tears had welled up in his eyes as well. His mother had told him to take the chance for happiness, but instead he’d violently thrown it away. A few seconds passed and suddenly you were slipping your hand into his. It was the wrong reaction to the story but he can’t help but tighten his grip around yours anyway, wanting the comforting feeling you brought to last forever.

“I’m so sorry you and your mother have had to fight so hard just to survive,” you tell him softly. “But you won’t have to live that way any longer, or at least, I want to join the fight with you.”  The genuine kindness and determination in your voice was overwhelming for Levi. Somehow he knew you meant every word, and the image of a brighter future for all three of you began to take shape in his mind. He had no idea if such a future was actually possible, but with you at his side he knew he’d definitely be willing to try. Being born in the roughest and seediest part of town had to be one of the worst fates a person could experience. Levi knew that first hand. He also knew he wouldn’t trade that fate for the world if it meant having you as a soulmate.

Riverdale//what are friends for?

Request: Riverdale imagine the reader has an older brother who is a northsider to his core and wants his sister to date his friend but she knows his true colors and it won't do well and the reader hates her older brother and the core 4 watch what happens and stuff and the reader tells them about the hardships at home and w/ her brother who she's afraid of.

hey! so trigger warning: men being verbally abusive and just plain rude. please don’t read if this will upset or trigger you. the last thing i want for you is to be sad. other than that, i really hope you like this! 

You feel like you can finally breathe again when the bell rings above your head. After an excruciating 7 minutes and 32 seconds of being stuck in a car with the older brother from hell, the two of you can finally go your separate ways and pretend the other doesn’t exist for a few hours. 

And even though you know that in three hours you’ll have to get back in the car and suffer through another 7 minutes and 32 seconds until you can go to your room under the pretences of doing homework/studying, the anxiety still picks away at you. It still remains, it’s just buried under the excitement at seeing your friends. 

It’s not like Oscar is the devil incarnate, he’s just the devil’s second in command. He some sort of Northside monster, a mascot for all things privilege and pettiness stuffed inside a rich boy suit. 

He insults and teases and makes fun of anyone he deems lesser than him, which is basically anyone...including the people he calls his friends. Really they’re just people he hangs around with to boost his ego and make him feel better about whatever is going on inside his own head. 

Oscar practically shoves past you as soon as you step foot in the diner, a bright smile already lighting up his expression when he see’s the majority of his friends sitting in the corner, and you’re left standing by the door searching for your own friends. 

To your misfortune, it seems like you’re the first one to turn up so you send a quick text to them all to let you know that you’re here before sitting down in the opposite corner. 

The world passes slowly outside, people leave and enter the restaurant and you sit and play with the napkins put down by the waitress while you wait for someone to arrive. You’re halfway through your third paper napkin airplane when somebody does sit down opposite you, only it’s not who you hoped it would be and your face falls when you make eye contact with them. 

“Peter.” You mumble and try to focus on folding the wings. 

“Y/n.” He replies, a smile evident in his tone and you can feel his eyes looking you up and down. It makes your blood run cold and you’re not even looking at him, just the thought of him looking at you like that makes your skin crawl. “You’re not sat in here all by yourself are you?” He asks, his tone sickly sweet and you pull a face before looking at him, trying your best to seem unfazed by his presence. 

In reality, Peter is the worst person in the world. He insults, he fights and he schemes. And he always takes the wrap for it, even if it was Oscar who came up with it in the first place. However, because Peter does all of this for Oscar, and because your brother likes to have friends that act more like pets, he thinks that Peter can do no wrong. 

And the past two months he’s been pestering you to accept Peter’s offer to go out with him, despite trying to tell him how much you actually hate him. He may seem innocent and sweet when others are around, but when it’s just the two of you he says stuff like this. 

“Because I can always keep you company...if you know what I mean.” He says and reaches out towards you. You watch his hand slowly come towards you and you sit up a bit straighter so he can’t reach. His confidence flickers as he look from you to his outstretched hand before he drops it on the table and his horrible smile comes back. “Oh, I get it. You’re playing hard to get. I like that in a woman. It’s no fun if they give it up easily.” He grins and you have to refrain yourself from rolling your eyes again. 

A pit opens up in your stomach and the more he smiles the more it grows. You feel more like you’re hunted than talked to and you really wish that someone would show up soon so it gives him an excuse to leave. 

Today however, fate doesn’t seem to be on your side. Because somebody does turn up, it’s just the last person you want. 

“Oscar!” Peter smiles and the two of them fist bump. Peter’s whole demeanour changes when your brother turns up and you watch the walls come up. The smirk is replaced with a smile and he moves his hands away from you. 

Oscar looks between the two of you and knowing smile appears on his face. 

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” 

“Well actuall-” 

“No.” You interrupt. “We were just talking. But now that you’re here I’m sure you all want to hang out. So goodbye Peter.” You say through gritted teeth and force a smile. Peter pouts and Oscar shakes his head at you. 

“You know, you could do a lot worse than Peter.” He says while Peter smirks behind him. “You should give him a chance.” 

“I’d rather stick two pencils up my nose and then smash my head against this table.” You reply with a sarcastic smile and Oscar rolls his eyes. 

“You’re gonna die alone with that attitude.” He says before walking away. 

“That’s better than spending a lifetime with him.” You reply and stare straight at Peter. His face reddens and his cheeks puff out a little while he tries to figure out a response, but you’ve already unlocked your phone and started texting again. 

“You know one day you’re going to realise what you’re missing out on and then you’re gonna beg me to take you out because you’ve realised you’re nothing but a sad little woman who nobody loves.” He seethes, his face inches away from yours and his face reddens with each word. 

His breath makes you feel sick and you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying or doing anything. Just look straight forward and he’ll leave soon. His floppy blonde hair pokes at your forehead making it itch and you wonder if maybe there’s something in the industrial strength gel he uses that you’re allergic to. 

“Hey Peter.” Veronica greets cheerily and he quickly turns around, the familiar fake smile coming back. She looks at you and then him before sighing and saying “Remember, I dated you and we all know she wouldn’t be missing out on much.” 

Your jaw drops a little and you have to stifle a laugh as Veronica waves him back to his table, his feet stomping against the linoleum. 

“Is he always like that?” Archie watches him walk away before asking you, his tone filled with concern and you feel yourself shrink under the pressure. Betty and Veronica send him a look before sitting down. Betty opposite you and Veronica beside. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a hug and the smell of expensive perfume floods your senses. 

You know that they’re looking at each other, none of which know what to say or do. They may be able to solve crimes and take down criminals, but when it comes to real life stuff like this, they’re next to useless. 

So they do what they do best, or at least Jughead does. 

“I’ll go get us some milkshakes, Y/n do you want your favourite?” He asks and you nod quickly. You sniffle and take a deep breath, you’re not going to let Oscar or Peter or any other stupid boy make you cry.

Jughead nods and as you lift your head you watch him quickly walk away, he sends a glare in the direction of your brother and his friends and a small smile twitches at your lips. 

Jughead Jones has never once been threatening, at least not to you, but you’re glad he’s making an effort. And you’re glad he offered to get the drinks instead of staying and saying something awkward. You love Jughead, but he isn’t the best at comforting people. 

Archie pulls a chair up, already accepting the fact that it’s his turn to sit at the end of the table...again, but today he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too focused on you and trying to make you feel better. Even if he just gets a small smile from you, that’ll be enough and then he won’t have to kick Oscar, Peter or anyone else’s ass...right now. 

Oscar laughs loudly from his table on the other side of the diner and Betty rolls her eyes before looking at you and her expression softens as she reaches over the table to hold your hand.

“Y/n?” She asks and you force yourself to look at her. The tear in the leather seats isn’t the most interesting thing to look at usually, but when you’re avoiding talking about something, it becomes the most fascinating thing in the world. “What was all that about?” She adds and her and Veronica share an unsure look.

“It was nothing.” You shrug and try to force a smile. Archie knows it’s not real, they all do and even Jughead looks sad when he sits back down, carefully placing the milkshakes down. “Oscar has just got it into his head that me and Peter would be a great couple. I dunno, I guess he thinks Peter’s like the perfect Northsider or something like that. A part of me thinks he just does it to annoy me because he only ever brings it up when Peter’s around. But Peter’s been around an awful lot lately so I’ve never heard the end of it, plus he’s a total dick. He’s rude, mean and stuck up, only whenever Oscar’s around he acts like he’s god’s gift. But I can’t say that to Oscar because if I speak ill of anyone he considers a friend, he goes crazy. He shouts and screams and calls me names and I guess I’m just scared of them. Both of them really.” You rant, letting out a deep breath at the end and the four of them stare at you wide eyed. “Sorry, I’ve been keeping that in for a while.” You add and force an awkward smile.

“Shit Y/n.” Betty sighs. “We’re sorry.” She adds and squeezes your hand. 

“Yeah.” Jughead adds. “What can we do to help?” He asks and you look at him surprised. 

“I-er. I don’t know.” 

“Well then we’ll figure it out together.” Veronica smiles and hugs you again.

“Yeah.” Archie nods and leans over the table to grab your free hand. “What are friends for?”

support my writing! if you want! 

Moirai [5]

Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

➜ Words: 5k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Anastasia.”   Lucienne sits across the rounded table from you, oblivious to the blossom petals that have drifted down and tangled itself into her hair. The tea party invitation rests beside her teacup, neat and crisp like she held and opened it with the utmost care.    “Yes, thank you.” The other lady beside her pipes up. “It’s an absolute honour.”   “The Royal gardens are lovely this season,” another adds. “I’m glad I can enjoy it like this.”   “It’s not a problem, everyone.” A friendly smile stretches across your face. “It can get quite lonely being the only lady in the castle, so your company is welcome.”   More like Lady Devon and your other tutors was pretty damn insistent that you build a good reputation and inner circle, but whatever. What they don’t know, won’t hurt them.   But you do remember that in the original game, Anastasia used this opportunity to shame the heroine. She invited her to a tea party and made snide remarks about how she danced with the Prince. Of course it seems petty now but it’s understandable that Anastasia resented the heroine so much. Even if she didn’t intend it, she humiliated Anastasia by stealing her fiancé.   And the fact of the matter is that you’ll also become the laughingstock for what she’ll do.   “If I may ask, have you started the wedding arrangements yet, Lady Anastasia?”   You nearly choke on your tea, sputtering for a moment until you’re able to set the cup down on the saucer and cough into your napkin. The ladies around the table appear concerned, but you plaster on another smile. “Well, there’s been no discussion yet. The Royal family and the Devereux house are in no rush. There’s still quite a bit of time, so who knows what could happen.”   “What could happen?” One of them catches on quick and you cordially nod.   “The engagement was made when both Prince Jungkook and I were very young, but now that we are older, we can voice our own opinions on the matter.” You choose your words carefully and your smile widens. “I am not opposed if changes are made. If the leaders of the empire cannot exercise their own freedoms, then how can the people?”    They nod in agreeance, a few in awe at your deep thought process. “That is very mature of you, Lady Anastasia.”   You laugh stiffly and lift your tea cup for another sip.   “Oh, but the Crown Prince is so wonderful.”   You choke. Again. You wonder if you’re going to die at this tea party from the warm liquid constantly going down the wrong pipe.    “I am sure he wouldn’t change his mind with how lovely you are, Lady Anastasia.” The girl beside you smiles, laying it on thick to win your favour. “You two are a very fitting couple.”   “I agree.” Lucy smiles softly. “Prince Jungkook is very courteous.”   “And very majestic.”   You remember when you dueled with Jungkook, he lost within a minute. He threw a tantrum in the following days and gave you the silent treatment. Or that time you went horseback riding, you decided to race each other and he fell off his own horse into mud and started crying.   Uh-huh. Majestic indeed.   You chalk up your wheeze to nothing and dab the corner of your mouth with the tablecloth napkin. “Yes, well, Jungkook will make a fine King someday.”   “And you’ll make a fine Queen,” a soft-spoken voice pipes up and your eyes connect to Lucy’s. Unlike the others surrounding you, you know her words are genuinely spoken and you shift uncomfortably in your seat.   “I’m not so sure about that,” you honestly admit as you fidget with the edge of the porcelain saucer. “A queen must be kind and generous and know the suffering of the people. I’m afraid I have a lot left to learn.”   Your gaze meets Lucy’s again.   Her smile is all too gentle for high society and its naturally cunning, heartless nature. She’s awfully naive, but that aside, you know her benevolence will make her beloved in the empire.   //   Once the tea party is over, you’re able to breathe a sigh of relief. Christ, thank god that’s over.   You escort most of the ladies towards their carriages, bidding them goodbye with polite waves as the palace servants clear the dishes, chairs and table away from the garden. And you turn around to head back to your room to sneak in a break, but your name is frantically called—   “Lady Anastasia!”   You turn and a girl in her purple, simple gown comes barrelling down the open hall. Her chest rises and falls, completely out of breath even when she only ran two meters. It makes you laugh unabashedly. “Is everything okay? You don’t need to run.”   She hunches over, lungs probably burning, but she fixes her posture a moment later. “S-Sorry, my lady.”   “Anastasia is fine.”   Lucy nods. “I...just wanted to thank you again. I was very excited when I received your invitation. It’s an honour….Anastasia.”   “There’s no reason to thank me so much.” You walk alongside her. Your hat with pinned pink peonies, matching your gown, shields the sun away from your face.   “It’s just that I don’t get invited to these sort of events often considering….considering I’m just a baron’s daughter and adopted one at that.”   She doesn’t need to tell you — you know her backstory well. You’ve played through it from her perspective. Her father abandoned her mother who died of illness when she was five and she was picked up on the streets by the sympathetic baron. It seems like every character in this game has some tragic backstory. They are defining moments that make that person.   But you suppose life itself is like that.   “Can I give you some advice, Lucy?” you ask after a quiet moment and she nods. You stop walking and the girl halts beside you. “Your humility makes you likeable, but be careful not to self-deprecate yourself. Your worth is more than what you consider yourself to have.”   Her eyes widen and you add, “Plus, it’s not good to thank a host more than once like they’ve done you a big favour because they’ll start to think you owe them for it.”   Lucy nods and you smile, resuming your stroll. “I’ll be inviting you to more tea parties in the future.”   “Thank—” She catches herself. “Yes, I will be looking forward to that.”   A grin spreads into your cheeks. “On a different note, I never got to ask you how your dance was with Jungkook at the debutante ball.”   “Oh, yes, the Prince was very kind. But I’m sorry if it was inappropriate, I know he’s your fiancé—”   This time, your laugh is unrestrained. She looks up at you in surprise. “Do you think I’m getting jealous?” Lucy opens her mouth and then closes it, not sure what to say and you bat the air with your hand. “Jungkook is like a little brother to me.”   If she was surprised before, now she looks entirely off guard. “It thought the Prince and you were the same age.”   You laugh stiffly. “Yes, we are, but I guess that’s what childhood friends are like.”   “Oh, I’ve never had a childhood friend.”   “Have you ever had a friend?” Your eyes meet her’s and you smile. “Because I’d be happy to be your first.”   The conversation soon ends and as Lucy walks away, you breathe another sigh of relief and pat yourself on the back at the positive interaction. Even if she’s just a countryside girl, it’s nerve-racking when you’re supposed to be the villainess. You like her and you even offered your friendship, but with each interaction, your demise is always lingering at the back of your head.   “I didn’t take you for being such a mentor.”   You whirl around, nearly startled to death by the voice and you discover a tall, dark-haired man leaning against the marble pillar with a sly smile.   “How long have you been there?”   Taehyung grins. “Not long. I was just passing by. It was a coincidence.” He turns in the direction where Lucy went. “I heard you had a tea party, how did it go?”   “It was exhausting.” You stretch your arms over your head and walk over to lean against the stone ledge next to him. “I don’t think I’m quite fit for the palace life.”   Taehyung smiles and you look up at him. “Are you going to the garden again?”   He nods and there’s a strong urge to ask him if you can come along. Just for a small break before they find you and you’re swept up in another lesson. But you’re not sure if you should—   “Would you like to come?”    Taehyung asks the question for you and your eyes meet one another’s.   There’s no one around. Not a soul in sight who could stop you from going or leaving.   You know you should keep your distance from him. You know. But…   “Okay.”   You take him up on the offer, following after him, just for a moment of indulgence.

With the arrival of Spring also comes the Hunt. It’s a rather eventful time in the castle considering it's generally symbolic of the harvests of this year, thought to prevent famine if those attending can bring back large game. An irony that isn’t lost on you. But it’s an undoubtedly lively time and one that you don’t mind.   “You better bring back a whole moose,” you mumble as you tie the blue ribbon on the belt of Jungkook’s armour, making sure it’s tight and secure. The ribbon is a gift of good luck and one of affection. You’re obligated to tie one for Jungkook considering you’re his fiancée.    “I’ll bring back a dragon,” he declares brazingly and you lightly scoff.   This is his second time participating after winning last year, but you remember he was practically shaking back then out of fear and pressure.   “Okay then. Just make sure you don’t fall off your horse this time.”    “That was only once!”   You take a step back when you’re done tying the ribbon. “I should be the one going on the hunt instead of staying back for idle chit chat. I’m pretty sure I would be able to catch something bigger than you.”   “Probably.” Jungkook grins. “You’re good enough with your sword to be a knight.”   “They’d never let me.” You sigh. God knows your mother would be mortified and probably faint and die.    But while staying back and waiting for the men to return with their kill is boring as hell, at least you’re removed from the pressure of having to hunt large prey in the first place. It’s a competition after all and one that can get quite competitive from your knowledge.   You follow Jungkook to his prized white horse and watch him caress its muzzle.    “If you win, you should give the prize to Lucy.”   His brows furrow and he turns his head to you. “Lucienne? The girl I danced with at the ball? Why?”   You shrug half-heartedly. “Because she has no one and I feel bad for her. I already have a few knights who are going to dedicate their game to me.”   Jungkook hums, not thinking much about it. “Fine by me.”   He puts his foot on the stirrup and swings himself over, sitting on top of the majestic horse.   Preparations almost complete, you turn to the King who’s seated at the top of the stands in a throne-like chair. He looks across the field with an approving expression.   Your parents are beside the King and you spare them a mere glance before turning away. You haven’t spoken to them since the end of the debutante ball and you don’t plan to. It might be childish to give them the silent treatment, but you wonder to what end they’ll try to force you.   The attendant steps up. “Is everyone ready?”   At that exact same moment, as if he was called upon, a familiar dark-haired man with eyes the hue of deep honey enters your peripheral vision. Taehyung emerges onto the field filled with knights on horses and soldiers in armour. His navy cape draped over his left shoulder sways with each movement, twinkling in the sunlight as if there were stars sewn into the fabric. He’s grasping onto a steel pole, a magical staff and his presence garners whispers from all.   “Isn’t he the bastard son?” — “The first son of the King.” — “The one born from the maid.”   They’re all startled to see him — the nobles sitting in the stands, women murmuring underneath their breaths, men watching with their eyes wide, knights and guards. And most of all, you’re stuck at a standstill.   Heart thunderous in your ears — blood drained from your face — you can’t look away when all Taehyung is looking at is you.    He comes close and his expression melts into a tender smile, a softened gaze when he reads your eyes’ fixation on him.    Jungkook, on the other hand, grins and mounts off his horse. “Taehyung?!” The Prince welcomes his brother warmly — an action not unnoticed by the crowds watching. He hugs him and lets go a moment later. “What are you doing here?”   “What can I say? I’m here to steal your victory.”   The younger laughs and you can tell he’s genuinely excited. Jungkook’s cheeks are practically pink and bulging, and his eyes have brightened. “Do you want to put a bet on that?”   “How much are you willing to wager?” Taehyung quips back.   “My pride and dignity.”   He scoffs playfully. “How about your private library collection?”   “Deal. And if I win, I want you to come to the feast tonight.”   Taehyung grins. “Looks like this year’s going to be difficult for you, Your Highness.”   “I’ll keep up.” Jungkook laughs again and gets back on his horse.   A stable-boy comes rushing over with a horse for Taehyung and before the King can utter a single word or you have a chance to speak to him, the games have begun. Taehyung glances over his shoulder at you for a single beat and then he’s off into the woods with the rest.    In the original game, Taehyung never participated in the Hunt.   He looked on from the window of his tower and even sabotaged Jungkook.    In the original game, Jungkook became injured but still conscious enough that before he fated, he declared he would give his prize to the heroine since Anastasia was so overbearing. It sparked the girl’s jealousy and was the reason why she decided to conspire with Taehyung. It was the first domino in the chain — the beginning of the villains working hand in hand.   But none of that is happening.   You wonder how far your choices will continue to deviate from the story. How many more mistakes—   “Are you alright, Anastasia?”   You jolt, torn out of your deep trance by a worried gaze. Lucy has leaned in towards you, her brows knitted together and you smile. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about something.” You quickly change the subject. “Have you given your ribbon to anyone yet?”   The pair of you are walking down the castle hall, heading towards the dining hall where you know the noble women will be having tea and making small talk while waiting for their sons and husbands.   Lucy shakes her head and unties the blue ribbon she had around her wrist.    “Why not?”   She stares at the soft satin for a second and then looks up at you, mustering a small smile. “I wouldn’t know who to give it to.”   “Well, you still have time to decide. You can give it to someone when they get back.” You hum to yourself. “How about giving it the Crown Prince?”   Lucy’s eyes are as large as saucers and she blinks thrice.   You’re a bit endeared with how surprised she seems at your suggestion. “Don’t you admire Prince Jungkook?”   “I...I do,” she admits quietly and peeks at you again. “But I wouldn’t want to overstep—”    “Not at all!” You reassure her. “Prince Jungkook likes the admiration. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind whatsoever. He might actually appreciate it.”   The girl smiles to herself and nods.   Evening sets in after meaningless conversations, cordial expressions and polite responses. The only interruptions are the horns that ring as each participant in the Hunt slowly arrives back.   Jungkook returns sweaty and out of breath, but with a whole moose like he promised. There are cheers and applauses, but more importantly, silent gasps when he beelines straight to Lucy to give her the prize. She blushes, a stuttering mess full of ‘thank yous’ and ‘it’s an honour’, and you discover Jungkook’s bashful behaviour at her sincere gratitude.    He scratches the back of his neck, diverts his vision, mutters ‘it’s fine’. It’s fascinating to watch considering he’s always been arrogant and bratty to you since the day you met him.   But you don’t get to observe their moment for long.   Not when the horns ring again and a figure appears over the horizon.    This time, no one moves. Truly stunned. Breaths hitched. Holy shit. Taehyung arrives back with a bear and he doesn’t even look like he’s broken a sweat.   “Wow!” Jungkook is the first to react, moving out of the crowd to his brother. He’s genuinely amazed and impressed, jaw dropped and brows shot to his hairline. “You did this?!”   “Didn’t I say I would win?” Taehyung grins languidly.   “This...is incredible!” Jungkook’s admiration for his brother causes the unsettled crowd to finally calm. It starts off slow, a clap here or there and then it’s applause, cheering and murmurs of acknowledgment.   “Has anyone ever brought a bear back before?” — “Did he use magic?” — “Why didn’t the eldest son participate in the Hunt before?”   And you know that it’s the first time people have clapped for Taehyung.   The attendant rushes forward, sputtering on his words. “T-The winner for this year’s Hunt is His Highness, Prince Taehyung!”   Taehyung wins a chest of gold, worth more than fifty commoner’s lifetimes and you watch as he bows his head as he receives it. You watch as he holds it and strides towards you. You watch until his arms have extended and a smile draws upon his features.   “What are you doing?” you ask, a whisper that’s befallen off your lips, spilled past the astonishment.    His gaze and smile never wavers. “I’m giving my prize to you.”   The crowd’s stirred to silence, watching the two of you, and you receive the wooden chest.   The attendant quickly announces the feast in the hall and servants begin ushering the people inside. But you continue watching Taehyung, your eyes connected to his, both grounded in the private bubble.   No one notices the King sitting on top of the stands, his brows tightly knitted.    //   The dining hall has shifted.   No longer are there laced tablecloths, towers of pastries and teapots from the afternoon. It’s large plates that have stretched along the surface, meats and cheese, breads and butters that have begun the feast. There are grandiose chairs all around three different tables, arranged based on importance and connections, conversations that have filled the enormous room.   The darkness of the night is casted away by the chandeliers overhead, illuminating the room in a golden hue. Yet, while each is high on the atmosphere, drunk by the wine, you can’t swallow the food down.    The tapping of utensils on glass has you looking over. The room simmers down.    By the coaxing of Jungkook beside him, Taehyung rises from his chair and clears his throat. It’s customary for the victor of the Hunt to give a speech and you’re guessing this is it.   “Thank you all for coming.” Taehyung appears unfamiliar and awkward addressing the crowd, quickly rushing over his words as if to get it done and over with. “I have never participated in the Hunt before this year and it was only because of beginners luck that I won. That—”    Suddenly, Taehyung looks right at you. “—and the support of those most important to me.”    Then, as quick as he stole his glance, he turns away. “I hope the harvests of Ashea will prosper this year.”   There’s thunderous applause and the feast resumes.   You’re overwhelmed, dizzy, the celebrations of the room getting to your head — laughter, questions, comments louder by ten decibels until it feels earsplitting.   You look over at Jungkook, finding that he has two blue ribbons pinned on his left side. He’s smiling widely, oblivious. Then, your head whirls over to your parents sitting down the table. They might have friendly smiles plastered on their features, but you can tell through their eyes that there’s seething anger. They’re unhappy, most likely with you, most likely with what happened earlier.   “Anastasia.” Lady Devon, who sits beside you, calls you out of your thoughts, disapproving at how your listening skills could be so poor.   You blink, pretending you were in deep thought about her discussion of silver forks and the corner of your mouth tugs. “If you’ll excuse me…”   After a delayed moment, she nods and you push your chair back, blurring into the massive paintings on the wall as you slip out to the terrace.   The night is cold.    Each exhale of yours is visible and you tug the soft pink shawl around your shoulders closer to your body for some warmth as you lean against the railings. You look up at the star-filled sky, finally able to calm yourself from the noise inside. You’ve always been glad that no matter where you are, what universe it is, there’s always the same sun, stars and moon. A constant.   One thing you don’t have to worry about.   “Is there something wrong?”   You know who it is before you’ve even turned around.    It’s a relief. You’ve waited all day to be able to speak to him, to be away from prying eyes and in a private moment. It’s easing. Your nerves take comfort in the familiarity, somehow finding his very presence soothing. Yet it’s unsettling at the same time. You have too many questions, too many suspicions and you don’t know if you want to uncover the truth.   But you gather your strength and face Taehyung. “I’m just thinking.”   “About what?”   Taehyung approaches your side. The warm light from inside the palace spills out and your shadows cast onto the grass beneath the terrace. There is not a soul in the hall when they’re all inside the dining hall, celebrations and conversations muffled through the many walls.   You inhale a breath. “Why?”   Taehyung frowns.   You ask again, “Why did you give me your prize?”   “Should I not have?”   Half of his face is illuminated, the slope of his nose and dip of his cupid’s bow sharp against the glow of the chandeliers, reminiscent of the chiaroscuro of a painting.   “That’s not it. Just…..” Why does he treat you so kindly, why does he want to go out of his way to talk to you, why does he look at you like that— “Why?”   In the original game, Anastasia was Taehyung’s chess piece and nothing more.   “Does there need to be a reason?” The corner of his mouth tugs gingerly. “I wanted to, so I did.”   “But there’s so many eligible bachelorettes you could’ve them them to, like Lady Myoi or Lady Paxton—”   “None of them matter,” he injects without needing to blink or think twice. “Not like you do.”   Your head snaps up and your eyes meet. Taehyung gazes at you tenderly, searching your irises with a small smile and he swallows hard. His voice lowers when he asks, “Are you cold?”    Oddly enough, even with the chilly wind whisking through the branches and swaying the leaves, you aren’t cold if he’s here.    Yet suddenly, Taehyung snaps his fingers and you’re engulfed with the warmth of an embrace. It’s the heat of a winter fire crackling underneath the mantle, the Summer sun casting down on your cheeks, and it travels from your toes to your head, and you can’t help the giggle that spills from you.    “What did you just do?”   He grins and leans closer to you. “It’s a simple warmth spell.”   Your brow cocks. “How much magic do you exactly know?”    He even managed to get that bear without looking like he had to fight. Your efforts to get him not to tap into magic all those years ago were in vain, but you have to admit it’s pretty cool.   Taehyung looks away, smile easing. “It doesn’t matter how much magic I have. It’s not enough for what I really want.”    Your breath hitches in your throat. The implications of his words welcomes the tension back into the air that had snuck itself away for a simple moment. But it isn’t uncomfortable. It isn’t the kind of tension that comes when you’re speaking to the Duke and Duchess, not the stiffness that arrived when you were being scolded by Edith. No. It’s different. It’s….intimate.    Especially when he sneaks a glance at you and you hold it, eyes fixated into his.   None of you speak, breathe, bat a lash. Not when Taehyung starts to lean in close. Not when you begin to feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin, when you can hear the thunderous noise of his heartbeat bruising his rib cage. His lash tickles yours. But before your lips can brush—   You push him away.   Taehyung stumbles back, nearly falling over, but he grasps the railings.   Your breath heaves and you stare at him in shock, in horror with what was about to happen. And before anything can be said or done, you turn away.   “Wait! Anastasia!” Taehyung calls after you. “I’m sorry!”   “I….I need to leave.”   You can’t deviate from the story more than you already have. This is a mistake.   In the midst of your panic, you return to the dining hall and cut through the room. It’s the quickest way back to your chambers, so you don’t hesitate to move your steps, never once looking behind your shoulder. Luckily, Taehyung doesn’t follow after you. He can’t.    But while each is celebrating and distracted with their company, a certain girl notices your distraught and frantic form beelining to the massive doors.   Something doesn’t sit right in her, so she immediately stands and bows her head to the woman she was speaking to. “If you can excuse me, thank you, I’ll be right back.”   Lucy follows after you, eyes pinned on your backside.   The only people who pay any mind is your mother, the Duchess of Devereux. Her senses are sharp and she taps your father on the shoulder until he follows her line of sight to the girl.   The castle grounds are dark, the moon waxing but not yet full enough to provide a bright light. But enough is shed for you to see. It’s enough for shadows to cast along the stone walls. You would never walk outside at this time of night, but you need air. More of it. Something you can breathe in and hope will clear the cloudiness inside your mind, the noise that’s earsplitting.   A gentle tap on your shoulder has you screaming.   “It’s me!” Lucy puts her hands out, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”   You catch your breath, steadying it and you swallow hard. “W-What are you doing outside? I thought you were still celebrating the feast.”   “I saw you walking by and I thought something was wrong and I got worried, I’m sorry.” She looks at you when the silence is ongoing. The concern is evident through her knitted brows. “Are you alright, Anastasia?”   It seems like everyone is asking you that question today.   A question you don’t know how to respond to yourself.   But you manage a nod and a smile. “I’m fine. I was just tired. I was thinking of retiring to my room early.”   “Oh, okay.”   You step towards her and grasp her hands within your own. “Can you do me a favour, Lucy, and keep Jungkook company tonight? He might be looking for me too and I don’t want him to be worried.”   “I will.” She nods. “But do you want me to escort you to your room? I could call someone—”   “No, it’s quite alright. I’ll be fine.” You smile and let go of her. “You should go back now before someone goes looking for you.”   Lucy nods for a second time and she bids you a goodnight as she walks back.   You’re left by yourself and you turn to tread your own way. The weight of so many decisions lie upon your shoulders and slow down your steps. You wonder why you have to bear the heavy burden of knowing your future, of knowing all of theirs while trying to escape your own fate.    It feels like you’re a pawn trying to control the whole chess board.   You exhale a breath, watching the cloud dissipate and unbeknownst to you, there’s a rustle in the garden’s bushes.   “That’s her, isn't it?”   Two shadows emerge from the darkness and before your ears can pick up on the noise, before you can turn around and meet the figures, a cloth is clamped over your mouth. Your shout is muffled and arms begin to drag you in the opposite direction of the castle.   What the fuc—    Immediately, your elbow juts out and the man behind you sputters, cowering over with a curse. You manage to slip out of his loosened grip, about to sprint and yell. Until another overtakes you and grabs hold of your wrists, yanking you back.   “Wench!” A cold blade sits at the juncture of your throat and you freeze, breaths tearing out of your throat frantically. You can fight him. Years of swordsmanship didn’t render you useless after all. But his threat delays you— “Shut your mouth if you don’t want Baron of Liza dead too.”   What?   Your mouth is stuffed with cloth and you’re roughly ripped into the darkness.   At the same time, Taehyung, still at the terrace and about to leave, turns around.

How to Build a World?

Some time ago, I answered a writing question as Quoth the Raven that dealt with how to go about Worldbuilding for your story (Found Here). I’ve now rewritten the piece because I was struck with inspiration for a much more poetic form. I rather like it this way... ______________________________________________________________ Every story has to start somewhere. Some start with an endless void, a dark abyss where spirits drift over the waters, an egg which has not yet hatched to reveal the universe contained within. But in my opinion the best beginnings are found on a blank page.

Sing an ode to the whiteness of a screen, to the sterile form of an unfilled notebook amidst a pile of notebooks you keep buying but never write in. I call upon thee, oh Muses, let the divine speak into the shadows and let there be light. Fountains may spring up from the deeps and the oceans pay homage to the moon above. I am but a humble supplicant to the gods of paper and ink, where multiverses of verse and prose are crafted from words alone.

A world must be made through the number seven. Seven days, seven dwarfs, seven epochs, seven sins, seven virtues, seven founding principles of building a world.

The First is of Magic. All worlds begin with magic in a way. You can call it by any name you desire; Nature, physics, deity. First a word is spoken, a rule, a way of being. Whether the universe is filled with blinding empty light and shaded to sight by suns of shadow and fires that burn black enough to repel the light of night, or if the endless skies are oceans where planets drift in bubbles of air and stars keep the endless ice of the galactic abyss at bay with their warmth.

It is a question of how your world works, a list of rules that cannot be broken by even you as the rest of the pieces fall into place. A willing suspension of disbelief is a fragile thing. If it breaks, you are dashed to pieces beneath the weight of fallen expectations. A reader betrayed is rarely forgiving to those who have broken their own laws.

So write, write of the shifting of stars and the fundamental forces of love and duty. In your canon proclaim the laws of wind and gravity, atoms of justice, and the blessed radiation of whimsy and wonder.

But once you have finished, and the last law carved upon the last stone atop your own Sinai, you must heed them always. From gods to grains of sand on a distant shore, none can break these commandments.

When you speak a second time, it is of Place. Of mountains and mayhem, of vast oceans where secrets lie forgotten far beneath the waves.

Reach out your hand to carve canyons from the paragraphs on the page, riverbeds that flow swift and pure into great lakes and down into silent aquifers below the very earth itself. Whether one sun, or seven, or none at all, this world must be made known through careful descriptions and prose.

And as long as it does not contradict your rules, you can have islands that fly through the skies, glass rain, giant geodic structures that have never seen the light of a single day. What of glaciers that chill the whole land into an ice age? Or a supervolcano that belches molten glass from its summit?

Then, as your world is forming, think on the third principle of building a world. Life.

Deep down in the depths of the darkest seas you might form creatures so alien they defy the very mind, drifting on currents and living without sun or sky, only in eternal shadow and crushing pressure. Or you may begin on land instead, with green skinned goblin-like folk who live among the trees and speak in song and melody as they hunt the fire breathing dragonflies. Perhaps even the sky might be your dominion. Pods of whales that swim among the clouds, blowing geysers of wind high into the abyss of blue and white that turns to stars at the highest heights.

Each living thing lies in connection with one another. Eating, growing, changing, moving. Flowers make bioluminescence in forever darkened woods and caverns. Gas filled balloon-like pods could carry creatures high into the sky with them, letting them escape from predators.

Here and now your pen is the fountain that begets creation, your mind is the tree from which all life springs. This world is your garden to cultivate, your Eden cradled between life giving rivers.

Wherever you touch there will be life. In the most scorching of deserts, in the deepest caves and wells, in the furthest canyons, upon the coldest glaciers. And as long as you remain true to your rules of reality, your world can take even the most whimsical of forms. Trees whose roots tangle among the clouds and whose boughs hang down towards the distant earth below, people who can see colors that neither you nor I have ever heard of. Each new thing makes your world more complex, more real, more connected.

Perhaps you know what comes next? In truth it has already begun, for your fourth is of Cognition.

It may be that somewhere in your world there is a creature or plant, perhaps many, or even all, who have tasted that forbidden fruit and became more than they were, became aware that their eyes had been closed and for the first time knew that they could open them and look.

What might it be like? To look out at the world and for the first time see it anew? Before there was survival and safety, food and mating. There was no time for beauty, no time for dreaming, no time for such things when every moment was needed. Yet at some point, there was time, and someone stopped to look. And everything changed.

Most creators prefer the humanoid form when building cognizant peoples, though not all, some few might choose different shapes. Plant, reptile, insect, or even stranger forms the likes of which might not be found here in our world, but only in that world of their making.

But the shape isn’t the important thing. No, what is vitally important is the manner of cognizance. How is it that your people understand the world? What are they aware of? What things can they hear? Or touch? Taste? See? Smell? Or perhaps they have senses that can only be described in roundabout ways to readers who will never entirely understand what it is to perceive in such ways, like blind men who try to know what it is like to see.

Now it is time at last for your fifth. This is the culmination of all things thus far, the laws of reality, the geography, the life, the cognizant peoples… Your fifth is Culture.

Peoples gather together. They make laws to protect or to divide, to ensure and ensnare. They farm or hunt for food, creating new ways with new generations. And best of all they tell stories. Oh those stories. These are the things of which culture is made. Stories that are woven into tapestries or painted into murals, songs are composed to evoke the emotions of such stories, even food is cooked to be eaten as the stories are told.

But there are other things which can affect your peoples and persons. Where do they get their clothing? Animal hides or plant fibers? Perhaps wool or cotton? And how is it obtained? Technology? Magic? Labor? Do the people even wear clothing at all? For some might not find it necessary if they are perfect for the place they dwell in their world.

What foods can they eat? Would you or I even recognize it? Let alone be able to digest it without agonizing pains in our stomachs? A fruit that glows might transfer its glow to those who eat it, giving them light to see in the dark and energy to live another day. Certain beasts are only slaughtered on certain days of the star calendars, for festivals and holy feast days, for ceremonial reasons and never secular ones.

Here is the most dangerous part in your journey, for the building of culture can become a mire or a maze, a labyrinthine pit from whence you can never escape no matter how much you build. Every detail begets another, and cultures are more than any one person can make. World Builder though you are, you still have limitations of your own.

So you look to the sixth, which is history. From whence did they come? And where do their journeys go? And of course, what happened at every step in between? Kings and emperors to the feuds of petty farmers. Did the dragons lay claim to the seven clawed mountains in the forty ninth century or did the Arch Astronomer falsely claim they did so that he might turn his people’s thoughts to southern trade?

Culture takes time to move and once it begins it will not stop. From the grand world point of view to the shortsightedness of individuals, each and every step will be important. Religions and wars, cataclysmic events, heroes, and even plagues. Everything that arises when you add time to the world you have created is history. The world is a living breathing thing that will move on its own if you let it.

The seventh day arrives. Some deities might rest, seeing that all is good. But not you, for your world is made in slavish worship to the Story. A world built so that it might contain, for good or ill, a tale of your telling.

So write, prideful one. Your hubris has driven you to follow in the footsteps of the gods themselves, building a world where before was nothing. It is time to look closer, to follow a single strand of thread in this tapestry you have woven from dreams and shadows.

Now that you have crafted for us an entire world, tell us your tale. We are listening.

my review of The Mask Falling - an ode to Arcturus and Paige

For me, the soul of this series has always been the relationship between Paige and Arcturus. It’s apt that this book, the exact middle of the series and as @sshannonauthor​ describes it, its heart, spends so much time with this pair. The intensity and uniqueness of their bond really emerges as the shining jewel of this series.

It’s clear that Samantha Shannon was intentional about putting Arcturus and Paige on equal footing for the first time in The Mask Falling. She manages the power dynamic between them with such attention and nuance, reversing their roles often and fluidly escaping gender roles. The protector role comes naturally to Arcturus, given his immortal strength and anxiety about losing Paige (it’s even part of the etymology of their names), but for much of The Mask Falling he is her silent shadow, trailing being her and supporting her quietly. They negotiate their differences with refreshing candor and in good faith, their arguments free from ego. “My fear is not your cage,” Arcturus tells her. “I will never ask you to mold yourself to it.” His affection for her is empowering, supportive, never constrictive or diminishing. Paige herself is markedly independent, doing the bulk of her fighting and plotting on her own. When she does seek support from Arcturus, there is no sense of her own strength being diminished, and as often as he rescues her, she turns around and rescues him just as easily. 

Indeed, while Arcturus is the immortal god, it is Paige’s power that really shines in this book. Her incredible ingenuity and strength is on full display, getting her out of certain-death scenarios at such a gripping pace I had to cover the pages with my hands to avoid glancing ahead. She couples her incredible powers with extraordinary mental fortitude and an acute conscience; each of her escapades has a satisfying emotional resonance that enlivens her broader quest. Whereas many YA heroines possessed of supernatural power oscillate between immobilizing moral anxiety and moral bankruptcy, Paige tempers her impulsiveness with reason (most of the time) and a powerful motive for justice. It’s clear that she has yet to access the full extent of her abilities, and I’m eager to see what roles she’ll play in the fight to take down Scion. 

While previous installments show Arcturus/Warden on various levels of guardedness, The Mask Falling gives us time and space in excess to see his true character. I was struck by his compassion, his hopefulness despite all that he has endured. He is often reassuring and comforting Paige, his optimism clear-eyed and measured. The contrast is especially stark with his persona in The Bone Season, where he appears cold and calculating, morally gray at best. In this book, he is almost unbearably kind, devastatingly sweet and thoughtful. As Paige remarks, “there was nothing terrible before me now.” The almost unimaginable beauty of his character is achieved with such a soft touch; the books are not about Arcturus being the the epitome of goodness - he simply is. 

A central thread of tension of this book follows Paige and Arcturus negotiating their relationship and coming to terms with their mutual attraction. Samantha Shannon manages this tension beautifully, carrying it forward constantly with poignant moments of intimacy interspersed with Paige’s honest internal dialogue. The smallest interactions and gestures between them felt so heightened. There are all the classic scenes - getting drunk and saying too much, jealousy spirals about past relationships, almost-kiss scenes interrupted, near-death confessions - all building up to a beautiful and satisfying climax. 

Samantha Shannon writes intimacy incredibly well. The love scenes feel specific to the characters, managing to be both meaningful and erotic. Romances between an immortal man and a mortal woman in particular tend to translate the man’s primal instincts and extreme physical strength into a voracious sexual appetite that leaves little room for gentleness and consideration. Arcturus really breaks the mold in this respect. He is so reverent, so sincere, so generous with Paige in a way few male characters with female partners approximate. Rather than relying on an imbalance of power in order to convey eroticism, the sexiness of Arcturus and Paige’s dynamic derives from the equality of their relationship.  It’s so difficult to create a heterosexual romance unsullied by patriarchy, and Samantha Shannon gets close to that here. 

I wonder if it is Arcturus’ immortal nature that makes him such a uniquely engaging character. Samantha Shannon really commits to that aspect of him - he’s not just a hot teenager. The best word I can think of to describe him is mature. He is so beyond the petty concerns of YA love interests, so ego-less and self-reliant. One of my favorite ways he diverges from human men - and traditional male love interests - is his lack of fixation on Paige’s physical appearance. This book has several of the classic moments that would typically elicit a remark or a look from the love interest on the heroine’s appearance, often framed as a cute romantic moment. Yet when Paige dresses up, or dyes her hair - even when she asks him outright - he never comments on the way she looks. “A human might have whispered in my ear, told me I was beautiful or perfect, but not him.” I love that. I’ve never found that lustful, almost predatory demeanor in male love interests nearly as sexy as the author would like it to be, and it always rubs me the wrong way when the man telling the woman she’s beautiful is framed as the epitome of romance. It strikes me as a very lazy way to convey attraction, for one thing, and it reeks of benevolent sexism. Arcturus never plays into those supposedly romantic tropes of disparaging other women in favor of the heroine or being selectively kind. His love for Paige is so pure. 

I continue to be impressed by the sheer scale of worldbuilding in this series. Many books attempt to create fictional tyrannical governments, but few succeed in building one as convincing and elaborate as Scion. The Mask Falling peels back even more layers of this complex world, bringing to fruition seeds planted in the very first book. Although the basic plot leans on some familiar tropes, Samantha Shannon always manages to add an additional twist of the screw. The complexity of this series is truly extraordinary, drawing on etymology and mythology, dropping mysteries and complicating loyalties with incredible dexterity. 

SPOILERS!!!!! --> I am still struggling with Arcturus’s possession and Paige’s failure to connect the dots and realize the reality of his situation. I see Samantha Shannon has pointed out on Twitter that Paige’s trauma and illness may have affected her judgment and decision-making. She says, “There's a particular scene where Paige reacts to an event in a way that is so deeply rooted in her PTSD and past experiences.” (I assume this is the scene she’s referring to.) I think that’s fair - Paige has been so inundated with the Rephaite aversion to humans that it’s almost as if she only needed one piece of evidence to confirm her doubts and destroy her trust in Arcturus. And it’s not as if she just takes it at face value, either - she does question him and try to convince him otherwise. But I still can’t help feeling that it’s a stretch. The Mask Falling makes Arcturus’ character so clear that the prospect that he would be loyal to Nashira the whole time is just ludicrous. Not to mention the fact that Paige somehow overlooked the obvious signs that he was being possessed. His eyes were such a dead giveaway - Paige had already seen that same thing happen when she possessed him! And when he moved to strike her and then suddenly stopped and his eyes flared - come on! That’s a classic mind-control trope. Paige is usually so perceptive, and they had built such a strong foundation… it feels unrealistic that she wouldn’t have connected the dots just because she hadn’t thought there could be another dreamwalker. 

If I had to find fault with this book, and it is difficult, I would say that it leans a little too heavily on some YA dystopian fantasy tropes towards the end - the mind-controlled love interest, for example, instantly made me think of Divergent, The Hunger Games, The Mortal Instruments, etc. Likewise, the forced memory loss is a fairly common fantasy trope that tends to be really frustrating to read. I have faith that Samantha Shannon will keep it from sliding into those tropes, and of course there remains so much mystery still to be untangled from those final 100 pages. /END SPOILERS :) 

This was the kind of book that captivated me immediately, left me lying awake at night and had me eating energy bars for dinner so I could keep reading. It was such a visceral, immersive experience, the kind where returning to the physical reality is almost physically disorienting. It’s been two days since I finished it and I’m still clinging to that fictional world, wishing I didn’t have to leave. Books like these are rare for me, and I’m still marveling at the miracle of finding that book that in Arcturus’ words, exists for everyone: “a book that will sing to them.”

What made you choose your url?

Pertinent question.

My URL is divided in two parts, one could say. Part two adding up to part one.

It is also quite ingenious of me, so obviously, you could not have deducted yourself the exact reasoning behind it. Allow me to demonstrate my process of thoughts.

I am sure you may, at least in name, have been familiar to the myth of Oedipus, mh?

Oedipus Rex (Oedipus Tyrannus being its Greek title) is one of the three Theban plays (which could be found) written by Sophocles on the story of said "protagonist". It is chronologically placed first.

(Note that all informations gathered here at pertinent to your understanding.)

In this specific tragedy, O. meets the infamous Sphinx, I assume you are aware of what occurs next: Riddle(s) (depending on whose play you are basing yourself on) get(s) solved, the plague the Sphinx had laid over the kingdom ceases... Happy everafter, in apparence only.

It would be foolish to assume Oedipus to be anywhere near a wise person, not thinking through his actions, he might have "passed" said test. He might have gotten to the throne, but the fortune he savours ends up being a punishment on its own.

The one of his ignorance, lack of depth. You cannot avoid fate with perfunctory "wisdom", without a proper analysis of the clues laid before you. In the end, did the scourge of the creature truly ceases? Was the fortune bestowed to the new king of any good?

Simply not. The Sphinx is the one winning and not by petty means. Frugally by its own stance in the story, it happened to be one step ahead by its own rights. Perhaps not physically there anymore, but the misfortune continues.

The intent itself not being ill, it is but the price of pay of ignorance. You either adapt, survive or end up blinding yourself from the tremendous misery and shame you have been dwelling in. At worse, death ensues. The idiocy of one has an impact on the lives of others, simply look the current global situation for a more concrete example. And so Oedipus caused not only his own wretchedness, it also reflected upon his mother and... Let's be honest, there is not much good a blind and mentally ruined king could do to his kingdom if not drag it down along with him (con feredum, once again our own reality here in this world).

Plus may I point that O. only knows the truth by asking another, not realising before it's too late that it would ruin everything around him: Some people just cannot manage knowledge nor face eye-to-eye (yes it's phrased as such on purpose) their mistakes. Their shame.

Perce I offer, in this blog a fountain of datas which you might do whatever you wish with. I am the Sphinx of Gotham, except I do not intend on being slayed in any manner. I share my genuine intellect and simply. Bless this website with my very presence.

The 403 may now appear out of place to you, random even. But I am sure, as you have had access to this blog you might have noticed it is not available to the public at all time. I was inspired to add 403 as it is the error message of "Forbidden access". Simply, not everyone is welcomed here. Not everyone has their place here figuratively and... All-in-all.

You might have taken notice of a few foolish asks? These individuals might have expired by now. Well not them. Their devices. I am not a homidical maniac either.

The 403 message may aswell be linked to the tragedy in itself for the fact, the path to fortune through the "simple" means... Is ineffacious.

I believe this has answered your pleasant question.

i don’t want your crown

Series: The Magnus Archives Pairing: One-Sided Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Summary: Jon and Martin reach the Panopticon. It doesn't have the answers they're looking for, and it doesn't go how Elias expects.

for days 6 & 7: beholding and dynamic shift Notes/Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Reluctant Relationship, Manipulation, Dynamic Shift, Body Horror, Eye Horror, Discussion of T erminal Illness, Jealousy AO3

The tower looms overhead, ostentatious and as daunting as it was when only a blip in the distance. A horrid beacon that Jon knows they’ll have to enter, however much he’s torn on it. He’s being called—has been presumably by both Elias and the Eye itself, but he doesn’t know what awaits them up there, nor if it will help anything.

He wants to know what’s up there.

He doesn’t want to know his place up there. Acknowledge the burning desire to see it all.

“So this is it,” Martin’s voice breaks his thoughts, and it’s grounding to hear against the stress of the impeding climb.

“Yes, this is it,” Jon reiterates a bit pointlessly. He’s done his best to avoid looking directly, but it’s obvious Martin has more questions for him. All he can focus on is trying to steel himself for whatever remaining trap Jonah might have for them, and what Martin might expect him to do once they’re up there. There are so many more people he owes it to, to fix things, but he can’t think of them right now either. If he even can do anything about Jonah, there’s no guarantee it would fix anything or mean anything beyond petty revenge.

Whatever he expects Martin to ask, he’s instead surprised to see his outstretched hand.

“Ready? Walked long enough to get here, couple of flights of stairs can’t be that much worse.”

Jon only offers an uneasy smile back, but accepts his hand as they enter.

It is a quiet climb. Stained glass surrounds the outer walls of the spiral staircase and the eyes painted in them watch as they ascend. Jon is long used to the gaze of eyes, but this time he is keeping a secret they want to feed on.

“So, can you see any better, now that we’re here?”

“No, but I can feel him still. He knows we’re here.”

“Great,” Martin mutters, unsurprised. It’s not like coming in with the advantage of surprise would be helpful anyway. As they round the corner, the glass gives way to cobbled walls and iron fixtures befitting the prison the old Panopticon was structured in.

“We’re close,” Jon warns, though there is little either of them could do to prepare. He thinks Martin might ask him once more, what their plan is, but either he’s tired of Jon’s ominous and unsatisfying answers or like him, knows there isn’t one. They climb a few more floors until there is only one large door left to open. Inside is a wide room that more closely resembles the top of a lighthouse, its windows giving the perfect view of countless domains, not that Elias needs them for a proper look considering anyone on the ground floor could give it if they still have eyes to spare.

Yet, there he is, as perfectly composed as always and staring down at the ruined world below them. He turns to greet Jon and Martin, and as he does, the cascading blinking eyes trailing down one side of his face and speckling his neck widen and stare.

“Have a nice trip? Breathtaking down there isn’t it? Of course, I only have the bird’s eye view, but from what I can tell it’s quite lovely.”

“Mhmm, people suffering over and over while a big eyeball in the sky watches. It was wonderful. Might have even seen a cow at one point,” Martin answers him with an eye roll. Despite his new monstrous form, Elias at least doesn’t seem to have changed much.

“Come now, Martin, it couldn’t have been that bad. You and Jon seem fine. If I’m not wrong, you even had a bit of fun on your way here. How does it feel, Jon? You can do so much more than just compel now, enthralling isn’t it?”

“I-It wasn’t fun. I only wanted to settle a score, nothing more. I didn’t enjoy doing it.”

Elias’s multitude of eyes settle on Jon and his skin crawls again. It was one thing when Helen insisted otherwise—the Spiral is centered on lies meant to hurt. They both know he didn’t find it fun, but to say he doesn’t enjoy it entirely…

“Mm, feels nice to not be so helpless, doesn’t it? Which reminds me, I’m supposed to be the last stop on your little hit list road trip, correct? Is there anything you’d like to discuss beforehand? I’m all ears,” he asks, his smile dancing on the edge of a joke that for once Jon understands and almost flinches at when he hears. Martin, however, doesn’t see.

“Do it,” he encourages, and while it’s something Jon hasn’t been pushed to do recently, he was waiting for it. Compared to Callum or Simon, this makes sense to do. Elias—Jonah—is the one who caused all of this. He’s caused so much suffering with his tugging of strings, but Jon is still shaking. It’s his fault too.

Beholding thrums between them, even nestled in the Eye’s blind spot, as Martin looks to Jon and Elias repeats Martin’s urging.

“Yes, Jon. Do it.”

The words feel like a compulsion even though they aren’t. Still, it’s the thing that draws the words from Jon’s lips.

“Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing!”

The static is loud and overbearing, but of course from where they are, how could the Eye twist itself in? Desperately it hears its Archivist calling, but the hunger it senses hardly comes from the one its stare is being directed towards. No, it is only Jon the Eye wants to devour right now. For when its heavy weight bears down on them, tries to bear down on Elias, he is absolutely thrilled. He’s watched Jon’s other ‘smitings’, and like all the other times Jon has tried to channel the power of Beholding against the man before him, he takes to it proud and rapturous.

“Oh, Jon,” Elias breaks the silence, softly. His skin prickles with shame, embarrassment and Martin’s heavy stare beside him.

“That was exhilarating. I wasn’t sure if you’d really go for it, but surely, you knew it wouldn’t work.”

“Wouldn’t work?” Martin asks, the words pointed and sharp. Their accusing tone isn’t directed at Jon, much too infuriated that Elias is still alive no doubt, but they punch the air out of him nonetheless.

“He’s too… it’s Beholding, of course…” Jon stammers, guilt clawing at his veins because he had a suspicion, if he could call it that by this point. He couldn’t tell Martin—perhaps maybe didn’t even want to, but as a result it only gave him false hope. Something Jon continuously felt awful trying to pry away from him.

A dry laugh cuts him off.

“No, no, of course. With the way everyone talks about you here, it makes sense. It’s just, of course.”

“M-Martin…”

“Yes, of course, Martin. Jon would never want to crush that precious optimism of yours, but it’s merely a wonder this place hasn’t managed to do so. Are you starting to get it now though?”

“Elias—”

“Aren’t you tired of it Jon? Had enough of the guilt? Plus, Martin really deserves to know doesn’t he? There’s so much you keep not telling him and that frustration must surely be wedging between you.”

“Know what Jon?”

It always came down to secrets and trust, didn’t it? And in the end, as much as he asked from Martin, Jon has never really been adept at sharing—giving back to make up for what he takes.

“He’s like me Martin, w-we… I can’t kill him. I know I told you I wouldn’t hesitate, and I thought maybe, I would still be able to do something but…”

“You can’t,” Martin finishes for him, soft and brittle. He isn’t angry. Jon, out of fear, breaks that respected boundary not to look, but the disappointment is crushing and painful. His attention snaps away when he hears the telltale click of Elias’s shoes on the floor.

“No, he can’t. And he wasn’t going to tell you, but really Jon what did you expect to happen when you got here? Were you hoping to be wrong?” He laughs at that considering just how much both of them know about the world and its inhabitants now. His hand reaches for Jon’s shoulder and Martin reaches out to try and stop him or put himself between them, but falters, pinned when Elias’s eyes glance towards him.

“Are you ready to join me now, my Archive? You may not be able to die, but it’s unpleasant to keep denying yourself from looking isn’t it?”

The possessive note in his tone makes his want to run because it only adds to the things he doesn’t know how to talk to Martin about. For as much as he loves him, there is a connection forged here and twined in spider’s silk that Jon hates and craves like the air he used to need to breathe. He is hungry, especially after that failed attempt to use the Watcher’s gaze, and Elias is trying to goad him not so subtly into doing something cruel, not realizing there is another option. One he does have the power for now.

He raises his scarred palm and cups Elias’s cheek. The voices and sights and pain and misery are a wafting miasma and while it serves to remind him he’s hungry, they are not the meal he is looking at. Jon tries not to think of Martin—not to dive into the desire to know just what this must look like and what he must be thinking as Jon reveals his intentions.

“Jonah Magnus, tell me about the first time you thought you were about to die.”

The pupils in Elias’s eyes shrink, and Jon feels ravenous as he drinks in for the first time fear evident in that normally arrogant expression. They may both be connected to the same power and share it’s horrible gifts, but its desire for terror is indiscriminate. There’s a crinkle in the line of Elias’s mouth and Jon watches his throat bob with a painful looking swallow as he tries to resist.

“Tell me. Tell me about the many days in that sick room. How the doctors said you wouldn’t make it.”

“A-Ah, but it was a chance recovery. Quite lucky, right?” Elias strains, still evidently in pain. Jon’s grip tightens, and he gasps.

“How did it feel to have them discuss your own funeral thinking you were asleep? Knowing you were so young and helpless. Your whole life falling to pieces right before your eyes and you could do nothing. How every cough, every wheeze, you thought might be your last. How sometimes you wondered if you would go to sleep to not wake again. Even long after you no longer felt that weak, your lungs never quite felt right, did they? And each mild cold after only served as a reminder it could happen again. That maybe it was already happening.”

Jon doesn’t want to think about how good this feels. To see the very man who’s driven him to this point crumple before him over centuries old memories. To watch him be the one full of fear for once.

Elias’s body can’t seem to make up its mind on whether it wants to flee or lean into this. He’s captivated by Jon using his power in this manner, but also it’s his own painful memories dragged to the surface.

“You may not be able to die now, but if you’re going to push me to it, you will remember how afraid of it you were—not even kings are exempt from fear. Now let me go.”

Jon moves to pull away and is more than grateful Elias doesn’t try to hold onto him or use him to help himself up. It’s uncomfortably satisfying to see him on the ground like this and Jon takes another shaky breath before turning to Martin.  

“We’re done here. Whatever it is we could do to fix things, it isn’t here.”

Martin stares between Elias and Jon who’s steadily heading back towards the door, still unsure what to make of what just happened. Getting out of there and away from Elias isn’t something he’ll say no to though and follows. The jealousy is still stirring somewhere, but it’s clear that whatever weird claim Elias thinks he has over Jon, it isn’t reciprocated. At the very least, it’s something Jon is demonstrating he wants no part of, and that’s enough for Martin right now. However, Elias’s voice stops them before they leave.

“You’ve done well, Jon. When all’s said and done, I’ll be here. The Panopticon is partly yours too, after all. None of this would have been capable, if not for you.”

Jon lingers at the door for a moment listening, but doesn’t deign to answer him. Martin catches up and is happy to let the door close behind them. The silence lingers for a few minutes as they make their way back down before Martin breaks it, needing to ask the obvious.

“Where do we go now? Do we… try meeting up with the others again? Come up with a new plan?”

“I don’t know,” Jon doesn’t mean to sound dismissive; he’s just drained from the encounter. It’s easier to not think of the others and try to see where they are or what they’re doing right now.

“We’ll figure it out when we’re out. I just… I just need a minute.”

“Okay,” Martin accepts, and quietly repeats.

“Okay.”

my rankings of sanders sides characters w detail cuz im extra (recent ep spoilers)

this is from best to worst in my opinion! pls don't attack me if i put ur fav character on the bottom, i love them all so much!

1. Janus- his character is all that i look for in a character, sassy, determined, sarcastic, and overall fun! he has a very deep knowledge into philosophy and i love that so he really connects w me. he helps thomas in a very important way, and has always caught my eye even before his redemption. he's funny and pretty persuasive when he needs to be. i also love, love, love his outfit!

2. Logan- he always has a way of getting across his point clearly and helpfully. he is a dork who absolutely does have feelings, but struggles to show them in a way that makes sense to him, so he plays along with the others singing and acting bits when he deems fit. you can tell he cares a lot about all the sides, thomas included, and he isn't frightened by the dark sides in the way that the other light sides are. he can see that even the dark sides have jobs that help thomas, and can help calm everyone down to get the jobs done. he is hot-headed much like i am, and petty as well. but i think these characteristics just add even more depth to this already amazing character! 

3. Virgil- he was my first favorite side, and i relate to him a lot. he can be funny and goofy, but overall he is one of the most serious sides. he is not very good at keeping calm in dire situations, but that just shows that his character is really just a ball of anxiety. he has put on a mask of a tougher person than he is, and has trouble opening up due to (maybe) something having to do with the other dark sides in his past. he appreciates the others efforts to be nice and will take any chance to make fun of roman. when i first saw this character shown in a good light, it helped me deal with my anxiety not as an illness, but a part of me that isn’t all bad. his aesthetic is something i aspire to be, and he will always have a place in my heart. 

4. Remus- he is so random and funny! the first time i saw his character i knew that sanders sides would be changing into a more mature series, and i was excited. i think his dynamic with the others, (including janus!) will be something that thomas will have fun playing with, and i will have fun watching. he is very inappropriate, but his character still has depth. he represents the catholic guilt that thomas had to deal with thought his life, and i relate. growing up catholic thought me that who i was wasn't ok, and its great to relate to a character that represents something so serious in a funny light. i can't wait to see where this character goes in the series, and im very excited about seeing him and janus interact.

5. Patton- he is a very fun character and i love the recent talk about him not always pointing thomas in the right direction! he is a baby, and tries his hardest to make everyone happy, but doesn't know how to express his sad emotions without making someone upset so he bottles his emotions up till it hurts thomas in the process. the way he deals with emotions makes sense for his character, because the morals he has layed out for thomas basically are the same rules he has for himself. i like how he is owning up to not knowing everything and is showing that sometimes the morals we knew growing up will not transfer well into adult life. having a character so peppy but with so much depth is really hard to pull off without making it look cliche, but thomas and his team pulled it off! i love him 

6. Character Thomas- while i love him very much but c. thomas is obviously there to move the plot forward in the eps. and to teach the audience how to deal with these dilemmas properly. he is very funny, and i love the tone of the most recent eps! going against the ‘light sides’ to get help from the ‘dark sides’ really shows how much thomas is realizing how little he knows about himself. he's slowly but surely realizing that every side has a job to help thomas, and all of them are worthy of being loved, cared about, and listened to.

7. Roman- i will always love roman so much, but he has the biggest ego. ik he literally is thomas’ ego, but it is damaging the other sides when he is always talking about himself. he obviously resents the dark sides bc he's afraid of his brother and one day becoming him. this is why he constantly makes fun of janus and virgil, because he's afraid of them and he's insecure. he recently has gotten more depth to his character which is great, but in all honesty i don't like how he treats the others. he's not boring, but he's also not interesting in a way that i want from a character. his pride and ego ruining the respect i had for him. i love him, but i think ill love him more once his arc is completed in these next few episodes.

there you go! my opinions on the sides and c. thomas! i love all of them, just some more than others. its alright if you disagree, but please don't attack me y'all. ily thank u @thatsthat24 @thejoanglebook

Former Ghosts

Dean/Cas fic  ~2k words, pretty fluffy/light  AO3 -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648394

On TV, hospital rooms are usually these clean, white places with a sunny window and a nice chair in the corner. A family member or loved one would be there, desperately pleading for forgiveness, or redemption, or something like that. The nurses are all hot 20 somethings and doctors take time to talk to the patient and their family in soothing, apologetic tones. By the end of the episode there is either a miraculous recovery or a heartbreaking death.

Dean knows this well, television practically raised him. So no matter how many times he ends up in one it’s still a bit of a disappointment to wake up sweaty and alone in a dark room with puke green walls on one side and a curtain separating another patient on the other. This time, his back hurts like hell and he wants to know where Sam is and what happened to those kids.

As usual, he ignores the disappointed part of him that wanted to have not woken up at all. He’s grown accustomed to that thought over the years, and it’s easy to shoo away, but not as easy as it used to be.

He tries to get up and make a run for it before an orderly notices he’s awake and starts questioning him about the health insurance he doesn’t have, but the moment Dean moves forward he’s overcome with a stab of pain that makes his vision go black in the middle. He lets out a sharp “paaah” sound that hurts his throat, and falls back into place. He feels nauseous and winded.

A heavyset woman in her 30’s comes into the room. “Hello,” she says kindly, “I saw your heart rate was up, do you know where you are?”

Dean shakes his head no.

“St. Sebastian Hospital” she answers, then: “Give me one moment, please.” Dean’s mouth is so dry he doesn’t think he could argue even if he wanted to. The woman pulls his medical chart off the back of his bed and checks it over.

“Mr, ah, Bolan, it seems like you were in a serious car accident and have been out for the last few days. You have a punctured kidney, and quite a few other injuries, you’re really lucky to be alive and recovering as well as you are,” the woman says. There’s a softly scolding tone in her voice. Dean wonders if she thinks he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt or something.

Dean nods at her, feigning repentance. He guesses his full name on her chart must be Marc Bolan, the rock star tragically deceased in a car crash. Good one, Sammy, though a bit on the nose.

Dean’s mouth is still dry so he gestures weakly at his throat. The nurse lightens up.

“I’ll have someone bring you some ice chips, and the attending physician will be in soon to get you up to speed on your recovery.” She points out a little red button attached to his bed, “If you need anything, press this, okay?”

Dean nods.

—

Dean spends the next few days in the hospital. He wants to leave as soon as Sam gets there in the morning but Sam insists he stay the full amount of time that the doctor recommended. He says something to Dean about the possibility of sepsis but Dean doesn’t really listen. He knows how to keep his wounds clean, he’s not some dumb kid.

Eventually Dean gets discharged back to the bunker with a handful of unpaid-for antibiotics and by the time he’s healthy enough to get to the bathroom by himself without blacking out, they get a call. After much hemming and hawing from Dean, Sam goes off to a hunt in Texas by himself. It scares the shit out of Dean to see his brother go alone but he puts on a brave face and pats Sam on the back, like it’s no big deal.

“Call if you need anything. Anything at all,” Dean tells him. Sam rolls his eyes but agrees.

Dean waits. And waits. And waits. And nothing bad happens. Sam comes home victorious. Dean knew he would.

And then Sam goes off by again. And comes back. And keeps doing it. And after a while Dean gets used to it, though he can’t help himself from feeling like the world is moving on without him.

—

Dean’s back still hurts. He feels like a burden to Sam, and to himself. He drinks beer with the dog and watches TV and eats chips, then goes to bed and gets up the next day and does the same thing. Sometimes he’ll help Sam out with research over the phone, and hates that these moments are the highlight of his day, sometimes week.

He tries not to think about Castiel, but almost immediately gives up and starts researching ways to get him back. When Sam is home, sometimes he asks what Dean is up to but Dean can’t bring himself to lie or to tell the whole truth.

“Looking for trouble,” Dean replies jokingly, and lets Sam assume this means Dean’s searching for a new case rather than researching ancient enochian summoning rituals. Because he knows what Sam would say. Cas sacrificed himself so they could win, and he’d want them to move forward. Cas would want them to be happy, and live good lives. Especially Dean.

But, Dean’s not entirely sure he wants to be happy, it would be a pretty foreign feeling after all this time. In fact, Dean’s not sure he wants anything, anymore. Except for Sam to be happy and Cas to be home, with him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever finish processing what Castiel had said to him the last time they had seen each other but Dean reserves the right to try.

Around the time Dean’s back wound is fully healed and he’s ready to start hunting again, Sam runs back into Eileen hunting an angry spirit outside Lafayette. They start spending more time together on the road. Dean is happy for them, though a little sad when Sam starts to move on.

But, the plus side is that this gives Dean extra time to do something very stupid and ill advised without his brother walking in on him.

—

He’s about halfway through the summoning ritual when the candles blow out on their own and Dean feels himself thrown backwards by an otherworldly gust of wind. It hurts badly but the live ram Dean was about to sacrifice seems relieved.

A man in a trench coat appears in the room with a very cross look on his face. The relief Dean feels when he sees Castiel is so powerful he almost needs to sit down.

“Did it work?” Dean asks. “Not even close,” Castiel replies, “You were about to summon a huge sea monster.”

Dean can’t stop himself from smiling anyway. The ram makes a grunting sound.

—

Castiel comes clean that he’d been saved by Jack, and instead of saying anything was waiting for Dean to die of old age and get to heaven, which Dean finds pretty insulting. “Time passes differently in heaven” Cas had said which sounded to Dean like a cop out.

He ignores the fact that, as usual, Sam is right. Dean is actually pretty great at ignoring Sam when he wants to.

“I wanted you to have a real life, Dean,” Cas had said irritatedly, “I wanted you to know happiness and freedom. Freedom from everything.”

Dean doesn’t like Castiel’s tone when he says the word, “everything” because he knows Cas is including himself in that. It pisses him off, in fact.

“So what?” Dean nearly shouts before collecting himself to grit out, “You get to say your peace and then leave? Just like that?” Dean doesn’t add “It’s not fair” but petulantly thinks it. He’s so mad he has to take a step back and breathe through his nose. It had never occurred to him Cas was back and simply didn’t want to see him, especially after what had happened. It stings.

Cas says nothing for a long moment, just levels a sad look at Dean that says the differences are insurmountable between them. That they’re wholly different creatures meant to be on different planes of existence and never meet on earth, and certainly never care for each other. They are, at best, to have a post-life cordial business relationship. Dean huffs. He steps closer to Cas, and Cas lets him.

“You know how I feel, Dean, but...” Cas finally starts but is cut off.

“Okay, well. Do you want to hear what I have to say?” Dean asks. Cas says nothing. Dean can feel himself choking up, which he hates.

“I want to say that I love you too, you know. Love you-love you. And I don’t wanna be here if you’re not around, and I don’t wanna get old without you. I got hurt, bad, after you were gone and I thought to myself: good, finally, this is how it’s supposed to be. Because if you were gone, I wanted to be gone too. I’ve been counting down my days since I was a kid, man.”

He doesn’t cry but his face is hot and scrunched up and he knows he looks like a mess. He doesn’t often let himself willingly experience these feelings, but they’re there. They’ve always been there. They’ve gotten so much worse without Castiel beside him.

Resigned, Castiel replies with absolutely no irony but a bit of pettiness, “Should I have not saved you from those vampire clowns, then? I’m sorry, Dean, I couldn’t help myself. I had hoped you’d be able to outlive John, at least.”

Of course, Dean thinks. Of course you don’t heal that easy from a punctured organ, but what’s a subtle bit of healing magic between friends? The hot air leaves him all at once and he feels empty.

“Cas” he says. He doesn't actually know where he’s going with this. He leans his face close to Castiel, so their foreheads and noses are touching. He is deeply relieved when Cas kisses him.

—

A few days later Sam is surprised to come home to a ram grazing outside the bunker, but not at all to find Castiel and Dean cuddled up on the couch watching movies.

“Welcome home,” he says.

First Christmas [Flanawilde]

Who: Rory Flanagan and Charlotte Wilde - @switch-it-up-rory

When: December 20th, 2020

Where: Rory’s dorm room

What: Charlotte gives Rory one of his Christmas presents, they watch the Muppet’s Christmas Carol, and things start to HAPPEN

Warnings: NSFW-ish

Charlotte

Charlotte looked like a doofus carrying a cutout of Elizabeth Swann awkwardly across campus, but it was well worth it to be giving it to Rory. Her bag of other gifts were in her other hand as she made her way towards his dorm. She was so happy, the progress they were making was good and she felt just that everything was going right, even when he was feeling off the other day. She wanted him to know that she was there for him. She cared about him in a way she hadn't cared about someone before. And if that meant taking things at a pace that he was comfortable with, she was more than happy to do that, especially since it was her first time doing this. The thought of hanging out with him in general made her happy so the fact that he was asking her to hang out made it better, she was a bit bummed about being away from him, but knew it was only for a few days and she could still text him and talk with him as much as they wanted to. Placing the Elizabeth Swann in front of his door, she knocked before quickly hiding behind the cutout, wanting to surprise him.

Rory

The thing about being a mentally ill, constantly poor piece of shit was never having enough money for gifts. He did what he could with the presents he could give her, making a mental note to ask Fauna to get something girls would like, but he had a feeling Charlie didn't mind at all, it was the thought that counted and stuff. He had showered since the last time she saw him, eaten a meal, got checked out in a medical sense by Doctor Hudson before her sister side took over and she fussed him better. Rory felt better too, and seeing Charlotte would add to that. He smiled at the knock on the door, letting out a little garble of surprise at the cut-out of Elizabeth Swann in front of him. "Oh my God," He said, "You're much...flatter in real life." He joked.

Charlotte

A soft giggle left her lips at his comment, her head peaking out from behind the cut out, "Yeah, see when I ordered her on Amazon, I thought she'd be the real thing, but like the advertising was misleading," Charlotte teases before picking the stunning Kiera Knightley up and approaching him herself. There was only a slight height difference between her and Rory but enough where she had to look up at him and it made her stomach flutter a bit as she did, "Merry Christmas Pirate King," she smiled as she ran through the question of whether to hug him or give him a kiss on the cheek or both or just wait so she just stood there awkwardly as her heart started to race a bit faster, even though she felt so natural around him, she still didn't know how to greet him properly.

Rory

"Aye, you could sue, probably." Rory joked, "But then again I've been trying to sue Bezos for 2 and a half years on Big Mick's behalf and no luck." He shrugged in a 'what can you do?' manner. He stared down at her for what seemed the longest time, wondering if he should make a move, or if she was gunning herself up to do it, if she wanted to do it at all. "Merry Christmas, Charlie." He murmured back finally, before leaning down to give her a hug, his hand almost dangerously low where it was placed on her lower back. "Right, you and Keira, come with me. There's only so many muppets and such little time." He announced, leading her to his bedroom. He had actually cleaned it for once, partly for his own mental health, partly because he wanted Charlie to be able to relax in an environment that wasn't some grotty chaotic mess. "Please, make yourself comfortable," He said to the blonde, gesturing to the bed where the fresh grey bedsheets that Fauna had wrestled on were covered by a mountain of cushions and snacks for the film, the laptop propped up with the opening titles on. He took Keira's cut out, placing her next to his drawers, before joining Charlie on the bed. "I've really been looking forward to this." He told her sincerely.

Charlotte

Charlotte made it look like she was thinking about it for a few moments, humming before laughing, "Yeah? Is Big Mick a person or are you talking about McDonald's?" She always felt the need to clarify considering there was always an array of characters that Rory spoke of and she loved hearing small little stories he would share, wishing she had fun stories to share back. The moment felt long where they just looked at each other and she thought maybe it was finally the moment he would lean down and kiss her, her heart beating fast as he moved closer and even though it was just a hug, it was a wonderful hug as she wrapped her arms around his torso and smiled, biting her lower lip when he couldn't see how simply his hands on her made her feel like she was on fire in the best way possible. Regaining her composure she laughed a bit as she took the cut out through his doorway and into his room so he could place it wherever. His room was a lot cleaner than the last time she was in it, not that she minded clutter, but the way he even set up his bed made her feel like she was on a proper date and she gave a small curtsy before getting on the bed, making sure none of the snacks spill over as she got herself situated. Watching Rory for a moment, she smiled as he moved the cutout, her face lighting up as he moves to join her, she had felt like they had made so much progress and she nodded as she spoke, "Thank you for letting me join in on your Christmas tradition, Rory." She moves to kiss his cheek.

Rory

It was refreshing, to have someone so interested in his life and stories, and it really encouraged Rory to be more open and honest. Not just about his stupidity, about his petty crime and arrests and the whole colourful cast of freaks he befriended back home, but about his own thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams, fears and pet-peeves. And he wanted Charlie especially to know it all. "Big Mick is a person, the dad of a mate of mine, Small Mick. BM and I used to work at Tesco together." He explained, wondering if the description killed the mood for a moment, though the electricity fizzling between them as they hugged proved anything but, it felt just right in a way. As did her being in his bed, with him next to her. He laid down, propping himself up on the pillows, motioning Charlie to lay beside him, grinning at the cheek kiss. "There's no one I'd rather have. You ready?" He then asked, sitting up to press play on the laptop, positioning himself again, though he couldn't really feel himself relax, hyperaware of Charlie being that close next to him.

Charlotte

She listened to him intently, giving a nod as she followed along, "So you've got Bowel Movement and Sadomasochism. BM and SM." She smirked a bit as she put the information into her brain. Slipping off her shoes, Charlotte hoped he wouldn't mind her Snoopy socks as she moved to adjust to be closer to him, she could feel his warmth and it made her feel warm in return. Especially at his comment, which made a flush reach her cheeks. Her eyes moved to look into his as she nodded when he asked if she was ready, she grabbed the popcorn and took a few as she rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes on the laptop as the movie started. 

Rory

The little sound that came from Charlie made Rory raise his eyebrows, but he kept his eyes firmly on the screen, though he was less interested in the Muppets now, breath catching as Charlie leaned into him more, nudging his foot, her fingers tracing his hand. He nudged back, finally breaking from the screen to look at down at her, a soft smile on his face, his hands stopping to stroke the exposed skin on her back, to lie there flatly, hovering dangerously low. Rory pursed his lips as if he were going to say something, but he instead cupped her chin, lifting her face up more in line with his, biting his own lip momentarily. "Chuck?" He asked, wanting to get the okay from her first, "Am I alright to kiss you?"

Charlotte

It was like they were playing footsy as he moved his foot back, her body was tingling already and she wanted him so badly. Charlotte tried her best not to let her toes curl as she felt his hand move to her back, causing the small hairs to rise on her skin as she felt her heart beating faster. Her eyes were still on the movie, but it seemed like a distant object now. Feeling Rory's hand reach to her face, she forgot to breathe for a moment as her eyes met his piercing eyes as she looked at him, the question taking all of her attention as she whispers back a small, "Please."

Rory

The way Charlie whispered the please caused Rory to wet his lip, body suddenly on high alert. It was like there was this electricty coursing through them with each touch, and it only increased when his lips finally made contact with hers, firm and needy, filled with want, catching up for earlier moments he was foolish enough to lose out on. He shifted so he was hovering over her, the hand on her lower back gripping the curve of her ass, shifting so his knee parted her legs. It had only meant to be a gentle peck, to ensure the blonde beneath him that he did in fact like her a lot, but he chuckled against her mouth at how in what seemed like a mere moment they were positioned like this. "Better late than never," He murmured, "Glad I didn't kiss you until now, imagine if we were outside, rolling about on the sand."

Charlotte

She smiled for a moment, her eyes shutting as his lips finally met hers like she had wanted, if she was being honest, since the day she met him. Charlotte kissed him back passionately, her hand finding his face as she she slid down a bit, humming against his lips as he felt his hand on her rear.  Her whole body was vibrating as she let her legs spread open. Her other hand gently placed on his forearm as she felt him start to laugh, but she didn't want to take her lips away from his. Not now that she finally got to kiss him. She smiled a bit, "You know I was starting to think that maybe you were just like not interested in my lips or something," she giggled at his comment. "I wouldn't have minded that one bit," she admits before moving up to kiss him again, this time a little slower.

Rory

Rory did feel slightly guilty at the comment, never wanting Charlie to think he wasn't interested in her, any part of her. He liked her so much, and had thought he was doing the right thing by going slow, but maybe he was just a tad too slow for her tastes. And his, he realised, as she pressed her llips against him again, moaning against him. "I am very, very interested in your lips." He murmured, "Aye, you say that now but you wouldn't after shaking sand out of places you couldn't imagine sand getting." He then teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows, before once again kissing her. As much as he enjoyed chatting with her, this was also very enjoyable. At some point during the make-out session, his hand found its way to rest on her shoulder, slowly moving down until it hovered over her breast, pausing and looking down at her to see if it was okay to touch her.

Charlotte

The validation was relieving and she most definitely was thankful that she would have stop asking herself 'will he? or won't he?' every time they would hang out. She smiled at his comment, letting out a soft giggle at his comment, "Yeah, that doesn't sound too pleasant," Charlotte agrees, glad to be kissing him more. Her lips finding his happily, her hands finding his body enticing, and her heart racing as she felt herself wanting him even more with each kiss they shared. Feeling his hand linger, she let her own hand find his waist. She felt him stop for a moment, opening her eyes, her eyes looking down at his hand and then back up at his face, "They're real, I promise," she teases him.

Rory

He felt himself blush at being caught out, ducking his head slightly, dark hair covering his face. "Aye, I never doubted that for a second Chuck, but like, safe to check, eh?" He said, before kissing her again to stop any witty remarks from her and anymore nonsense from him, his hand resting on her breast, giving it a gentle squeeze, gaining more and more confidence with each lingering touch and brush of the lips against each other. He ground down on her, wanting to keep at this forever, just him and Charlie in bed with no distractions.

Charlotte

The submissive felt a little bad for embarrassing him, moving to kiss at his forehead and cheeks as she let out a soft chuckle. The cuteness only lasted for a moment as the lust sank back in. She let out another hum against his lips in reaction to his hand massaging at her boob. Charlotte was filled with excitement, her tongue finding his in need as she found his hips connecting with hers. Her hand slipped from his waist down to his ass as she let her hips move to meet his, feeling the friction of her jeans and the need for him consuming all her thoughts as she felt herself shortening in breath between kisses, her hand squeezing his ass as she wanted him to take her clothes off and then she could take his off and they could finally let all of this happen.

Rory

It could have easily progressed from one thing, or another, would only take a few lazy moves for him to unzip her jeans, and then his, for them to be entwined with each other, moaning out in lust and ecstasy. And Rory very much wanted that to happened. To keep Charlie trapped here underneath him, and then maybe her on top of him, all night long, all throughout the Christmas holidays. But as his mouth broke free from ears to plant sloppy kisses filled with lust against her jawline, the annoying vibrating of a phone began to go off. He could ignore it, but his heart sank thinking if he was ignoring something important or urgent. He broke free with an apologetic glance to lean over to his bedside table, body still pressed against hers so he wasn't completely separated. The call rang off too late, Dobsy's name flashing up on the Missed Call list. He glanced at the time to calculate what time it was at his, eyebrows raising at just how late it is. "Fuck, Chuck, it's late." He mumbled, "Like, really late, bordering on early late." He said with a tired, smile, throwing himself on the other side of the bed with a thud, wrapping his arm around her, pressing a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "To be continued, maybe? We both have early flights and I don't think your sister would be too happy if you arrived at the airport knackered." He said, wanting Olivia to like him because he liked Charlie that much, and to prove he wasn't some perverse sod who just wanted to have his way with her sister and be done with it. "And I can guarantee if we continue now we won't stop." He mentioned, wiggling his eyebrows at her, wanting Charlie to show he still wanted her, but he wanted her to get the rest she needed as well.

Charlotte

Charlotte wasn't sure how she could have gone all this time not kissing Rory, because in a matter of an hour or so it had become her favorite pass time. She tried catching her breath as the feeling of his lips reached her jaw, lifting her head up a little to give him more room to explore. The blonde didn't even hear the phone vibrating until it had broken his attention. She bit her lip, still feeling the pressure of his lips against hers, she lifted her lips to his neck, kissing meticulously up to his ear, wanting to continue to have some type of contact with his skin. Her head flopping down on the pillow as he cursed so she could hear what he had to say. Charlie hadn't even thought about how much time had passed and quickly looked over to her phone laying next to his as she raised her brows. Letting out a small groan as he moved off of her. Her heart started slowing down, as she adjusted her top and cooled off a bit. Giggling at his kiss on the cheek, she rolled onto her side as she let her finger outline his jaw as she looked at him. "Only maybe?" She teases him as she plants a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. "No, I do not think you would win her approval that way," giving him a wink to let him know she was only joking. Her laugh came out almost like it was far off, still enamored with his lips and how his body felt against hers. "I suppose you are right about that, Pirate King." Letting out a sigh she willed herself to sit up and get herself off the bed. Part of her wanting to ask if he could walk her back, but part of her knowing he needed his rest too so didn't want to be selfish.

Rory

It was nice that Charlie didn't try and push it, didn't want to tell Rory to screw Christmas and to screw her instead. And as tempting as it would be, he wanted to at least not have her sister hate him before she really got to know him. "You might see a sexy German in some little sexy lederhosen," He joked, "So to be continued, maybe, unless Günter gets in the way." His body was aching from exhaustion, the adrenaline from their session melting away, though a little bit of frustration coursed through his veins. He pouted when she began to shift from the bed, arms instinctively reaching out as if to pull her back in, stopping himself. "Want me to make sure you get back to your room alright?" Rory asked, "Double check you and Günter aren't planning to run away?"

Charlotte

Raising her brows at his comment, she laughed lightly, "I still think that you'd probably look sexier, Günter couldn't compare." She gives him a small wink as she stands up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rory's hands and turned to look at him in bed, Charlotte gave a shy smile and a nod. "I'd like that very much, unless you're too tired? I know you need to get some sleep too. Günter most definitely wouldn't mind me tucking you in for the night?" She didn't want to seem so needy, but she just enjoyed Rory's company but also cared about his well-being. It was a conflicting argument going on in her head, hence why she offered both options.

Rory

A part of Rory really wanted to take her up on that, say goodnight with one last kiss and then roll over and sleep until Fauna dragged him out of bed by the ankles in a few hours. However, another part of him knew that was rude and dismissive, and he didn’t want Charlie to think he was just wanting her for her body. He really cared about her, and wanted to make sure she got back safe, even though the security of this campus was good. Plus they were about to be separated for a longer period of time he was used to, and he could take any minute left he could. “Nah let me get my shoes on,” He said, voice coated in sleep as the tiredness began to settle in his bones. Somehow he managed to force himself up, shoving the nearest sneakers on, before taking her hand to lead her out to the night, hoping though a part of him suspected they’d both be quick to pick up where they left off once Christmas was over. To be continued, maybe, as they said.